Chapter 1: Graduation Day
Chapter Text
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The morning light poured through the castle’s tall stained glass windows, golden and soft, like it knew this day meant goodbye. Hermione studied her reflection one last time in the mirror of her and Pansy’s shared dormitory. Her hair which was normally untamable, had been coaxed into a neat braid that swept over her shoulder. Pansy had insisted on doing it, muttering about “image and elegance,” and, to Hermione’s surprise, had done a beautiful job. The braid complimented her new look, it was still proper, but much more feminine and adult than her school robes.
Her formal robes were deep sapphire blue, with silver fastenings and fine embroidery along the cuffs and fit perfectly. A graduation gift from Theo. The fabric felt heavy and luxurious, nothing she would have bought herself ever, but comforting too, like a quiet reminder that someone had noticed how hard she’d worked to grow into this version of herself.
She looked older. Not just older, just different. The girl who had arrived at Hogwarts at eleven had believed in rules, in fairness, in the structure of things. The woman staring back now had learned how easily those things shattered, and had begun to learn how to rebuild anyway.
When she stepped into the Great Hall, her breath caught. Banners in every house color hung from the ceiling, and the enchanted candles burning brighter than usual in celebration. The air was full of that strange mixture of nerves and nostalgia. She spotted the Weasleys clustered together near the front, Molly, Arthur, and all the siblings who could make it. Harry stood beside them, a comforting smile on his face. Ron waved enthusiastically, looking proud and just a little awkward in his ill-fitting suit. Ginny was radiant, practically glowing in her emerald-green dress robes, her Hollyhead Harpies pin already glinting on her lapel.
Hermione smiled and waved back, but when she turned to find her seat, it was Pansy and Theo she gravitated toward. Pansy looked sleek and confident as always, a small smirk playing on her lips even as she fidgeted with the hem of her pale rose robes. Theo, calm as ever, adjusted his gold cufflinks and nodded for Hermione to sit between them.
“Don’t trip when they call your name,” Pansy whispered. “Can’t have our top graduate face-planting in front of the entire school and the media.”
Hermione snorted softly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Theo leaned slightly toward her, voice low and amused. “If she does, I’ll catch her. Maybe you shouldn’t have made her wear heels today Pansy.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You’d make it look like a planned part of the ceremony.”
When Headmistress McGonagall began the proceedings, the Great Hall fell into reverent silence. The ceremony itself was brief, a few speeches, as expected, and a few tears. When Hermione’s name was called, there was a collective murmur in the crowd, and then thunderous applause. She walked across the stage, chin high, heart fluttering.
“Miss Hermione Jean Granger,” McGonagall announced, voice warm with pride. “Recipient of perfect marks in every N.E.W.T., and pursuing a Charms Mastery beginning this autumn.”
Hermione’s vision blurred for a moment, not from nerves, but pure emotion. She caught sight of Harry and Ron cheering like lunatics in crowd, Molly dabbing her eyes, and Ginny clapping hard enough to bruise her palms. When she returned to her seat, Theo offered her a subtle nod of approval, eyes glinting with pride. Pansy squeezed her hand once, quick and firm.
Ginny was next, and when McGonagall mentioned her upcoming career with the Holyhead Harpies, the Hall erupted once again. Hermione felt a swell of pride. They had both made it... after everything.
After the ceremony, there was laughter, embraces, promises to write to Neville and Luna often. Pansy was positively glowing when Blaise appeared from the crowd, slipping an arm around her waist. “Told you I’d come,” he murmured, earning an eye-roll that didn’t hide her enamored smile. Pansy had done well enough on her exams, but she seemed far more excited about her next adventure—her own beauty line, launching in Diagon Alley next month.
Theo, meanwhile, was already discussing skelo-grow potion innovations with Slughorn and mentioning the Healer program he’d been accepted to. Hermione listened with quiet admiration. They’d both studied side by side for months, parchment, candlelight and long nights full of comfortable silence. She noticed Draco Malfoy standing off to the side, as if waiting to speak to Theo. Her heart dropped for a moment at the surprise of seeing him for the first time since the battle. Not wanting to ruin her joyous mood, she quickly turned her attention elsewhere, heading to join the gaggle of redheads loudly celebrating.
As the sun dipped lower, the eighth years gathered by the lake one last time. The boats waited for them again, just as they had when they were eleven. It felt poetic, crossing the Black Lake one final time... not to begin, but to end. The water mirrored the sky, streaked with gold and rose and twilight blue with the setting sun. Pansy leaned into Blaise’s shoulder, laughing softly before he slipped away from her again with a kiss to her forehead.
Theo stood beside Hermione, hands in his pockets, looking out over the rippling surface.
“Strange, isn’t it?” he said quietly. “Feels like we’ve lived a lifetime here.”
Hermione nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “We have.”
They boarded the boats, the castle growing smaller behind them, glowing like a distant memory. By the time they reached the train platform, lanterns were already lit along the carriages as darkness set in.
Pansy chattered animatedly about the flat she’d just rented above her shop, “Perfect location, darling, terrible plumbing, but I’ll charm that myself. Blaise promised to stop by and help me settle in!”
Theo helped Hermione with her trunk onto the train. “You’re sure about staying at Nott Manor?” he asked softly verifying for at least the third time that day that she hadn’t felt pressured to join him, once they found an empty compartment.
She looked at him, at the calm steadiness in his eyes, and nodded. “For now. Until I start my program and get into a routine at least. It’ll be nice… to have somewhere peaceful not full of memories to decompress in.”
He smiled faintly. “Then it’s settled.”
Outside the window, Hogwarts was just a tiny silhouette against the horizon, the sky turning indigo into jet black. Hermione exhaled slowly, her chest full of gratitude and ache and hope all at once.
For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was running from the past, stuck under the pressure of others expectations, or getting by day-by-day. Instead she imagined she was walking boldly into her future.
Chapter 2: Theo Flashback Fall Term
Notes:
The next few chapters of flashbacks will help get you up to speed of the current situation the story will take place within.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
**** Flashback to the Welcome Back Feast ***
The Great Hall had never felt so loud or so empty.
Laughter bounced off the enchanted ceiling, where the candles floated serenely, indifferent to the awkward patchwork of returning students below them—those who had fought, those who had fled, and those who had hidden. Hermione sat at the end of the Gryffindor table, her Prefect’s badge tucked discreetly into her pocket. It didn’t feel right to wear it anymore.
She smiled and nodded when people spoke to her, but every sound—every scrape of silverware, every burst of chatter—just reminded her of who wasn’t there.
Harry’s easy grin. Ron’s clumsy humor. Their constant angsty energy, yet chaotically grounding presence.
Now they were off-chasing dark wizards and rebuilding the wizarding world together, starting their careers, and she was here alone, trying to remember who she was when she wasn’t fighting or a third member of The Goden Trio. Trying not to see dead classmate’s bodies in memories all around the hall as she ate.
When the feast ended, she slipped out before the crowd, her steps echoing softly down the corridor toward the new 8th-year dormitories that had been designed to keep the off-age students apart from the ‘children’ while forcing inter-house unity. The air smelled faintly of dust and polish—like something freshly repaired, but not yet right nor homely.
“Hermione.”
The voice stopped her.
She turned, startled, to see Theo Nott leaning against the stone wall, hands in his pockets, expression caught somewhere between uncertainty and shaky resolve. His Slytherin tie hung loose, his curly brown hair slightly damp from the drizzle outside.
She hesitated. “Nott.”
He gave a faint, rueful smile. “You still sound like you’re taking Prefect attendance on the train this morning.”
“I didn’t expect anyone like you to talk to me tonight,” she said, more defensively than she intended.
He nodded once, like he deserved that. Maybe he truly did.
“I—” He stopped, tried again. “I wanted to say something. I should’ve said it a long time ago.”
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, heart thudding, breath paused, unsure whether she wanted to hear it.
“I wasn’t brave,” he said quietly. “Not like you. During the war… I kept my head down. Let people say things—awful things. About you. About Muggle-borns. And I did nothing. Let people die. While I did nothing.”
The torches flickered, throwing his face into uneven light. He looked older—haunted.
Hermione’s throat tightened, but she tried to let her brain use logic instead of let the panic rise. “You didn’t join them, though.”
“No,” he said. “But I didn’t stop them either. I told myself silence was survival, but now it just feels like cowardice.”
She looked at him for a long moment. So many faces had blurred together over the years—taunts, sneers, laughter from the Slytherin table—but not his. Theo had always been there in the background, quiet, watching, allowing, simply there.
“It was war,” she said softly. “We all did what we had to do to survive.”
He gave a bitter laugh. “You fought. I hid. There’s a big difference. I’m pathetic, you never have been.”
Swallowing down her anxiety hard, Hermione stepped closer before she realized she had moved. “There’s a difference between hiding and choosing not to become what they wanted you to be.”
Theo looked at her then—really looked—and something fragile passed between them. A flicker of understanding, or maybe relief.
“I just wanted you to know,” he said finally. “That I see it now. All of it really. And I’m sorry. I know that’s not ever going to be enough for fixing what has happened, but.. well, I just thought you should know.”
Hermione swallowed hard again trying to dislodge the lump that had formed in her throat. For the first time that evening, she didn’t feel quite so alone or out of place in the castle.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He nodded and stepped aside to let her pass, but as she walked by, she heard him say one last thing quietly, “I’m glad you came back.”
She didn’t turn around. But for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, she smiled.
*** Flashback to early October***
It had been raining all afternoon—one of those steady, whispering rains that made the castle feel smaller somehow, like it was breathing quietly around them. The library was almost empty except for the scratch of her quill and the occasional rumble of thunder.
She hadn’t meant to stay this late. But when she lifted her head, stretching her stiff neck, Theo Nott was sitting across from her. No sound, no greeting—just there. His long fingers tapped absently against a closed copy of Advanced Arithmancy, his eyes on the rain-streaked window.
“You’re very quiet,” she said before she could stop herself.
He smiled—barely. “You say that like it’s a flaw.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Most people at least say hello before appearing out of nowhere.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt you,” he said, glancing at her parchment. “You looked… safe. Like the kind of silence no one should disturb.”
The words caught her off guard. Safe? No one had ever described her that way. Smart, infuriating, bossy—but never safe.
She studied him more closely. The war had hollowed everyone in different ways, and Theo wore his quiet like armor. He had that Slytherin stillness, all coiled thought and restraint. But beneath it, she saw something else—loneliness that mirrored her own.
“Do you ever feel like we’re all pretending?” she asked softly. “Like the war’s over, but everyone’s still fighting ghosts?”
Theo’s eyes met hers, sharp and unguarded. “Every day.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The rain filled the space between them, soft and rhythmic. She realized she was holding her breath.
When she finally looked away, she saw he’d pushed his book across the table toward her. Advanced Arithmancy. A faint smile tugged at her lips.
“Study partners, then?” she asked.
“Sure, and friends, maybe someday,” he corrected gently. “If you’ll have another one.”
And in that small, quiet moment—the smell of rain and parchment all around them—Hermione felt something uncoil inside her chest.
*** Flashback to Mid-November***
“Ah, my N.E.W.T. students!” he boomed, bustling between tables. “Today, you’ll be brewing Amortentia—the most powerful love potion in existence! Not to be consumed, of course,” he added with a wink, “but to observe, analyze, and learn from.”
Hermione felt her cheeks warm before she even glanced at Theo. Of course they’d been paired-up again—Slughorn’s idea of mending post-war “unity,” she supposed. Seemed like all the teachers this term had the same line of thinking, pairing class partners up with unusual backgrounds. Not that she minded much, Theo was a decent partner in all the classes she’d been paired with him. Always respectful, always doing his fair share of the work, always competent, never holding back her brilliance.
Theo slid into the seat beside her, quiet as always. His presence was steady, calm in a way that Harry and Ron had never been. No drama, no chaos, no joking, just serious academic integrity in class. Honestly, she preferred that, much easier to learn and concentrate.
He rolled up his sleeves, revealing black ink stains on his wrist and the faint edge of an old scar. For a moment her mind almost thought the ink on his skin was a dark mark as the rolling of the shirt slowly revealed the ink. She had taken a deep intake of breath. Theo raised an eyebrow at her in confusion, then saw the path of her eyes onto his skin. He looked ashen as he made the connection. He tried to recover from her assumption without feeling hurt, “You take the ingredients list, I’ll start the cauldron?”
“Fine by me,” she said, and was startled to realize her mind had gone there so automatically just because he was Slytherin and had ink on his arm. How embarrassing, she flushed, worrying that the tentative silences of studying together over the last month and slowly becoming some type of at least academic friends had just been ruined by her reaction.
For a while, they worked in near silence, punctuated only by the scrape of knives and the soft hum of the potion as it began to swirl. The surface shimmered with a pearly sheen, pale and lovely.
Slughorn’s voice drifted from the front of the room: “Remember, Amortentia smells different to everyone—according to what attracts you most.”
Hermione leaned in carefully to examine the mixture’s glossy spiral pattern. She caught the first whiff whafting towards the ceiling from the caldron, expecting it to be the same as it had been years before and abruptly froze. She was caught off guard by the subtle shifts in aroma.
Old parchment. Fresh Mint. Was that green apple too? And—Merlin help her—a faint trace of earthy rain, the exact scent she’d noticed lingering on Theo’s robes both the day their Magical Creatures class had taken a stroll into the Forbidden forest during a fall rainstorm to observe the sheltering behaviors of Pixies, as well as the day their Charms study session next to the Black Lake had unceremoniously been interrupted by a quick forming autumn rainstorm leaving them soaked and shrieking as they raced back up to the castle.
Her breath caught. Theo wasn’t more than a study partner, and maybe broaching on the beginning of a friend. She hadn’t been ogling his body or thinking romantic thoughts about him over the last few months at all. Honestly, she had really only been appreciative of his quiet company and academic competence. But now that she was thinking about it, her eyes wandered over his fit form. She supposed he was conventionally good looking. Tall, lean, but still attractively toned, if the exposed arm muscles of his rolled-up shirt were anything to go by. Her eyes skimmed up from his body to his face, cute half smile on his lips, nice facial symmetry, dark brown shimmering eyes, and unruly curly brown hair that always seemed to fall just right over his forehead in an effortless attractive way.
“You smell it too?” Theo asked softly beside her, pulling her back from her appraisal of his form.
She startled, meeting his eyes. His expression was suddenly thoughtful, not intentionally teasing. His voice dropped lower with curiosity. “What do you smell?”
She hesitated. “Books, and mint” she evaded quickly. “And… rain.”
He gave a small, knowing smile. “Fitting.”
She tried to ignore the way her pulse quickened as he flashed her a full smile before he leaned over the cauldron. His lashes caught the light, and she noticed for the first time how alive his eyes were—like a dust storm in the desert.
“What about you?” she asked, her tone trying to be indifferently light but her curiosity still genuine.
Theo studied the rising iridescent steam for a moment. “Some kind of wood, maybe pine?,” he said finally. “Firewhisky. And—” He stopped, almost imperceptibly, then smiled nervously. “I think one of them is your shampoo or soap… honeycomb and wildflowers?”
Hermione blinked in shock. “You—what?”
He looked up, that rare spark of humor alive in his eyes. “It’s the truth. Sorry if that’s weird and strange. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
Her irises expanded and stomach fluttered traitorously. “A little weird maybe. But, I use pretty generic muggle products. They’re mass produced and sold at most drug stores. Many muggle woman use them.”
“Muggle you say? Good. I’d hate to be predictable and boring. Merlin, my father must be rolling in his grave that I smell a muggle product” he chuckled, his eyes flashing with amusement.
For the rest of the class, they worked in relative silence, passing ingredients without needing to ask, their hands brushing once—twice—long enough to make her forget which direction she was stirring for a quick moment. His knowing glance at her in those moments of hesitation seeming to set her cheeks aglow.
When Slughorn announced the end of the lesson, Theo extinguished the flame with a flick of his wand, then turned to her.
“You’re a good partner, Granger,” he said, and there was something almost tender and caring in the way he said her name.
Hermione managed a small smile. “So are you, Nott.”
As they gathered their things, she caught the faintest whiff of their caldron again. For a moment, she wondered if the potion knew more than her own mind.
*** Mid- December a week befor break***
The fire had burned low, all that was left was orange embers turning to ash and soft crackles. Most of the eighth years had already gone to bed over an hour ago, but Hermione stayed up, quill scratching steadily over parchment as she reviewed the Goblin Rebellions for at least the hundredth time. The air smelled faintly of pine from the Christmas tree by the window and the cinnamon biscuits someone had left half-eaten on the table nearby.
Across from her, Theo Nott casually flipped through pages of A Modern History of Magical Conflicts and sighed deeply under his breath. His face looked fatigued from all the recent late night studying. They’d fallen into this easy routine the past few weeks—studying in the same corner of the common room without needing to fill the space with idle chatter. It was… comfortable. Predictable. And she was surprised by how much she’d come to like it. It made her feel calm, and not so alone.
“Do you ever get tired of being right all the time?” Theo asked suddenly, setting down his raven feather quill.
Hermione looked up, startled, then saw the faint smirk tugging at his mouth in mirth. “You’d be surprised,” she said dryly yet seriously. “I do sometimes get tired of proving it.”
He chuckled quietly, then leaned back in his antique wooden chair, stretching his arms above his head, trying to suppress a yawn. “Hard to believe we’re almost done. Last exam of term tomorrow.”
“History of Magic,” she said, scanning her notes. “And Binns hasn’t updated his lecture materials since probably the nineteenth century.”
Theo laughed—softly, but it still startled her how warm and genuine it sounded. The sound of something ordinary, untroubled by war. It hadn’t been a sound many of the students had been making all term. Everyone battling their own leftover demons, grief, and sadness. Only the first years had seemed over the course of the term to be untouched by the war. Upper years in particular seemed to have had a gloomy and stifling cloud over them so far. It certainly hadn’t been the same carefree laughter filling the hallways like it used to be. Everything about being here since the battle just felt heavier somehow.
He glanced out the window, where snow drifted lazily past the glass in small clumps. “Do you know what you’re doing for the break? Anything your looking forward to doing?” he asked.
Hermione hesitated briefly, her quill pausing mid-sentence. “I’m staying here, actually.”
He blinked surprised. “Here? At the castle?”
“Yes.” She tried to sound neutral, matter-of-fact, but her voice came out quieter than she intended. “My parents… well they aren’t an option this year. And I usually spend Christmas at the Burrow, but…” She trailed off, chewing her lip before continuing. “It doesn’t feel quite right this year. They’re still… healing. And I love them dearly, but I feel like an outsider there lately. Ron and I—well, we’re not together anymore, not that we ever really were honestly. But, well I know Mrs. Weasley still really wants it. And with everything they’ve lost, I just… don’t want to take up space that isn’t mine.”
Theo was silent for a moment. Not judgmental, not pitying—just listening. His gaze stayed steady on her, thoughtful, pondering.
“That makes sense,” he said finally, his tone even. “Sometimes being around other people’s grief just reminds you of your own. It can be hard to move on with other people’s feelings holding you back. And chosen family is so important, but it’s not exactly the same as blood family either.”
Hermione looked up, surprised by how precisely he’d put it. “Yes,” she said softly. “Exactly that.”
The clock chimed midnight. Somewhere upstairs in the girls dorms, laughter drifted faintly down the stairwell, a few students still doing some late night packing for the afternoon train. Hermione purposely turned another page trying to remain indifferent, though she wasn’t really reading anymore.
“What about you?” she asked after a moment. “Are you going home for Christmas? Though… I guess Nott manor is empty these days. What about to a friend’s manor? Oh I’m sorry, that isn’t any of my business. That was rude to…
Theo’s expression flickered, then softened into something unreadable. “No, no it’s ok. I asked you. You don’t have to be sorry about my family. My mom’s been gone since I was a toddler, and well… you know all about ym father. It’s better this way honestly.” He shuddered at the thought of his father being alone with him in Nott manor.
“I’m staying here too.” It came out as a statement, not an implication, just a fact.
She blinked at the unexpected news. “You are?”
He nodded, closing his book with a quiet thud. “Not much waiting for me outside these walls anymore.” He gave a small, almost self-conscious smile. “Besides, someone has to make sure you don’t reorganize the entire library over the break. Those poor books.”
Hermione laughed—a small, genuine sound that surprised her as much as it seemed to surprise him. It wasn’t forced like other moments over the term, but it bubbled up organically inside her.
“Well,” she said, pretending to focus on her parchment once again, “I’ll try not to disturb your peace, then. I’ll keep my book organizing to a minimum around you”
Theo shrugged lightly. “You couldn’t if you tried.”
The fire crackled again, filling the silence that followed. Neither spoke for a while, but the quiet between them felt different now—no longer the silence of two people alone, but of two people who understood what that meant. The air between them felt a bit lighter than it had all term.
Notes:
Thanks for reading! Next up is the first set of flashbacks about Pansy!
Chapter Text
**** First Night of term at the 8th Year Dorms***
Hermione hadn’t expected her hands to shake when she opened the door to the new Eighth-Year dormitory. But they did — just slightly — as she stepped inside and took in the sight of it.
It was large, far larger than the standard dorms she remembered of her youth, with a central sitting area surrounded by six curtained window seats. The walls were neutral stone instead of house colors, the magic of Hogwarts itself attempting objectivity where students could not yet.
A soft fire burned in the hearth, throwing shadows that flickered over piles of unpacked trunks, owl cages, and a scattering of loose parchment littered some tables.
Going down the hallway of the girl’s dormitory corridor off the common room, Hermione stopped in front of a door labeled “H.G. + P.P.”. She tried not to think about what that implied and braced herself as she entered the room. No one was there. Two beds, two dressers, two desks, two bookcases. The room was decorated with purple linens and wall hangings. Not a house indication in sight.
Hermione was halfway to the bed nearest the window to claim it when the door opened suddenly behind her.
“Well,” drawled a familiar voice. “Of course they’d put me with you.”
Hermione froze before turning. Pansy Parkinson stood in the doorway, immaculate as ever — her dark hair sleek, her expression sharp enough to cut glass.
“Parkinson,” Hermione said warily. “I didn’t realize we’d be sharing a dormitory either.”
Pansy raised a brow. “Nor did I. Imagine my absolute delight.”
Hermione sighed inwardly. Of course. The new eighth-year housing was supposed to be “a symbol of postwar unity.” McGonagall’s words. And now, here she was, living proof of the experiment — sharing a space with a girl who had once cheered for her death and tried to hand Harry over.
Pansy set down her trunk with a thump, then looked around the room with visible distaste. “Neutral décor. How diplomatic.”
Hermione crossed her arms defensively. “Maybe that’s the point.”
Pansy hummed, noncommittal, and began unpacking. For a while, there was only the sound of drawers opening and the soft rustle of fabric. Hermione sat on her bed, arranging her books and trying to focus on something practical, something safe, seomthign that wasn’t the threat of Pansy sharing her space.
Then, unexpectedly, Pansy spoke again — her tone quieter, almost tired. “Look, Granger. I know what you think of me. I probably deserve it. But it’s a long year ahead, and I’d rather not hex each other before breakfast every day.”
Hermione blinked. “Is that your version of a truce?”
Pansy looked over her shoulder flippantly, one corner of her mouth lifting. “You’re a quick study.”
Hermione hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. A truce.”
For the first time, Pansy’s smile looked a little genuine. “Good. I’d hate to have to pretend civility for the professors. Exhausting work that is.”
Before Hermione could reply, an owl swooped through the open window by her bed and landed gracefully on Pansy’s bedpost. Its feathers gleamed black as ink, a sleek ribbon tied to its leg.
Pansy’s expression softened — surprisingly so — as she untied the letter and small package it carried.
“From Blaise,” she murmured as explanation, more to herself than to Hermione.
Hermione glanced up from her book. “Zabini didn’t come back?”
“No.” Pansy unfolded the parchment delicately. “He’s working with his mother in Italy for the year — something about the family vineyard business and not wanting to relive the trauma of this place.” She rolled her eyes but her voice was quieter now. “I can’t blame him, really.”
Hermione tilted her head. “You’re still together, then?”
Pansy looked up, surprised. “Yes,” she said simply. “Not that it’s anyone’s business especially yours.”
Hermione held up her hands in surrender. “I wasn’t judging. I just didn’t know.”
Pansy’s gaze softened slightly. “No hexes, no judgments. You’re already making progress, Granger.”
Hermione smiled faintly despite herself. “I’ll try to keep it up.”
For a moment, the two young women regarded each other — two people who, not long ago, would have gladly traded insults in a corridor, now sitting on beds under the same enchanted ceiling, trying to relearn what peace felt like.
When Pansy finally broke the silence, her tone was lighter. “If you snore, I’ll smother you with a pillow. I’m not joking, I will do it.”
Hermione smirked. “And if you use that much perfume ever again, I’ll cast an air-purifying charm, and hide the bottle.”
Pansy softly laughed — genuinely, unexpectedly. “Truce,” she said again.
**** Late September in the Dorms ***
Hermione woke to her own voice — a strangled gasp, a half-scream caught in her throat. Her sheets were twisted, her skin damp, and her heart hammered so hard she thought it might break her ribs. For a second, she didn’t know where she was — only that the air smelled of smoke, that someone was shouting, that she had to run—
“Granger.”
A hand on her shoulder shaking her. Firm, grounding.
“Hey. You’re dreaming. Wake up.”
Hermione blinked hard, disoriented, until the firelight flickering from the hearth pulled her back to now — to stone walls, the faint hum of the magic of the castle, and Pansy Parkinson crouched at the edge of her bed, hair mussed and eyes wide and worried but steady.
“Merlin,” Pansy said quietly, “you were screaming.”
Hermione swallowed, trying to find her voice. “I’m— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t.” Pansy’s tone was sharp but not unkind. “You don’t have to apologize for having nightmares.”
Hermione pressed the heel of her hand against her eyes, forcing back tears. “I thought I’d stopped having them.”
Pansy hesitated, then sat on the edge of the bed. “You never really stop,” she said softly. “You just get better at pretending you didn’t.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The fire popped in the grate, and the castle creaked in its sleep.
Pansy reached for the blanket that had fallen to the floor and handed it back. “You’re freezing.”
Hermione took it, her fingers trembling slightly. “Thank you.”
Pansy nodded once, briskly, as if to wave away the softness. But her voice was gentler when she said, “Next time, wake me before you start shouting. I’d rather deal with you awake and alive than traumatized and half sleeping.”
Hermione managed a shaky laugh. “I’ll do my best.”
Pansy stood, smoothing her robe, then glanced back at her with something almost like concern. “Try to sleep, Granger. You’re safe here.”
And as Pansy returned to her own bed, Hermione lay still beneath the blanket, the echo of her dream slowly fading — replaced by the quiet, unfamiliar comfort of knowing someone else had nightmares too.
*** Halloween Night ***
The dormitory was a battlefield of glitter and fabric. White silk and gold thread littered Hermione’s bed, and Pansy was standing over her with a look of fierce concentration that reminded Hermione of McGonagall grading essays.
“I still think this is ridiculous,” Hermione muttered, as Pansy adjusted the delicate golden chain at her waist.
“It’s Halloween, Granger,” Pansy said, pinning the hem of the flowing skirt with her wand. “You can’t show up to a party with your world-famous Quidditch star ex-boyfriend now date looking like you’ve come straight from the library. Trust me. You’ll thank me later.”
Hermione frowned at her reflection. The white dress was soft and draped, almost Grecian, with thin straps and sheer sleeves that shimmered faintly when she moved. A small halo charm floated above her head, glowing warm gold.
“I look like I’ve stolen someone else’s costume,” she said weakly.
Pansy rolled her eyes. “You look divine. Literally. You’re an angel, remember?”
Hermione flushed, tugging self-consciously at the neckline. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”
“You should be thanking me,” Pansy said, hands on her hips. “You’ve got legs, Granger. You’ve just been hiding them under academic guilt.”
Hermione laughed despite herself. “I was going to go as a cat again, actually.”
Pansy stopped mid-pin and gave her a look. “Again?”
Hermione groaned. “It was my fourth year. I… may have accidentally used a bit of cat hair in Polyjuice Potion.”
Pansy’s mouth dropped open — then she burst out laughing. “You mean you actually turned into one?”
Hermione sighed, covering her face. “For weeks, everyone called me ‘Kitty Granger. I had to use that for Halloween that year, kind of turned into a tradition after that.’”
Pansy was nearly doubled over with laughter. “No wonder you’ve got trauma. Alright, no cats ever again.” She straightened, still grinning. “But tell me something — you haven’t been dating anyone since when exactly?”
Hermione shook her head. “No. There wasn’t much time for that during the war. And immediately after… it all just felt trivial. I think I forgot how to flirt if I ever even knew in the first place.”
Pansy gave her a knowing look. “And Weasley?”
Hermione hesitated, then smiled faintly. “It was never what people thought. We kissed once — during the Battle — and then decided we were better at surviving war together than anything else.”
Pansy nodded thoughtfully. “Well, if tonight doesn’t reignite things with Krum, at least it’ll remind him what he lost.”
Hermione groaned. “You are terrible.”
“Terribly effective,” Pansy said with a smirk, flicking her wand. Hermione’s hair lifted, curling into soft, elegant waves that shimmered faintly under the dorm light. “There. Perfect. Subtle, stunning, and not at all the bushy-haired menace of legend.”
Hermione laughed. “You’re frighteningly good at this.”
“I know.” Pansy stepped back, admiring her work. “Now, go be dazzling. And if he’s boring, come back early — we’ll raid the pumpkin tarts in the kitchen.”
Hermione slipped on her golden heels, gathering her courage. As she opened the door to the common room, she nearly ran straight into Theo.
He looked up from where he was leaning against the banister, a book forgotten in his hand. His usual easy expression faltered — replaced for a moment by something almost speechless.
“Wow,” he said finally, voice low. “You— you look… incredible.”
Hermione felt her cheeks flush. “Pansy’s doing,” she managed. “Apparently I’m an angel.”
Theo’s lips curved into a small joking smile. “She’s not wrong exactly, Golden Girl.”
He held her gaze a second too long before stepping aside. “Have fun tonight, Hermione.”
“I will,” she said, but her voice came out softer and less sure than she meant it to.
As she left, she could feel his eyes on her — and though she didn’t quite understand why, her heartbeat wouldn’t settle the whole way down the corridor.
**** End of November ***
The firelight in the 8th-year common room flickered low, casting long, dark shadows on the stone walls. Outside, the light rain tapped softly against the tall windows, steady and soothing background noise.
Theo sat slouched in one of the armchairs, idly flipping his wand between his fingers. Pansy was curled on the rug, chin propped on her knees, her expression somewhere between bored and uneasy. Hermione had spread a few books across the table, parchment scattered in her usual, organized chaos.
They’d been studying for Defense Against the Dark Arts, though it hadn’t started that way. What began as Theo asking about advanced defensive spells had turned into Hermione’s exasperated question:
“Wait—you’ve never cast a Patronus?”
Theo’s lips quirked. “We weren’t exactly taught the happy charms in Slytherin.”
Pansy scoffed softly. “Some of us didn’t have happy things to work with.”
Hermione frowned, realizing she wasn’t joking. “Not even one? No memory strong enough to hold on to?”
Theo looked at Pansy, then shook his head. “During the war, we tried once—me and a few others. All it did was fizzle. I don’t think the spell works for people who’ve seen too much.”
Hermione felt that ache again — the one that came when she remembered they were all still recovering, just in different ways.
“It’s not about what you’ve seen,” she said gently. “It’s about what you choose to remember.”
Pansy gave a dry laugh. “Easy for you to say, Granger. You’ve got a lifetime of Gryffindor glory, loving parents, and true friendship to draw from.”
Hermione didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she closed her book softly. “Then let’s find something together. Let me help you.”
Theo raised a brow. “You’re serious.”
“Completely,” Hermione said, standing and taking out her wand. “It’s about the feeling more than the memory itself — something pure, something that reminds you who you are when everything else feels dark.”
Pansy gave her a skeptical look. “And you think that’s just sitting somewhere in my head waiting to be found easily?”
Hermione hesitated, then said tentatively, “Maybe not waiting. But I think you’ve built some new ones lately maybe...”
Pansy frowned, opening her mouth to argue — then stopped. For a moment, her mask slipped.
“My parents disowned me last year,” she said quietly, as if the words were heavy just to speak. “After the war. I refused to marry Marcus Flint.”
Hermione blinked, stunned and disgusted. “They tried to arrange that?”
Pansy gave a brittle laugh. “It was meant to be symbolic — pureblood unity, restoring the old families. Give them a new generation of pureblood babies for the future. I told them I’d rather eat a doxy than live my life in someone else’s shadow or sleep with that git. They didn’t take it well.”
Theo looked at her, his usual calm breaking for a second. “You never told me.”
She shrugged, voice tight. “What was there to tell? They sent an owl with a letter that said I was no longer their daughter the first week of term. It’s amazing how much parchment can weigh when it breaks your heart.”
Hermione crossed the room without thinking and knelt beside her. “That took courage, Pansy. More than you realize. Standing strong against their wishes isn’t easy”
Pansy’s eyes shimmered in the firelight, but she didn’t look away. “Courage. That’s your department, Granger.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Maybe it’s contagious.”
Theo cleared his throat loudly. “If it helps, my family disowned me too. Except they had to die first to make it official.”
It was said dryly, but his eyes didn’t match his jovial tone.
Hermione looked between them — two people who had lived through the same war from the other side, carrying different scars but the same kind of loneliness she had.
“Then maybe this,” she said quietly, “can be your new memory. Right here. Right now. You’re free. You’re alive. You’re choosing your own future — together.”
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It was full — with something fragile, hopeful.
Pansy was the first to stand. “Fine. But if I cry, I’ll hex you.”
Theo smiled faintly. “Noted.”
Hermione stepped back and raised her wand. “Watch me first.”
She took a steadying breath, the memory forming effortlessly — laughter in the Burrow’s kitchen, sunlight on her parents’ faces, Harry’s grin when she’d hugged him after the final battle.
“Expecto Patronum!”
The silver otter burst forth, darting playfully through the air, its glow casting gentle light over the room. It circled once before dissolving in soft mist.
Theo watched quietly, eyes bright in the glow. Then he straightened, jaw firm. “Alright. My turn.”
He closed his eyes, murmured the incantation — and at first, there was only the faintest shimmer. But Hermione caught it — a flicker of silver light, a suggestion of a fox’s tail before it vanished.
Pansy let out a breath that was half laugh, half disbelief. “You actually did it.”
Theo smiled, boyish for a moment. “Almost.”
Then, with an uncharacteristic determination, Pansy raised her wand. “Expecto Patronum.”
Nothing happened — then, faintly, a glow formed, soft and unsteady but real — the outline of a peacock spreading its tail. It shimmered once, proudly, before fading.
Hermione felt tears prick her eyes. “You both did it on the first try. That’s incredible.”
Pansy blinked hard, lowering her wand. “Well. Maybe I just needed better company to make memories with.”
Theo grinned. “Same.”
Hermione laughed, slight tears welling in her eyes, breath catching slightly at the warmth of it all — the glow of the fire, the magic still lingering in the air, the quiet understanding that somehow, against every odd, they’d all found something like family again even without parents.
When the last traces of silver faded, Pansy smirked and said softly, “I suppose you were right, Granger. Happiness can be learned.”
Hermione smiled, looking between them. “It can. And for what it’s worth — you two are quickly becoming part of mine.”
They didn’t say anything after that. They didn’t need to. The room was full of light, even after the Patronuses were long gone.
*** Christmas Day***
The castle was eerily silent on Christmas morning. Snow drifted thick and slow outside the common room windows, blanketing the grounds below in silver-white reflective light. The 8th-year common room was faintly glowing — the fire burning bright, the tall Christmas tree shimmering with charmed ornaments the elves put on that twinkled like little stars. There were only three stockings hung on the mantle this year.
Theo, Pansy, and Hermione.
The rest of their classmates had gone home for the holidays, leaving the castle feeling larger, emptier. Hermione had stayed behind, insisting she wanted the peace and quiet to study. But the truth — the part she hadn’t told anyone — was that she couldn’t bear the thought of Christmas without her parents.
She had cried herself to sleep the night before, muffling the sound in her pillow so neither of them would hear. But Pansy had, of course since she selpt in her own bed just feet away. Pansy always knew when Hermione couldn’t sleep.
Now, as Hermione sat cross-legged in front of the fire, wrapped in a blanket, she tried to smile at the sight of Theo fussing with the kettle on the hearth. He was determined to make tea “the proper Muggle way,” as he called it, and was currently scowling at the kettle like it had personally insulted him.
“Water first,” Hermione said softly.
“I knew that,” Theo muttered indignantly.
Pansy, sprawled on the rug in her green silk pajamas, smirked. “You two are utterly domestic. It’s tragic.”
Hermione managed a small laugh. “Good morning, Pansy.”
“You mean Merry Christmas,” Pansy corrected, tossing her hair. “Which you are obligated to have, whether you like it or not.”
Hermione smiled faintly but didn’t answer. Her eyes wandered to the snow outside again — the way the light caught it, the stillness of it. It reminded her of home. Of tinsel that tangled in her curls after decorating the tree with her parents. Of her mother humming along to Christmas carols on the radio while her father burned the afternoon roast.
Before she realized it, her throat tightened, and her eyes glassed over.
Pansy noticed. She always noticed.
“Granger,” she said softly. “You were crying last night.”
Hermione blinked hard. “You heard that?”
Pansy gave her a pointed look. “I’m not deaf.”
Theo turned from the hearth, his expression gentle now. “You don’t have to talk about it, but… you know you always can.”
Hermione stared into the fire for a long moment, then took a shaky breath. “It’s just — this time of year used to mean so much. My parents loved Christmas. We’d put up lights, bake biscuits, watch old Muggle films.” She smiled faintly, but it trembled. “And then I—” She stopped, voice breaking. “I Obliviated them before the war kicked off. Erased myself from their memories to keep them safe. Sent them to Australia without a daughter.”
Theo sat down beside her quietly, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his shoulder. His hand rested comfortingly on her shoulder.
“They’re still in Australia,” she continued softly. “I tried to reverse the spell after the war, but… they don’t remember everything. Not really much at all honestly. The initial spell was too strong, the memories are gone forever. And I can’t bring myself to tell them what I did. So every year, I send them cards, pretending we still celebrate the same way, pretending they’re just people who were my dentists when I was a kid. But it’s not the same. It never will be.”
For a long moment, the only sound was the fire.
Then Pansy got up abruptly, muttering, “Right. That’s enough of that.” She marched over to the small, enchanted gramophone in the corner, tapped it with her wand, and suddenly — of all things — Muggle Christmas music filled the air.
A bright, brassy version of “Jingle Bell Rock” made Theo snort.
“Pansy,” Hermione said, startled. “How—?”
“I borrowed the records from one of the Muggle Studies trunks,” Pansy said breezily. “You’re not the only one who likes nostalgia.”
Theo grinned and stood, holding out a hand to Hermione. “Come on.”
“What?”
“Dance with me,” he said simply.
Hermione blinked. “You can’t be serious.”
Pansy waved a striped candy cane like a wand. “Do as he says, Granger, or he’ll start singing. No one’s ears want that, trust me.”
Hermione laughed despite herself and let Theo pull her up. His hand was warm, steady. He guided her gently, nothing formal, just a quiet swaying in front of the fire. The music crackled, cheerful and ridiculous. But she felt herself relax — for the first time in days, she wasn’t thinking about loss, or memory, or what was gone. Just living in the now.
When the song ended, she was laughing, breathless.
“Better?” Theo asked softly.
“A little bit better,” she admitted.
They spent the rest of the morning unwrapping small gifts they’d secretly gotten each other.
Pansy gave Hermione a set of enchanted quills that refilled themselves with any color ink she chose. Hermione, blushing, handed Pansy a charm bracelet that let the wearer instantly match their outfit to their mood — Pansy declared it “the best thing anyone’s ever given me, ever.”
Hermione gave Theo a bottle of muggle whiskey her father used to like. Theo handed Hermione a small leather-bound notebook. The cover was engraved with her initials, and inside, on the first page, he’d written simply: For when you need to remember who you are.
She looked up, eyes glistening. “Theo, this is—”
He shook his head, smiling faintly. “No speeches, Granger. Just use it.”
They spent the rest of the day the way people who have learned to start over and to forget bad times do — decorating sugar biscuits (Pansy complained the whole time about frosting on her hands), building a snowman just outside the window with magic, and curling up by the fire watching the enchanted snowflakes dance on the ceiling.
When night fell, Hermione found herself smiling for real — not out of politeness or obligation, not because they expected it of her, but because for the first time in a long while, she had honestly forgotten about the loss of her parents.
Notes:
Get ready for the next chapter to be spring Theo related flashbacks!
Post comments please!
Chapter Text
*** New Year’s Party at Hogwarts ****
The Great Hall looked like something out of a fairy tale.
Garlands of silver and gold draped across the enchanted ceiling, which shimmered with stars and snowflakes that never fell. Professor Flitwick had outdone himself with the charms—champagne-colored bubbles drifted lazily through the air, and when they popped, they released faint bursts of music. Even McGonagall was smiling as she stood by the staff table, pretending not to notice Hagrid slipping firewhisky into the punch bowl.
It was smaller than the usual Hogwarts feast—just the handful of students who’d stayed over the holidays and a few professors—but it was the happiest Hermione had seen the castle all year.
Theo had insisted she come tonight. So had Pansy, though in a far less gentle way.
“You’re not spending New Year’s revising, Granger,” Pansy had declared, hands on hips. “You already won the war and the term’s top marks. Have some self-respect. Let yourself have fun. Term doesn’t start for a few days yet.”
So here she was, dressed in her nicest velvet muggle jumper, cheeks flushed from the merriment, laughing more than she expected to.
Theo was beside her now, lounging in his chair with that half-smile he seemed to wear only when he was genuinely content, which had been quite often over this break honestly. His tie was crooked—she was fairly certain he’d done it on purpose to piss off Pansy—and there was a streak of gold glitter on his sleeve from when Pansy had “accidentally” hexed him earlier.
Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so freely or felt so emotionally full.
The three of them had spent nearly the entire break together: snowball fights in the courtyard that left Theo with icicles in his hair and Pansy threatening vengeance; endless rounds of Exploding Snap that turned into Muggle board games when Hermione raided the Room of Requirement for a Monopoly set; evenings sprawled in front of the fire listening to one of Hermione’s enchanted record players.
Pansy had surprised her the most. She was still cutting with her humor—ruthlessly honest, as she called it—but she’d become… comfortable to be around. Easier to talk to than Hermione had expected. When she teased, it wasn’t cruel anymore; it was playful, even affectionate.
“Granger,” Pansy said now, appearing beside them with a glass of something pink and fizzy. “You know, you could at least pretend to be having a bad time. You’re starting to ruin my reputation by looking pleasant around me.”
Hermione snorted. “Don’t worry, I’ll spread rumors about how you hexed me later.”
“Perfect,” Pansy replied with a smirk, then turned to Theo. “And you—stop brooding. You look like you’re plotting a coup.”
Theo arched an eyebrow. “If I were, you’d already be Minister of Magic Granger.”
Pansy grinned, clearly satisfied, and drifted off toward Luna Lovegood, who was valiantly attempting to teach Professor Sprout how to dance to an old Celestina Warbeck record.
Hermione turned to Theo, amused. “You know, I think she actually loves you.”
“Pansy likes chaos,” he said. “I just happen to be conveniently near it and just short of a brother.”
They both laughed, and for a moment it was just them again—the familiar, easy quiet they’d fallen into over the break.
Hermione’s gaze wandered over the room: the twinkling lights, the laughter, the odd mix of people who’d chosen to stay behind. It struck her how different this holiday had been—how much lighter she felt.
“You’re thinking too loudly,” Theo said quietly beside her.
She blinked. “What?”
He gave a small shrug. “Your face gives you away. You’re probably listing everyone you should be with instead of here. Thinking of everyone who is missing this year.”
Hermione hesitated, then smiled faintly. “I was, actually. Then I realized I’m exactly where I want to be in this moment.”
He looked at her then—really looked—and something unspoken passed between them. Not romantic, not yet, just that fragile, rare kind of understanding that only happens when someone truly sees you.
“Good,” he said softly. “Me too.”
The clock struck midnight. Gold confetti rained from the ceiling, and everyone cheered as McGonagall raised a glass to the new year.
Hermione turned toward Theo and Pansy, who’d reappeared at her side holding three butterbeer bottles she must’ve nicked from somewhere. Theo ducked in to place a quick kiss on each of the witches cheeks for the New Year. Pansy pretended to look disgusted, but Hermione’s cheeks glowed pink.
“To new beginnings,” Pansy cheekily declared.
“To surviving,” Theo amended, clinking his bottle against theirs.
Hermione smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. “To friends,” she said.
And as the bells echoed through the castle and laughter filled the hall, Hermione thought—just for a moment—that maybe, finally, this year could be about really living, not just rebuilding and surviving.
*** Valentine’s Day***
The library was unusually quiet for a Friday morning, though the faint scent of enchanted roses wafting through the corridors reminded Hermione what day it was. She’d already passed three couples exchanging charmed chocolates in the hallway and one fifth-year crying dramatically near the tapestry of the dancing trolls.
She wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or left out.
She’d long stopped caring about Valentine’s Day, or so she told herself. Harry and Ginny were somewhere off together most likely since Ginny had gotten special permission to leave school for a long weekend, Ron was—well, she didn’t want to think about what Ron was doing at training—and as for her… she had plans to spend the afternoon in her favorite corner of the library, revising for her next Arithmancy exam.
Theo was already there when she arrived. Of course he was.
He always beat her to their table now—claiming it gave him time to “mentally prepare for being corrected every five minutes.” He was slouched comfortably in his chair, a mug of charmed coffee steaming beside a stack of notes, his tie undone as was usual once classes had finished for the day.
“Hello,” he said without looking up.
“Hey,” she replied, setting her bursting bag down and trying not to notice the faint tug of warmth in her chest that his voice always seemed to cause lately.
For the next hour, they worked quietly, trading books, murmuring questions, falling into that easy rhythm they’d built since term began back up. Hermione had grown so used to his company that the silence between them no longer felt like silence—it was just the sound of two minds working in parallel, in harmony.
When the bell from the clock tower signaled one, Theo closed his book with a decisive thump.
“Break time,” he announced. “Even you can’t outstudy the human need for lunch.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “I’m perfectly capable of eating while reading. I can multitask.”
“Yes,” he said dryly. “I’ve noticed. You nearly drowned a footnote in soup last week. Not very nice for someone who claims to love books so much.”
She rolled her eyes, but before she could retort, he reached into his satchel and placed something small and neatly wrapped on top of her notes.
A box—no bigger than her palm—wrapped in brown paper and tied with a bit of green string.
She blinked. “What’s this?”
“An academic or friendship bribe, take it as you will,” he said, a corner of his mouth lifting slightly in mockery. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Granger.”
Hermione froze. For a second, all she could do was stare at it. No one had given her a gift on this holiday in years.
It wasn’t extravagant or flashy, but it was—thoughtful. The kind of gift someone had taken the time to consider and plan out beforehand. She untied the string carefully, half-afraid of what she might find inside.
When she lifted the lid, she found a small stack of chocolate frogs, her favorite flavor of sugar quills, a tiny silver bookmark shaped like an enchanted flying owl, and—on top of it—a folded note.
Her breath caught as she read it:
For when you need fuel for your mind and something to keep your place when you finally decide to rest it.
Her heart did a strange, soft thing in her chest—half a flutter, half a clench.
“This is…” She trailed off words faltering, unsure what word fit. Sweet? Too much? Not enough?
Theo tilted his head in apprehension. “Too much?”
“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “It’s perfect. I just—didn’t expect anything.”
He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, though there was a glint of uncertainty in his eyes. “I figured you could use something that wasn’t a textbook for once.”
She laughed under her breath, fingers brushing the silver owl. “Thank you, Theo.”
“Anytime,” he said, and she could feel his gaze linger a moment longer than usual before he went back to stacking his notes.
As she pretended to reread her parchment, Hermione’s thoughts were a tangle.
It was the kind of gift a friend might give—warm, considerate, utterly harmless. But there was something about the way he’d said her name, or the way his hand had brushed hers when he’d set it down, that made her chest feel… oddly unsettled.
She wasn’t sure what she wanted it to mean.
She only knew that it did mean something to him. But, what that something was, she wasn’t really sure.
And as she glanced across the table, catching the faintest curve of his mouth as he scribbled in the margin of his notes, she wondered—not for the first time—whether friendship was supposed to feel this complicated or if this was simply what it felt like to grow up.
**** Late March ****
The Great Hall was half-empty this morning — just the soft clatter of cutlery and the rustle of owls swooping through the rafters. A pale spring light filtered through the enchanted ceiling, and a thin fog drifted outside the windows, blurring the castle grounds into watercolor gray.
Hermione liked mornings like this. The peace before everyone else arrived in loud chatter. The way the world felt suspended for a little while.
Theo sat beside her at the end of the Gryffindor table, as he sometimes did when the hall was quiet enough that no one would care. His presence had become as familiar and comforting as Ron’s and Harry’s had over the years.
He was buttering toast one-handed when an owl swooped down and dropped a thick envelope onto his plate. The wax seal gleamed red and gold: Gringotts Wizarding Bank.
Theo stared at it for a long moment, then sighed. “Well. That’s one way to start a birthday.”
Hermione blinked. “It’s your birthday? I’m sorry I didn’t know to get you anything.”
He nodded, picking at the seal. “Apparently, yes. I’d hoped to forget it, but Gringotts has other plans.”
The envelope unfolded into a small parcel, wrapped in fine parchment. When he opened it, something silver rolled into his palm — a signet ring, ornate and old. The crest of the Nott family glinted faintly in the morning light.
Hermione could see the faint tremor in his hand as he turned it over.
“They’ve finally released the inheritance,” he said finally. “Everything. The manor, the vaults, the title. All of it. Guess the Ministry is done miffing about and thinks I’m clean.” His tone was even, but something tight had crept into his jaw.
“That’s… a lot,” Hermione said carefully.
He gave a soft, humorless laugh. “That’s one word for it.” He turned the ring in his fingers, eyes unfocused. “It feels strange, inheriting something built on blood and ideology. My father’s name bought curses, not comfort. And now it’s mine.”
Hermione hesitated before speaking. “You’re not him, Theo.”
“Maybe not,” he said, looking down at the ring. “But I’m what comes after him. And I keep wondering whether that’s enough. If the stain fades, or if it just gets passed on — a little fainter each time.”
She reached across the table, resting her hand near his. “It fades if you work at it. If you choose differently.”
Theo’s lips curved slightly. “Spoken like someone who believes in reform.”
“I believe in people,” she said softly. “Even the ones who weren’t raised to deserve it. People can change their destiny.”
He was quiet for a moment, watching her. “You know, the goblins sent a note with it,” he said, glancing back at the parchment. “They wrote, ‘Congratulations, Lord Nott.’” He made a face. “I can’t imagine a title I want less.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Then change what it means.”
Theo slid the ring onto the table between them, not wearing it — just looking at it as if deciding whether he ever would. “Maybe one day,” he murmured. “When I’ve done something worth the metal it’s made of.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while, the sounds of breakfast filling the hall as more students began to trickle in.
After a moment, Hermione said lightly, “Do you think you’ll live in the manor someday?”
Theo shrugged. “Maybe, honestly probably. It’s enormous and freezing. The portraits probably still hiss slurs at anyone without the right last name. Doesn’t exactly scream home. If I move in, I’m going to do a lot of renovations and burning of portraits.”
Hermione laughed softly, then grew thoughtful. “Would you ever want to fill it again? With a family, I mean?”
He looked at her, considering. “I don’t know. I think I’d like to build something better than what I had, but…” He paused. “I’m not sure I trust myself not to repeat it somehow. What about you?”
Hermione looked down at her teacup, the steam curling into the air. “I used to think I did. That I wanted a big, warm family like the Weasleys. I hated being an only child growing up. But lately…” She hesitated. “After everything we’ve seen, I’m not sure I could bring a child into it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Magic doesn’t let you protect everyone you love.”
Theo nodded slowly. “Maybe that’s the difference. Our parents never asked if they should. They just assumed they should continue themselves. Maybe knowing how easily we could hurt someone is reason enough to wait. Heck, maybe my line should just die out with me. We haven’t exactly done anything worth preserving.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “That’s very philosophical for someone who nearly fell asleep in History of Magic last week.”
He grinned. “I contain more wisdom than you give me credit for, Granger.”
She rolled her eyes, but the warmth lingered. He slipped the ring into his pocket instead of putting it on, then reached for his coffee again.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, after a pause.
“For what?”
“For not treating me like the title.”
Hermione’s smile softened. “You’re not your father’s son, Theo. You’re just… you.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then he nodded once — a quiet acknowledgment — and went back to his breakfast.
*** Mid- April***
Spring had finally arrived at Hogwarts — real spring, not the damp, gray prelude of March. The air in Hogsmeade was soft and bright, carrying the scent of blooming lilacs and butterbeer foam. Snowmelt trickled in silver lines down the cobblestones, and for the first time in months, Hermione felt like she could breathe without tasting winter.
Theo walked on her left, coat unbuttoned, hair wind-tossed in a old-Hollywood way; Pansy on her right, sunglasses perched on her head as if she’d conjured them purely for aesthetic purposes. The three of them looked, Hermione thought with faint amusement, like the start of a very peculiar joke: a Gryffindor, a Slytherin, and a reformed Death Eater walk into a shop...
Not that anyone stared anymore. By April, the castle had accepted that the odd trio were nearly inseparable.
They’d spent the morning wandering through the shops — Honeydukes first, where Pansy had declared that sugar quills were “the only good reason for higher education,” Hermione agreed, and Theo had quietly purchased a small box of Hermione’s favorite mint fudge without saying a word. Then to Scrivenshaft’s, where Hermione had spent twenty full minutes testing quills before Theo muttered something about “parchment snobbery” and Pansy dragged them both out with exaggerated groans with no purchases being made.
Now, the three of them were seated at a little outdoor table at The Three Broomsticks, half-finished butterbeers from their second round glinting gold and bubbly in the sunlight. The air was full of laughter, the hum of conversation, and the occasional whoosh of an owl overhead. Harry and Ginny had actually joined the trio for the first round of butterbeers before they ’de snuck off to snog in a back alley. The couple wasn’t exactly friends with Theo and Pansy, but they seemed to get on at least amicably, which Hermione felt like was a good start for people that shared such bad history. These things took time after all.
Hermione’s heart was glad that Harry had been so accepting of her new friendships this year. After the initial surprise over the friendship revelation in her winter break owls to him, he’d quickly told her he trusted her judgement and that Pansy and Theo weren’t ever Death Eaters anyway. It felt very grown-up of Harry to have such a reaction, but Hermione suspected Ginny also had a hand in his encouragement of her social circle happiness. Too bad Ron hadn’t been nearly as accepting. In fact, she hadn’t received a reply to her letters from Ron since January when she’d told him by owl about her New Year’s Eve being spent with the two Slytherins.
“This is what it should’ve been like all along,” Pansy said suddenly, her voice quieter and more self reflective than usual. “No war. No sides. Just… this.”
Theo glanced at her, a wry smile flickering. “Don’t tell me you’re going sentimental on us, Parkinson.”
“Please,” Pansy said, flicking her straw wrapper at him. “If I ever go sentimental, just hex me.”
Hermione laughed, but her heart softened at the honesty beneath Pansy’s words. “She’s right, though,” she said. “It feels different now. Like we’re actually allowed to just… be people, not pawns.”
Theo nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “Peculiar, isn’t it? We spent years being told what we were supposed to be — what mattered, who mattered — and now we’re meant to build something out of the ruins of nothing.”
Hermione stirred her drink absently. “And we don’t exactly have blueprints for it either.”
The conversation quieted for a moment, the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward but heavy with shared understanding.
Pansy broke it first, her tone uncharacteristically gentle. “What will you do, Granger? After all this? You’ll have every door open to you — Ministry, research, teaching, saving the world again.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “I don’t know yet. I used to think I wanted the Ministry, but now… bureaucracy feels too small. Maybe I’ll work in magical law reform. Or write. I’ve been thinking a lot about education — how to make it accessible to everyone, not just pure-bloods. I’ve actually sent some letters out to apply to Charms mastery programs.”
Theo leaned back in his chair, considering her. “You’ll change the world. You can be an academic and still become Minister of Magic someday. You know that, right?”
She flushed. “I’ll try.”
“And you?” she asked, turning to him.
He hesitated, swirling the last of his butterbeer. “I’ll rebuild the manor,” he said finally. “Turn my legacy into something good. Maybe use some of the vaults to build a place for war orphans or kids who don’t fit anywhere else. My father’s name doesn’t get to define me. I think I owe it to the future — to make something better out of what’s left.”
Pansy’s voice softened. “That’s… actually beautiful, Theo.”
He smirked. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’ve also been thinking a lot about becoming a Healer. Fix people, you know? Instead of just breaking them…”
She rolled her eyes at the dramstics but smiled.
“What about you, Pansy?” Hermione asked.
Pansy shrugged, a small, almost vulnerable motion. “I don’t know. I don’t have anyone left, either. No family vault now that I’m disowned, no home. Maybe I’ll open a shop. Something frivolous — fashion charms or enchanted perfume. Merlin knows the world could use more vanity after all the grief. Fashion is never a waste. Blaise said he’d be my first investor to get it started!”
Hermione reached out and touched her wrist gently. “That sounds wonderful.”
Pansy met her eyes, and for once, didn’t hide behind sarcasm. “You two are ridiculous, you know that? Making me feel things before we’ve even had dessert.”
Theo grinned. “Speaking of bad ideas,” he said, nodding toward a small sign down the lane. Ink & Ember – Enchanted Tattoo Parlor.
Pansy’s eyes gleamed. “Theo Nott, are you suggesting a spontaneous decision?”
He shrugged. “Why not? If we’re all trying to start new legacies, might as well mark it.”
Hermione raised an irate eyebrow. “You’re not serious.”
“Completely serious,” Theo said, standing and holding out a hand. “Come on, Granger. A little rebellion won’t kill you.”
It turned out the shop was cozy, tucked between Dervish and Banges and an old apothecary. The walls shimmered with moving sketches — phoenixes that flared and faded, moons that changed phases. The witch behind the counter had ink-stained fingers and a friendly grin.
“Something small,” Pansy declared, “but meaningful. Like us.”
After a bit of laughter and debate, they settled on their Patronuses — each one small enough to hide at the ankle, inked in soft silvery shimmer that pulsed faintly when touched with magic. All able to be magically concealed if the occasion called for it.
Hermione’s otter curled in mid-swim, playful even in miniature. Theo’s fox stood poised, clever and watchful. Pansy’s peacock gleamed proudly, tail spread in shifting light.
When they were done, Pansy admired hers and said, “Look at that. Matching magic tattoos. If that’s not friendship, I don’t know what is.”
Hermione smiled, her ankle still tingling faintly. “It’s perfect.”
They stepped out into the sunlight again, a warm breeze sweeping through the street. Hermione glanced down at the faint shimmer peaking out from under her pantleg hem and felt something quiet and strong settle in her chest.
They didn’t have blood family anymore — not in the way the world measured it. But she realized, as Theo brushed past her to steal another chocolate frog from her bag and Pansy mock-scolded them both, that they’d made something better.
Chosen family. Not out of destiny like her, Harry, and Ron, but by true choice of friendship.
*** End of May***
The sun was lazy that afternoon — warm and favorable, drifting through the soft green leaves of the lakeside trees like it had nowhere else to be. The Black Lake shimmered, more blue than black when the light hit it just right, and the air smelled of grass and parchment and late spring.
Hermione had spread out a blanket beneath the shade of an ancient willow, quills and books scattered around her like a small academic fortress. Theo lay on his stomach at the other end of the blanket, scribbling half-heartedly at his notes, an abandoned butterbeer bottle beside him. Their “study session” had started earnestly enough —one hour of silent reading, followed by fifteen of arguing about the best way to memorize potion ingredients, and back to note taking again — but by the two-hour mark, their revision had dissolved into a full-blown picnic.
There were crumbs of treacle tart on Theo’s notes, a half-eaten sandwich at Hermione’s elbow, and a small cluster of strawberries rolling dangerously close to the edge of the blanket.
“This,” Theo said, lazily tossing a strawberry into the air and catching it in his mouth, “is a vastly superior form of studying.”
Hermione gave him a look over her open textbook. “You’ve retained exactly nothing since we opened these books.”
He grinned. “Incorrect. I’ve retained the taste of these biscuits, the warmth of the sun, and the fact that you mutter Arithmancy formulas under your breath when you’re thinking.”
She threw a strawberry at his head. “You’re impossible.”
He caught it — smugly — and ate it. “And yet you keep inviting me to study.”
Hermione tried to look unimpressed, but her lips twitched. “It’s because you need the supervision.”
“Or,” he said, leaning back on his elbows, “because you’d miss me if I wasn’t here.”
She rolled her eyes, though she didn’t disagree. The truth was, she would.
They fell quiet for a while, the only sound the soft rustle of the wind and the occasional splash of the giant squid somewhere near the far shore. It was peaceful in a way that still startled her — that they could just be, now.
After a while, Theo said quietly, “You’ve been quiet about after Hogwarts.”
Hermione looked up. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
He turned to face her, the sunlight catching the edges of his hair. “I mean, you have plans for everything — except that.”
She hesitated, closing her book. “Because I don’t know yet. I have offers — research posts, a few law apprenticeship offers — but none of it feels quite right. I thought I’d be excited, but mostly I just feel… untethered.”
Theo nodded, his expression soft. “You’ve spent so long saving the world, Hermione. Maybe it’s strange not having to.”
She smiled faintly. “Maybe. I suppose I thought by now I’d know exactly who I was.”
He picked a blade of grass, twirling it absently between his fingers. “Maybe that’s the point — that you get to decide who that is now.”
His voice was so gentle it disarmed her.
“I don’t even know where I’ll live yet,” she admitted. “The Burrow’s always open, but I don’t want to intrude. And London’s so expensive…”
Theo was quiet for a moment in thought, then said, almost too casually, “Come to Nott Manor.”
Hermione blinked. “What?”
He shrugged, looking deliberately at the lake instead of her. “There’s more space than I know what to do with. You’d have your own wing if you wanted. The library’s ancient, full of old manuscripts you’d love. And—” he hesitated, then smiled crookedly “—you already know I’m tolerable company.”
Hermione’s laugh came out surprised. “Theo, that’s… kind, but I can’t—”
“Why not?” he interrupted softly. “You’d be doing me a favor, really. I don’t want to rattle around in that mausoleum by myself while I try to turn it into something actually nice and livable. You could help me rebuild it — make it into something good again.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. “It’s too much to ask.”
He shook his head. “You’re the only person I know who doesn’t want something from me because of the name, my wealth, or my connections. I trust you, Hermione. And I’d rather start whatever’s next with someone who actually believes in second chances rather than alone.”
Something in his tone made her chest ache.
She looked at him — at his steady, earnest expression, the sunlight on his skin, the faint grass stain on his sleeve — and realized how far they’d come. From the wary silence of that first apology in the fall corridor to this: trust, laughter, comfort.
She swallowed. “Just for a little while,” she said finally. “Until I find my footing.”
Theo’s grin spread slow and bright. “Deal.”
He reached out a hand to shake on it, and when she took it, he squeezed — just enough to make her feel it linger. Her hand tingled, goosebumps going up her arm from the touch.
“Excellent,” he said. “Now that we’ve settled your living arrangements, there’s only one thing left.”
Hermione arched an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”
He stood abruptly, pulling her up by both hands. “Celebration.”
“Celebration?”
“Obviously,” he said, stepping back with mock solemnity. “You’ve just agreed to move in with me. That calls for a proper welcome.”
Before she could reply, he grinned — and shoved her straight into the lake.
The water hit like a shock of winter, cold and bubbling and loud in her ears. When she surfaced, spluttering, Theo was laughing so hard he could barely stand.
“Theodore Nott!” she yelled, pushing her wet hair out of her face. “You are dead!”
She grabbed his ankle and yanked. He toppled in beside her with a yelp, and the two of them dissolved into laughter and chaos, splashing like first-years until they were both soaked and breathless. It felt freeing.
When they finally climbed out, dripping and shivering, the sun was already low, painting the lake in streaks of gold and rose. They started the slow walk back to the castle, squelching in their shoes.
Hermione hugged her robes around herself, teeth chattering slightly. Theo was beside her, hair plastered to his forehead, his shirt clinging damply to his shoulders.
When he glanced over, she caught him looking — not lingeringly, not lecherously, just… noticing her wet clothed wrapped body.
“You’re going to catch cold,” he said finally, his voice quieter than before.
Hermione smiled, brushing a wet curl out of her face. “So will you.”
He shrugged, but his eyes softened. “Worth it.”
They walked in silence after that, their footsteps echoing faintly across the courtyard stones. The castle loomed ahead, warm light spilling from its windows, and Hermione felt something settle deep in her chest — the strange, steady certainty that she wasn’t as untethered as she’d thought or at least everyone else was too, nor was she alone.
Notes:
One more set of flashbacks from Pansy left, then we will be in the current time of the story!
Chapter Text
*** The Last Night of Winter Break ***
The castle was noiseless that night — the kind of quiet that only came when most of the students were still away and the few who remained had long since gone to bed. The fire in the 8th-year common room burned low, throwing soft amber light over the three of them sprawled on the rug with half-empty bottles and a platter of Honeydukes chocolate.
Theo poured another round of gin, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth. “Last night of freedom. We need to do something memorable.”
Pansy raised an eyebrow from where she was lying flat on her back, her hair spilling like ink over the carpet. “You mean other than drink until we forget how miserable this term will be?”
Hermione laughed, curling her fingers around her butterbeer. “You’re both terrible influences.”
Theo tipped his head toward her. “And yet, you’re still here.”
“I’m here to make sure you don’t blow anything up.”
“That was one time,” he protested.
Hermione shook her head, amused, and took another sip. The firelight and gin made everything feel warmer, softer — like the world had narrowed to just this little circle of laughter and light.
It was Pansy, of course, who suggested truth or drink.
“With a twist,” she said, pulling a tiny vial of pale gold liquid from her pocket. “Veritaserum — diluted. Enough to make it interesting, not enough to make us confess our darkest sins.”
Theo eyed it skeptically. “Why do you have that?”
“Because,” Pansy said sweetly, “I’m resourceful.”
Hermione groaned. “This is going to end terribly.”
“Precisely.”
They mixed a few drops into their drinks, the air buzzing with mischief and anticipation. The first few rounds were easy — harmless questions, gentle teasing.
Pansy: “Theo, what’s the worst hex you’ve ever cast?”
Theo: “I once turned a prefect’s eyebrows into snakes for calling me a coward.”
Hermione: snorts into her drink
Theo: “Hermione, how many detentions have you had?”
Hermione: “Only three. All involving you two and Malfoy.”
It went on like that — laughter, friendly barbs, the kind of warmth that came from knowing no one was judging anyone else anymore.
But as the night deepened and the drinks grew sweeter, the questions got bolder.
Theo leaned back against the sofa, eyes half-lidded but sharp. “Alright, Pansy. First real relationship?”
Pansy’s smirk faltered for a moment. “Draco,” she said quietly, staring into her glass. “It wasn’t much of one, honestly. I did give him my virginity though. Two bored pure-bloods pretending we didn’t already know how our futures were planned for us.”
Hermione hesitated. “You mean the arranged marriage?”
Pansy nodded, her voice softer now. “Astoria Greengrass. Their parents signed a contract the day Draco was born. He didn’t want it, never has, but it wasn’t his choice. I think that’s why he didn’t come back this year. Too much shame, too many ghosts. His parents wanted him to get the wedding over with. His last letter to me said they had a small ceremony with just their families right before Yule.”
The fire crackled. No one spoke for a long moment.
“I’m sorry, no one deserves to be forced into marriage evn if they are a ferret,” Hermione said finally.
Pansy gave a little shrug. “Don’t be. We all lost something. He just lost himself a little sooner. Small price to pay, all things he took part in considered. I was really surpised when you and Potter testified for him at the trial. You both probably kept him out of prison.”
Theo reached over and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, and Hermione felt a lump rise in her throat at the sight. They had all been on opposite sides once, and now here they were — holding hands, drinking, sharing secrets, just trying to feel whole again.
Theo turned the next question on Hermione. “Your turn, Granger. First kiss?”
She blushed, the heat rising to her ears. “Honestly? Viktor Krum. At the Yule Ball. It was… awkward.”
Pansy grinned, pouncing. “And after that?”
Hermione hesitated, then laughed nervously. “Ron. During the battle. And that’s it.”
Pansy blinked. “That’s it? Granger, are you a virgin?”
Hermione took a slow embarrassing sip. “I’ve been a bit busy saving the world. Not exactly stopping to shag when you have snatchers on your tail.”
Theo chuckled softly. Though he looked a bit taken back at this reveal. “Leave her alone, Pans. Some people value emotional stability not physicality.”
“Some people,” Pansy said with mock horror, “are wasting perfectly good lips.”
Hermione laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink down herself.
“Fine,” she said, turning the tables. “Theo. Your first kiss?”
He thought for a moment, eyes glinting. “Oliver Wood,” he said at last. “After a Quidditch match in the locker room. He tasted like sweat and whiskey.”
Hermione blinked in shocked surprise, then smiled. “So you like—?”
“Both,” he said easily with a grin. “Always have.”
Pansy raised her glass. “Finally, something interesting.”
Theo grinned. “Pansy, don’t act like you didn’t know. Well, if we’re being honest, my first girl was a French exchange student. Older, terrifying, and far too patient with me.”
Pansy groaned dramatically. “Ugh, I feel boring now.”
“Oh please,” Theo said, eyes gleaming. “You’re the least boring person alive.”
Pansy smirked and leaned back, stretching. “Let’s just say Blaise and I don’t lack for creativity. There’s always something fun about a little bit of rope and a blindfold.”
Hermione covered her face with her hands. “I did not need that image.”
Theo laughed, warm and unrestrained, and even Pansy softened at the sound.
The game eventually slowed, the Veritaserum fading into a warm, mellow buzz. They stopped asking questions and started talking — about how strange it felt to be alive when so many weren’t, how adulthood was creeping up faster than they were ready for, how despite everything, they’d somehow become each other’s new family.
At some point, Hermione found herself lying on the rug between them, her head on Pansy’s shoulder, Theo stretched out beside her. The fire burned low, and the room was full of soft breathing and the scent of cinnamon and old books.
Pansy murmured, “You know, Granger, you’re not half bad.”
Hermione smiled sleepily. “Coming from you, that’s basically a proposal. But, I wish you both would use my actual name before you hit on me.”
Theo chuckled. “Don’t tempt her. She’d make you sign a prenup.”
“Obviously,” Pansy said, smirking.
Hermione laughed, and the sound mingled with theirs until the laughter turned into silence again — the kind that felt safe.
*** Early March ***
Only Hermione and Pansy were awake still awake in the dorms — two silhouettes sitting cross-legged on their beds, facing each other in the dim light, mugs of cocoa floating between them.
Hermione had been talking without realizing how much she was revealing. After listening to Ginny gush on and on about her love for Harry all throughout dinner, Hermione had been thinking. It had started with a question — “What do you even look for in someone?” — and somehow turned into confession said to Pansy as they got ready for bed.
“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “Someone steady, I suppose. Kind. Someone who doesn’t make me feel like I have to explain every piece of myself before they’ll understand me.”
She looked down at her hands. “Someone who sees me as a person, not just a mind or a cause.”
Pansy studied her, her usual sharpness softened by sleep and candlelight. “You want safety,” she said simply.
Hermione hesitated. “And honesty. And… a little bit of fire, I think. Someone who challenges me but never makes me feel small or less than.”
Pansy smiled faintly. “You’re basically describing a Gryffindor with Slytherin instincts. Dangerous combination.”
Hermione laughed under her breath. “Probably.”
They fell silent for a moment, listening to the faint crackle of the fire. Then Hermione said, “What about you? Why Blaise?”
Pansy’s eyes softened in a way Hermione rarely saw. “Because he doesn’t need me to pretend.”
Hermione tilted her head. “Pretend?”
“All my life,” Pansy said slowly, “I’ve had to be something — the perfect daughter, the proper pure-blood, the clever Slytherin who could survive on wit alone. Blaise never asked for any of that. He sees the parts of me that are… ugly, complicated — and he doesn’t flinch.”
She paused, then smiled a little. “He makes me feel wanted, but never owned. And when he looks at me, I don’t have to be anything but myself.”
Hermione’s chest ached at the quiet truth of it. “That sounds… wonderful.”
“It is,” Pansy said softly. “That’s the thing about finding the right person, Granger. It’s not about who makes you feel perfect — it’s about who makes you feel real, who makes you feel seen.”
The fire gave a final pop, a spark flaring and fading. Hermione met her eyes and smiled — small, genuine, understanding.
“Maybe,” she said, “that’s what we’re all trying to find.”
Pansy nodded, lifting her mug in a silent toast. “To finding real.”
Hermione clinked her mug gently against hers. “To finding real.”
And in that quiet, candlelit moment, two very different women — once enemies — found a shared kind of hope for the future.
*** Early April***
The library was golden with late-afternoon light, dust motes floating in the air like lazy snow. Their group Charms project had consumed most of the table — books stacked in precarious towers, rolls of parchment unspooling into the aisles, quills scratching in a comfortable rhythm.
Pansy was the only one distracted.
She had a small pile of envelopes beside her, each sealed with a different crest. She’d been sorting through them between notes, her manicured fingers more restless than usual.
Theo finally looked up from his diagram. “You’re not going to focus until you open them.”
“I am focusing,” Pansy said, even as she broke the first seal.
Hermione smiled faintly. “You’re multitasking.”
Pansy’s eyes scanned the parchment, and for a moment, her expression softened. “Blaise. He says he misses me. And that he’s counting down the days until graduation so we can actually be in the same country again.”
Theo smirked. “Adorable.”
Pansy glared. “Mock me again, and I’ll enchant your quill to explode ink all over your expensive shirt.”
“Noted,” he said quickly, grinning.
Then Pansy picked up the second letter — one with a familiar green seal. Her posture shifted immediately. “It’s from Draco.”
Hermione’s quill froze mid-word.
Pansy read silently, her brow furrowing. “Astoria’s pregnant,” she said finally. “He says it’s early, but she’s healthy. He sounds…” she hesitated, “sad, actually. Like it’s not the news he expected to feel conflicted about. I know he doesn’t love her, but an heir is always expected, so I’m not sure why he seems surprised they made one.”
Hermione felt her stomach twist — a complicated mix of pity, anger, and something she couldn’t quite name. “He should feel conflicted,” she said sharply before she could stop herself. “He spent years sneering at people like me. And now he wants sympathy because he’s unhappy in his pure-blood marriage?”
The words came out harsher than she intended. The silence that followed between the trio was thick.
Theo set his quill down slowly. “He’s not the same person he was then, Hermione. You honestly never even knew the real him.”
She looked up at him, eyes flashing. “You can’t just undo what he did to me and everyone else by saying that.”
“No,” Theo said quietly, “but you can let people grow. He’s trying to be better, in his own way. We all are.”
Pansy nodded, folding the letter neatly. “You don’t have to forgive him,” she said. “But don’t carry his sins for him either. It’s exhausting, and you’ve already carried enough.”
Hermione swallowed hard considering. “Maybe I just don’t know how to separate what he was from who he is now.”
“That’s fair,” Theo said softly. “But remember — if we all got stuck being who we were during the war, none of us would be sitting here right now.”
Pansy reached across the table, touching Hermione’s hand briefly. “I hated you once, remember? And now I steal your shampoo.”
Hermione laughed, the tension in her shoulders easing a little. “You do.”
“Exactly,” Pansy said with mock smugness. “Miracles happen.”
Theo smiled. “And besides, if Draco’s miserable, that’s punishment enough.”
That made Hermione laugh for real — bright and honest.
Pansy grinned. “There we go. The world’s balance is restored.”
Hermione shook her head, smiling at them both. “You two are insufferable.”
“Probably,” Theo said, leaning back in his chair. “But admit it — we’re growing on you.”
Hermione met his gaze, still smiling. “Unfortunately, yes.”
And for a moment, surrounded by parchment and sunlight and people she’d never expected to care about, Hermione felt something that almost resembled peace.
*** Two Days before Graduation ***
The dormitory looked half-empty already. Trunks stood open, half-filled with robes and books, and the window light stretched long across the floor and bare bookshelves. Hermione folded another jumper into her suitcase, smoothing it with more care than necessary, trying not to think about what packing really meant.
Across the room, Pansy sat cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by chaos — clothes draped everywhere, a mess of jewelry boxes and parchment letters scattered around her. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun, and for once, she looked less like the perfectly composed Slytherin socialite and more like what she really was: a young woman about to step into the unknown.
“I can’t believe it’s over,” Pansy said finally, holding up a pair of high-heeled boots as if they were relics. “Eight years, and this is how it ends — with me trying to decide which shoes are worthy of adulthood.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “If anyone can make adulthood glamorous, it’s you Pans.”
Pansy smirked. “Naturally.” She paused, then added in a softer voice almost uncertain, “Blaise wrote again. He says once we’re both settled, we should start talking about an engagement.”
Hermione’s face lit up. “Pansy, that’s wonderful.”
“Mm.” Pansy tried for nonchalance but couldn’t hide the tiny smile tugging at her lips. “He’s not as traditional as my parents were, but he does want something lasting. I think… I think I do too. I think what we have could be a really good thing. It feels… real.”
Hermione crossed the room and sat beside her on the bed. “You deserve that — something real, something that’s yours.”
Pansy nodded slowly. “I think we all do after everything.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the quiet filled with the soft sounds of packing and the faint hum of the castle itself, as if the walls were listening to their last confessions.
“I’m going to miss this,” Pansy said at last. “The dorm. The late-night cocoa with you. You snoring when you’ve had a nightmare.”
Hermione gasped, laughing. “I do not snore.”
“You do,” Pansy teased gently. “It’s endearing. Like an angry kitten.”
Hermione threw a pillow at her, but she was smiling through it.
Then, after a long pause, Pansy asked, “You’re really going through with it? Moving into Nott Manor with Theo?”
Hermione hesitated, folding another jumper, nodding. “Just for a while. Until I find my footing in London. He offered, and it makes sense — I’ll have my own rooms, and the library there is incredible.”
Pansy gave her a look — one eyebrow arched, sharp and knowing. “You’re pretending this is purely practical.”
“It is practical,” Hermione insisted, though her tone wavered slightly.
Pansy leaned back on her hands, watching her closely. “Hermione, I adore you, but you’re terrible at lying. You talk about him like he’s an essay you can’t quite finish — all logic on the surface, but full of feeling underneath.”
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again. “Theo and I are best friends. That’s all. Just like you and me.”
“Maybe. But you should ask yourself what kind of friend makes you blush when he compliments your handwriting.”
Hermione felt the heat rise in her cheeks immediately, which only made Pansy’s smirk widen.
“Exactly,” Pansy said softly. Then, more seriously, “Just… be careful. Theo feels things very deeply. He’s been hurt his whole life. And you — you tend to carry other people’s hearts like responsibilities.”
Hermione looked down at her hands, tracing the seam of her sleeve. “I don’t want to hurt him. Or myself.”
“Then don’t rush to define it,” Pansy said gently. “Let it be whatever it is — for now.”
Hermione met her eyes, smiling faintly. “When did you get so wise?”
Pansy shrugged. “Somewhere between surviving a war and learning to share a dorm with you.”
They both laughed, the sound light but full of something unspoken — gratitude, maybe, or love disguised as sarcasm.
When the laughter faded, Hermione said quietly, “I’ll miss you.”
Pansy’s smile softened. “You’d better. But we’ll still see each other — I’ll visit the manor practically every day. You’ll come to my engagement party. You will drop by my store often when it opens. Honestly, you know you need the products I’ll be selling. You’ll probably end up lecturing my future children about house-elf rights someday too. This isn’t the end of us.”
Hermione laughed through a sudden lump in her throat. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Pansy stood, crossing the room to hug her — sudden, tight, real. “Don’t let this place make you small again, Hermione,” she murmured. “You were always meant for bigger things.”
Hermione hugged her back just as fiercely. “You too, Pans.”
They pulled apart, eyes glassy but smiling.
“Now,” Pansy said briskly, clearing her throat, “help me decide which heels say future Mrs. Zabini without screaming shopaholic widow.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, laughing as she reached for the nearest pair.
And for a moment — surrounded by half-packed trunks and fading sunlight — Hogwarts didn’t feel like something they were leaving behind, but something they’d carry with them, always.
Notes:
Well, this is it folks! The 8th year flashbacks are over. Starting next chapter, we will move into the present timeline of the story!
Leave me comments please, this is my first fic and I'm feeling nervous!
Chapter 6: The Weasley Bash
Notes:
Welcome to the first chapter set in the current timeline of the story. The flashbacks were really meant to give readers a sense of how Hermione's friendship with Theo and Pansy developed. She is still friends with Ginny and Harry, Luna, and Neville. Though Ron is turning into a sore spot.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione adjusted the strap of her beaded bag, feeling suddenly nervous now that she stood just outside King’s Cross. “The Weasleys are doing a little celebration tonight. Molly insists it’s for me and Ginny, but I think she just misses having a house full of chaos.”
Theo smiled faintly. “Sounds like her.”
“I’ll floo to Nott Manor after the party,” she continued. “Bill’s coming with me. He’ll help clear out the cursed objects before I move in properly. Just take my trunk with you now, I have all I need in my bag for the night.”
Theo nodded, his smile faltering just slightly. “Good. I’d rather you not set foot in that place until he’s had a look. It’s old magic, and not the friendly kind.”
Hermione tilted her head, studying him. “You sound worried.”
“I am worried,” he admitted. “Not about the curses — about you walking into that house and making it feel alive again. It hasn’t had that in a long time.”
Her chest tightened. “Then we’ll fix it together.”
He smiled at that — small, genuine. “You make that sound easier than it’ll be.”
“I make everything sound easier than it is,” she said lightly, but her voice wavered just enough to give her away.
Theo stepped closer, close enough that she could see the flecks of green in his brown eyes. “You’re really going over there I guess.”
Hermione nodded, forcing a smile. “Just for the night. It’s exactly what we’ve talked about all week. I’ll see you tomorrow evening. I know you don’t want to be there alone, and Pansy is with Blaise tonight, but maybe you could stay at a hotel if you really don’t want to be alone?”
“Right.” His hand twitched like he meant to reach for her, then stopped halfway. “Still. Feels strange — letting you leave. Without me and Pansy.”
For a second, she couldn’t find her words. Then she took his hand — a small, deliberate act that said everything she couldn’t. “It’s not goodbye, Theo. Just… see you soon. I swear I’ll be right over after the party in the afternoon, and then we’re going to be living together! Soon you’ll be happy when you don’t have to see me every day.”
He squeezed her fingers gently. “I’ll hold you to that.”
When she finally headed to join the crowd of gingers waiting for her acrossed the parking lot, she looked back once. Theo was still standing there on the sidewalk, one hand raised in a small wave, the wind tugging at his robes. For all his calm composure, his eyes were unmistakably full of something she didn’t quite dare name.
The Burrow that evening was full of sound again — laughter drifting up from the kitchen, the creak of old floorboards, the hum of Molly’s voice singing softly as she cleaned up long after everyone else had gone to bed. Ron and Harry had been stuck on an overnight stakeout for work so, thankfully she hadn’t run into him yet. She wasn’t looking forward to what was sure to be an ill temper about her living arrangements.
Upstairs, Hermione and Ginny lay on opposite ends of Ginny’s bed, both in pajamas, their hair loose and tangled from the long day. The fairy lights strung along the low ceiling when they were young flickered lazily, casting soft glows and shadows across the room.
Ginny tossed a pillow at her. “You’re too quiet. You’ve been smiling all evening, but it’s that thinking smile. The one you do when your brain’s having a conversation without you.”
Hermione laughed softly, catching the pillow. “I can’t help it. It’s strange — finishing one chapter of our lives and already starting another.”
“Tell me about it,” Ginny said, rolling onto her stomach. “Harry and I are moving into his place next month once my training with the team officially starts. Mum’s pretending to be thrilled, but she’s already planning how often she’ll ‘drop by.’ She’s already driving me barmy about when we’re getting married.”
Hermione smiled fondly. “You’ll be brilliant, Gin. Both of you. Together finally, hopefully this will give you some real time to have privacy and get to know each other deeper without every else around.”
“And you’ll be living in that massive old manor with Theo Nott,” Ginny said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “That’s quite a twist I didn’t see coming.”
Hermione’s cheeks warmed. “It’s not like that. He offered because it made sense — space, quiet, a good library, and he needs help with the restoration.”
Ginny smirked. “Right. Purely practical.”
Hermione huffed, burying her face in the pillow. “It is! He’s my friend.”
“Mm-hm,” Ginny said in that knowing tone that made Hermione groan. “You always talk about him like you’re convincing yourself more than anyone else. Even Harry asked me about it the other day, and we both know he’s oblivious to everything.”
Hermione peeked up. “Ginny—”
“I’m not saying it’s bad,” Ginny interrupted gently. “Just… I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And the way you soften when you talk about him. Friends don’t usually glow like that. You don’t glow like that when you talk about Harry, or Pansy. Heck you didn’t even smile half as much when you talked about Ron all that year you were crushing.”
Hermione sighed, pulling her knees up to her chest. “He’s been through so much. I don’t want to make things complicated. He’s my good friend, and that’s enough.”
Ginny studied her for a long moment, then smiled softly. “Maybe for now. But you deserve someone who looks at you the way you look when you talk about him.”
Hermione didn’t know what to say to that. She just smiled faintly, eyes drifting toward the window where the moonlight pooled across the floor.
“Goodnight, Ginny,” she whispered.
“Goodnight, ‘just friends,’” Ginny teased, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
Hermione laughed into her pillow, but as the laughter faded, her mind wandered to Theo — his quiet smile, the warmth in his voice when he said her name — she wondered if maybe Ginny wasn’t entirely wrong.
The next morning the Burrow smelled of summer and celebration. Molly had outdone herself — garlands of enchanted daisies looped along the rafters, butterbeer bottles clinking cheerfully in a chilled floating cooler, and the back garden filled with laughter. Luna and Neville were sitting under the old apple tree, stringing glowing charms through the branches. George had set off a line of daytime miniature fireworks that spelled CONGRATULATIONS, GINNY & HERMIONE! in shimmering gold letters.
Hermione stood with Ginny by the garden table, both of them radiant under the attention — flushed with laughter and warmth and a little disbelief that it was all finally over.
“Feels like the end of an era,” Ginny said, squeezing Hermione’s hand.
Hermione smiled. “It is. But it’s also the start of something new.”
Before Ginny could reply, a familiar voice rang out. “Sorry we’re late!”
Harry and Ron came striding up the path, windblown and grinning, but looking tired from their shift. The crowd broke into cheers. Molly rushed to hug them, tears in her eyes, while George immediately tried to spike their drinks.
Hermione’s heart lifted — for all the changes, seeing them there still felt right. Like the final piece of something falling into place in her heart. No matter how much time had passed, the three of them were still deeply connected, through trauma and war, but also from childhood laughter as well.
Then suddenly after lunch, Harry was calling for attention. The chatter died instantly. Hermione glanced up — and saw him, cheeks pink, hands trembling slightly as he turned to Ginny.
“Gin,” he began, voice thick with emotion. “You’ve been my home since before I knew what that word truly meant. I can’t imagine starting this new part of life without you.”
From his pocket, he pulled a small, velvet box. Inside, nestled against the lining, was a delicate gold ring with a single diamond — simple and beautiful.
“It was my mum’s,” he said quietly. “And I want you to have it.”
Ginny’s surprised eyes filled with fat tears. “Harry—”
“Will you marry me?”
There was a heartbeat of silence before Ginny threw her arms around him, laughing through her tears. “Of course I will!”
The garden erupted — cheers, applause, heart firework charms bursting overhead. Hermione clapped with everyone else, joy swelling in her chest. She caught Harry’s gaze for a moment, and he smiled — that quiet, familiar look of gratitude that said everything words never could.
It was a perfect afternoon. Until it wasn’t. Later, as the party spilled into the kitchen and the sun began to sink, Hermione slipped inside to help clear dishes — and found herself face-to-face with Ron.
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes guarded. “So it’s true, then,” he said flatly. “You’re moving in with Nott.”
Hermione set down the plates carefully. “Yes. Just for a while. Bill’s helping remove old curses from the estate.”
Ron’s jaw tightened. “You expect me to believe you’re just living there for research and to help restore it?”
Her voice stayed even. “I don’t expect anything. Theo’s my friend. He offered me a place, and I accepted.”
Ron scoffed. “He’s not just your friend, Hermione. He’s— he’s a bloody Slytherin with a family full of Death Eaters!”
She flinched, anger flaring. “You should know better than to judge someone by their parents by now!”
“That’s so stupid of you!” Ron snapped. “You barely even know him!”
Hermione’s voice rose before she could stop it. “You don’t know him at all! And maybe that’s the problem — you’ve already decided who he is! I’ve known him all school year. Pansy and Theo have become really close to me. I trust them with my life! They’re my best friends!”
The kitchen fell silent except for their breathing. The hurt in Ron’s eyes twisted something deep in her chest, but she couldn’t take the words back.Before either of them could speak again, Bill stepped in from the doorway, arms crossed but calm. “That’s enough, both of you. You don’t need to ruin this day for Ginny and Harry.”
Ron turned away, muttering under his breath.
Bill placed a steady hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “You ready to go?”
She nodded, her throat tight.
He offered a faint, reassuring smile. “Let’s get you to the Manor.”
Molly called a warm goodbye from the other room, and Ginny waved through the window from outside as the green flare of Floo powder filled the hearth.
The kitchen blurred — spinning emerald light, the scent of smoke and ash — and then Hermione stumbled forward onto cool marble floors and dim candlelight.
Nott Manor rose around her — vast, silent, waiting.
Theo stood by the fireplace, hands in his pockets, expression softening the instant he saw her annoyed face.
“Rough day?” he asked gently.
Hermione let out a shaky laugh. “You have no idea.”
Theo frowned faintly and extended his hand to Bill. “Welcome to Nott Manor.”
Notes:
The next chapter will welcome you into Nott Manor!
Chapter 7: Welcome to Nott Manor
Notes:
Time to see what she's working with here! How bad is the darkness of the manor? Can it be fixed?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The emerald glow of the Floo faded, leaving Hermione to notice she was standing in a grand, echoing foyer. The air was cool and faintly scented with fireplace ash and something older — dust, perhaps, or magic left to sleep too long. A marble staircase swept upward in front of them, curving elegantly beneath a chandelier that sparkled dimly with old magic light.
Theo stepped forward shaking hands with Bill, “Welcome to Nott Manor,” he said softly. “It’s been a while since anyone called it home.”
Hermione’s gaze roamed the space — the vaulted ceilings, the dark portraits watching from the walls (thankfully silent, whether willfully or by force she wasn’t sure), the way the sunlight filtering through tall windows revealed dust motes hanging in the air. It was magnificent, but felt heavy somehow, like a place that remembered too much.
Bill whistled low under his breath. “Blimey. This is what a family fortune buys, eh?” He was already scribbling in his small dragonhide notebook, eyes sharp and alert. “You said it hasn’t been properly inhabited since the end of the war?”
Theo nodded. “Not since my father’s arrest, and demise. The house-elves have kept the wards and cleaning charms running, but some of the older family blood enchantments went dormant or rogue while I was at school. A few are… temperamental.”
Bill gave a wry smile. “That’s one word for cursed.” He tapped his wand lightly and muttered a charm; a faint shimmer passed over the walls around them, and a few dark runes flickered briefly before fading. “I’ll want to check those properly tomorrow, for now just don’t touch anything Hermione. Muggle-borns weren’t exactly welcome in these halls, there is a lot of cursed charms layered in.”
Theo gestured toward the left archway. “We’ll start with the formal drawing room.”
They passed under tall carved doors into a vast space with high windows and moth-bitten velvet draperies gone a little dull with age. Dust covered the corners, and a massive fireplace dominated one wall, its onyx marble inlaid with the Nott crest — a fox coiled around a crescent moon. The furniture was beautiful but outdated, and Hermione could feel the echo of conversations long silenced by time and death.
“This room hasn’t changed since my grandparents’ time,” Theo said quietly. “I don’t like to use it. Too many memories that aren’t mine.”
Bill traced his wand along the hearth. “Residual spellwork here — defensive, old, tied to bloodline wards. I’ll need to reinforce or dismantle them depending on what you want to keep.”
Theo nodded solemnly and led them onward through a set of gilded doors into a smaller, warmer parlor — the informal drawing room. Here, the windows opened onto the gardens, and sunlight pooled across a hand stitched Persian faded rug. There were signs of life — a few newer books stacked by a chair, a tea set on a low table form Theo earlier this morning, a single house-elf dusting quietly in the corner.
“This is where I actually spend my time,” Theo said. “Less haunted, more human.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “It feels… lighter.”
He gave her a small, almost shy look before continuing the tour.
Next came the studies — plural, because of course there were two. The first was stately and impersonal, lined with dark wood shelves and filled with dusty ledgers, the kind of room meant for family business that Theo’s father had preferred. The second, smaller and tucked away at the end of a corridor, already bore Theo’s mark — parchment scattered across a wide desk, ink stains on the blotter, and an open window letting in the fresh summer air.
Hermione lingered near the bookshelves, fingertips brushing the spines. “You could make this into something incredible,” she said softly. “A real library.”
Theo smiled faintly. “That’s the plan. I was hoping you’d help.”
Her heart caught a little, though she only nodded.
They passed the ballroom next — cavernous, echoing, with a grand piano cloaked in dust and crystal chandeliers hanging low. Their footsteps echoed as they crossed it, and Hermione thought she could almost hear the ghosts of music lingering in the air.
“This used to host Ministry parties,” Theo said, his voice distant. “My parents cared about appearances. I plan to open it again — but for charity galas or rebuilding efforts. Something that matters.”
Bill made another note. “There’s a structural integrity charm under the floorboards — old one, but intact. Seems structural not dark. You’re lucky. If that had failed, the entire flooring might’ve buckled down.”
From there, Theo led them into the formal dining room, a long hall lined with silenced portraits and a table that could easily seat forty. Candles floated above it, unlit. Hermione’s reflection rippled faintly across the polished surfaces of fine polished silver.
“This room feels like it’s waiting,” she murmured.
Theo tilted his head. “For what?”
“For conversation,” she said. “For laughter. For life.”
He smiled. “Then we’ll give it that.”
They moved through swinging doors into the kitchens, where three house-elves were bustling about, cleaning and preparing food. The scent of herbs and bread filled the air. The elves bowed low as they entered, but Theo stopped them with a quiet wave.
“None of that,” he said kindly. “You’re free to take breaks as you like. Hermione’s not the only one who thinks old traditions should change.”
The eldest elf blinked up at him in mild shock before nodding earnestly and returning to her work. Hermione caught Theo’s eye, smiling in quiet approval.
Bill chuckled. “You’ll have her signing freedom papers for all of them by next week.”
Theo grinned. “I’m counting on it.”
They moved next through a long corridor lined with tall windows, opening into the East Wing — the guest side of the manor. The rooms here were airy and sunlit, though clearly unused for years. Dusty portraits lined the walls, and the faint chill of disuse clung to the air tenderly.
“These will need ward checks,” Bill muttered. “There’s some dormant tracking magic here — generally harmless, but worth dispelling.”
Theo nodded, then turned to Hermione. “If you’d prefer privacy, these rooms would be yours. You could have an entire guest suite to yourself — a sitting room, study, and bedroom. The view overlooks the gardens.”
Hermione hesitated, glancing down the empty hallway. It was beautiful, but cold, impersonal and empty.
“And the West Wing?” she asked.
Theo’s smile shifted, almost self-conscious. “That’s the family side. The rooms there are less in number, but more lived in — mine’s at the end of the hall in the Master’s suite. I could have the elves prepare something adjacent if you’d rather not be isolated on the other side of the manor from me.”
Hermione thought for a moment, then said softly, “I’d like to be near you, if that’s alright. I don’t mind if it means a bit less space than in the East Wing.”
His eyes met hers — surprised, then warm. “Of course. I’ll have a room and the connecting ensuite readied next to mine. The Lady of the manor’s rooms should do well, there’s even a small reading parlor attached.”
Bill, who had been pretending to focus on his notes, cleared his throat with a grin. “I’ll, uh, make sure the wards between rooms are properly sealed. Just in case of… magical interference.”
Hermione blushed. Theo rolled his eyes but was smiling.
They finished the tour in the West Wing, where the air was warmer and the woodwork newer. Hermione could already picture this side of the manor as a real home — fires lit, laughter echoing from her and Theo.
By the time they stepped outside, the sky was streaked with pale gray clouds. The manor grounds stretched wide — overgrown hedges, elaborate marble fountains gone dull with moss of the ages, and large gardens that had once been grand but were now choked with weeds.
“It was beautiful once,” Theo said quietly. “My mother used to keep white roses by the terrace I’m told. She used to tell the elves they kept the dark away.”
Hermione touched his arm gently. “Then we’ll bring them back into grander again.”
Bill flipped through his notebook. “I’ll start with the curses in the east hall and the ballroom tomorrow. You’ll need a good few days of work here to make everything light and safe, but she’ll shine again. For now, I’ve already removed anything most threatening.”
Theo nodded, glancing up at the sprawling, shadowed manor that was now his legacy to reclaim. “That’s the goal.”
Hermione followed his gaze, her heart swelling with both hope and heaviness. For the first time since meeting Theo properly, she understood what this place meant to him— not just a home, but a chance for Theo to rewrite his family’s legacy.
And she would be part of it.
Notes:
Next chapter is Theo and Hermione's first night in the manor together after Bill leaves. What will happen when the dark of the night creeps in?
Chapter 8: The First Night
Notes:
As evening sets, Theo and Hermione settle into the manor.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Now nearly dusk, the manor property had grown even quieter — that kind of soft, echoing stillness that comes when a place hasn’t yet decided if it’s truly inhabited again.
Bill closed his leather notebook with a decisive snap, dusting his hands. “That should do it for today. I’ll be back in the mid-morning to tackle the eastern corridor. You’ll want to stay clear of that one tonight — a few of the hexes are still sleeping, but I’d rather not test them after dark.”
Theo nodded. “Understood. Thank you, Bill. Truly.”
Bill gave him an approving smile. “You’ve got good instincts, Theo. Not every heir wants to rebuild something like this the right way.”
He turned to Hermione, lowering his voice. “I’ll be by around nine. Try to get some rest — you’ve got a long week ahead of renovations it seems.”
She smiled. “I’ll be ready. And thank you.”
Bill grinned, stepping into the grand fireplace and tossing down a pinch of Floo powder. “The Burrow!” he called, and in a rush of green flame, he was gone.
Silence settled in his wake — comfortable, almost intimate.
Theo lingered for a moment by the hearth, hands in his pockets. “It’s bizarre,” he murmured, “seeing someone leave and realizing they’re not the ghost of my father’s friends.”
Hermione tilted her head. “You’re changing what this place means.”
He smiled faintly at her optimism. “Hopefully before it swallows me whole.”
They made their way through the west wing toward Theo’s quarters, where dinner awaited them. The private parlor linked to his bedroom was warm and elegant in a quietly masculine way — deep forest-green walls, a marble fireplace carved with intricate vines, and tall windows looking out over the wild gardens at the side of the house. Books filled the shelves unevenly, like they’d been unpacked in bursts of enthusiasm and then forgotten mid-thought.
A low table stood before the fire, set with a light supper: roasted chicken, sweet sugar snap peas, soft bread, and a bottle of wine the elves had likely brought up from the old cellar.
Hermione smiled as they sat down. “This is lovely.”
Theo poured her a glass, avoiding her eyes in that careful way he did when he wasn’t sure what to do with the air between them, like he was embarrassed of his past. “It’s the first proper meal I’ve had here since… well, since before the war came to a head.”
They ate quietly for a while, the crackle of the fire filling the pauses. Conversation came easier after a few bites — the kind of slow rhythm born of shared exhaustion and quiet understanding.
Hermione told him about Ginny’s engagement at the party, about Luna’s latest research on mooncalf migrations, about how odd it felt to think of a future that wasn’t constantly preparing for battle and possible death.
Theo listened, smiling in that quiet, intent way of his. “It suits you,” he said softly. “The peace your starting to live. I hope you let yourself enjoy it.”
She met his eyes. “I think I will — especially here.”
Something troubled flickered in his expression, but he only nodded, reaching for his glass. “I’m glad you came. I’d really hate to be alone here. Honestly, I may have concerned just burning it to the ground if you hadn’t joined me.”
They finished dinner slowly, talking of books and restoration plans, until the fire had burned low. Then Theo rose, brushing his hands on his trousers. “Come on,” he said, his tone softer now. “Your rooms are ready.”
He led her through a short corridor off his parlor — the air carrying faint traces of lavender and polish. Her suite lay just next door to his, marked by a carved mahogany door newly polished by the elves.
Theo opened it with a small, hesitant flourish. “Welcome to your quarters, Lady of the Manor— well, West Wing, technically.”
Hermione stepped inside — and stopped short with a loud gasp.
It was beautiful. The room glowed in soft shades of lilac with mahogany touches. Pale drapes framed tall windows that looked out over the destroyed grounds, now silvered in moonlight. A large canopy bed stood in the center, elegant but cozy, dressed in white and plum linens. A writing desk occupied the corner beside a grand marble fireplace, where the flames flickered lazily in greeting.
Theo gestured toward a set of double doors. “There’s a private bath through there.”
Hermione opened them and gasped again more softly. The bathroom was more luxurious than any she’d ever seen — marble and silver fixtures gleaming, a deep oval tub large enough for swimming, and a separate shower enclosed in etched glass. A vase of lilacs sat on the counter, their scent faint but fresh.
“And here,” Theo continued, opening another door opposite the bed, “a small sitting room. The elves insisted on adding a parlor — I think they took your reputation for reading personally to heart.”
The parlor was intimate, small, and refined: a velvet settee, a low table, shelves already lined with a few hand-selected books from her unpacked trunk, and a window seat overlooking the wayward orchard. The walls were papered in soft cream with delicate silver vines, and the whole space felt warm — inviting in a way the rest of the manor hadn’t yet learned to be.
Hermione turned slowly, taking it all in. “Theo… this is perfect.”
He looked genuinely relieved. “You like it?”
“I love it,” she said honestly. “It feels like… me. Like it’s part of me already.”
Something in his shoulders loosened. “Good. I wanted you to feel at home.”
They stood there for a moment — the quiet stretching between them, not awkward exactly, but full of awareness neither quite knew how to name.
Theo cleared his throat, glancing toward the doorway after his eyes drifted to her lips for a moment too long. “I’ll, uh… let you settle in. If you need anything, my rooms are right next door. Just knock. Please don’t be a stranger. If you call for our elf, Wizzy, he’ll also be able to help you as well.”
Hermione smiled softly and breathless. “Thank you, Theo. For all of this.”
He hesitated once more at the threshold, one hand braced lightly on the doorframe. “You don’t have to thank me, Hermione. I’m just glad you’re here.”
His voice was low, sincere — almost vulnerable.
For a heartbeat, she thought he might say more or walk back towards her. But instead, he gave her a small, shy smile, nodded once, and disappeared into the hallway.
Hermione stood in the middle of her new room, listening to his footsteps fade. The manor seemed quieter now, but not quite lonely — not anymore.
She turned toward the fire, her reflection flickering in the mirror above the mantle. The flames caught her hair, her eyes, the faintest hint of a smile.
Maybe, she thought, as she turned in for bed, this might have been a very good decision to come stay here.
Notes:
The next few days will bring renovations in full swing, and a few visitors to the manor!
Chapter 9: Making it a Home
Notes:
Nott manor is undergoing some major renovations thanks to Bill and Pansy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione woke to sunlight.
For the first time in what felt like years, she’d slept deeply — no nightmares, no half-remembered battle cries, no restless turning. Just the steady quiet of a house at peace, the warmth of linen sheets, and the distant chirping of birds through the open window.
When she sat up, her hair was a mess, her robe was half-buttoned, and she didn’t care. She felt rested. Whole.
The clock on the mantel read just past eight. She realized, with a little pang, that she’d meant to be up earlier to meet Bill, but the house was still — no sign of him yet.
Her first thought was Theo.
Pulling on a light jumper over her nightdress and slipping her wand into her pocket, Hermione padded barefoot through the parlor and into the corridor. The air in the manor was cool and faintly scented with citrus and dust, but she could already hear faint sounds coming from the back terrace — the creak of the garden gate, the faint clink of porcelain.
When she stepped outside, she saw him immediately.
Theo was standing by the overgrown rose garden, sleeves rolled up, a cup of coffee in one hand and a pair of enchanted shears in the other. His hair was slightly disheveled, dark crescents under his eyes, and there was something endearingly human about the sight — the proud heir of Nott Manor trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to prune dead rose bushes before breakfast.
He looked up at the sound of the door, startled, and the faintest smile touched his mouth. “You’re awake.”
Hermione grinned. “You look like you haven’t slept at all.”
“Didn’t,” he admitted. “Couldn’t. Too many wards humming, too many thoughts.” He gestured vaguely at the roses. “And these didn’t seem inclined to wait for morning.”
She walked closer, her bare feet cool against the dewy stone path. “You know,” she said gently, “roses don’t usually bloom on command.”
Theo gave her a sideways look. “Neither do I, apparently.”
That made her laugh — a sound that seemed to ease something behind his eyes.
She knelt beside him, examining the gnarled stems and wild tangles of thorns. “Your mother really loved these?”
He nodded. “White roses. She used to charm them to glow faintly at night — said it made the manor seem less lonely.” His voice grew quieter. “After she died, my father let them go. Said beauty was a distraction.”
Hermione’s chest ached at that. “Then we’ll bring them back,” she said softly. “For her.”
He looked at her then — really looked — and for a moment, the world stilled. His gaze dropped slightly, and she saw the flicker of realization in his expression before she followed it.
Her sleeve had ridden up.
The faint, silvery scar across her forearm — Mudblood, carved there by Bellatrix Lestrange years ago — gleamed faintly in the morning light.
Hermione froze. She hadn’t glamoured it that morning, rushing down to find him. Normally, she would’ve noticed. Normally, she would’ve hidden it.
Theo’s breath caught, soft and sharp. “Hermione…”
She swallowed hard. “I usually— I forgot to—”
“You don’t need to explain,” he said quietly. His voice was steady, but his eyes were full of something raw — not pity, but sorrow, and a kind of furious tenderness. He set the shears down and, hesitating only a moment, reached out.
His fingers brushed her wrist lightly, reverently, tracing the edges of the old wound as though memorizing something sacred. “You shouldn’t have to hide this,” he murmured. “You survived it. You turned it into something they couldn’t take from you.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “It doesn’t feel that way sometimes.”
“It does to me.”
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved — the air between them humming with something fragile and unspoken. Then, as if suddenly aware of himself, Theo dropped his hand and cleared his throat. “Right. Breakfast. You should eat before Bill gets here and starts poking holes in my walls.”
Hermione smiled faintly, letting the moment settle gently between them. “You’re deflecting.”
“Of course I am,” he said dryly, leading the way back inside.
They ate breakfast in his private parlor — toast, fruit, and coffee brought up by one of the elves. The sunlight through the windows made the room feel warmer, almost domestic.
Theo looked less haunted now, though there were still shadows under his eyes. “Did you sleep alright?” he asked.
Hermione nodded, spreading jam onto her toast. “Better than I have in months. Your manor’s magic feels… peaceful now. It’s like it knows it’s allowed to rest.”
He smiled softly. “Then it’s already doing its job.”
For a while, they just ate in quiet — not awkward, just easy. Hermione told him about the breakfast chaos at the Burrow, how Molly tried to send her home with enough food to feed an army. Theo told her about the library elves who’d already begun organizing the oldest tomes by topic instead of date.
Then, somewhere between bites of fruit and laughter over Bill’s note from last night (“Don’t touch anything glowing blue or whispering in Latin”), Theo glanced at her again — his eyes softer than she’d ever seen them.
“You make this place feel different,” he said suddenly, almost to himself.
Hermione blinked. “Different how?”
He hesitated, searching for words. “Like it’s breathing again.”
Before she could answer, the fireplace behind them flared bright green.
“Theo!” Bill’s voice boomed cheerfully as he stepped through the Floo, dusting soot off his jacket. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything—”
He stopped mid-sentence, taking in the scene: Hermione sitting at the small breakfast table, Theo across from her, both of them half-startled, half-flushed.
“Ah,” Bill said with a knowing smile. “Breakfast. Good. Keep your strength up, you two — cursed doorframes tend to drain the magic right out of you.”
Hermione coughed, trying not to laugh. Theo shot her a helpless look that only made it worse.
“Good morning, Bill,” she managed.
Theo sighed, resigned. “You have impeccable timing, Weasley.”
“Family trait,” Bill said brightly. “Now, shall we get started?”
As he began unpacking his curse-breaking kit by the fireplace, Hermione glanced at Theo — who was hiding a smile behind his coffee cup.
By mid-day, the manor was humming with quiet activity. Bill had wasted no time getting started. His boots echoed down the eastern corridor as he muttered diagnostics under his breath, every so often sending a ripple of blue light pulsing through the walls.
Theo trailed behind him with Hermione in tow, more amused than anxious. “If something explodes, I want it on record that this was your idea,” he told Bill dryly.
Bill smirked. “If something explodes, you’ll be too busy regrowing eyebrows to argue.”
Hermione laughed merrily and handed Bill a fresh roll of parchment. “I’ll help you catalogue the wards. Theo mentioned a few of them predate the Statute of Secrecy.”
Bill raised his brows. “That old, huh? Then I’ll definitely need my rune lenses.”
As Bill began mapping out sigils on the doorframe to the old music room, Hermione felt Theo’s hand brush her arm lightly — a silent signal to follow him.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “There’s something you should see while he works.”
They slipped away down a side corridor lined with tall windows. Dust hung in the shafts of light, softening the gloom. The air grew cooler as they descended a narrow staircase, the stone steps spiraling into shadow.
When Theo opened the door at the bottom, Hermione gasped.
The Nott Manor library spread out before them — vast, ancient, and breathtaking. Rows upon rows of shelves rose up into darkness, their ladders enchanted to glide silently along the rails. The scent of old parchment and cedar filled the air. A balcony circled the upper floor, and in the center of the lower level, a great black marble table gleamed under the glow of enchanted orbs.
“It’s incredible,” Hermione whispered.
Theo smiled faintly. “I thought you’d like it. My mother used to read to me here. The older books are charmed against decay — some of them haven’t been opened since the seventeenth century.”
Hermione ran her fingers along the spines nearest her. Titles gleamed faintly in fading gold script — Runic Symbology of the Pre-Wizarding Era, Ancient Family Enchantments of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, Occult Herbology and Its Uses in Blood Magic.
She paused uncertain. “Theo… some of these texts are restricted by the Ministry.”
He nodded, unsurprised. “I know. My father collected knowledge the way some people collected power. He said it was safer to understand the darkness than to fear it.”
Hermione frowned. “Or to use it.”
“Sometimes both,” Theo admitted quietly. “That’s part of what I need help with. There are spells in here tied to the manor’s wards. If we can decode them, we might find out why certain curses keep regenerating.”
Hermione’s curiosity flickered to life. “You think the wards are self-healing?”
“Possibly.” He gestured toward a far corner. “There’s a restricted section behind the iron gate. That’s where the older blood magic is stored. The curse-breakers the Ministry sent after the war didn’t go near it.”
Hermione’s eyes lit up. “Can we?”
Theo gave her a wary look. “If you promise not to hex yourself into oblivion.”
“I’ll be careful,” she said earnestly, already crossing the room.
He followed, shaking his head with a smile. “You say that like caution’s your strongest quality.”
The gate creaked open under a soft unlocking charm. Inside, the shelves were narrower and the air colder. These books weren’t just old — they were alive. Some pulsed faintly when touched by light, others whispered in a tongue she didn’t recognize.
Hermione drew her wand, murmuring a detection spell. “There’s a magical resonance here. These aren’t just grimoires — they’re conduits.”
“Conduits for what?”
“Ancestral enchantments,” she said slowly. “Look—” She pointed to a sigil burned faintly into the wood of the nearest shelf — a fox encircled by runes, the same crest carved over the ballroom fireplace. “Your family’s wards are linked to these texts. They draw from the magic of your bloodline.”
Theo frowned, running a hand through his hair. “So, you’re saying the manor’s alive because of us… because of me?”
“In a way,” Hermione said softly. “It remembers you. Your ancestors built it not just as a home, but as an extension of themselves. It’s why it responds to your presence — and maybe why it hasn’t truly let go of the past yet.”
Theo leaned against the shelf, thoughtful and unsure. “Then maybe the curses aren’t just traps — maybe they’re grief.”
Hermione looked up at him, startled by the near poetry of it all. “Grief?”
He shrugged one shoulder slowly in indifference. “A house that lost everyone it ever served. Maybe it doesn’t know how to stop mourning. When I added you to the property and manor wards yesterday, it was like the very walls of the foyer were shaking right afterwards. I though tit was because the manor’s magic was protesting adding a muggleborne, but now I’m thinking it may just have been moved by someone new at all being added after years of disuse.”
Her throat tightened at the quiet sincerity in his voice. “Then we’ll teach it,” she insisted. “We’ll fill it with something new. We can give it life again.”
The two turned out of the room sluggishly, Hermione with a longing last glance at the rows of unread books. It was getting late in the day, and their stomachs had noticed. They found Bill in the foyer, just finishing-up a last sweep of the room. They all went into the more informal parlor at the encouragement of the kitchen elves whom had been hard at work all day, excited to feed guests again.
Hermione was helping the elves set the table (much to their protests) when the sharp crack of aparition sounded from the foyer.
Pansy’s voice followed almost immediately, lilting and dramatic: “Merlin’s hairy beard, Theo, you weren’t joking — this place looks like an architectural ghost story! I haven’t been here since I was maybe ten, and honestly it looks the same… or worse!”
Theo sighed in deep embarrassment from where he stood by the window. “Good afternoon to you too, Pans.”
Pansy swept into the room in a cascade of shimmering bottle green silk, dropping her black handbag onto a chair as though she owned the place already. Her hair gleamed dark in the sparse sunlight coming through the dust covered windows, and she looked perfectly composed — except for the faint frown forming on her otherwise perfect face.
Hermione laughed. “You made it past the entry wards without injury. That’s impressive. Or has Theo added you to the wards as well?”
“I’m sure he has added all his closest friends, but I charmed them into liking me,” Pansy said airily. “And if that fails, I’ll charm the curse-breaker too if needed.”
Bill looked up from his notes on the table with a grin. “I’m married, but flatteries appreciated.”
Pansy smirked. “So tragic. I would’ve made an excellent scandal for you.”
Hermione snorted into her tea, and Theo muttered, “She’s been here two minutes and is already causing gossip.”
“Exactly long enough to make an entrance,” Pansy said, settling gracefully into an antique chair. “Now — feed me. I nearly starved getting here. That’s the down side to living in a flat of my own, I don’t know how to cook!”
Lunch was a lively affair. Bill, who’d spent most of the morning unraveling lingering curses from the east wing stairwell thru the foyer, was more relaxed than the day before. Between bites of chicken salad and rye bread, he and Pansy discovered a mutual love of architecture charms — and she announced, with dramatic flair of course, that she was opening her own interior enchantment boutique in a few months after her beaty store took off and she had funds to expand into home design.
“It’s going to be called Polished & Proper,” she said proudly. “A blend of traditional craftsmanship and practical magic. Custom charm work for decor — temperature-regulated curtains, self-cleaning rugs, the works.”
“That sounds brilliant,” Hermione said sincerely. “You’ve always had an eye for detail.”
Pansy preened. “Of course I have. It’s a crime to live surrounded by ugly things — which brings me to my next point.”
Theo groaned softly. “Here it comes.”
Pansy pointedly ignored him and sipped her wine. “Blaise and Draco will probably drop by later at the end of this week. They’re planning a boys’ night — cards, firewhiskey, the illusion of emotional depth with manhood and lordship. You know how they are.”
Theo blinked. “They’re what?”
“Don’t act surprised,” Pansy said. “Blaise told me himself. He said, and I quote, ‘Theo’s manor is too bloody gloomy; it’s begging for a poker table and good whisky night.’”
Bill chuckled amused. “Sounds like a health hazard waiting to happen.”
Hermione smiled faintly, though her stomach twisted a little at the mention of Draco. She glanced at Theo, who looked equal parts resigned and hopeful.
“Fine,” he said. “They can come. But I’m not responsible if they trigger one of Bill’s half-broken wards.”
“Don’t threaten them with a good time. Besides just give me a few days more here, and the manor will be as safe as anywhere else.” Bill muttered with a look of distain for all the work left to do.
Pansy grinned. “Excellent. That’s settled.” She dabbed delicately at her mouth with a napkin, then looked around the room — her expression sharpening with displeasure in that way Hermione had come to recognize. “Now, as much as I adore you all, this decor is rather offensive.”
Theo froze mid-bite. “Offensive? Excuse you.”
Pansy stood, sweeping her gaze around the breakfast room. “Dull dusty walls. Dreary drapes faded with time and moth damage. Those portraits—Merlin’s beard, are they frowning at me? No wonder this house feels cursed and gloomy. Just look around, the whole décor is dreary.”
Hermione hid a small smile. “Pansy…”
But it was too late. Pansy was already circling the room like a general preparing for intense battle. “No, no, this won’t do at all. I’m declaring myself your personal decorator Theo. Consider it a charitable act. I won’t even charge you, but I am going to use it in my store portfolio!”
Bill laughed heartily, gathering his papers back up after checking off a few to-do items. “Well, I should get back to the east wing before she starts enchanting the furniture to dance.”
“Oh, please,” Pansy said sweetly, “you’ll thank me when this mausoleum stops looking like a outdated funeral home.”
Theo sighed, long-suffering, but powerless to stop her. “Just—don’t set anything on fire or damage structural integrity walls.”
“No promises,” she said cheerfully.
When Bill departed to go back to work through the corridor with a parting grin and a call of “Good luck surviving her, Theo,” the real transformation of Pansy’s posh plans began.
Pansy rolled up her sleeves and went to work like a woman possessed. Curtains changed from old heavy velvet to light, freshly pressed, floating gauze with a flick of her wand. Dusty portraits blinked indignantly as she waved her wand and sent them — one by one — soaring up the staircase toward the attic.
“Don’t worry, they’ll be fine up there,” she said over her shoulder. “They can gossip with the mice and we can lock them in, so no one stumbles on them for another few decades.”
Hermione watched in awe as dull ripped wallpaper melted into warm cream and gold tones, the floors began gleaming under new polish charms. Pansy conjured elegant throw pillows, fresh flowers, and subtle lighting charms that filled the halls with a soft, living glow, chasing away the shadows of ghostly bad memories here.
A few horus later, by the time she’d reached the main ballroom, it looked entirely different — still stately and formal, but gentler and less haunted somehow.
Theo wandered back in having been letting her work in peace while he had been trying to tend the roses again, blinking at the transformation. “You work fast.”
Pansy smirked. “I work brilliantly. Sing me praises darling.”
“Half the portraits are plotting revenge,” he muttered.
“Let them try,” Pansy said, flicking her wand and replacing an old ancestral tapestry with a more modern painting of rolling green hills and winged horses. “Honestly, this family needed taste more than power. This place was so ugly and outdated.”
Hermione laughed softly. “You’ve done in a few hours what this house hasn’t managed in decades.”
“That’s because I have better priorities and taste,” Pansy said, stepping back to admire her work. “Elegance is power, Granger. Beauty reminds people they’re alive and have something worth living for.”
Theo studied the room for a long moment, then smiled. “I think you’re right. This place certainly feels more alive and welcoming than it has my whole life.”
Pansy turned to him with mock offense. “You think?”
Theo raised his hands in fake surrender. “You’re right of course.”
“Better.” She tapped her wand against her chin. “Alright, I’ve transformed a third of this mausoleum already. The rest will have to wait. Blaise expects me home for dinner — something about taste-testing the wine menu for the shop’s grand opening.”
Hermione grinned. “I think you’ve earned it Pans.”
Pansy adjusted her cloak, brushing invisible dust from her shoulder. “Naturally. But before I go—” She turned, sweeping her gaze once more around the brightened room. “This place is starting to look like a home again. Keep it that way, both of you. Try not to have too much fun and ruin my work.”
Theo inclined his head. “Thank you, Pansy. Truly.”
She gave him a small, genuine smile — the kind she didn’t show often. “Don’t thank me yet. Wait until you see what I do for finishing touches with the ballroom. Expect me back again tomorrow and maybe even the day after. I’ll have this place unrecognizable by the time the boys come over don’t worry!”
With a crack of Apparition, she was gone.
Silence settled in her wake — but this time, it wasn’t heavy and gloomy, it was hopeful and starting to feel alive.
Hermione sank into one of the new plush armchairs Pansy had provided, still smelling faintly of conjured lavender from all the bouquets she’d placed around the manor on side tables. “She really is unstoppable. And so talented.”
Theo chuckled softly, settling beside her. “She’s chaos with excellent taste. You know, I was worried about her losing her family vaults, but once she gets her companies up and running, she’s going to make a mint all on her own. Don’t tell her I said this, but really I’m so proud of her finding her own way.”
Hermione smiled thoguhtfully, glancing around the room. “It’s strange. The house feels different now — like it’s waking up.”
Theo nodded slowly. “It’s not just the house. I feel lighter myself too.”
The two sat there resting in reflective silence for awhile, both lost in their own thoughts until Bill came to say goodbye for the evening. With a wave and a promise to be back again in the morning, he disappeared thru the floo, leaving the two alone once again for the second night in Nott manor.
Notes:
Next up, Theo and Hermione spend another night in the manor with tension between them rising.
Leave comments my faithful readers!
Chapter 10: When Night Creeps In
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione had spent the remainder of the evening helping one of the elves reorganize the kitchen ledgers, but as twilight deepened outside, she found herself drawn to Theo’s parlor — the same cozy room adjoining his chambers where they had eaten their first dinner together the night before.
He was already there when she entered, half-reading a ledger but mostly staring into the fire. He looked up and smiled faintly, something tired but hopeful in his expression. “You didn’t have to help the elves, you know.”
“I wanted to,” Hermione said, setting down her notes. “I think they appreciate being asked what they want the kitchen to look like, for once. Everyone likes to have agency.”
Theo chuckled softly. “Of course they do. You’re turning this house into something my family wouldn’t even recognize. Elves with free-will and making their own choices, it’s never bene done here.”
Hermione smiled brightly as she sat across from him at the low table, where dinner waited — roasted vegetables, lemon herbed chicken, fresh sourdough bread, and two half-filled glasses of wine, with the rest of the bottle on the table. “That’s the point, isn’t it? To make something new out of what came before. You want a new legacy for your family, don’t you Theo?”
He lifted his glass slightly in mock salute. “To that.”
They clinked glasses, and the soft sound echoed pleasantly through the room.
Dinner was easy, very companionable. They talked about Pansy’s visit, still half in disbelief at how quickly she had transformed the manor’s atmosphere.
“She’s remarkable,” Hermione said, tearing a piece of bread. “I used to think her sharpness was pure vanity, but it’s really ambition and warranted self confidence. She’s building something — her own name, her own future. She’s going to build an empire!”
Theo smiled, leaning back in his chair. “Pansy’s always known exactly who she is, she’s never faltered in what she wants. I envy that sometimes.”
Hermione studied him quietly. “You do?”
He shrugged, swirling his wine. “It’s easier when you grow up knowing what you’re meant to be — even if it’s wrong. I spent most of my life watching my father decide for me. He had my whole life course all planned out by the time I could walk. Now that I can choose myself, I’m not always sure where to start or what it is I even want.”
Hermione tilted her head. “You’re rebuilding this place from ruins, Theo. That seems like a good start to me.”
He gave her a small smile, but his eyes were distant. “Maybe. But sometimes I wonder if that’s all I’m doing — patching over cracks, and repainting the walls instead of finding something real. Is it all just surface chances or is any of it more real? What is my future even supposed to be like?”
Hermione reached across the table before she realized she was doing it, her fingers brushing his wrist in comfort. “You’re finding it,” she said softly. “And not just in the manor.”
Theo met her eyes, and something in his expression shifted — open, almost unguarded, he seemed softer than the seriousness of the conversation. Then he smiled again, faintly self-conscious. “You have far too much faith in me I think.”
“You’d be surprised how rarely I say that to people and truly mean it,” Hermione teased gently, earning a quiet laugh from him.
They kept talking long after the food grew cold and they were plucking at crumbs. About Pansy’s upcoming shop opening. About Luna’s letters from Norway where she’d been tracking one creature or another. About everything and nothing all at once — until the conversation began to drift into more personal waters.
Theo refilled their glasses. The wine was rich and warm, and it loosened things neither of them usually said aloud.
“Tell me something, Hermione,” he said softly, his gaze resting on the fire instead of her face. “What made you fall in love with Ron, back then?”
She blinked, caught off guard. “I— I don’t know if I ever truly did,” she admitted, her voice low. “I mean… I loved him as a friend, deeply of course, like Harry. But when the war ended… everything between us felt like something we were trying to save or was expected form us, not something we could grow from together.”
Theo nodded slowly in understanding. “That sounds… honest.”
Hermione turned the question back on him. “What about you? Did you ever love anyone?”
Theo hesitated, then smiled a little, a sadness in it. “Once. In seventh year — well, my seventh year. It was brief. Someone who couldn’t love me back.”
Hermione tilted her head. “Why did it end?”
“I wanted light, and he was still too comfortable in the dark.”
Hermione’s chest tightened. “You’re not that person anymore, so it makes sense you wouldn’t be able to be with someone who could draw you back into the darkness.”
He looked at her then, eyes dark with emotion and soft with hurt all at once. “Maybe not. But the past doesn’t like to let go easily.”
The silence between them was gentle, heavy with meaning. The fire crackled softly, and the wine warmed Hermione’s skin, making everything feel closer — his voice, the way he looked at her, the faint scent of cedar and parchment that clung to him.
Theo smiled faintly. “And you? What are you looking for now?”
She shook her head. “No one in particular really. I think I’m waiting to feel something… different. Something deeper than attraction, someone that likes me for me, not for being the Golden Girl.”
He leaned his elbows on his knees. “Different how?”
Hermione hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. “Something quiet, but strong. The kind of devotion that doesn’t demand attention, it just… stays.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. Theo’s gaze lingered on her face — soft, searching — until he finally looked away, setting his glass down before he said something he couldn’t take back and ruined the mood.
“It’s late,” he said gently. “You should get some rest. Bill will be up at dawn again, and I suspect he’s planning to start breaking hexes near your room next.”
Hermione stood, her head light from the wine. “You’re probably right.”
He walked her to her chambers, the hallway bathed in warm candlelight he held in front of them. When they reached her door, Hermione turned to thank him, but the words caught in her throat. Theo was standing close, too close, the firelight from the candle pushing shadows upon his face.
He smiled in his easygoing way — small, tired, but achingly kind. “Goodnight, Hermione.”
Before she could respond, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead — light, careful, but full of meaning.
Her breath caught in her throat. “Goodnight, Theo.”
He lingered just a moment longer, then stepped back, his voice barely above a murmur. As he turned back down the hall “Sleep well.”
Hermione slipped into her room and closed the door behind her, her heart fluttering in her chest like a bird trying to find its way out of a cage.
She leaned against the door for a moment, fingertips brushing the place where his lips had touched her skin. It was such a simple gesture, and yet it left her dizzy — and something deep inside her shifted, fragile and undeniable. Her skin tingled where his lips had touched.
When she finally climbed into bed, she couldn’t stop thinking about him — the warmth in his eyes, the quiet strength in his voice, the way he’d looked at her like she was something steady in a world still full of ghosts of the war.
Notes:
Thanks for reading!
Chapter 11: Boy's Night
Chapter Text
The next several days at Nott Manor passed in a blur of physical effort and painstaking progress. Bill worked tirelessly through the east wing, his steady experienced hands and curse-breaking runes stripping away generations of dark magic one charm at a time. Pansy divided her time between setting up for the opening of her new shop and the manor, sweeping through rooms with swatches of enchanted fabric and muttering about color balance and “post-war gloom.”
Outside, Hermione and Theo had claimed the gardens as their main project. Together they cleared the overgrown rose beds, restored the cracked fountains, and coaxed life back into the soil with persistent spells and muddy hands. The air was rich with summer breeze and the smell of turned earth — and laughter, too, faint and rare but growing more frequent each day between the pair.
By each evening, they were always exhausted — dirt-streaked, wind-tousled, and too tired for much deep conversation. Their dinners in Theo’s parlor became mostly quiet rituals: shared spreads, easy going silence, and the comforting hum of good companionship.
Each night, when Theo walked Hermione to her door, he kissed her forehead before saying goodnight. It had started as something shocking, but now was almost automatic — a gesture of care, of gratitude. But it happened again the next night, and the one after that. Now it had become a routine.
Now, each time, Hermione’s heart stumbled just a little. She wasn’t sure what it meant. Perhaps it was just friendly — the way Harry might have hugged her, or Ron might have brushed her hand in passing. But perhaps… it wasn’t. Still, neither of them said anything. They were too busy, too tired, too careful.
By the afternoon of the fifth day, the manor looked and felt transformed — more alive again, fairly safe, nearly whole once more. The advanced protection wards glowed steady under Bill’s inspection, Pansy had conquered most of the main floor and guest rooms (leaving Theo and Hermione to do the family wing themselves to their own tastes), and even the roses in the gardens had begun to bloom for the first time in at least a decade.
And just as Hermione wiped her hands on her gardening robes, Theo appeared at her side with a wry smile and a warning to remind her of the evenings plans.
“The boys are coming tonight,” he said. “Just Blaise and Draco. Pansy’s already sent an owl to make sure I stock the good firewhiskey. They should be here around 6. Pansy said she would come back around at 5, so the two of you can eat dinner together here then pop off to her place. She’s really excited to show you her flat and have a girl’s night. She said not to forget to bring wine and that opal nail polish she likes. ”
Hermione laughed softly, brushing a stray curl from her perspired forehead. The air between them was warm, and easy — but beneath it, something deeper felt like it was swirly beneath the surface of their interactions.
The scent of roasted lamb and herbed potatoes filled Hermione’s small sitting room as dusk settled over the manor. The house was warm, glowing with candlelight and the low hum of laughter drifting up from the formal lounge.
Pansy had arrived an hour earlier, her deep maroon cloak immediately tossed carelessly over the back of a chair, her hair pulled up in a casual twist that looked far too perfect to be accidental. She’d brought a bottle of white wine and immediately declared it “too nice for the boys’ table. Just for the girls.”
“Merlin, they’re going to ruin your new furniture I just created,” Pansy said, curling up on Hermione’s settee. “I can hear Blaise shuffling cards and telling tales of Italian girls from down the hall. It’s like listening to a swarm of bees brag about their stingers to each other.”
Hermione laughed, settling beside her with two glasses. “They’ve been at it since they arrived you know. Theo said something about tonight being about ‘tradition,’ but I think it’s just an excuse to drink without you around scolding them.”
“Oh, I’ll scold them later.” Pansy waved a dismissive hand. “But tonight, we’ll eat, drink, and pretend we’re not surrounded by reckless men and enjoy my flat.”
Dinner was comforting, full of warmth and coziness. The two women talked about Pansy’s shop — the new window display charms Hermione recommended using, the advertising letters, the way Blaise had tried to convince her to name it Pansy’s Parlour of Practical Magic.
“He’s incorrigible,” Pansy said fondly, rolling her eyes. “But he did design the logo, and it’s actually perfect. Don’t tell him I said that. please”
“I won’t,” Hermione promised, smiling.
After cream puff desserts and another glass of wine, they changed into soft, casual clothes for the evening — Hermione in a cozy rose jumper and Pansy in what she called her “fashionable loungewear,” which somehow looked ready for a magazine cover for Juicy Couture.
“Come on,” Pansy said, grabbing Hermione’s hand as they headed into the corridor. “We’ll say goodnight to the idiots real quick before they destroy Theo’s new carpet.”
The laughter and low rumble of voices guided them down the hall to the lounge. The door to the room was half open, light spilling into the hallway.
Hermione slowed as they approached, hearing Draco’s voice — sharp, almost frantic.
“—you don’t understand, Theo. I can’t do this, not yet. It’s— it’s too soon.”
Blaise’s tone was softer. “Draco—”
“No,” Draco cut him off, his voice tight. “You don’t know what is going on. Everything feels wrong. What if—”
Theo’s calm reply was too low to catch, but his tone carried steady reassurance.
Pansy glanced at Hermione, frowning. “That didn’t sound like his usual brand of melodrama. I hope everything is alright.”
Hermione shook her head, uneasy. She rapped gently on the door out of respect for Theo before pushing it open more, giving the boys fair warning of their arrival.
Three heads turned toward them. Blaise grinned lazily from where he lounged on the leather sofa, a pile of poker chips ion the table in front of him. Theo looked relaxed, though his eyes softened even more when they landed on Hermione. Draco, however, looked caught off guard — his hand frozen halfway to his glass, color rising to his pale cheeks.
“Evening, ladies,” Blaise drawled. “Come to rescue us from our own brilliance?”
“Hardly, love” Pansy said, smirking. “Just here to say goodnight. I assume you’re drinking something expensive and talking nonsense?”
“As tradition demands,” Blaise replied indolently.
Hermione smiled politely, though she was a bit taken back seeing Draco again and could feel his hard gaze flicker toward her and then abruptly away again. “Hello, Draco.”
“Hermione.” He inclined his head stiffly, his tone neutral but not warm. His eyes darted toward Theo pointedly, then back to her. “I didn’t realize you were… staying here.”
Hermione blinked. “Oh. Yes — temporarily. While I get started on my mastery.”
Draco’s expression tightened, something uncertain flickering there. “No one mentioned that to me.”
Theo, catching the tension, set his cards down. “It wasn’t a secret. We’ve all been working on the manor together. Hermione’s been helping more than anyone, though Pansy has been sent from Merlin himself as well.”
Draco’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Of course she has.”
The words weren’t cruel, but they landed heavy — not an insult, just a stiff kind of unease.
Pansy crossed her arms. “Honestly, Draco, you’d think you’d be capable of polite conversation by now. Your mother certainly raised you better. You’re going to scare off all your possible friends before the baby’s even born.”
Draco froze. “Pansy.”
She arched a brow. “What? It’s public news, not classified information.”
Draco muttered something under his breath and reached for his glass, clearly done with the topic. Blaise gave Pansy a warning look; Theo stayed quiet, eyes still on Hermione.
Sensing the discomfort, Hermione offered a small smile. “Well, I just wanted to wish everyone a good evening. Don’t stay up too late or drink too much.”
“Goodnight, Hermione,” Theo said gently, rising from his chair.
Draco’s gaze flicked between them, sharp now — watching as Theo stepped forward to walk her to the door.
“Goodnight, Theo,” Hermione said softly, and as always, he leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. But this time, the room had witnesses.
Draco stiffened even more his back going rigid, his expression tightening almost imperceptibly. Blaise’s smile faded into a knowing smirk, and Pansy raised a brow that said we’ll talk about that later.
Theo seemed to realize he’d created drama only after he pulled back. “Sleep well,” he said quickly, his voice a shade too casual and quick. Hermione nodded, cheeks warm, and turned to leave with Pansy.
As the door closed behind them, she heard Blaise exhale a laugh. “Well, that was interesting.”
Draco’s voice, low and angry, followed faintly through the door: “You didn’t tell me she lived here.”
Then the door shut completely, muffling whatever came next. In the corridor, Pansy shot Hermione a sideways glance, the corners of her mouth twitching. “So… forehead kisses now?”
Hermione groaned softly. “It’s nothing.”
Pansy smirked. “Mm. Of course it isn’t.”
They walked on together toward Hermione’s rooms, using the floo to head over to Pansy’s for the night. The Floo dropped them out of the emerald flames into the sitting room of Pansy’s flat with a soft whoosh and a swirl of glittering dark ash. Hermione steadied herself, brushing soot from her sleeve, and blinked in astonishment.
The place was exactly what she should have expected — elegant but alive.
Every surface seemed charmed for aesthetic perfection: light blue walls with gilded trim, floating lanterns that adjusted brightness on command, plush velvet sofas strewn with embroidered cushions in jewel tones. A grand mirror shimmered above the fireplace, occasionally offering unsolicited compliments about them. (“Lovely hair today, Miss Parkinson.”)
A small white fluffy cat dozed on a pile of fabric swatches near the window, and the air smelled faintly of vanilla and rosewater. Pansy spread her arms. “Welcome to civilization! I redecorated last week — it’s modern Regency with a touch of Parisian chic. Oh, and that’s my graduation gift from Blaise, her name is Chica.”
Hermione smiled. “It’s beautiful. I feel underdressed just standing in it. Though, I didn’t realize you were a cat person.”
“You are,” Pansy said cheerfully, tossing her cloak onto a hook. “But we’ll fix that later. Tonight, my dear war heroine, you’re going to relax.”
Within minutes, they’d conjured pajamas — Hermione in soft pink cotton, Pansy in black silk — and settled cross-legged on the shag rug with two bottles of wine, a basket of nail polish bottles, and a plate of chocolate biscuits.
They painted each other’s nails — Pansy choosing a deep plum for Hermione, Hermione retaliating with sparkly silver for Pansy — and talked about everything from shop openings to scandalous Ministry gossip. Pansy was midway through complaining about a potential first client who wanted self-folding drapes that hummed lullabies when she suddenly turned sly.
“So,” she said, refilling both their glasses, “how’s life at Nott Manor? Any… developments?”
Hermione blinked acting confused. “Developments?”
Pansy grinned. “Oh, don’t play innocent. Blaise told me Theo’s been unusually pleasant lately. And then there’s the matter of those nightly forehead kisses…”
Hermione groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “You heard about that?”
“Sweetheart,” Pansy said, smirking, “everyone in that house saw it. Draco nearly had a stroke tonight.”
Hermione threw a pillow at her, laughing. “You’re insufferable.”
“Correct.” Pansy lobbed it back. “But come on — are you going to tell me it’s all strictly platonic?”
Hermione hesitated, twirling her wineglass. “I… don’t know. Theo’s really kind. Steady. I feel safe with him. But I don’t know if that’s real love potential or just— relief. After everything over the last few years...”
Pansy’s expression softened. “You’re allowed to want gentle and easy things, Hermione. Not everything has to be dramatic and hard to get.”
“I know,” Hermione said quietly. “It’s just confusing. Every time he looks at me, I can’t tell if he’s thinking what I’m thinking about there being maybe more there… or if I’m imagining it.”
Pansy leaned back against the couch, studying her with a knowing smile. “Trust me — if Theo’s still kissing your forehead after a week, it’s not just friendly. He’s halfway in love and doesn’t realize it yet.”
Hermione laughed softly. “You’re romanticizing him.”
“I’m observant,” Pansy said primly, then ruined the effect by taking a large gulp of wine. “Now drink up and admit he’s attractive before I die of secondhand sexual repression.”
That earned her another pillow to the face, and soon the living room was full of laughter and flying cushions. The cat hissed and darted under the sofa as the two witches dissolved into tipsy giggles, breathless and happy to be spending time together again.
When the chaos subsided, they collapsed on the floor, hair tangled, cheeks flushed.
Pansy sighed contentedly. “You know, I missed this. I’ve really missed sharing a dorm with you. It’s nice having a girlfriend who doesn’t mind when I’m insufferable.”
Hermione smiled, resting her head on a cushion. “It’s nice having a friend who makes me laugh and tells me honestly when to shove off.”
“Don’t go soft on me now,” Pansy murmured, already half asleep form the bottles of wine.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Hermione whispered back.
The lanterns dimmed at Pansy’s lazy flick of her wand, casting the room in gentle shadows. Hermione lay awake for a little while, listening to the soft sounds beyond the window in Diagon Alley and thinking of Nott Manor — of gardens and roses, of hospitality, and of Theo’s steady hands brushing soil from her fingers. When she finally drifted off, it was with a smile on her face that she didn’t quite understand the reason for.
Notes:
Coming up next- the first few weeks of summer and Pansy's shop opening!
Chapter 12: Pansy's Empire Begins
Notes:
Ginny and Hermione are still good friends. Pansy may now know her on some levels a bit deeper after living with her last year, but Ginny is still her oldest girlfriend.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The next two weeks passed in a kind of relaxed routine. Theo and Hermione fell into an easy rhythm together— many mornings spent outside tending to the gardens, orchards, and lawns, sunshine glinting off the dawn dew-damp grass as they worked side by side. On rainy days, they took their lazy lunches in the informal parlor, curled into opposite ends of the sofa with books and teacups, their laughter echoing through the halls much to the delight of the house elves.
Afternoons were for projects — restoring the family wing room by room, deciding which spaces to reclaim for family legacy and which to redo completely. They made plans for the library too, clearing shelves, repairing bindings, and carefully cataloguing centuries of Nott family history, learning more about dark magic than either really wanted to know. Sometimes Pansy, Blaise, or even Ginny dropped by for lunch or tea, bringing bursts of noise and stories of the wizarding world before disappearing again into their own lives.
Dinner was always in Theo’s parlor, the same cozy room that had become their quiet ritual since the first evening there — the firelight always soft, the conversation generally easy. But the evenings were always theirs alone lately. And somewhere in those quiet hours over dessert and wine, the boundaries between friendship and something more began to blur.
Theo still kissed her forehead every night before bed. It had become second nature, that minor, gentle touch — but lately, he lingered just a heartbeat longer, his fingers brushing her arm or the curve of her back as he said goodnight. Hermione didn’t know what it meant. Maybe he was just tactile, comfortable, grateful. Or maybe… not.
All she knew was that her skin seemed to hum wherever he touched her. That her breath caught when his hand brushed hers as they passed a plate or a book. That she’d begun dreaming — half-remembered, vivid dreams full of affection and closeness, the kind that left her blushing when she woke.
They never spoke about it. Not once.
And each night, as she lay awake replaying his voice, his smile, his touch, Hermione wondered if she was imagining it all — or if she was slowly losing her mind trying to decipher something that might actually be there.
Soon it was the morning of Pansy’s grand opening. Theo and Hermione sat across from each other. The summer air thru the open window had rolled in warm and soothing, carrying the faint scent of blooming roses from the gardens they’d spent the last two weeks nurturing back to life.
The table was set simply — eggs, fruit, toast, and coffee. They’d fallen into an easy rhythm even here: she poured the tea, he buttered the bread, neither needing to speak to fill the silence since they’de come to know each other’s food preferences.
Theo glanced up from his half-eaten plate as Hermione stood to fetch her bag. For once, she wasn’t in her usual lounging robes or gardening clothes. The soft yellow sundress she wore caught the morning light, the fabric brushing her knees as she moved. Her curls, half pinned up, glowed faintly like bronze around her framed face.
He froze halfway through lifting his cup. “You look…”
Hermione turned, arching a curious brow. “What?”
Theo blinked once, his composure faltering in a rare, unguarded moment. “You look nice.” He hesitated, then added, quieter almost reverently, “More than nice, actually.”
Her cheeks warmed, but she tried to sound breezy. “Thank you. It’s just a summer dress. It’s not even new.”
Theo gave a small sly but embarrassed smile. “It’s a very effective dress, then.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed a contrite smile. “You’re not usually one for flattery.”
“Only when it’s deserved.”
He said it so simply that it made her pulse skip and heart beat harder. For a long moment, the air between them seemed to hum with tension — gentle, uncertain, the kind of silence that said more than words could.
Hermione glanced toward the window, breaking the moment before it could stretch too far and become uncomfortable. “I should go. Pansy will have my head if I’m late.”
Theo nodded, setting his cup down. “Tell her I said congratulations — and that I’ll drop by later if she wants the manor’s elves to help enchant more packaging.”
“I will.” Hermione slipped her shawl around her shoulders, trying to ignore the faint tremor of her heartbeat in her hands.
Theo stood as she moved toward the door, his voice softer now. “Have fun today, Hermione.”
She paused at the use of her first name, looking back. “I plan to.”
And then, just as always, he stepped closer — not too close, but enough for her to feel his body’s warmth. His fingers brushed her arm lightly, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
It shouldn’t have felt different, not after so many nights of the same quiet gesture lately. But this morning it felt like his lips lingered longer than normal — his breath soft against her skin, his voice barely above a whisper as he said, “Remember you look radiant, don’t let Pansy say you should have dressed up more.” When she finally stepped back from him, her heart was thudding unevenly and way too fast.
“See you tonight,” she said, and his faint grin in reply followed her mind all the way to the Floo.
The familiar whirl of green flames carried Hermione out of the manor and into the bustle of The Leaky Cauldron. The sound hit her first — chatter, laughter, the faint pops of Apparition, and the distant notes of a string quartet playing near Flourish and Blotts up the alley for the special event.
Pansy’s shop — Polished & Proper: Beauty with Bite — stood proudly near the end of the street, its brand new black-and-gold sign gleaming in the sunlight. The front windows glittered with displays of shimmering potions, enchanted cosmetics, and levitating perfume bottles swirling with color. Ginny was waiting outside, already waving with a grin, her fiery hair pulled into a high ponytail.
“There you are! You look adorable,” she said, looping an arm through Hermione’s as they stepped toward the entrance. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to outshine the bride-to-be today.”
Hermione laughed, shaking her head. “Hardly. You’re the one people will be staring at today when we hit the gown shop. I’m so glad we get today together before you start training next week.”
Ginny grinned. “Please. They’ll all be staring at Pansy in here — she somehow managed to make an entire storefront look like it’s flirting with every passersby.”
They stepped inside to a chorus of shop hand greetings and enchanted bells chiming overhead. The shop was alive with movement — floating signage, testers twirling on display stands, and dozens of witches and wizards sampling shimmering tonics. Pansy, radiant in emerald green witch robes and a wide grin, stood behind the counter greeting customers like royalty.
The shop was crowded enough that Hermione nearly bumped into him before she realized who he was. Draco Malfoy stood just inside the entrance of Polished & Proper, tall and poised in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit that made him look every bit the heir he’d always been. His pale hair was neatly combed back, his expression calm—almost unreadable—but his presence drew attention the way a spark catches dry parchment.
He saw her first. For the briefest moment, his grey eyes flicked over her—quick, assessing, and, unless she was imagining it, lingering just a little too long on her chest before meeting her eyes again.
“Granger,” he said evenly, with a short nod. “Weasley.”
Hermione managed a convincing polite smile. “Malfoy. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Nor I,” Ginny added, her tone surprisingly respectful but cautious.
Draco’s gaze moved toward the counter, where Pansy was surrounded by reporters and well-wishers. “I wanted to stop by. She’s been a good friend—and she’s worked hard for this.” His voice softened almost imperceptibly. “It seemed right to show support.”
Hermione nodded in agreement. “That’s kind of you.”
He gave a small, perfunctory smile that didn’t quite fully reach his eyes. “Well. Enjoy the festivities.”
Before either of them could say more, he excused himself, disappearing into the crowd and then out the door, the faintest scent of pine cologne trailing after him.
Ginny let out a low whistle. “Well, that was unexpectedly… civil.”
Hermione tried to sound casual, though her pulse had inexplicably quickened. “He seems… different. I think the war really changed him, maybe for the better honestly.”
Ginny causally smirked. “Different, and absurdly good-looking. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice how very adult he looks. Not much left of the ferret boy anymore..”
Hermione rolled her eyes at the joke, but heat crept up her neck all the same. “I noticed too.”
When Pansy spotted them, her face lit up. “My two favorite Gryffindors! Don’t just stand there — come admire me properly! Pay homage to the queen!”
Hermione laughed in good humor, hugging her. “You did it, Pansy. It’s perfect.”
“Of course it is,” Pansy said, her voice mock-serious, though her eyes shone with pride. “I’m a genius, and now the world all knows it.”
Ginny leaned in with a smirk. “You’ve outdone yourself, Parkinson. The perfume section alone smells like sin and champagne.”
Pansy grinned with mischief. “That’s the goal.”
The morning passed in a whirl of chatter, ribbon-cutting, toasts, and catching up with old Hogwarts acquaintances. Hermione found herself genuinely proud — not just of Pansy’s success, but of how far they’d all come. To stand here, in the once dark ruined alley and have real laughter, after everything the war had taken — it felt like something close to major healing.
When the crowd thinned a little after midday, Ginny tugged on her arm. “Come on, let’s sneak out before she ropes us into restocking shelves like elves. I’m starving.”
They ducked across the street to The Leaky Cauldron, where the noise of Diagon Alley dimmed to the soft murmur of lunchtime chatter. Over turkey sandwiches and pumpkin fizz juice, they planned the rest of the day.
“Alright,” Ginny said, tapping her butterbeer glass with a grin. “After this, we’re going dress shopping.”
Hermione smiled. “Are you sure you want to start today? It’s supposed to be relaxing, and you do still have a few months till August.”
Ginny’s eyes sparkled. “Relaxing is shopping. Besides, I start Quidditch training in a few days — I’ll barely have time to breathe once it begins. This is my last chance to do something properly girly with you for awhile. We can at least look, doesn’t mean I have to buy something today if nothing feels right. Plus Harry told me he’ll pay for the dress and shoes, and there’s no limit!”
Hermione laughed. “Then I’m honored to be your partner in crime.”
They spent another hour talking over dessert at the ice cream parlor— about Harry’s training schedule, about wedding plans, about life finally feeling… somewhat normal. Yet every now and then, Hermione’s thoughts drifted back to the manor. To breakfast. To Theo’s voice, low and unguarded, telling her she looked radiant. It shouldn’t have mattered so much. But somehow, it did. She couldn’t shake the morning scene from her mind.
As Ginny dragged her toward Madam Malkin’s, still chattering about dress fabrics and color palettes, Hermione caught her reflection in a shop window — cheeks flushed, eyes bright, curvy in the right places – when had she become an attractive young woman?
Madam Malkin’s was quiet in the late afternoon hours, the shop bathed in soft midafternoon light that made the rows of gowns shimmer faintly under their stasis charms. Hermione sat on a cushioned bench near the largest mirror, sipping her tea and watching as Ginny stood on the fitting platform surrounded by floating pins and fabric swatches.
The fourth gown of the day—a sleek silk, lace-trimmed design with delicate silver beading—had looked stunning, but Ginny frowned at her reflection, twisting slightly in unease.
“It’s beautiful,” Hermione offered gently and truthfully. “You look like you stepped out of Witch Weekly’s bridal spread.”
Ginny made a face. “That’s exactly the problem. I don’t want to look like anyone else’s idea of perfect bride. I want to look like me.”
She sighed and tugged at the fabric at her hip, then hopped down from the platform, nearly tripping over the hem. “No. Not this one either.”
Madam Malkin clucked sympathetically and whisked the dress away with a flick of her wand. “Not to worry, dear. We’ll find the right one yet.”
But after two more pretty A-line gowns—and one disastrous puff-sleeved creation that made both women burst out laughing at the absurdity—Ginny finally threw her hands up. “I give up. Nothing feels right today.”
Hermione smiled softly. “It’s alright. We’ve got time. Maybe we just haven’t found the one that feels like you yet because it hasn’t been made quite yet.”
Ginny’s shoulders relaxed. “Yeah. Maybe we’ll try again closer to the wedding. Harry won’t care what I wear anyway—he’s just excited to marry me and to make himself a family.”
Hermione stood and linked her arm through Ginny’s. “Then that’s all that really matters.”
They left the shop empty-handed but laughing, the late afternoon sun spilling across Diagon Alley as they stepped outside—two old friends, tired and happy, promising to try again another day.
Notes:
Thanks for reading, leave a comment!
Chapter 13: The Pond
Chapter Text
By mid-July, the English summer had turned relentless. Even the cool-charmed air inside Nott Manor felt thick and heavy, the kind that made inked letters run and warm tea taste wrong. The morning air filtered through the dining room windows already muggy, catching on Theo’s shirt sleeves — rolled up to his elbows — as he frowned into his untouched coffee.
Hermione pushed her curls off her damp forehead and sighed. “If this heat keeps up, I’m moving into the cellar I swear.”
Theo smirked. “You’ll have company. The elves are already ready to strike. The refuse to step foot in the kitchen.”
Before she could answer, a silver shimmer streaked through the open window, scattering sunlight across the table. The familiar form of a gallant horse Patronus — Ginny’s — trotted gracefully in midair before opening its mouth to speak in her bright, teasing voice:
“Come to the Burrow! We’re all melting. Pond’s perfect for swimming. Bring your swim things — and Theo too. Everyone’s here already. You’ll both fry if you stay in that big stone oven all day.”
The Patronus faded with another toss of its mane.
Theo raised an eyebrow. “You think she meant that sincerely?”
Hermione grinned. “Of course, she really does like you. And you’re coming. I’ve already decided.”
He blinked taken back. “I didn’t realize I’d been volunteered for public display by you.”
“You’ll be fine. Everyone’s seen you since the war by now,” she said matter-of-factly. “And Ginny wouldn’t have invited you if Harry or the Weasleys had any major objections.”
Theo hesitated again, his expression flickering in a thoughtful way — that quiet uncertainty he still carried around people who had once been his enemies was still persistent.
Hermione’s tone softened. “They’ll be kind, Theo. Trust me. They consider me family. And it’s far too hot to stay here. You’ll survive an afternoon of Weasleys.”
That earned her a faint smirk. “You’re terrifying when you give orders.”
“Good,” she said, standing. “Now go find something summery to wear. Preferably something that doesn’t look like it belongs in a board meeting or from last century. Don’t forget the swimming trunks and to cast a good sun blocker charm.”
An hour later, the Burrow shimmered into view through the thick summer haze as they walked up form the appaaration point — red roof, crooked chimneys, and the sound of laughter rolling through the open fields greeted them.
The pond in the field behind the house sparkled invitingly under the hot sun. Ginny waved from the water, her bright hair gleaming, while Harry and George lounged on the grassy bank, feet in the water, half-finished butterbeers sweating beside them. Percy was reading in the shade, looking too dignified to be near the chaos about to unfold, and Ron was skipping stones across the pond with the same tense focus he used in chess.
Hermione barely had time to greet Molly at the kitchen door before she and Theo were ushered to join the others at the pond with a full basket of food.
Ginny spotted them first, grinning. “Finally! I was starting to think you’d melted en route!”
Hermione laughed, setting the basket down beside the towels. “Blame the heaviness of simple movement. It’s like breathing through steam. It was hard to get packed.”
Theo offered a polite and formal nod to the group. “Thank you for having me.”
George raised his bottle. “The more the merrier, mate. Though fair warning, the pond bites if you stay in too long.”
“Does not, don’t lie to him already,” Ginny called, splashing him.
“It used to,” George said solemnly. “Fred cursed it when we were kids. Keeps things lively.”
Theo chuckled — a soft, genuine sound — and Hermione felt a little spark of relief as the others smiled back at him. Everyone except Ron, whose greeting was a muttered “hey” before he turned back to skipping rocks on the water. The tension didn’t escape Theo, though he said nothing.
The afternoon melted into relaxed amusement and noise. They passed around sandwiches, butterbeer, and wedges of cold watermelon, the juice dripping down their wrists. The pond glittered like glass under the sun, and soon even Theo had abandoned his polite reserve, swapping his trousers for swimming trunks and wading in after Ginny dared him to.
Hermione lingered on the bank for a moment, then peeled off her daisy covered sundress to reveal her skimpy red polka dot bikini beneath. She didn’t notice Theo’s reaction at first — the way his laughter caught mid-sentence when her dress went over her head, or how his gaze lingered just a heartbeat too long on her chest and ass before he politely tried to look away.
But she felt it later — in the way his lingering touch seemed to find her whenever they splashed or bumped shoulders in the water, his hand steadying her as she tripped on a rock, his fingers brushing her arm when they laughed at Ginny’s failed dive turned belly glop. It felt innocent, playful, friendly… but there was something in his eyes that wasn’t quite casual friendship anymore she suspected.
By mid-afternoon, Luna had drifted down the hill from her family home up the road, wearing a wide straw hat and a flowing cotton rainbow dress. She greeted everyone dreamily, settling on the shore beside Hermione and murmuring so just Hermione could hear, “You and Theo look very happy together.”
Hermione flushed at the implication. “We’re just friends.”
Luna nodded, and smiled knowingly. “Perhaps you think so. But the Nargles seem to think otherwise.”
The sun slid lower, gilded and heavy, and the day blurred into more glee, splashing, and the clink of empty butterbeer bottles. Even Ron had seemingly relaxed a little — until the drinks caught up with him. It started as a grumble, then a mutter, and finally a slurred accusation that broke through the hum of the group conversation.
“So this is what it’s like, huh?” Ron said suddenly, dropping onto the grass beside the basket. His cheeks were flushed, his voice rough. “You and him — living together in that bloody mansion, pretending it’s all academic and unicorn friendship.”
Hermione stiffened immediately. “Ron—”
“No, really,” he said, turning directly toward Theo now. “What’s your endgame, Nott? You going to play the reformed pure-blood long enough until she lets you be the one to finally be the first allowed to put your—”
“Ron,” Harry interrupted sharply with anger lacing his voice. “Enough.”
Theo’s face was unreadable, his voice oddly calm. “I have no endgame. I respect Hermione, and I’m honored she trusts me enough to share my home with me. I’ve been really grateful to have her help transforming the manor and to keep me company.”
Ron scoffed in disbelief. “That’s a nice line.”
“Ron,” Hermione said, her tone low and tight with rage. “You’re drunk. Please stop before you say something you’ll regret. This is not how I’ll allow you to talk about me. You should know by know to respect my judgement. It’s always been very sound, in fact… it kept you alive.”
But the damage was already done. The group of young adults looked around at each other flustered and uneasy.
Harry stood, jaw tight. “Come on, mate. You’re done. Let’s get you home.”
Ron muttered something under his breath but let himself be hauled to his feet, stumbling toward the Burrow with Harry’s steady arm guiding him.
The laughter and warmth that had filled the day dimmed a little, replaced by an awkward hush. Ginny sighed with annoyance, rubbing her temple. “I’ll talk to him later. I’m sorry, Theo. He doesn’t actually mean it. I swear he doesn’t even like Hermione like that himself, he’s just really protective of our family, especially since we lost Fred.”
Theo shook his head in understanding. “It’s alright. I understand.”
George, trying to salvage the mood, popped open another butterbeer. “Well, that was delightfully awkward. Anyone for another round with me?”
But the happy moments had already passed. Soon after Ron and Harry trudged off, Hermione gathered her things, her skin still damp from the pond and her heart heavier than it should’ve been considering how well most of the day had gone. Theo walked beside her back toward the edge of the field, his silence steady, not uncomfortable — just… quiet.
When they reached the point where they could apparate back, she turned to him. “I’m sorry about Ron.”
“You don’t need to be,” Theo said softly. “I think he just needed someone to get his anger about the war out on.”
Hermione hesitated, her voice low. “You didn’t deserve that.”
His gaze met hers tenderly, lingering yet flustered. “Neither did you. And… well I’m not.. that is to say… when I invited you to live with me, I wasn’t thinking you’de… well let’s just say I had zero expectations.”
And though they both smiled faintly having come to an understanding before apparating away, the implication of Ron seemed to hang between them — not quite forgotten.
Notes:
Well, that was awkward! Ron needs to get it together before Hermione cuts him out of her life.
Chapter 14: Pansy's Big News
Notes:
Ron's comments still linger, and we hear special news from Pansy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They landed in the cool quiet of the Nott Manor entryway just as the sun was beginning to sink beyond the orchards. The heat of the day still clung to their skin, the air thick with the scent of summer grass and faint traces of smoke from the Floo.
For a moment, neither of them spoke at all. The shift from laughter and sunlight to the hush of the manor was almost startling. Hermione still felt the faint burn of embarrassment beneath her skin — Ron’s voice echoing in her mind, Theo’s calm reply, the way the others had looked away to spare her some dignity.
She swallowed hard, brushing damp curls from her face. “That could’ve gone worse.”
Theo glanced at her, his tone dry but gentle. “I suppose no one was hexed, so yes, a success.”
Hermione huffed a soft laugh, but it faded quickly. “I really am sorry about Ron. He doesn’t— he doesn’t mean half of what he says. He just…”
“Loves you,” Theo finished quietly. “Even if he doesn’t quite know how to anymore.”
She looked up, surprised. “You’re not angry?”
Theo shook his head. “No. I understand loyalty. It’s not easy to watch the world change around you and not know where you fit anymore.”
There was a stillness in the air after that — something deeper than just silence. The house was dim with light fading fast, the last light of day filtering through the tall windows and falling across Theo’s face. He looked tired, a little sunburned, his hair still damp from the pond like hers. There was a small cut on his knuckle from where he’d caught it on a rock earlier, and for some reason Hermione wanted to reach out and heal it.
Instead, she murmured, “You handled it well.”
He smiled faintly. “I had motivation to behave. I didn’t want to make things harder for you.”
Her chest tightened. “You never do.”
He turned toward her fully then, studying her in that quiet way of his — the kind of gaze that felt like it saw past words. “You looked happy today,” he said softly. “Before the fight.”
Hermione smiled a little. “It was a good day. Mostly.”
Theo nodded slowly. “I forget what that feels like sometimes — simple days. Laughter without weight. No threats to worry about.”
“It’s been hard to find those days again,” she admitted.
They fell quiet for a while again. The manor creaked softly around them, settling into the evening hours. Hermione glanced toward the hallway leading to his parlor. “We should eat something. You hardly touched your dinner there.”
He smiled faintly. “Neither did you.”
She shrugged. “It was too hot to be hungry.”
“Then we’ll have something light. I’ll ask the elves to bring wine.”
Hermione hesitated, then smiled. “That sounds nice.”
Dinner was quiet but relaxed. The elves brought cold salads, bread, and fruit, along with a chilled bottle of white wine that glowed faintly with condensation. They ate by the open windows of Theo’s parlor, the air still warm but moving with a soft evening breeze. Outside, crickets had begun their summer song, and the scent of the flower gardens drifted in.
Theo poured them each another hearty glass of wine, his fingers brushing hers as he handed it over. It was such a small touch — brief, unthinking — but Hermione felt it tingling all the way up her arm.
He noticed her sudden stillness, brow furrowing slightly. “You’re quiet.”
“Just thinking,” she said softly.
“About Ron still?”
“About… today on general.” She set her glass down, tracing the rim absently with her thumb. “About how strange it feels that this is my life now — restoring old gardens, eating dinner with you, having friends who mostly actually like each other.” She gave a small, self-conscious laugh. “I didn’t think peace after the war would feel so complicated yet reassuring.”
Theo tilted his head, watching her. “It’s allowed to be.”
Hermione met his gaze and, for a moment, neither of them looked away. The warmth from the wine and the day seemed to fog everything — the room, the quiet, even the line she’d tried to keep between them of friendship.
Theo’s voice was soft when he finally spoke. “You know, I never imagined I’d have this either. A home that didn’t feel cursed. Someone sitting across from me who—” He stopped himself, looking down unsure how to voice it. “It’s strange, isn’t it? To want something you don’t have words for.”
Hermione’s heart thudded unevenly. “Yes,” she whispered. “It really is.”
The silence between them grew charged with tension again — that same familiar pull that had been growing stronger with every passing night. Theo exhaled quietly, almost as if he was steadying himself. “You should rest. It’s been a long day.”
Hermione nodded, standing — maybe a little too quickly. “You’re right.”
He followed her to her bedroom door, as he always did. The hallway was dim now, the candles flickering low.
When they stopped outside her room, he hesitated. His hand brushed hers — not by accident this time — and he looked down at her, his voice low. “I’m sorry the day ended the way it did.”
“It’s not your fault,” she said softly. “If anything, you made it much better.”
He smiled — that quiet, achingly sexy smile that always seemed to reach her before she realized it had. “Then I’m glad.”
And then, as always, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. But this time, it wasn’t routine. It wasn’t polite. It lingered — just long enough for her to feel his breath, to notice the warmth of his skin, to realize that her heart was beating way too fast.
When he finally stepped back, his voice was quieter than she’d ever heard it be before to her. “Goodnight, Hermione.”
She couldn’t find the right words, so she just nodded, slipping inside her room before her facial expression betrayed her. Once the door clicked shut, she pressed her back against it hard, her pulse racing. The night outside was thick and warm, and the air felt charged — alive — like the storm before something irreversible.
She closed her eyes, breath trying to even out. She could still feel where his lips had touched her skin. It burned with desire. And for the first time, she didn’t try to tell herself it meant nothing more than friendship.
The next morning dawned heavy with more summer heat. The air twinkled outside the windowpanes, cicadas buzzing faintly in the distance. Even the usually cool charmed halls of Nott Manor felt drowsy and heavy, thick with the stillness that always followed too-warm nights.
Hermione woke early but lingered in bed, her thoughts circling like restless birds. Sleep had been fleeting — every time she drifted off, she felt again the ghost of Theo’s lips on her forehead, the warmth of his breath, the quiet in his voice when he’d said goodnight.
By the time she finally forced herself out of bed, she’d convinced herself it had meant nothing. Or at least, that she had to pretend it didn’t.
Downstairs, she found Theo already at the breakfast table in the informal parlor, sleeves rolled up, hair still mussed from sleep. He looked up when she entered, a small beam tugging at his mouth.
“Morning,” he said softly, his voice still rough from sleep.
“Morning,” she replied, trying not to stare at the way the sunlight caught on his collarbone where his shirt was half unbuttoned.
They ate in companionable silence for a while — boiled eggs, buttered toast, bacon, and fresh-cut fruit that one of the elves had left chilling in the icebox overnight. The air hummed faintly with something unspoken but gentle, like both of them were afraid to move too fast and break the fragile ease that had settled over them. Theo was just reaching for the coffee pot when a bright crack echoed through the entryway.
Hermione jumped, half-spilling her tea acrossed her lap.
“Bloody hell—” Theo began, but the rest of his words were lost as a familiar voice rang through the hall.
“Where are my favorite bookish homebodies?”
Pansy Parkinson swept into the room in a swirl of lilac robes and sweet perfume, her hair perfectly coiled on top of her head despite the humidity. She looked radiant — cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling, and grinning so widely that Hermione instantly knew something monumental had happened.
Theo groaned playfully. “It’s too early and too hot for this much enthusiasm.”
“Blasphemy,” Pansy said grandly, waving her left hand in the air. “You’ll want to be awake for this!”
Hermione blinked — then gasped in realization. “Pansy!”
On her ring finger, glittering in the morning light, was a diamond the size of a knut — elegant, classic, emerald cut, and utterly unmistakable.
Theo set down his cup with a broad smile. “Blaise?”
“Blaise!” Pansy squealed, nearly vibrating with joy. “He proposed last night at dinner! The insufferable man waited until dessert, as if I hadn’t been dying to know why he’d ordered champagne before the meal even started and we knew what we’de be ordering for dessert.”
Hermione was already on her fee in a rush, hugging her tightly. “Congratulations! Oh, Pansy, that’s wonderful!”
Pansy beamed, holding out her hand for closer inspection. “Do you see the cut? It’s from Madam Rubina’s in Hogsmeade — antique charm, slightly enchanted so it never needs polishing. He said he wanted something as ‘brilliant and high-maintenance as me.’ I nearly hexed him and kissed him at the same time.”
Theo chuckled lowly. “That sounds about right.”
“Oh, hush,” she said fondly. “You’ll both be next if I have anything to say about it.”
Hermione flushed with modification. “Pansy—”
“What?” Pansy said innocently, eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s only a matter of time before one of you stops pretending your just roommates.”
Theo actually choked on his sip of coffee. Coughing, “Excuse me?”
Pansy waved a dismissive hand. “Please, spare me the act. You practically orbit each other. It’s adorable — nauseating, but adorable.”
Hermione, desperate to change the subject, gestured to the ring again. “Tell us everything! How did he ask?”
Pansy sighed dramatically and dropped into a chair. “We’d just finished dinner on the terrace of the restaurant. The stars were out, the wine was perfect, it was a bit warm, I looked stunning — naturally — and then he got this ridiculous, nervous look on his face. I thought he was about to tell me I’d overspent on floral imports for the store again. Instead, he pulls out the ring and says, ‘I’m madly in love with you, Parkinson. Be part my next bad decision for life?’”
Theo laughed outright. “That sounds exactly like him.”
“It was perfectly imperfect,” Pansy said, smiling dreamily. “And then, of course, I said yes. Though not before telling him he’d better let me pick the entire wedding aesthetic or I’d reconsider.”
Hermione grinned with enthusiasm. “He’ll let you plan everything. He adores you.”
Pansy’s eyes softened. “I know. And I adore him, too.”
“Anyway, I came straight here because I needed to show someone who’d properly swoon. Blaise just smirked and said, ‘I told you it’d fit.’ The man has no sense of theatrics.”
Theo smirked. “Well, now you’ve had your applause and appreciative audience.”
Pansy sniffed in mock offense. “You’re lucky I like you, Nott.”
He raised his water glass to her. “The feeling’s mutual.”
Hermione smiled, warmth flooding through her chest — both at Pansy’s joy and at how easily the morning had shifted from awkward to laughter and light.
Pansy leaned back, admiring her ring again. “We’ll have a small wedding soon — just friends, nothing outrageous. You’ll both come, obviously. Hermione, you’ll help me pick the invitations. Theo, you’ll help Blaise prepare the fmaily villa in Italy.”
Theo groaned. “You just got engaged and you’re already assigning me homework.”
“Of course,” Pansy said sweetly. “You wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Hermione laughed, shaking her head.
And as Pansy went on about color schemes, vows between the grape wines of the vineyard, and guest lists, Hermione stole a glance at Theo. He was smiling faintly at Pansy’s theatrics, but when his eyes met Hermione’s, something delicate passed between them — that quiet, unspoken warmth that had lingered since last night. It was fleeting, gone as quickly as it came, but Hermione felt her heart falter all the same.
Because even amid the laughter and the champagne-colored morning, she couldn’t stop thinking about the way it had felt when he’d said goodnight. And she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to again.
Notes:
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Chapter 15: Fairy Lights and Odd Requests
Chapter Text
The evening was warm and heavy with the scent of honeysuckle. The sun had only just dipped below the far treeline, leaving behind streaks of brilliant sunset violet and gold in the sky. Nott Manor’s back gardens glowed faintly in the twilight, the fairy lights Pansy had charmed earlier in the week drifting lazily above the long garden patio table like captive fireflies of her childhood.
Hermione had helped the elves set everything up before the guests arrived — wine glasses charmed to stay cool, chilled butterbeer for Blaise, two bottles of red for the table, and serving plates piled high with fire roasted chicken, charmed pasta salads, and summer fruits to cleanse the palate.
Theo was beside her, sleeves rolled up, hair a little too perfect from the afternoon breeze mussing it. He looked serene, even content, but Hermione could feel the faint edge of nerves underneath — the particular sort that came with hosting old friends with new friends in a new chapter of life.
When the soft crack of apparition came from the back garden path, Pansy’s voice followed it, lilting and gleeful.
“Darling! Your gardens look like something out of Witch Living.”
She appeared with Blaise in tow, elegant as always, wearing expensive gauzy periwinkle robes that shimmered faintly in the fading light. Blaise followed behind, looking effortlessly handsome and faintly smug, holding a bottle of champagne as a token of appreciation.
“Compliments to the decorator,” Theo said dryly, stepping forward to greet them.
Pansy kissed his cheek. “As well you should. Without me, this place would still look like an antique funeral parlor.”
Hermione smiled, coming forward to hug her. “You look radiant as always Pans.”
“Engagement glow,” Pansy said, wiggling her left hand dramatically. “Though Blaise insists it’s just the wine we’ve ben celebrating with every night.”
“It’s definitely the wine,” Blaise murmured with determination.
Theo chuckled amused, shaking his head. “Both of you, sit before you redecorate my personal life next.”
They were just pouring the first round of drinks when another crack of apparition came from the far edge of the garden behind a hedge shaped like a swan.
Pansy straightened immediately, looking slightly too pleased with herself. “Ah — perfect timing.”
Hermione turned — and froze for half a heartbeat.
Draco Malfoy strode down the garden path, crisp white shirt rolled at the sleeves, faded dark mark on full display, pale hair glinting in the remaining sunlight. His expression was as composed as ever, though the stiffness in his shoulders suggested he hadn’t expected to be here either and was feeling a bit out of place.
Theo raised a questioning eyebrow. “Pansy?”
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Pansy said innocently. “Draco’s been brooding again. I told him an evening of food and friends outside his manor would do him good.”
Draco shot her a look that might have been irritation or gratitude — it was always hard to tell with him — before turning graciously to the hosts. “Nott. Granger.”
Hermione nodded politely in greeting. “Malfoy.”
For a moment they all looked at each other awkwardly and fake politeness, that was it — all sharp formality and carefully measured tone. But when she gestured toward the table, inviting him to sit and conquered another place setting, she caught the faintest flicker of something softer like appreciation in his eyes.
“Thank you,” he said, taking the seat across from her.
Dinner began in cautious civility. Conversation circled easily enough around Pansy’s wedding planning, Blaise’s newest business ventures, and Theo’s restoration projects. Hermione contributed courteously, even managing a few small smiles at Draco’s surprisingly dry wit when he wasn’t pretending to be carved out of marble.
As the wine flowed over decadent bites, the edges began to loosen. By the second bottle, Blaise had them laughing over stories from Hogwarts — pranks, near-misses, and House rivalries told with enough distance that they felt like memories from another lifetime from people in a storybook.
“Do you remember,” Blaise said, grinning, “when you hexed Crabbe’s quill to bite him every time he wrote your name wrong on roll call sheets?”
Theo groaned. “He deserved it. I spent three months being called Knot instead of Nott.”
Pansy loudly snorted. “That’s practically an improvement.”
Even Draco smiled wide at that flashing his pearly teeth, though he hid it well behind his glass.
Hermione leaned back, the night air warm against her skin, and for a moment, everything felt almost impossibly normal — friends gathered under fairy lights, laughter threading through the dark like music on a summer eve.
It was only when she caught Draco looking at her again that the ease faltered again slightly. His gaze wasn’t cruel or even skeptical this time — just considering. Watching. As if he was trying to piece together something he hadn’t expected to find.
When their eyes met intensely, he looked away first, his polite composure snapping back into place. As the evening deepened, conversation grew more personal as the wine kept flowing — the kind of complacency that only comes after enough drink and shared history.
Pansy was glowing as she talked about Blaise’s proposal once again, laughing at her own dramatics. Blaise teased her affectionately. Theo told a story about one of the manor’s restoration charms gone wrong, which had filled an entire east wing corridor with bubblegum-pink smoke from floor to ceiling for three days.
Even Draco began to relax more, contributing a sardonic comment now and again, though his tone toward Hermione remained formally neutral, his words carefully measured. Still, when she laughed at one of Blaise’s jokes, he watched her — openly staring this time. Not judgmental, not unfriendly, just thoughtful and a little stunned.
By the time dessert arrived — a fruit tart charmed to stay cool despite the heat — the wine had gone extensively to everyone’s heads. Laughter came way too easily now, and so did honesty.
Pansy clinked her glass against Hermione’s. “Who would’ve thought? The war’s Golden Girl and the Slytherin library recluse turning Nott Manor into a fairytale together.”
Hermione blushed crimson. “It’s hardly that.”
Theo raised an eyebrow. “You’ve done most of the work that Pansy left to us.”
“Because you’re hopeless at painting charms and furniture transfiguration,” Hermione teased.
“I’m hopeless at painting,” Theo agreed, smirking. “But excellent at moral support.”
Pansy sighed dreamily. “It’s disgustingly domestic. You two are like an old married couple, minus the bickering over curtains.”
Hermione quite nearly choked on her drink, but managed to swallow without coughing. Theo looked equally startled. Draco, however, set his glass down very deliberately and gave Pansy a look that clearly said you’re pushing it.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Pansy said airily. “Everyone can see it.”
“Everyone but them,” Blaise muttered under his breath, earning a laugh from Pansy and a half-hearted glare from Theo who was not looking at Hermione at all during this.
Draco leaned back in his chair, swirling the last of his wine, his expression unreadable again. “It seems Nott Manor’s reputation for surprises continues,” he said coolly entertained.
Hermione wasn’t sure whether to laugh or bristle. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He met her gaze — and, to her surprise, his mouth twitched slightly before falling. “Perhaps not.”
The night waned slowly, the sky gone dark and the fairy lights kept glowing softly above them. The laughter quieted to gentle conversations. Even Draco seemed less rigid than he had all night, though his words carried the faintest melancholy.
When he finally spoke again, it was almost hesitant. “Granger—” He paused, then corrected himself. “Hermione. May I ask you something?”
She blinked in confusion. “Of course.”
He hesitated, glancing toward Pansy as though to confirm his footing. “Astoria’s baby shower is tomorrow. Pansy mentioned she’d be attending. I was wondering… if you might accompany her.”
Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise. “Me?”
“Yes,” Draco said evenly. “Astoria doesn’t have many close friends. She… could use the company. And it would mean a great deal to me if she felt supported. None of this has bene easy.”
The honest sincerity in his voice startled her. For once, there was no veneer of formality or trickery — just quiet earnestness.
“I—” Hermione hesitated, glancing at Pansy.
Pansy smiled softly. “Come with me. We’ll go together. I’ll add your name to my gift — it’ll make her happy to have a better turnout I think.”
Hermione exhaled through her mouth dramatically. “Alright. If you’re sure.”
Draco inclined his head slightly, something almost relieved flickering in his expression. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
The moment hung there for a beat — strange, a fragile understanding reached, but not uncomfortable. Blaise stood first, stretching. “And that, I think, is our cue to leave before Pansy starts drunken redecorating of your garden.”
Pansy rose gracefully, smiling at Hermione. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow, darling. Noon. Wear something light — the Malfoys’ gardens are practically a greenhouse this time of year.”
Hermione nodded, “Alright.”
Blaise leaned in to hug her in farewell — warm, genuine — and Pansy followed, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.
“Don’t let him brood too much please,” she whispered, nodding toward Theo.
Hermione laughed softly. “I’ll do my very best.”
Draco lingered a moment longer than the others. His expression was composed again, hard to read, but his eyes seemed… softer. Curious, maybe. He extended his hand.
“Goodnight, Hermione,” he said quietly.
She took his hand out of learned reflex — and froze, stunned, as he lifted it, brushing his lips against her knuckles in a gesture so unexpected, so absurdly old-fashioned, that her mind nearly couldn’t make any sense of it. The skin where his lips touched prickled even after his lips left much to her surprise.
“Goodnight,” she managed, voice barely steady.
And then he was gone, disappearing into the dark with a soft crack, leaving the faint scent of pine cologne and cool night air behind him. Theo watched the spot where Draco had vanished, an unreadable look flashing across his face momentarily.
Hermione, still flushed, turned toward him. “Well,” she said, trying to sound casual, “that was… unexpected.”
Theo’s mouth quirked, though his tone seemed displeased. “Malfoy’s full of surprises.”
She met his eyes — and for a moment, something passed between them. A question neither dared ask one another out loud. Then the night breeze shifted, carrying the scent of roses and wine, and she looked away, her mind still trying to make sense of it all.
Notes:
Next up: the baby shower at Malfoy manor!
I love reading comments!
Chapter 16: A Malfoy Baby Shower
Chapter Text
A refreshing light breeze swirled around Wiltshire when Pansy and Hermione apparated to the gates of Malfoy Manor. The wrought-iron archway shimmered faintly under the ancient layered security charms, opening with a soft click at Pansy’s wand touch as a family friend who was keyed into the wards.
Hermione swallowed down her panic as the vast, pale estate rose into view — marble columns gleaming in the light, the grand front lawn trimmed to impossible perfection. The same winding drive she remembered from darker times stretched before them, though now it was lined with bright summer blooms instead of frost.
She hadn’t set foot here since the war. Her stomach quivered with nerves, but she squared her shoulders bravely and followed Pansy up the walk. “It looks… different,” she said softly.
Pansy smiled faintly, though her tone held a note of tension. “Narcissa’s been renovating. Trying to make it feel more like a home and less like, well—”
“A cursed grave,” Hermione finished gently.
“Exactly.”
When they stepped into the back gardens, Hermione paused.
The entire space had been beautifully transformed. Rows of white chairs surrounded long tables draped in soft green linens. Floating lanterns in the shape of baby bottles drifted lazily above them, scattering flecks of light blue light over the hedges. At the center of it all sat Astoria Malfoy, perfect in pale blue robes and surrounded by a small circle of women — mostly pure-blood wives and mothers, the kind who still whispered in old social circles but smiled now with delicate civility about unity.
And presiding at the far end of the garden, arranging teacups with regal precision, was Narcissa Malfoy. She turned to face them as they approached, her poise as impeccable as ever. Her hair gleamed silver in the sun, her posture straight despite the summer heat.
“Pansy,” she greeted warmly, kissing the air beside her cheek affectionately. “You look lovely as always.” Her gaze shifted, landing on Hermione. For a moment, her expression froze — not cold, but startled. Then, slowly, a smile curved her lips.
“Miss Granger,” she said delicately. “How unexpected… and how very pleasant.”
Hermione inclined her head politely. “Mrs. Malfoy. Thank you for having me.”
Narcissa’s smile deepened, actually genuine now. “I’m delighted you’re here. Astoria will be so pleased.”
Pansy gave Hermione’s hand a discreet squeeze before guiding her toward the seating area. “Come on, darling. Tea first, politics later.”
Astoria sat beneath a wide white lacey parasol, one hand resting protectively over her rounded belly. She looked delicate — almost fragile — her skin pale as parchment, with faint shadows beneath her eyes. But her smile was gentle, gracious, as she greeted the guests in turn.
“Pansy!” she exclaimed softly as they approached, but did not rise from the chair. “I’m so happy you could come.”
Pansy bent to hug her lightly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. You look beautiful.”
“And you brought Hermione,” Astoria said, her voice a touch breathless but nonetheless warm. “I’m so glad. I’ve heard wonderful things about your work at Nott manor, Hermione.”
Hermione smiled respectfully, careful not to betray her unease. “Congratulations, Astoria. It’s a lovely celebration.”
Astoria’s smile wavered briefly. “Thank you. I’ve been a bit… tired, but Mother insisted we host it outdoors.”
Hermione’s gaze flickered over her again — the slight tremor in her fingers, the way she leaned subtly against the cushions at her back. Something wasn’t quite right.
But before she could ask, Narcissa swept over, arranging a fresh plate of cucumber sandwiches. “Astoria, dearest, sit back. You’ll exhaust yourself. Hermione, do have a scone and sandwich — they’re from that new patisserie in Diagon Alley that opened last week.”
Hermione accepted the plate with a polite smile, though her appetite was nonexistent. The chatter around her flowed easily — talk of baby names, nursery charms, wedding gossip — but she could feel the strange tension beneath it all. The kind that made laughter sound practiced, the kind that came from pretending everything was fine.
When she caught Pansy’s eye across the table, she mouthed quietly, Is she alright? What’s going on?
Pansy hesitated briefly in contemplation, then gave the faintest shake of her head — a warning not to ask again.
So. Hermione stayed mostly quiet, sipping her tea and forcing herself to occasionally offer a polite nod and hum.
It wasn’t easy being here. Every corner of the estate every glimpse of white stone in the distance, brought flashes she couldn’t entirely suppress — the cold marble floors, Bellatrix’s laughter, the metallic tang of fear, the unhinged pain in her arm of being sliced.
She focused instead on the light filtering through the trees, the scent of roses, the quiet hum of bees on the nearby roses. She pushed back her fear and grounded herself in the present.
As the afternoon went on, Narcissa led the guests through the gift opening, her tone poised and precise. There were enchanted baby blankets, silver spoons, floating mobiles of dragons, tiny dragon-hide booties from someone in Bulgaria. Each time Astoria thanked the giver, her smile faltered just a little more, the fatigue clear even behind her polished pureblood manners.
Hermione found herself torn between admiration and concern. Whatever Astoria was facing, she was enduring it with grace. But as the sunlight shifted and shadows stretched longer across the grass as the afternoon wore on, Hermione’s unease only deepened.
When the final gift had been unwrapped — a delicate bassinet lined with pale blue silk — Narcissa rose, clapping softly. “Thank you all for joining us. It means so much to our family.”
The crowd applauded politely, voices rising in pleasant chatter once again.
Hermione stood, eager for space alone for a moment. “I’ll just stretch my legs a bit,” she murmured to Pansy, who nodded, too busy admiring one of the gifts to protest.
She wandered a little way from the tables, down one of the garden paths lined with blooming hydrangeas. The air was thick and warm, the sound of posed laughter fading behind her. From this angle, the manor loomed in the distance — beautiful, yes, but heavy with dark history. Her pulse quickened. She closed her eyes and took a slow breath. It’s different now, she told herself. Different people. Different times.
Still, the ghosts lingered. She didn’t realize how long she’d stood there staring into the past until Pansy appeared at her side, her voice soft but firm. “You alright, love?”
Hermione nodded, though her throat was tight. “It’s strange being here again.”
Pansy’s expression softened. “I know.” She hesitated. “And before you ask again — Astoria’s fine. Or she will be. She’s been struggling a bit, but everyone’s keeping close watch. The Healers are optimistic.”
Hermione frowned. “She didn’t look well, Pansy.”
“I know,” Pansy said quietly. “But we don’t talk about that in front of her. She hates pity and she wants to be happy about the baby.”
Hermione sighed. “That sounds familiar.”
Pansy smiled barely. “You two might actually get along.”
When they finally said their goodbyes, Narcissa embraced Pansy warmly and turned to Hermione once more.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, her voice softer now, almost certainly sincere. “I imagine it wasn’t easy.”
Hermione hesitated, then met her gaze with pride. “It was kind of you to have me.”
Narcissa inclined her head. “You’ve shown remarkable elegance being here, Miss Granger. My family doesn’t forget kindness — even when it’s uncomfortable.”
The words lingered as Hermione followed Pansy toward the gates, the sun beginning to dip behind the hedges. When they disapparated, the echo of the manor’s history remained in Hermione’s mind — bright gardens and polite smiles layered over the shadows that never quite faded. And as they reappeared on the cool stone steps of Nott Manor, Hermione realized she’d been holding her breath the entire time.
Pansy touched her arm gently. “You did fine, darling. You really did.”
Hermione nodded, exhaling at last. “It just felt… peculiar.”
Pansy’s tone softened. “Everything feels strange until it doesn’t anymore.”
They stepped inside together, the comforting scent of the manor’s lavender polish replacing the Malfoys’ roses, and for the first time that day, Hermione began to feel like she could breathe freely again.
Notes:
This was really hard on Hermione, wait to see what it triggers in the next chapter.
Chapter 17: The Burden of Caring Too Much
Notes:
Going to the manor has consequences for Hermione's emotional state.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Bidding Pansy goodnight, she let herself in through the side door that opened to the gardens — the one she and Theo always used in summer — and stood for a moment, the scent of the faint earthy coolness of the manor’s garden calming her.
Theo was in his study when she found him, seated at his desk beneath the dim glow of a floating antique lamp. He’d changed out of his day clothes into more relaxed eveningwear, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly disheveled — parchment and ink scattered around him like evidence of a day spent half-working, half-thinking, half productive.
He looked up abruptly when she stepped in. “You’re back.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Just now.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying her. “How was it?”
She hesitated by the door unsure what to honestly say about the experience. “Odd.”
He gestured for her to sit. “Odd how?”
Hermione crossed to the armchair opposite him, sinking down with a long sigh. “In that way where everyone pretends everything’s fine when it isn’t.”
Theo’s brow furrowed slightly considering her words. “Astoria?”
“Yes.” Hermione frowned, twisting her hands in her lap. “She looked so pale, Theo. Fragile. Everyone was smiling and laughing, but… it felt wrong. Like they were pretending she isn’t sick.”
He was silent for a long moment — too long. The faintest flicker of guilt passed across his face, a tightening around his mouth.
“She’s unwell?” he asked carefully.
Hermione gave him a sharp look. “You know she is, don’t you? Why are you lying to me?”
Theo didn’t answer immediately. He reached for the glass of whiskey on his desk, turning it absently between his fingers. “Draco mentioned she’s had some trouble,” he said at last. “The pregnancy hasn’t been easy.”
Hermione leaned forward, eyes searching his face. “What kind of trouble?”
Theo exhaled slowly avoiding her eyes. “He didn’t give details.”
“That’s not true,” she said softly.
He looked up, and for a moment, she saw something glint in his expression — remorse, maybe, or concern. “It’s not my place to say.”
“Not your—” Hermione bit off the rest, frustration rising quickly. “Theo, I’m not asking for gossip. I’m worried. She looked—she looked really ill. Everyone acted like it was normal, but it wasn’t. She could barely stand.”
Theo set his glass down heavily. “I know,” he said quietly. “Draco’s worried too.”
Hermione’s chest tightened. “Then why is no one doing anything?”
“They are,” Theo replied, his tone still calm but firmer now. “He’s had the best Healers from St. Mungo’s coming regularly. Narcissa’s practically moved into her bedroom. But Astoria doesn’t want pity, and Draco doesn’t want rumors. So they’re keeping it quiet.”
Hermione shook her head. “That’s ridiculous. Secrecy doesn’t protect her; it isolates her. People could help—”
Theo cut in gently, “Help how, Hermione? You can’t heal her with your good intentions.”
The words weren’t meant to be unkind, but they hit her like a splash of cold water.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the quiet ticking of the clock on the mantle and the faint rustle of the summer wind through the open window.
“I’m sorry,” Theo said finally, softer now. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Hermione stared down at her hands. “No. You’re right. I just hate feeling useless.”
“You’re not useless,” he said immediately. “You care. That’s rare enough as it is espically about someone you barely know.”
She glanced up, catching the way he was looking at her — earnest, steady, with that faint tenderness that always seemed to undo her. But beneath it, something else glinted — worry, and a kind of knowing that made her stomach twist.
“You know more than you’re saying,” she said softly.
Theo didn’t deny it. He rubbed a stressed hand over his jaw, the lamplight catching on the curve of his throat. “Draco told me a few things, but it’s not mine to share. She’s stable. That’s all you need to know.”
“Stable isn’t well,” Hermione said, her voice catching even more than she meant it to. “You’ve seen her right? She looked like she could barely breathe without pain.”
Theo’s eyes softened. “You shouldn’t get too close to this, Hermione. It’s not your burden to carry.”
Her frustration bubbled over. “I can’t just not care, Theo! You know me better than that. It’s who I am. I always care. I always fix.”
He stood then, the chair scraping lightly against the floor. “I do,” he said, crossing to her side. “That’s exactly why I’m saying it. You already carry too much.”
She looked up at him, eyes bright with misunderstanding. “You think caring is a flaw?”
“No,” he murmured, standing close enough that she could smell the faint spice of his cologne, the warmth of his skin. “I think it’s going to break you if you don’t let someone else carry some of it. You’ve bene carrying far too much for far too long alone.”
The silence between them thickened. Hermione looked away first, trying to steady her voice. “You sound like you know what’s coming.”
Theo hesitated — and in that hesitation, she had her answer.
“She’s dying, isn’t she?” she whispered.
He closed his eyes briefly, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “Hermione—”
“She is,” Hermione said again, voice shaking now with sorrow. “And you knew. You knew before today obviously.”
Theo crouched slightly so they were eye to eye, only inches apart, his tone low and measured. “Draco doesn’t want it public. He’s terrified, Hermione. The Healers think the pregnancy is too hard on her body. She wasn’t well to begin with, not really. But she insisted on keeping it. You can’t say anything — not to Pansy, not to anyone. Draco hasn’t told Pansy the full story yet. Only his mother, Blaise, Astoria, and I know what the healers have said. Please.”
Hermione’s throat tensed painfully. “Oh, Theo…”
He reached out, hesitating before resting a hand on her knee and rubbing small circles — the smallest gesture, but enough to help ground her. “I shouldn’t have told you,” he said quietly. “But you deserve the truth. I just didn’t want you hurting over something you can’t change. Never let Draco know I told you.”
She blinked back hot tears that were threatening to spill. “That’s not how I work.”
“I know,” he said softly. “And that’s what terrifies me.”
They stayed like that for a long moment — the soft rustle of the evening air filling the silence, the faint glow of the lamp haloing his hair.
Hermione finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “Draco must be… beside himself.”
Theo nodded once. “He is. He hides it well, but… he’s breaking. It’s not that he loves her. It was an arranged marriage you know. But they get along amicably, and he feels responsible since he got her pregnant which seems to have exasperated her health issues.”
Hermione swallowed hard. “And you? You’re carrying it for him.”
His mouth twitched — a humorless smile. “I suppose I am. It’s what friends do.”
She looked at him for a long moment, her heart aching for Draco in a way she never would have expected to only a few years ago. Then, without thinking, she reached out and took his hand and squeezed. His fingers were warm, steady against hers.
“You don’t have to carry it alone either,” she said tenderly.
He looked down at their joined hands, then back up at her, eyes unreadable. “If I let you in on every shadow, you’d never see the light again.”
“I’ll decide what I can handle, I’m stronger than you think,” she said, voice fierce with resolve now.
Theo’s expression tempered — something between admiration and worry flickering across his features. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re infuriating,” she shot back, though her lips curved upwards despite herself.
He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “I’m sorry I snapped. It’s just—seeing you upset does things to me I don’t quite know how to manage.”
Hermione blinked back her emotions. The air between them shifted again — too tense, too charged. Theo straightened slowly, still close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. “You should eat something,” he said finally, his voice gentler now. “You’ve had a long day.”
She nodded faintly. “I’m not very hungry.”
He hesitated, then brushed his thumb lightly across her cheek and her lips — just once, a fleeting gesture that made her breath catch. “You’ll make yourself sick if you don’t slow down and let other people handle their own issues.”
“I’ll try,” she whispered.
“Good.”
He dropped his hand from her face, stepping back before the moment could tip into something neither of them could undo or seemed ready for.
“I’ll have the elves send up tea,” he said quietly. “And tomorrow… we’ll go for a walk in the orchards. You need air that isn’t heavy with ghosts.”
Hermione nodded again vigorously, voice barely steady. “Alright.”
When he finally wished her goodnight at her door — soft, careful, and with the familiar brush of lips to her forehead — Hermione wished he’d lingered longer.
But after he left, she stood by her window long into the night, looking out at the dark gardens below, wondering about the cruelty of the world.
One moment Hermione was asleep, adrift in the weightless silent darkness. The next, she was back at Malfoy Manor. The sound came first — that terrible echo of footsteps across marble. Then the smell: cold stone and copper, blood and perfume. A wand’s tip glowed white against the dim, damp air. She could feel her wrists tied behind her back, the floor biting into her knees. The screams weren’t just hers this time — they were layered, memories of others — Dean, Luna, even Harry.
And above it all came Bellatrix’s lunatic laughter.
“How brave you are, Mudblood. Let’s see how long that lasts.”
Hermione tried to speak, to say it wasn’t real — but the words wouldn’t form. Her lungs filled with smoke, her chest tightening until she thought her ribs might shatter. She could feel the Cruciatus again, that crawling agony under her skin that made the world go white and soundless. A knife to her arm, slicing and burning hot endless pain.
Then hands grabbed her shoulders — rough, unfamiliar — and she screamed even louder.
“Hermione!”
Her eyes snapped open to darkness and unclear motion. The sheets were tangled around her legs, her nightdress twisted and ridding up her stomach, sweat beading at her temples. A lamp had flared on. Someone was crouched beside the bed — someone broad-shouldered, shirtless, clad in boxer briefs, with sleep-tousled hair and fear in his eyes.
Theo.
He said her name again, lower this time a bit less panicked, the kind of tone one uses with wild creatures or children caught in storms. “It’s me. You’re safe. You’re at home.”
But Hermione couldn’t seem to hear him through the ringing in her ears. She gasped for air that wouldn’t come into he rlungs, her eyes darting across the shadows in fear. The room looked wrong — too dim, too still. Every flicker of light felt like wandfire flyng at her.
Theo moved slowly, palms open. “Look at me. Hermione.”
His voice broke through the fog, calm and grounding. She blinked at him, recognition flashing and then catching. “Theo…” Her voice came out a rasp. “You— you were—”
“I’m here,” he said quickly, climbing onto the edge of the bed to sit. “You’re safe. No one’s here but us.”
But she was shaking so badly she couldn’t even lift her hands to touch him. Tears ran down her cheeks unchecked, and she curled forward instinctively, pressing her face to her knees. “It was her— it was— Bellatrix— she—”
Theo’s face hardened, but his voice stayed soft. “I know. I know, love. It’s over. That’s years behind you now. She’s dead.”
He didn’t try to pull her upright right away. He just sat beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, murmuring quiet soothing words she couldn’t quite make out. When her breathing hitched again, he finally reached out — hesitating a moment before resting a hand on her back.
She flinched on instinct. He didn’t pull away.
“Just me,” he whispered. “Nothing’s going to happen. You’re home. You’re safe.”
His hand began to move — slow, gentle strokes up and down between her shoulders. The rhythm steadied her heartbeat a little at a time.
“It felt real,” she managed to whisper after a minute. “It was real. I could feel it again.”
Theo nodded once. “That’s what nightmares do. They borrow truth and twist it.”
“I thought I was past them,” she said shakily. “It’s been months. I haven’t had a single one since moving here. I should have known going back there today would—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted softly. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. That place left scars on everyone who walked through it.”
Hermione closed her eyes, fresh tears descending down her cheeks. “I hate that it still has power over me.”
Theo’s thumb brushed one tear away at a time, feather-light touches. “That’s not power. That’s memory. Power would be letting it make you afraid to live. You haven’t done that at all.”
Something in the certainty of his tone reached her. She turned toward him, tears still shining on her cheecks, and found his gaze steady on hers — quiet, serious, utterly without pity.
“Breathe,” he said gently. “In and out. Match me.”
He exaggerated the rhythm — long inhale, slow exhale — until she fell into step with him. Minutes passed like that, the silence filled only by the soft sound of their breathing as one and the occasional crackle of the lamps flame.
Finally, the trembling began to fade. When she could speak again, her voice was small. “I saw it all. Every moment. The look in her eyes when she—” She broke off, pressing her hand to her mouth her eyes on her scared arm.
Theo’s jaw tightened in anger, but his voice stayed even. “You don’t need to say it.”
“I can’t stop seeing it,” she whispered. “I hate that it’s still there.”
“It’ll fade,” he said. “Not vanish — but fade.”
“How do you know?”
He hesitated. “Because the things that haunt me always have.”
That silenced her. He rarely spoke about his own nightmares — about the war, his father, the choices that had left him standing in gray instead of black or white. Hearing the quiet conviction in his voice now made her chest ache.
Theo shifted closer, perching fully on the bed. “You should try to sleep.”
“I can’t.”
He gave her a small, crooked smile. “Then I’ll stay until you do.”
Hermione looked at him, uncertain. “You don’t have to—”
“I’m not leaving you like this,” he said simply.
He moved carefully, sliding behind her so that his back rested against the headboard. He kept one hand moving in that same soothing pattern between her shoulder blades, the other brushing damp curls from her neck.
For a long time neither of them spoke. She leaned back slightly, exhaustion catching up to her, and the slow rhythm of his touch kept her anchored. The house was utterly silent except for the occasional nightbird outside.
After what felt like hours, he shifted to leave, and she finally whispered, “Would you stay… just until morning?”
Theo hesitated — just a fraction — then nodded. “If it helps you sleep tonight.”
She shifted to the side, making space beneath the covers. He slipped in without a word, the mattress dipping under his weight. The room smelled faintly of rain and tea and the cool summer air drifting in through the window.
Hermione turned onto her side, facing away, and felt his bare chested warmth settle along her back. His arm draped loosely around her, not possessive, just present — the kind of touch that said you’re not alone.
“You’re safe now,” he murmured. “I’m right here.”
His breath stirred the hair near her ear. The words were simple, but they landed like a spell — not magic, just truth spoken aloud until it felt real.
Little by little, her muscles loosened. The memories began to blur, the images dissolving into the rhythm of his voice.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” she mumbled, eyes half-closed.
“I’d rather you did,” he said quietly. “I’d rather you never wake alone again after something like that.”
Hermione wanted to answer, but sleep was already pulling her under again — softer this time, gentler. She felt the brush of his hand smoothing her hair once, twice, and then his voice again, barely a whisper:
“You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
When she woke hours later, the light had changed. It was late morning. Pale light filtered through the curtains, soft and forgiving. For a moment, she didn’t know why her pillow was warm — until she realized she was still pressed against Theo.
His arm was curved protectively around her waist holding her flush against him, one hand resting over her hip bone, the other draped over her breast. His chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths against her back testifying to his sleeping state. Her eyes went wide as she realized there was a lump fit snuggly against her ass checks where her night shirt had ridden up. Theo was pushed hard against her, just boxers and underwear separating her flesh from something she was quite sure he didn’t intend for her to feel this morning.
Hermione stayed still unsure what to do about this situation, listening for him to awaken. The house was quiet; the world, for once, at peace. Her nightmare felt far away now, like something belonging to another lifetime. What remained was the memory of Theo’s voice in the dark — steady, gentle, real. She exhaled softly and closed her eyes again, not ready to move just yet from the safety she felt.
Notes:
What will happen when Theo wakes up in this position?
Leave me comments of what you think of their developing feelings and about Astoria's news.
Chapter 18: The War Orphan Club
Notes:
Sorry, this got ridiculously long, but I just couldn't stop. I think it's really important to show you that Harry is really important still to Hermione, and to keep developing the burn between Theo and her.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
An hour later, Hermione stirred first again. Daylight was slipping through the lace curtains in long, golden stripes, dust motes turning lazily in the air before the window. For a moment she couldn’t remember why she felt so warm or why there was an unfamiliar heartbeat behind her.
Then she realized—Theo’s arm was still around her.
He’d fallen asleep holding her, one arm now draped loosely over her waist, the other bent around her still, fingers against the underside of her breast. His breathing was slow and even, the rhythm pressing warningly against her back. She didn’t dare move at first. The room was perfectly still, and after the night she’d had, the quiet felt like a fragile spell she didn’t want to break.
She let herself listen to it—the steady breath, the faint creak of the house, the birds outside the window—and for a few minutes, peace felt possible again. Then Theo shifted with a low groan. His hips shifting to even more firmly press his groin to her backside. His very large and hard groin, Hermione’s mind realized. He let out another small low groan as he rubbed himself into her more firmly. He froze the instant he realized how close they were, his eyes flying open. He pulled himself backwards in an instant, giving them a few inches between their bodies, and took his hands away from her.
“Morning,” Hermione murmured with a bit of a laugh trying to lighten the mood, her voice still rough from sleep and last night’s screaming fits.
He made a tiny, embarrassed sound deep in this throat in reply, somewhere between a low pitched cough and a panicked greeting. “Morning. I—sorry. I must have fallen asleep. I didn’t mean… to make you uncomfortable.”
She could hear the mortification in his tone. He was very deliberately keeping still, as if any movement at all might be interpreted the wrong way. The stress coming off him was almost funny after the night’s chaos.
“It’s all right,” she said softly and truthfully. “You were trying to keep me from waking up again.”
Theo hesitated. “Still, it’s… ah, not exactly proper.”
Hermione smiled into the pillow to repress a shy giggle. “Theo, we’ve both survived far worse than a bit of accidental cuddling and human reactions.”
He huffed a quiet reserved laugh but didn’t relax much more. His arm remained in place my his side, hovering just above the bed like he wasn’t sure whether to pull away more or pretend he hadn’t moved it away from her in the first place.
After a long oddly uneasy pause she turned her head slightly, intently meeting his gaze over her shoulder. He looked endearingly uncertain—hair a sleep ravaged mess, eyes heavy with lack of enough sleep, clearly torn between decency and comfort.
“Thank you,” she said gratefully. “For last night. For coming when I screamed.”
He swallowed hard. “Of course I would.”
“I mean it.” Her voice softened even more. “You didn’t have to stay.”
Theo looked away for the intensity of her eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching subtly. “Couldn’t have left even if I’d wanted to. You were shaking like a leaf, you could have lown away out the window.”
That tugged at her heart more than she expected. “You made it stop.”
He blinked at her, uncomfortable again under the weight of her modest sincerity. “I’m glad I could help.”
The silence that followed was almost sweet if it hadn’t had a hint of apprehension to it. He was still clearly wrestling with how to behave—his hand half-withdrawn between them, his shoulders stiff with politeness. The absurdity of it made her nearly smile.
Hermione rolled onto her back just enough to see him fully, her eyes bright with a hint of mischief. “You can breathe, you know.”
“I am breathing.”
“Barely.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off by leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. Theo went absolutely corpse still, not even breathing. Then, slowly, he exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing into a faint, helpless smile just for her.
Hermione pushed the covers aside and stood, careful to pull her nightshirt down quickly to cover her underwear, stretching as she moved toward the bathroom. “I’ll give you a moment to escape with your dignity intact,” she said lightly. “The shower is calling me.”
Theo sat up, the bare muscles of her chest and stomach visible and contracting at the effort to sit up. He discretely shifted his hand to keep the blanket covering his waist, rubbing the back of his neck with his other, still a little pink in the cheeks. “Right. Good idea. Thanks”
She smiled at him—fond, genuine, grateful—and disappeared without another word into her ensuite, closing the door gently behind her.
From inside the bathroom, she could hear him moving about, probably collecting his slippers from where he’d left them the night before. The sounds were ordinary, domestic even, and somehow that made her chest ache with something gentle and new… perhaps even longing.
When she finally came out of her thoughts and looked at herself in the mirror, she didn’t look frightened anymore. Just tired, and alive, and—though she’d never admit it aloud— feeling quite cared for.
By the time Hermione came down to the informal drawing room for breakfast, freshly showered, curly hair still wet, the bustle of daytime activity had filled the manor. The windows were open to the rose garden, and a warm breeze carried in the smell of dew and wet roses.
Theo was already at the table, half-hidden behind the Prophet and a pot of earl grey tea. He looked freshly washed and composed, though the faint color still lingering on his neck betrayed that he, too, remembered waking up tangled together.
“Morning,” she said delicately.
He folded the paper a little too quickly, wrinkling it. “Morning. I—had the elves you’re your favorite cranberry scones. Figured you might not have slept much after…” He trailed off.
Hermione smiled weakly as she took a seat. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”
They ate quietly in tight silence for a few minutes, the clink of cups and the hum of bees outside filling the quiet. Eventually Theo spoke again, his voice gentler. “Do you want to talk about the dream?”
She hesitated for a moment. “Not really. I think I just needed to know I wasn’t alone. That’s enough. It’s not like I don’t already know she’s dead.”
He nodded slowly. “You aren’t alone, you don’t need to ever be.”
That simple truth of the statement hung between them, steady and unforced. She reached for her tea, meeting his gaze over the rim of her cup.
“Last night helped,” she said. “I didn’t wake up afraid this morning like I used to at Hogwarts.”
Theo’s smile back at her was small but still sincere. “Then it was worth it. Evne if my pride is a bit shaken.”
Hermione let out a quiet breath of swallowed back laughter, a hint of warmth rising in her chest. “You really are a good friend, Theo.”
He looked down humbly, busying himself with his teacup. “Trying to be.”
The moment passed effortlessly, drifting back into the soft normal rhythm of breakfast. By the time they’d finished eating, they’d both agreed to each take some alone time for a while, maybe try to get a nap in, but to meet back up in a few hours. Hermione had returned to her room alone, intent to catch up on starting the assigned textbook her mastery program would be using in a few months when it began. She got only three chapters into it when her hard night caught up to her, and she drifted back to sleep on her sitting room sofa, book on her lap.
When Hermione woke, she was surprised by the clap of a book falling to the hardwood floor. She must have dozed off sitting in the window seat after breakfast she thought; the book in her lap had slipped to the floor. Nothing was wrong, there was no danger here. Her head ached faintly from too little sleep as it often does after a cat nap, but it wasn’t the book falling that woke her — it was the sound of voices drifting faintly through the corridor into her ajar door.
She frowned, listening. It was Theo’s voice, low and thoughtful, followed by Pansy’s sharper, lilting one. The words were muffled, coming from somewhere down the end of their family hall. She wasn’t meant to be nosy — she knew that — but curiosity tugged harder than manners in the moment.
Hermione slipped quietly into the corridor, bare feet light on the wood floors. The voices grew clearer with each step.
“You like her,” Pansy was saying, exasperated and amused in equal measure.
“That’s not what I said,” Theo replied, sounding tired but not quite annoyed yet.
“It’s exactly what you’re not saying. Merlin, Theodore, you look at her like she hung the moon every time she walks in the room. Don’t think I’m the only one to notice. Blaise started placing bets with me and Ginny about when you’ll officially start dating.”
Hermione froze halfway down the hall, her pulse quickening in realization that they were talking about her.
There was a pause before Theo answered. “She’s my best girlfriend, besides you of course” he said carefully to not offend her. “I owe Hermione too much to ruin that.”
“You wouldn’t ruin it if you just told her.”
“Or I’d lose her completely. She trusts me. She needs that, last night proved that. I don’t want her thinking I only stayed because—”
He broke off, sighing heavily.
“Because you’re in love with her?” Pansy finished, far too casually.
Theo gave a low bewildered laugh — one that didn’t sound actually happy. “Or because I think I might be starting to fall for her and can’t tell if it’s real or if I’m confusing gratitude and comfort for something else.”
Hermione’s chest tightened with awe. The words tangled in her head — think I might be — until she wasn’t sure if her feet were moving at all. Merlin, he might feel the pull too, I’m not crazy.
“You’re overthinking it,” Pansy said firmly. “She’s not fragile like that, Theo. She’s stronger than both of us. What she did in the war proves that. If you want her, stop staring at her like a tragedy waiting to unwind and do something about it.”
Hermione reached the corner of the door just then. Her mind was racing, torn between retreating back to her room and announcing herself before she heard even more than she shouldn’t. . She didn’t want to eavesdrop, not really — but her body felt rooted to the spot.
Theo’s voice came again, softer now. “I can’t risk losing what we already have. It’s the first time in years I’ve had something new and real… something good. Something simple and carefree.”
That was enough of invading his privacy. She drew a deliberate loud cough and stepped forward, letting the heel of her shoe click loudly against the polished floor.
The conversation stopped instantly. A chair scraped. When she reached the doorway of the formal study, Theo was standing beside the desk, Pansy perched elegantly on the arm of a worn leather chair, both of them clearly trying to look casual. Theo’s expression was heavy — calm mask firmly in place yet troubled — but Pansy’s eyes glittered like she’d been caught mid-mischief.
“There you are!” Pansy exclaimed, sweeping up to her. “I was just telling Theo he ought to have owled me sooner. He said you’d had a really rough night.”
Before Hermione could answer, Pansy wrapped her in a surprisingly tight hug — all flowery perfume and silk blouse with genuine concern beneath the dramatics.
“Are you all right, love?” she murmured against Hermione’s unruly hair.
Hermione blinked with pent emotion, startled but comforted. “Better now. Just tired.”
“Of course you are,” Pansy said briskly, pulling back but keeping her hands tightly on Hermione’s shoulders. “You need company, not solitude. Theo was going to make tea, weren’t you, darling? And I think alittle surprise might be coming for you soon.”
Theo, who had recovered his composure with all the pose of a well-bred gentlemen, gave a small, polite nod to them both. “I was indeed.”
Pansy beamed, satisfied. “Perfect. Then I’ll stay for awhile and we’ll make a proper afternoon of it. I’ll even let you two tell me I’m being too dramatic twice— as long as I get the good lemon biscuits.”
Hermione smiled dimly, trying to ignore the warmth rising to her cheeks at being fawned over. Whatever conversation she’d interrupted hung like static in the air, unspoken but present still between Theo and Pansy. Theo poured the tea without quite fully meeting her eyes, and Pansy chattered brightly about nothing in particular, smoothing over the silence with the ease of someone who had been doing it her entire life.
But as Hermione took her cup, she couldn’t stop hearing Theo’s voice in her head — I can’t risk losing what we already have.
After tea, the trio stepped outside to take a walk through the freshly growing orchard. It was a rare, soft summer afternoon — the kind that wasn’t too hot, and smelled faintly of childhood and lazy days. Hermione, Theo, and Pansy had been walking through the orchard for the better part of a half hour, a basket of picked fruit swinging between them. The trees were heavy with ripening peaches and pears, bees humming lazily in the warm summer air.
Hermione found herself enjoying the normalcy of it — Pansy’s chatter about her shop’s latest beauty potion launch, Theo’s dry interjections about Ministry votes he’d read about, the steady crunch of freshly mowed crab grass underfoot. The nightmare from the night before still lingered burning faintly in her chest, but the world felt gentler here with them all together, under the broad branches and the leaf filtered light.
That peace lasted precisely until a loud crack! split the air down the row of trees.Pansy shrieked. Theo spun on instinct, wand half-raised auotmtically. Hermione’s heart leapt into her throat at the danger.
And then a familiar voice called, “Sorry! Sorry! Didn’t mean to startle anyone!”
Harry Potter appeared in the shimmer of post-apparition air, brushing stray bees from his hair. His glasses were askew, his grin sheepish.
Hermione shouted in shock. “Harry? What on earth—”
“Theo sent me his fox,” Harry said quickly, holding up his hands in front of himself before Theo could scold him for outing him. “It showed up in my kitchen this morning and scared poor Kreacher half to death while making tea. Said you might need a friend after yesterday.”
Hermione turned to Theo, stunned. “You—sent for him?”
Theo looked faintly uneasy, shifting the half full basket to his other hand. “You seemed… shaken still this morning. I thought it might help to have someone else who understands and that knows you so well.”
Before Hermione could answer with thanks, Pansy clapped her hands together forcefully. “Oh, lovely! Another member for the club.”
Harry frowned confused. “What club?”
“The war orphan club,” Pansy said matter-of-factly, her tone light but her eyes sharp. “We all qualify, don’t we?”
Hermione opened her mouth to protest at how uncouth that was, then stopped. The words settled into her brain, heavier than Pansy’s teasing tone had likely meant.
Theo’s father. Pansy’s estranged parents. Harry’s dead parents. Her forgotten ones.
None of them had blood family left — not really. Only chosen ones.
Harry’s smile faltered for the first time since he’d arrived. “That’s… one hell of a club Parkinson.”
Pansy sighed, her usual sarcasm softening with seriousness. “It’s not the kind anyone wants to join, but we do have the best picnics, and understandings with one another.”
Theo gave her a disbelieving sidelong look. “That’s one way of putting it.”
Hermione managed a small smile, but something in her chest felt very tight. She reached for Harry’s hand briefly. “It’s good you came.”
He squeezed back. “I’ve missed you. It’s been weird from going to living together in a tent for months to hardly seeing each other the last year. I’m sorry I haven’t tried to see you more. It’s been really crazy with training, then the wedding planning.”
For a while, the four of them wandered through the orchard together — talking about ordinary things: the new Quidditch season, Pansy’s next home décor planned business launch, Theo’s stubbornly overgrown driveway hedges that none of them had been able to concur yet, and Ginny’s upcoming wedding plans. The conversation drifted easily, looping from jokes to nostalgia to small confessions that didn’t feel quite as painful when the summer sun was out and good friends were close.
Every so often, Hermione glanced out the corner of her eye at Theo — the quiet steadiness in his expression, the faint smile that reached his eyes when Harry teased him. He looked… lighter than even a month ago, somehow. Maybe she did too.
Eventually, they reached the far end of the cleared part of the property, where the trees thinned into open meadow. From here, the manor stood proud and distant on the hill behind them — all pale stone and green ivy — and below, just past a slope of wildflowers, lay the old Nott family graveyard, a pine forest rising up behind that. Rows of mossy ancient headstones caught the light like scattered glass.
“Your land goes on forever,” Pansy said, shielding her eyes. “I could get lost out here and no one would find me for days.”
“That’s the idea,” Theo murmured cryptically.
Pansy smirked, but her gaze tempered as it swept toward the graveyard. “You ever go down there?”
Theo’s jaw flexed. “Sometimes. But, only to visit my mom. She’s really the only one of my family worth visiting ever. Only when I’m feeling alone and it’s quiet.”
“Which is never, with Hermione around,” Pansy teased, but it came out gentler than her usual barbs.
Hermione felt the weight of the silence that followed. The truth of Pansy’s earlier words about family hung between them — a small, invisible thread binding them together through absence. After a moment, Pansy sighed dramatically. “All right. Enough melancholy. I should go check on my poor salesclerks before they burn the shop down in my absence.”
Hermione blinked. “ you need to go already?”
Theo caught Pansy’s eye. Something silent passed between them — a mutual understanding that Hermione couldn’t quite read.
“Yes,” Pansy said with deliberate cheer. “I promised them I’d stop by, and besides—Theo hasn’t done a property inspection of my packaging all week. The shop elves miss him.”
Theo gave her a look that was equal parts amusement and exasperation. “You’re transparent, Parkinson.”
“Of course I am,” she said breezily, already looping her arm through his. “Now come along, darling. I’ll apparate us straight to the backroom of the shop.”
Theo hesitated momentarly, glancing once at Hermione and Harry before nodding. “Try not to let Potter talk you into anything reckless while I’m gone.”
Hermione smirked slightly back. “No promises.”
He smiled — that small, quiet one she’d come to recognize as his way of saying be safe — and with a sharp crack, he and Pansy vanished into thin air.. Hermione exhaled slowly, suddenly aware of how still everything was. She turned to Harry, who was studying the graveyard below them with a thoughtful expression.
“Want to sit?” she asked gently.
They walked a little way down the dirt path to a stone bench overlooking from the slope, the manor rising grand and pale behind them. From here, the graves looked archaic and almost peaceful — tangled in long untouched ivy, touched by late afternoon sunlight.
Harry leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes sweeping the graves below. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How many of us are still… trying to figure out what comes after.”
Hermione followed his gaze. “Sometimes I think we never really stopped living in the war. We just changed the scenery. It’s really hard to accept it’s all done with now.”
He nodded slowly. “Maybe. But it’s good scenery now isn’t it?”
They sat in silence for a while, the weight of shared loss easing into something quieter — not gone, but bearable.
Hermione looked at him sidelong and smiled faintly. “Pansy was right, you know.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “She usually is, I’m starting to discover, unfortunately.”
“We are all in the same club.”
Harry’s answering smile was sympathetic, a little sad. “Yeah. But it’s not the worst one to be in. We all made it.”
Neither of them spoke for several minutes. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable — it was the kind that came from years of shared battles together and wordless understanding. Hermione watched a pair of bees drift lazily over the wildflowers, her thoughts still tangled in what she’d overheard earlier between Theo and Pansy.
Harry was the one to finally break the quiet.
“So,” he said carefully, still watching the horizon of the forest. “You and Theo.”
Hermione winked. “What about us?”
He gave her a sideways glance — the same one he’d used at Hogwarts when she pretended not to know about his newest dangerous idea. “He’s… different around you. Softer, somehow. At school he was always so reserved I think. He seems really at ease around you. It seems like he really wants to do better for his legacy than what’s been left to him.”
Hermione picked at a thread on her cotton sleeve, pretending to study the ground. “He’s been kind. He’s… so easy to be around. To feel safe with.”
“That’s not really what I asked,” Harry said tenderly but persistent.
She sighed, leaning back against the bench, her head thrown back to feel the sun’s rays on it. “I don’t know what it is, Harry. We’ve become so close so fast, and he’s been my best new friend this last year. But I don’t know if what I’m feeling is deep friendship or—something I’m not ready for maybe… something romantically more.”
Harry nodded, his expression thoughtful. “That sounds familiar.”
Hermione gave him a small, knowing smile. “You and Ginny?”
He chuckled softly. “I spent a year convincing myself it was better to keep her at arm’s length — that I’d ruin her life if I didn’t. Then I realized I was just scared of needing someone again, of letting them too close where they could hurt me too.”
Hermione looked down at her hands. “Maybe that’s what Theo’s afraid of too.”
“Maybe,” Harry said quietly. “But you’re not generally the type to sit around waiting for someone else to decide how they feel. You’ll figure it out soon I’m sure.”
Hermione smiled faintly, though her chest tightened with uncertainty. “I wish figuring it out didn’t always hurt so much or feel like I was risking so much if I pick the wrong choice.”
Harry tilted his head toward her, green eyes kind. “You’ve always been brave about the hard parts, Hermione. You don’t run from what scares you — you reason with it until it gives up.”
That made her truly laugh, the sound light and a emotionally little watery. “That’s the most Gryffindor thing anyone’s ever said about me I think.”
He grinned, then leaned forward again, elbows on his knees. “Speaking of Gryffindors — I suppose we should talk about the wedding.”
“Next month,” Hermione said lightly. “It’s coming fast.”
“Too fast,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I keep thinking about all the people who won’t be there.”
Hermione’s smile faded. “Dobby… Lupin… your godfather… your parents?”
He nodded. “It’s not just missing them. It’s not knowing what they’d think of me — of all of this.” He gestured vaguely toward the orchard, the manor, the wide-open world they’d inherited after the war. “I’ve built a life, changed a world they never got to see. Sometimes I wonder if they’d even recognize me.”
Hermione reached out, resting her hand over his in comfort. “They would.”
Harry looked down at their joined hands. “You really think so?”
“I know so,” she said firmly giving his ahnd a gentle squeeze. “They’d be proud — more than proud. You saved lives, Harry. You built something after everything fell apart. You were only a kid, and you did more than any adult did. You love Ginny, and she loves you — and your parents would adore her. Your dad would probably steal her away to talk about Quidditch and your mom would have loved to have you over for dinner all the time.”
That earned her a quiet laugh. “Yeah, that sounds like Mum from what Prongs told me.”
Hermione smiled brightly. “And your dad would make terrible jokes about you finally marrying a redhead too.”
Harry laughed again, but there was something sensitive in his eyes now — a mix of grief and gratitude. “You always know what to say. That’s one of a million reasons why I love you.”
“It’s just the truth,” Hermione said.
He was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the graveyard where the late day sunlight turned the grass gold as it fluttered in the breeze. “I wish they could’ve seen this,” he said finally. “All of it — us, the peace, me starting a family, you being happy again.”
Hermione followed his gaze thinking of those lost, her throat tightening. “Maybe they can.”
He nodded, blinking hard. “Yeah. Maybe.”
They sat like that for another few minutes — the kind of silence that meant more than words could between old friends. Eventually, Harry stood, brushing the fallen pollen from his trousers.
“I should get going,” he said, forcing a bit of his usual cheer back into his voice. “Got an early shift at the Auror Office tomorrow. And Ginny’s expecting me for dinner — we’re testing cake flavors, apparently.”
Hermione smiled, rising with him. “That sounds dangerously sweet.”
“You have no idea,” he said with a big lopsided grin. Then, quieter: “You’ll be all right?”
“I will,” she said, and meant it. “Thanks for coming, Harry. You know I love you too. Your like a brother.”
He pulled her into a big hug, firm and familiar, the kind that still carried traces of all their shared experiences, agony, and healing. “Anytime,” he murmured. “You’re my sister too, you know.”
“I know,” she whispered back holding back an emotional tear.
When he disapparated a moment later, the hill seemed very still again — peaceful, but tinged with that faint ache of absence. Hermione stood there for a long time, looking down toward the old Nott graves where the polished marble glinted.
Then she turned back toward the manor, her heart full — of Harry’s quiet strength given to her, of old not forgotten ghosts, and of something unnamed that waited to be released in her heart.
Notes:
That was... alot. So many important moments.
Let me know what you think about these revelations in the comments!
Chapter 19: What Luna Knows
Chapter Text
The Burrow garden smelled of wild honeysuckle and woodsmoke from the kitchen fire, and somewhere in the distance, chickens clucked contentedly near the fence line.
Hermione stood in the upstairs bedroom of Ginny, half-dressed in pale rose silk, trying not to move while Ginny and Luna fussed with the pins along the hem. The bridesmaid dress was beautiful — soft and flowing, the fabric catching the light like watered satin — but Ginny, who had inherited both her mother’s eye for detail and her father’s enthusiasm for overcorrection, kept circling her critically.
“Lift your arms,” Ginny instructed. “No, higher. Luna, does the back look even to you? I’m not sure why I wanted halter tops on these dresses.”
Luna tilted her head, a quill tucked behind her ear. “I think so. Though if it isn’t, the wrackspurts won’t care.”
Hermione bit back a laugh. “Well, that’s reassuring.”
Ginny actually snorted, finally stepping back with a satisfied nod. “Perfect. You’ll look amazing walking down the aisle.”
Hermione smiled softly. “You will too. It’s still hard to believe the wedding’s only a few weeks away.”
“I know,” Ginny said, her grin widening. “It feels like we’ve been planning it forever. I mean, maybe I have been nearly all my life. I can’t believe Harry even wants me after I fangirled him all our youth. It feels like it’s coming too fast though. I’m half afraid I’ll wake up the day before and realize I’ve forgotten to book the band or the cake or my dress.”
“You won’t,” Hermione said fondly. “You’re far too organized. I’ve seen your lists. Or at least Molly’s lists…”
“That’s because you made half of them with her,” Ginny teased. “You and Theo and your shared obsession with order — it’s contagious.”
At the mention of his name, Hermione’s smile broadened. Luna noticed. Of course she did.
Luna was sitting cross-legged on the floor rug, braiding a length of lacey ribbon around her wand. She looked up dreamily, her pale eyes calm but sharp. “You’ve been thinking about Theo a lot lately. You care about him a lot.”
Hermione defended. “Well, we live together, Luna.”
“Yes,” Luna said serenely, “but you don’t daydream about people just because you share a roof. You didn’t daydream about George did you?”
Ginny looked up from the fabric swatches she was considering, grinning. “Oh, this is going to be good.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, trying not to frown at Luna’s good intentions. “I am not daydreaming about him.”
“Of course not,” Luna said with absolute disbelieving sincerity, which somehow made it worse. “You’re just trying to decide whether you’re already in love with him or only falling a little more every day.”
“Luna!” Hermione sputtered, cheeks flaming pink.
Ginny laughed so hard she nearly dropped the pins from her hand. “Oh, Merlin’s beard, Luna, you can’t just say things like that about people’s feelings!”
“Why not?” Luna asked mildly. “It’s true. She glows when she talks about him. The way people do when they’ve found a home in someone else.”
Hermione stared at her, utterly disarmed. “A home?”
Luna smiled faintly, her gaze distant but warm. “Yes. The kind that listens. The kind that doesn’t ask you to be anyone else but yourself.”
For a moment, no one said anything. Even Ginny’s laughter had faded to a gentle grin. Hermione looked down at the fabric pooling around her feet, fingers worrying at the edge of the skirt. “It’s not that simple. We’re—close. And he’s been… wonderful really. But I don’t know if it’s love or gratitude, or just comforting friendship and safety after everything that’s happened.”
Ginny moved closer, resting a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Hermione, I think comfort’s a pretty good place to start.”
Hermione smiled faintly, blinking back the unexpected sting of realization in her eyes. “Maybe.”
Luna’s voice was softer now, almost wistful. “Whatever it is, it’s something that will grow if you let it. You don’t have to name it yet. But, if you don’t let it bloom done, it may just wither away untended and die.”
Hermione nodded slowly, feeling oddly seen.
Ginny clapped her hands once, breaking the mood. “Right, that’s enough heavy talk for a fitting! Let’s see about hairstyles. I want something that won’t frizz if it rains since we will be outside, which it will, because I’m marrying Harry Potter, and the universe likes irony.”
Luna giggled with glee and handed her a handful of enchanted hairpins shaped like tiny gold stars. “Try these. They hum softly when they like the way you look.”
Ginny laughed too, tucking them into her fiery hair. “They’re humming already. Either that’s a good sign or they’re terrified of the color of my hair”
Hermione sat down by the vanity while Luna started braiding her hair loosely, twisting strands into soft curls that framed her face prettily. Ginny flitted around the room, testing different length veils, humming the wedding march under her breath. The air felt light again between the friends — laughter mixing with the scent of flowers drifting through the open window.
After a while, Ginny plopped into a chair beside her, fanning herself with a spare swatch of fabric. “Merlin, I’m sweating and achy. Our training schedule’s been brutal this week. But it’s good — the Harpies are sharper than ever. I think we’re going to win the opening match.”
Hermione smiled. “I have no doubt.”
“I just wish the media would stop writing about me like I’m some sort of ‘fiery fiancée of the Chosen One,’” Ginny said, rolling her eyes. “Half of them forget I even have a team and that I got on because I;m actually talented, not because I’m with Harry.”
Luna, still braiding Hermione’s curls, said serenely, “You’ll show them soon enough. They’ll be talking about your broom skills and not your bedroom skills by the end of the season.”
Ginny grinned eyes shinning with mirth. “I like your optimism, Luna.”
“I like your determination,” Luna replied. “It makes the world brighter for us all.”
For a few heartbeats, the room fell quiet again — the good kind of quiet, filled with friendship and belonging. Hermione met Ginny’s eyes in the mirror and saw her best friend smiling softly back at her.
“Thank you both,” Hermione said quietly. “For this. For everything. I know I’ve been more reserved since the war, but I’m starting to feel more like myself again lately.”
Luna finished the last twist of her braid and tucked a tiny silver clip into place. “You deserve days that feel light.”
Ginny smiled, looping her arm through Hermione’s. “And you deserve love that feels like peace and future happiness. Adventures that don’t come with sudden death risks. Sexual exploration!”
Hermione’s throat tightened, but she smiled back. “You two are terrible influences.”
“Excellent influences,” Luna corrected.
“Hopeless romantics and real feminists,” Ginny added.
They all laughed, the sound spilling out through the open window and into the summer air — three women who had seen too much darkness learning, finally, how to live as adults in the wizarding world.
The sky was deep violet when Hermione returned to the manor, her hair still faintly scented with Pansy’s line of lavender glitter spray and Luna’s starlight hairpins glinting in the curls. She’d spent the day laughing, talking, and feeling more like her younger self than she had in years — but now, walking the familiar corridor to Theo’s private parlor, she felt something softer and safe settle deep in her chest.
Theo looked up as she entered. He was already sitting by the fire, a simple dinner spread across the small table between them: roasted venison, summer vegetables, and two glasses of chilled elderflower wine. The firelight turned his hair almost copper at the edges, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his demeanor relaxed but attentive in that way that always made her stomach flutter to be the sole focus of his attention.
“You look…” He paused, searching for a word that wouldn’t sound foolish. “Happy.”
Hermione smiled, setting her beaded bag on a nearby chair. “It was a good day. Ginny, Luna, and I spent the afternoon at The Burrow getting fitted for bridesmaid dresses.”
“Ah,” Theo said, his mouth curving in amusement. “The long-anticipated Potter wedding preparations. The media is going to go wild.”
“Precisely. There was an impressive amount of fabric involved. I think Molly would’ve fainted if she saw how much lace Ginny rejected and wasted.”
He laughed softly and poured her another glass of wine after the first was nearly gone. “You enjoyed yourself?”
“I did,” she admitted, accepting the glass. “It felt… mundane. Normal.”
“Normal suits you well,” Theo said quietly.
Hermione sat down across from him, her smile shy. “I wasn’t sure I remembered what normal was anymore.”
Theo considered her thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “Maybe it’s what we make of it. Normal is different for everyone.”
They ate together, the conversation drifting easily between lighthearted stories about Pansy’s latest decorating obsession (twinkling ceiling stars she insisted on installing in the Nott ballroom) and Luna’s peculiar fashion advice (“She truly believes silver thestral feathers will be the next big trend,” Hermione said, laughing). Theo listened intently, occasionally interrupting to ask a question or smirk at something absurd. When she described Luna’s “prediction” that she would someday be in love, his eyebrows rose slightly. “That sounds like Lovegood.”
“She means well,” Hermione said quickly, blushing. “She just sees things differently.”
“I’d say she sees things clearly,” he murmured.
Hermione looked down at her plate, suddenly unable to think of anything clever to say back. The silence that followed wasn’t painful. It was… full. Weighted with the kind of awareness that grew in the quiet between two people who had spent too many evenings like this — close, content, and pretending not to notice what was changing between them.
Theo refilled his own glass and leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful. “Did you ever imagine you’d be here?”
She questioned. “At Nott Manor?”
He nodded ever so slightly. “This life. This much at peace. After the war, did you think there’d be something like this left for you?”
Hermione hesitated. “I hoped there would be. But I think, for a long time, I didn’t believe I would live to see it. I know Harry certainly don’t think he would. I don’t think we even thought we deserved it.”
Theo studied her, his brow furrowed. “You saved the world, Hermione.”
She smiled faintly. “So did you — in your own way. And I was apart of it, but I did some pretty dark things to survive it.”
He shook his head. “No. I survived it. You changed it.”
She reached across the table and placed her hand on his. “You’re changing it now. Every day. Your plans to heal people in the future. This place, the way you’ve opened up, the people you welcome in — it’s not your father’s manor anymore.”
Theo’s fingers curled around hers almost reflexively. His voice was low when he said, “Sometimes I wonder what he’d think of that.”
Hermione squeezed his hand gently. “Does it matter?”
“No,” Theo said after a long moment. “No, it doesn’t. But, sometimes I wonder if I’m only doing it all just to spite him. But, then I think, no. I never wanted to be in the dark in the first place, I was just born in it.”
They sat like that for a while, hands still entwined together on the table, the air between them humming with something fragile but certain. Eventually, Hermione broke the silence.
“Ginny was talking about the wedding today,” she said softly. “It made me think about marriage — about what it actually means. After everything we’ve seen, it feels… almost impossible, doesn’t it? The idea of trusting someone completely again.”
Theo didn’t speak right away, lost in his thoguhts. When he did, his voice was steady but quiet. “It’s not impossible. It’s terrifying, yes. But it’s also… hope for a better tomorrow, isn’t it?”
She looked up, surprised by the gentleness in his tone.
“I think,” Theo continued slowly, “marriage — real marriage — is about choosing someone every day. Not because you have to, but because you still want to. Even when it’s hard. Even when the world’s gone mad again if it ever does.”
Hermione watched him intently listening, her heart thudding softly in agreeance. “You’ve thought about it.”
He smiled wryly. “Occasionally. Pansy insists I’ll die alone if I don’t start trying to ‘entertain the concept of romantic vulnerability.’”
Hermione laughed quietly amused . “That sounds exactly like her.”
“But yes,” Theo added after a beat, his voice lower in tone now, “I want it someday. With the right person. Someone who understands what it means to fight and to forgive. To really live and be ok with being themselves.”
Hermione’s breath caught, just slightly enough for him to notice. “Me too.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them, assured and certain. Theo’s eyes met hers —unreadable in the firelight. For a long moment, neither moved afraid to ruin the shared moment. Then, as if drawn by instinct, he reached across again, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand in sensual circles. The touch made her arm hairs stand up edge and something unfamiliar pool in her belly.
“You deserve someone who sees you, Hermione,” he said quietly. “All of you.”
She felt her chest tighten in that way that meant she was either about to cry or say something terribly foolish and regret it. “So do you.”
He smiled whistfully, gaze flicking down at his hand touching her. “I’m not sure anyone ever really has told me I do before.”
Without thinking, she reached up and tucked a stray curl behind his ear, mirroring the gesture he’d made a dozen times before when her own hair fell loose. The contact lingered longer than either expected. His face looked relaxed at the touch.
Theo exhaled slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You should rest. It’s late.”
Hermione nodded, though she didn’t move. “You’re probably right.”
He stood first, offering her his hand. She took it, and he led her down the quiet corridor to her chambers, neither of them saying a word. The manor was hushed, the only sound the faint rustle of their footsteps and the distant crackle of the fire still burning low in his parlor.
At her door, he turned to her. For a heartbeat, it was like all the air between them had disappeared.
“Good night, Hermione,” he said tenderly.
She smiled, about to say it back — and then he leaned forward, quick as a breath, and pressed a feather-light kiss to her lips.
It lasted no more than the briefest second. Barely even a touch. So quick, she almost wondered if it had happened at all. But it was enough to stop her heart entirely. Before she could react at all, he stepped back, eyes wide — half startled, half mortified with himself — and muttered something that might’ve been “sleep well” before retreating down the corridor in a hurry.
Hermione stood frozen in her doorway for several long seconds, one hand rising unconsciously to her mouth. Then she slipped into her room, closing the door softly behind her. She leaned against it, the most bewildered smile tugging at her lips.
“What on earth,” she whispered into the quiet of ger room, “just happened?”
When she finally crawled into bed, the ghost of that kiss still lingered — light, confusing, and impossible to stop thinking about. And long after the candles burned low, Hermione lay awake staring at the ceiling, wondering when her heart had started beating so fast every time Theo Nott remotely even crossed her mind.
Notes:
Well, that finally happened! But, he ran away... what can that mean?!
Comment with what you think will happen next... will he pretend it never happened? Avoid her entirely? Finally act on their feelings more?
Chapter 20: A Spoken Agreement
Chapter Text
Breakfast at Nott Manor the next morning was unusually quiet. Rain pattered against the glass outside. Theo sat at the end of the long dining table, methodically slicing his toast, while Hermione stirred her tea so long the spoon clinked against the cup in a steady rhythm. The silence between them wasn’t their usual comfortable kind. It was heavy — like walking through fog thick enough to choke on. She didn’t like it. He kissed me! How can he pretend nothing happened! Why did he do it, if it mean nothing now, her mind screamed at her to get to the bottom of it.
Every so often, Hermione glanced up, waiting for him to meet her eyes. He never did. When he finally spoke, it was about the weather. “Looks like rain will end by midday. Might be best to finish the library inventory before it starts.”
“Fine,” she said flatly and sullen.
They finished breakfast like strangers. By the time they settled in the library — one of Hermione’s favorite rooms, with its tall arched windows and shelves that smelled of parchment and dust — she’d had enough of his polite evasions and too long silences. He was acting like last night had never happened. Like that kiss hadn’t left her heart racing until dawn.
Hermione set down her quill with more force than necessary. “Theo, we need to talk.”
He didn’t look up from the ledger he was reviewing. “About what?”
She stared at him hard, incredulous. “About last night.”
Theo’s quill froze mid-line. He closed the book slowly, exhaled through his nose, and still didn’t look at her. “There’s nothing to talk about. It was an accident. Don’t worry, I won’t overstep again.”
“Nothing—?” Hermione pushed her chair back so hard it fell over, standing. “You kissed me, Theo.”
“It was a mistake,” he said quickly.
The words hit her heart harder than she expected. “A mistake?”
Theo rose as well, his voice calm but strained. “Hermione, I— I shouldn’t have done it. It was late, you were tired, we had just been talking with so much emotion, I was—”
“Stop,” she snapped. “Don’t make excuses. You meant it. Don’t you dare pretend you didn’t.”
Finally, he looked at her. His expression was unreadable, but his voice trembled slightly in apprehension when he said, “I can’t afford to mean it.”
Hermione’s pulse thudded loud in her ears. “What does that even mean?”
“It means,” Theo said tightly, “that I value what we have too much to ruin it. You’re my very best friend, Hermione. You make this place feel like home. If I— if we— cross that line, everything changes forever. It will ruin what we’ve got.”
“It already has!” she burst out. “You think I can just go back to pretending nothing happened? You kissed me, and now you’re hiding from me like a coward.”
Theo flinched, jaw squeezing tight. “I’m trying to be decent—”
“Decent?” she interrupted, stepping closer. “Decent would’ve been talking to me. Not avoiding me like I’m some mistake you regret.”
His composure cracked then, the calm mask he always wore slipping just enough to reveal the turmoil underneath. “You don’t understand,” he said, voice low. “I can’t— I don’t want to hurt you.”
Hermione’s anger faltered, replaced by something rawer. “Then stop pretending you could.”
They stood facing each other across the narrow space between the reading tables, both breathing harder than the moment warranted. The rain landed outside, soft at first, pattering against the glass.
Theo rubbed a hand over his tense face. “You make everything so Merlin damned complicated.”
“I make everything honest,” she shot back. “Tell me the truth, Theo. What do you actually want from me?”
He stared at her for a long moment — long enough that she could see the war in his eyes, the fear of trusting anyone all the way. His voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. “You.”
That single word was enough to undo them both.
Hermione took a step forward. “Then stop pretending you don’t.”
Theo’s restraint broke.
He moved closer — not abruptly, not roughly, but with a quiet certainty that made her heart leap to her throat. She could feel his breath, the tension between them crackling like magical static. His hand came up to cup her face, hesitant for just a second.
“Is this what you want?” he asked, voice shaking.
She nodded, unable to find her voice. And then he pushed her hard against the bookcase just behind her, pinning her to it with his body. His hands clutched around her waist and head. And he kissed her without a second thought.
It wasn’t gentle — but it wasn’t harsh either. It was full of passion. It was the kind of kiss that came from too many unspoken things finally finding their way out. Warm, deep, desperate, very real.
Hermione’s hands found his shoulders, then the back of his neck. The world tilted, and for a moment, there was nothing but the thunder growing louder outside and the taste of rain and recklessness between them as their lips fought for dominance.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing unevenly. Theo’s forehead rested against hers, eyes closed, as if afraid to open them and see what he’d done. Hermione’s fingers trembled against his collar. Heat in her low belly had started to kindle.
“Theo…” she whispered scared he’d regret it once again.
He drew back just enough to look at her — his expression a storm of confusion, relief, and disbelief. “Merlin, what have we done?”
Hermione could only stare back at him, heart racing, the words stuck somewhere between terror and wonder. Her lips burned from his touch, her every nerve felt ablaze with want. They stood there, inches apart, surrounded by centuries of books and the faint scent of rain — neither able to speak, both too afraid and too exhilarated to move. Whatever they were before, they both knew: nothing would ever be quite the same again.
The rain had begun to ease to a slow drizzle by the time they pulled apart, but Hermione could still feel it — the storm in her pulse, the warmth of Theo’s breath ghosting her cheek, the fire lite in he r low belly. Neither of them spoke; neither of them knew how.
He took a step back first, her heart racing, lips still tingling. Theo opened his mouth, maybe to apologize, maybe to say something brave — but then the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, sharp and deliberate. Someone was coming. Hermione barely had time to straighten her wrinkled blouse and move away from the bookcase before a firm knock sounded against the library doors.
Theo blinked confused, as if pulled abruptly back to the real world. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
Before she could respond, the door opened — and Draco Malfoy strolled in as though he still owned every room he entered.
He looked as immaculate and handsome as ever: tailored black robes, platinum hair slicked back with rain, expression perfectly neutral. But his eyes glanced between them, sharp and assessing, and Hermione had the distinct impression that he’d known he’d interrupted something.
“Theo,” Draco drawled cheekily. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
Theo’s expression vaulted— surprise, composure, then the faintest edge of exasperation. “Only slightly.”
Hermione’s heart still hadn’t slowed. She folded her arms to keep from fidgeting or looking guilty. “Hello, Draco.”
“Granger,” he said with a courteous nod, polite but very distant. “I didn’t realize you were… still residing here.”
“I am,” she said evenly. “We’re—working on getting the library in order.”
He gave a slight, knowing hum. “Of course you are.”
Theo cleared his throat deliberately. “What brings you here, Draco?”
Draco’s gaze shifted back to him. “Business. Of the old kind. May I?” He gestured toward the door.
Theo hesitated. “Right now?”
Draco’s lips curved faintly. “Best not to delay matters of lineage and inheritance. Your father’s vaults, the estates, and—more importantly—your seat.”
Hermione frowned. “Seat?”
But Draco’s attention had already returned to Theo exclusively. “We’ll talk privately.”
Theo’s jaw tightened — that familiar blend of irritation and reluctant obligation. He turned to Hermione, his tone careful. “Would you mind waiting in my parlor? This won’t take long.”
She wanted to say yes, to insist that it was fine, but her voice betrayed her frustration. “Of course, can’t keep Lord Malfoy waiting.”
Theo gave her a brief nod, and apologetic look before following Draco out, the heavy doors closing behind them with a muted click. The moment they were gone, the library felt too large, too still. Hermione exhaled shakily and pressed a hand to her chest. “Perfect timing, Malfoy,” she muttered to the empty air.
An hour passed. Hermione spent most of it pacing in Theo’s parlor, the fire flickering low in the hearth. Rain tapped against the windowpanes loud once again, and her mind spun in restless circles — not just about Draco’s sudden visit, but about that kiss.
Every time she replayed it, her cheeks flushed and her insides felt molten. The way Theo had said her name, the way he’d looked at her as if she were something precious and terrifying all at once. And then, as if summoned by her thoughts, the door finally opened.
Theo stepped inside. He looked fatigued, but composed — and different. A subtle, undeniable difference. It took her a moment to realize what it was: the silver-and-black signet ring gleaming on his right hand.
“The Nott family ring,” she said quietly.
Theo glanced down at it, flexing his fingers. “Draco insisted. Said it was time I stopped pretending I wasn’t the head of anything.”
Hermione studied him. “And what exactly does that mean?”
He sank into one of the armchairs, leaning back heavily. “It means he wants me to reclaim my family’s seat in the Wizengamot. My father abandoned it during the war. Draco seems to think restoring it would help—symbolically, if nothing else.”
“Help the Malfoys’ image, you mean.”
Theo smiled wryly. “Among other things. He’s trying to build a new order of ‘reformed pure-bloods,’ apparently. I suspect Mother Malfoy has a hand in it.”
Hermione settled across from him, her voice soft but curious. “And what do you think?”
He turned the ring around his finger slowly. “I think… he’s not entirely wrong. Maybe it’s time to stop running from what I inherited and try to change what it stands for.”
“That sounds very much like the new you,” she said warmly. “Brave, but rational.”
Theo met her eyes, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Coming from you, that’s practically a love letter.”
Hermione laughed softly, though her heart bounced. “You’ll have to earn an actual one.”
Silence again — not awkward this time, but fully charged. The kind that hummed in the space between two people who both remembered exactly what had happened hours ago and were pretending not to want to reenact it.
Theo broke it first. “About earlier…”
She looked up, pulse quickening. He stood, pacing once before stopping in front of her. “I didn’t plan it. I didn’t think. And I’m sorry if it was too—”
“It wasn’t,” Hermione interrupted quickly. “It wasn’t too anything. It just… surprised me.”
He searched her face for a long moment hopeful. “Surprised you in a good way?”
Hermione hesitated, then nodded. “In a terrifyingly good way.”
Theo exhaled, all of the tension leaving his shoulders. He sank back into his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve been trying to figure out what to say to you all day. I don’t want to rush into something neither of us is ready for. But I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
“I don’t want to pretend either,” Hermione said softly.
Their eyes met, and the air seemed to shift — quieter, deeper.
“I like where we are,” she admitted. “I don’t want to label it prematurely or break it by overthinking it. Maybe we just… see what happens, but are obviously exclusive?”
Theo nodded slowly with a smile. “Let things unfold naturally.”
“Exactly.”
They sat there in the dim parlor, the fire casting warm shadows across the room, their knees touching. For a moment, everything felt balanced again — a little uncertain, yes, but hopeful. Theo reached out, brushing her hand lightly, then pulled back as if afraid to push his luck. “One more thing,” he said gently. “Let’s keep this between us. For now.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “You mean, don’t tell Pansy.”
“Or Harry, or Ginny, or anyone else who might make it into a chorus of unsolicited advice,” he said dryly.
“Agreed,” she said, suppressing a laugh. “We’ll let the gossips suffer.”
They both smiled at that, the ease between them returning. Outside, the rain finally stopped.. Hermione looked at Theo — the signet ring glinting on his hand, the quiet steadiness in his gaze — and felt something shift again, but this time it wasn’t confusion. It was certainty, gentle and unspoken.
“Good night, Theo,” she said softly.
He smiled. “Good night, Hermione.”
This time, when he walked her to her door, there were no hasty retreats or startled apologies. Just a shared glance that said everything words couldn’t. He kissed her on the mouth, slowly. Not with the passion of the library, but more with a soft promise of more to come. And when she closed her door behind her, heart fluttering wildly, she realized that whatever they were stepping into — ruined friendship, love, or something yet unnamed — it felt exactly like the path she was meant to take.
Notes:
Do you think they can keep this development a secret? Let me know in the comments!
Chapter 21: A Step Forward
Chapter Text
Pansy Parkinson had never believed in knocking. One moment the manor was peaceful — the smell of toast and Earl Grey drifting from the breakfast table — and the next, a swirl of lilac smoke burst from the fireplace and deposited Pansy herself in the middle of the room.
“Good morning, my darlings!” she sang out, brushing soot off her pale pink robes. “Tell me you have tea ready because I’ve been up since six dealing with a shipment disaster. Do you know what happens when house-elves confuse shimmer powder with self-heating bath salts? Chaos, that’s what.”
Hermione exchanged a startled look with Theo over her cup. She’d only just sat down to breakfast with him after a good morning kiss, still feeling the lingering warmth from last night’s conversation, and now here was Pansy — all perfume, pearls, and dangerous intuition.
Theo stood to hug her, polite as ever. “You could have sent a note.”
“And miss your charming morning face? Never.” Pansy kissed the air beside his cheek, then turned to Hermione with a conspiratorial grin. “And you! You look radiant. What’s changed? Did you finally sleep properly or did our dear Theodore learn to make a decent cup of tea finally?”
Hermione laughed, hoping it didn’t sound nervous. “Probably the tea. I’ve taught him well.”
“Ha! I doubt it.” Pansy sank gracefully into the empty chair, snatching a scone from the tray. “You two have been hiding away in this house so much lately it’s becoming positively suspicious.”
Theo arched a brow. “Suspicious, or peaceful?”
“Suspicious,” she said without hesitation, fixing him with a look that was far too knowing. “Peaceful doesn’t usually make people blush when I walk into the room.”
Hermione’s hand froze halfway to her teacup. Theo coughed quietly into his napkin.
Pansy smirked. “Mm-hmm. Thought so.” She waved her scone dismissively. “Don’t worry, I’m too tired to interrogate you properly. Tell me instead about this ridiculous meeting Draco’s planning. Wizengamot this, reformation that. He’s determined to resurrect every pure-blood name that hasn’t fled to France.”
Hermione relaxed slightly, grateful for the change of subject. “Theo told me about it last night. I think it’s a good idea, if it’s truly about rebuilding.”
Theo nodded. “I’m not sure how much influence I’ll have, but perhaps being part of it will keep things from slipping backward again.”
Pansy sipped her tea with exaggerated approval. “That’s my noble Lord Nott. I’ll have to design you a new wardrobe if you’re going to sit among the ancient relics at the Ministry. Something imposing, with dark velvet.”
Theo groaned. “Please don’t.”
“Please do,” Hermione said before she could stop herself, then blushed when both turned to look at her. “I mean—he’d look respectable. Velvet is very dignified.”
Pansy’s smirk returned full tilt. “Oh, I see. You like dignified men now.”
Theo shot her a warning glance. “Parkinson.”
She only laughed and leaned back, utterly delighted. “Relax, darling. I’m teasing. Honestly, it’s nice to see the two of you looking so—domesticated. You’re practically an old married couple already.”
Hermione choked on her tea spitting some of it out; Theo stared down at his plate as though willing the ground to open and eat him whole. Pansy watched them both for a moment longer, then relented, patting Hermione’s hand. “I’m only joking, sweetheart. You know I adore you both. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a shop to run and a fiancé who can’t tell the difference between pearl and opal polish. Enjoy your quiet little paradise.”
She vanished back into the fireplace in a shimmer of green flame, leaving only the faint scent of roses behind.
For a long moment, the room was silent. Then Theo exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “That was close.”
Hermione nodded, half-laughing in relief, half-panicked still. “I thought she knew for sure.”
“She suspects everything,” he said dryly, pouring them both another cup of tea. “If we survive Pansy Parkinson, we can survive anything.”
Hermione smiled across the table at him, heart still fluttering. “Then we’d better be careful.”
Theo met her eyes — and this time, there was no mistaking the shared understanding between them. Careful, yes. But not distant in the least.
The days that followed passed in a summery blur of warmth and shared secrets. It was as if something had changed the rhythm of the manor itself — a new pulse that followed them from room to room. Hermione and Theo still spent their mornings working together, cataloging books, tending the gardens, walking the orchards, preparing for their programs to start. But now, every shared glance seemed to linger and burn her insides. Every brush of hands felt charged and purposively teasing.
They had grown comfortable stealing small moments between tasks — a waist touch at the base of the stairs, a deep kiss in the shadowed corners of the library, a slow, careful one in the kitchen when the elves were busy elsewhere. Nothing reckless, but nothing casual either. Each time left Hermione more than slightly breathless, wondering how something so simple could undo her so completely.
Theo was a study in restraint. He had a gift for gentleness — for knowing when to draw her in and when to let her breathe. Sometimes he would just press a soft kiss to her forehead or her temple, other times their mouths would meet with a intensity that made her forget what they’d been talking about completely. Their tongues had battled each other more times in the last week than she could count. Each snogging session growing more frantic, and emotionally explosive. Theo was a fantastic kisser, nothing like the slobber of Ron, or the awkwardness of Krum. Theo always seemed to know just how much pressure of lips to apply to leave her breathless with bodily yearning. He tasted often of unexplored passion, and tea. He plundered her mouth so thoroughly that sometimes Hermione ended up groaning into the kiss, growing wet down below in a way that would have embarrassing if to her had he known. Their kisses regularly left her yearning for more. Yet just when she thought the moment might tip into something more, Theo would pull back — a quiet apology in his eyes.
“I don’t want to rush you,” he’d say softly, every time. “You deserve patience and respect.”
It only made her want more of him more desperately. Outside the manor, and with friends, they acted as though nothing had changed. Pansy visited twice, Blaise once, and no one seemed the wiser. But inside, when they were alone, their laughter came easier than ever before; their silences felt different — full promises instead of empty.
They still read together in the library many evenings, but now Hermione’s fingers often found his thigh beneath the table, resting there with gentle caresses that he barely let register were effecting him, until one of them turned the page. In the garden, he would brush stray curls from her face from the wind as if he couldn’t help himself. And sometimes, when she caught him watching her across a room, the look in his eyes sent a quiet thrill through her — equal parts affection and something she was only just learning to name. Her dreams most nights were becoming increasingly blush worthy, and she often awoke in the morning feeling something new for her – sexual desire that her own hand couldn’t fully relive even in the comfort of her own chambers. By the end of the week, the manor felt alive again — not haunted by the past, but warmed by growing sexual tension and emotional vulnerability.
Hermione didn’t know where any of it would lead for certain, and Theo never pressed her for answers. But as they walked together down the long hallway one evening, his hand finding hers in that quiet, unspoken way it always did now, she realized that if she wanted more from him, he might need a bit less subtle encouragement.
One evening, Theo walked Hermione to her chambers as he always did, his hand brushing lightly against hers. For days now, their goodnights had been a dance of lingering glances and half-smiles that said everything words couldn’t. But tonight, something in the air felt different — heavier, waiting, charged.
When they reached her door, Hermione hesitated, then turned the handle before she could lose her courage.
“Theo,” she said delicately, glancing back at him. “Would you come in for a bit?”
He sucked in a breath, surprised. “Are you sure?”
She nodded to encourage him. “Just to talk. I—don’t want to end the evening yet.”
Theo followed her inside. The room glowed softly in the lamplight, the lilac curtains drawn, the fire low and gentle. She crossed to the wide window seat and sat down, pulling her knees up sideways onto the cushion to make room behind her.
He joined her, carefully scotting in behind her, bracing his back against the wall, pulling her back against him so both of their legs rested out in front of them on the seat together. Both of their right sides inches from the glass of the window. The night beyond the glass was clear — the orchard silvered with moonlight. For a while, neither spoke, just enjoying the closeness.
“I like it here with you,” Theo said quietly, looking out. “It feels safe and freeing.”
“It does,” Hermione agreed readily. “You’ve made it feel that way.”
He smiled faintly, his voice dropping. “You helped.”
They sat like that for a long time, her back pressed against his chest as she leaned against him. Finally, Hermione took a breath and said, “Can we talk about… boundaries?”
Theo turned to her immediately, his expression careful. “Of course.”
“I know we’ve both been… figuring things out,” she began, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. “And I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you. I do. More than I probably should.” She gave a small, nervous laugh. “It’s just—this is all new to me. But, your making me want a lot of things I’ve never had before.”
Theo was silent for a beat, then said gently, “New how?”
Hermione’s cheeks warmed embarrassed with inexperience, but she forced herself to meet his honesty. “I haven’t really done this before. Not like this. I’ve never—been in something that feels like this. Real. And I don’t always know what to do or how fast to move.”
Theo’s expression softened. He reached out slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, and rested one hand on her upper thigh gently, the other wrapped around her waist securly. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I just… don’t want to disappoint you. I know we’ve done so many things with people before,” she whispered.
He shook his head, thumb brushing lightly over her thigh in a reassuring way. “You couldn’t. Hermione, I never want you to feel like you owe me anything — ever. I care about you. That’s enough. Your simple affection towards me is more than anything physical is worth.”
The sincerity in his voice made her chest hurt still filled with anxiety. “Even if I’m a bit… inexperienced?”
He smiled, gentle and a little sad. “Especially then. It means you’re trusting me, and I won’t take that lightly. Whatever you give me will be a gift, and I’ll value it.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “You really are a gentleman.”
He chuckled softly. “Don’t let Pansy hear you say that; she’ll never forgive me for ruining her playboy reputation of me.”
That broke the tension. Hermione laughed, then leaned her head lightly against his shoulder. For a moment, the world outside the window seemed to hold its breath. His hand on her thigh was driving her slightly crazy, it’s little caresses over the fabric of her linen skirt activating a longing inside.
Taking a deep breath, she subtly shifted to draw her skirt of higher on her thighs. Theo caught the movement and started, “Hermione…”
Hermione shushed him with a finger to his lips, then covered his hand on her thigh with her own. Applying soft pressure she guided it a bit down her leg, over the line of bunched up skirt, to touch her bare flesh with his fingertips. She drew in a embarrassingly loud breath at the initial contact of skin on skin, encouraging his hand to move under her skirt. She could feel his body stiffen in realization behind her. She left his hand alone resting high up on the inside of her thigh under her skirt, her own hands both coming to grip his upper thighs lightly on each side of her.
“It’s ok, just a little bit,” she encouraged him. Her heart raced as he moved his hand on his own higher and higher, the whole time using the gentlest of fingertips to swirl designs on her soft and burning skin. Finally, he reached the edge of her underwear, a question hanging between them unsaid but implied.
“Just above them,” she murmured in encouragement. He realized what she wanted and let out a deep breath, nuzzling his lips in light kisses against the side of her bare neck. The warmth of his breathe against her neck ignited goosebumps to spread down her neck and chest as her skin prickled with desire.
Gently, as if worried he’d freak her out, his finger tips ghosted over the edge of her underwear, respectfully staying over them hovering just over her core. With a satisfaction and feeling of power she’d never felt before, she noticed a firming of the flesh behind her hind end. She smirked internally, knowing it was her that was causing him to inflate with want. Merlin, did they always feel so big?, she pondered before being swept away in the feeling of his hand.
His fingertips gently pressed down just barely, making full contact with the damp fabric covering her core. The wetness of the cotton soaking through to his fingers was not lost of him, and he gave a muffled groan, “Hermione… you’re…”.
“I know, please”, she begged him. That seemed to be enough to placate his need for consent and he shifted a bit to open her legs wider with one hand, the other pushing with a bit more pressure against the wet cloth. The widening of her thighs and left her folds to open a bit more than before, exposing her clit to poke out and directly touch the fabric. It brought a ripple of pleasure down her spine. She let out the smallest whimper.
With nothing but thin soaked cotton between her and his hand, he used two fingers to lightly pull her lips further apart behind the fabric, with a third coming down to place delicate pressure straight on her clit. The effect was immediate, as her body further soaked the fabric caging it.
“So responsive,” he murmured entranced with the obvious reaction. She whimpered a bit more, needing some movement.
With practiced hands he sought to provide her some relief the fire that was burning deep in her center. His fingertip slowly circled around the edge of her clit, first in one direction, then the other. At random intervals he would press the pad of the finger fully against it, making her groan a bit louder each time.
Tension inside her was growing with every circulatory pass of his finger, and he increased the pace gradually, also increasing the amount of pressure he was placing against her clit. He was whispering sweet nothings into her ear, but her mind was so far gone she couldn’t even interpret his exact words.
The pressure inside of her rose and rose, until she was sure she shouldn’t take any more of this without going crazy, when suddenly as he pressed harder one more time, she broke with a surprised and pleasurable cry of his name, “Theo… ohhh… Theo”.
He drew the pleasure out as long as he could be continuing the pressure against her clit as the wave fully washed over her, only moving his hand out from her skirt, with a grin on his pleased face when she finally twisted her neck to look at his face.
Their eyes met with intensity, and they both shared a conspiratorial smirk.
“Theo, I’m not even sure what to say after something like that”, she whispered to him.
“I take it, you liked that Darling?,” he teased.
She flushed, and nodded. “Never felt anything like it…”.
Now it was Theo’s turn to look confused, “Hermione… I know you haven’t done more than kiss a few fellows, but I mean… you haven’t… I mean… what about with yourself?”
“I mean, yes… alittle bit some nights. But, most of my life I’ve been sharing rooms with other people… dorms, tents, Burrow bedrooms. It’s not been exactly private since puberty hit. Of course I’ve touched myself like this way before and it felt nice, but it never felt this intense like that”, she tried to explain.
He questioned further, “Are you saying that was your first orgasm?”
“I’m not sure.. maybe”.
He smiled with pride, “If you don’t know, then the answer is yes.”
He pulled her closer against his chest, holding her in a tight embrace, and whispered softly “I’ll consider this a gift.”
They stayed that way for a few minutes, enjoying each other’s presence. When he finally stood to leave, he pressed a slow, steady kiss to her forehead — not rushed or uncertain this time at all, but a promise of mutual emotions.
“Good night, Hermione,” he murmured.
“Good night, Theo,” she whispered back, watching him go, her heart fluttering like the curtains in the night breeze. And when the door clicked shut, she realized she wasn’t afraid of getting hurt anymore — only full of quiet anticipation for whatever came next.
Notes:
Well, what did you think? I've never publicly shared that type of scene before.... did it live up to your expectations? Let me know in the comments.
Chapter 22: A Party Secret
Notes:
Time to learn a bit more about just how innocent our Hermione actually is.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The next morning, the dawn sunlight spilled softly across the breakfast table, catching on the steam that rose from their tea. The manor was quiet except for the ticking clock and the faint hum of the elves in the kitchens.
Hermione arrived to find Theo already there, the Daily Prophet folded neatly beside his plate, two cups of tea poured instead of one.
“Morning,” she said happily.
He looked up immediately, and the small smile that curved his mouth was appealing. “Morning. I was just about to come find you.”
Hermione sat opposite him, trying not to feel self-conscious under the warmth of his gaze. There was a stillness between them, but not an awkward one. Something affectionate lingered in the air, a fragile kind of depth that hadn’t existed before last night.
“Did you sleep?” he asked gently.
“Eventually,” she said with a shy smile. “You?”
Theo’s hand brushed the rim of his teacup, a small, thoughtful movement. “Better than I have in years. Had some really nice dreams.” He hesitated, then added, “Thank you… for trusting me.”
Her breath caught at the deep weight in his tone.
“You don’t have to thank me,” she said tenderly. “You’ve earned it.”
He smiled again— bigger, broader. For a while, they just ate in easy silence.When he reached for the butter, his fingers brushed hers, a fleeting touch that lingered a moment too long to be accidental. He didn’t apologize, and her fresh burned with anticipation of what she now knew his fingers could do.
Instead, he said, “Last night meant a great deal to me. I want to make sure you know that.”
Hermione’s lips rounded, her voice barely above a restrained whisper. “To me too.”
And that was enough. They finished breakfast quietly, side by side, and when Theo stood to refill her tea, his hand rested lightly on her shoulder in passing—a silent thank-you, a promise of care, and a reflection of how deeply he cherished what had been shared between them.
Rain settled over Nott Manor for the next few days that led up to Ginny’s and Harry’s joint hen/bachelor party. A steady curtain of silver streaks that blurred the orchards from the windows and left the house wrapped in soft, rhythmic quiet.
Theo and Hermione spent most of it indoors, the two of them moving through rooms like they had their own small world wrapped in each other. They read by the fireside—sometimes separately, sometimes aloud to one another, trading pages and teasing each other about their narration voices. The rain made everything feel slower, gentler, like time itself had decided to rest.
They shared comfortable laughter, lingering touches, and kisses that had grown more sure—familiar, yet still filled with wonder each time. Theo remained patient and tender as ever, his quiet affection steady and constant, the kind that made Hermione feel safe and truly seen.
One afternoon, when the storm was particularly fierce, she transfigured a white bedsheet into a makeshift projector screen and played Finding Nemo for him on her enchanted Muggle protection device. Theo had stared, fascinated and slightly horrified, at the talking tropical fish.
“Why are they smiling?” he demanded perplexed. “They’ve been captured by muggles in breathing suites!”
Hermione laughed so hard she nearly spilled her tea acrossed the sofa. “It’s a children’s film, Theo.”
“That explains nothing,” he muttered, but by the end he was invested, muttering encouragement at the little clownfish and pretending he wasn’t misty-eyed when son and father reunited.
It became their daily routine—books, laughter, stolen lazy kisses, and quiet evenings spent together while the rain whispered against the windows. Twice more those languid days Theo had recreated versions of their first intimate encounter. Once had been on the sofa of his private parlor, and the other on the floor of library when their reading had turned passionately heavy. Both times had been just as breathtaking to Hermione as the first, and both times Theo had kept her underwear between his touch, she suspected as a gesture of preserving her modesty. She had tried to touch him back multiple times over the last few days, but every time Theo has politely pushed her hand away, and said right now was about her only. He insisted that when the time was right she could explore him too, but for now just being with her was more than enough pleasure for him. The world outside could wait; for those few days, it was just them—warmth and light against the storm.
The night of Harry and Ginny’s joint hen- bachelor party the Burrow was nearly unrecognizable. By the time Hermione and Theo arrived, the ramshackle old house was glowing from every window, fairy lights strung across the yard and hovering over the garden like enchanted fire beetles. Laughter and music spilled out through the open doors, and someone had clearly overdone the charm on the wireless — Celestina Warbeck was belting out something triumphant enough to make the gnomes flee the hedges.
“Remind me again,” Theo murmured as they stepped inside, “how many people were invited?”
Hermione glanced around at the crowded kitchen — Ginny, Harry, and nearly every Weasley sibling, plus Dean, Seamus, Luna, Neville, Hannah Abbott, and a few old Gryffindor faces from their year. “I think it was supposed to be twelve,” she said dryly, “so naturally, there are at least thirty.”
Theo gave her a look that was half amusement, half despair.
Across the room, Pansy spotted them immediately. “Finally!” she cried, weaving her way through the crowd with a drink in hand and glitter on her cheeks. “You two are scandalously late. I was beginning to think you’d gone all boringly domestic and decided to stay home.”
“Traffic on the Floo network,” Theo said with mock solemnity.
Pansy smirked, unfazed. “You mean indecision over ties.”
Hermione laughed and took the drink Pansy handed her — something fizzy and pink that smelled faintly of strawberries and danger. “Where’s Blaise?”
“Still in Italy,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes. “Negotiating vineyard contracts and pretending it’s business, not pleasure. He’ll miss the wedding entirely, which I’m never forgiving him for. But enough about that — drink up, sweetheart. Tonight’s about celebrating our friends tying themselves legally together in front of witnesses.”
Theo raised an eyebrow. “That’s one way to phrase matrimony.”
“It’s the only honest way,” Pansy said cheerfully, clinking her glass against his.
Hermione looked around, letting the noise and light wash over her. It was overwhelming and wonderful — the kind of joy that felt earned after everything they’d all survived. Ginny and Harry were on the far side of the room, surrounded by laughter, Ginny in a sparkling gold dress and Harry already red-faced from whatever Bill’s old bottle of Firewhisky under the bed had become. George was egging him on; Percy was pretending not to watch but was definitely keeping count of how many glasses each person had.
Ron lingered near the back wall, a pint in hand, pretending to talk to Neville but not making eye contact with Hermione. She noticed, but refused to let it ruin her evening.
Luna drifted over at one point, wearing a crown of wildflowers and carrying a bottle that looked suspiciously like self-refilling gin. “Hello, Theo,” she said dreamily. “You look happier these days. Hermione must be good for your stars.”
Theo looked confused. “My… stars?”
“Oh yes,” Luna said serenely. “They’ve stopped colliding.”
Hermione tried not to laugh. “Thank you, Luna. I think that’s a compliment.”
“It is,” Luna said. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she added, “Your stars kiss like people who’ve finally stopped running from each other.”
Hermione froze. Theo choked on his drink earning him a pat on the back hard from Bill who was standing nearby.
“How—” Hermione began, but Luna only smiled, winked at them both, and floated away toward the punch bowl only to be intercepted by Dean carrying a muggle camera.
Pansy reappeared seconds later, oblivious. “Did Luna just say something completely unhinged again?”
“Yes,” Theo said weakly. “Completely, you’de never believe it.”
“Good, then she’s consistent,” Pansy said, settling beside them with a triumphant grin. “Now, who’s ready for party games?”
By midnight, the Burrow was loud with drunken laughter, the floor sticky from spilled drinks, and nearly everyone several Firewhiskies past sensible. Someone — probably George — had conjured a glowing bottle that spun lazily in midair, and a circle of half the guests gathered around it in the living room.
“Never Have I Ever,” Ginny announced gleefully, taking center stage. “And no lying, or the bottle will hex you with itchy arm welts.”
Hermione groaned. “We’re too old for this.”
“Exactly why it’ll be fun,” Ginny shot back.
Theo, seated on one side of Hermione with Pansy on the other, leaned close and murmured, “Is this where I’m supposed to start worrying?”
“Yes,” Hermione said primly, then ruined it by smirking.
The game started innocently enough. “Never have I ever pulled an all-nighter before exams.” Everyone except Ron and Luna drank. (“I was efficient,” Luna protested. “And Ron didn’t care about grades.”)
Then it spiraled, as such games always did — stories about stolen broomsticks, forgotten loves, disastrous Polyjuice experiments. Each confession was greeted with cheers and groans and more drinks. Hermione found herself laughing until her cheeks hurt.
Pansy was in rare form, tossing out outrageous prompts and cackling when Theo looked mortified at some. Harry and Ginny were tangled together on the couch, glowing with pre-wedding happiness. Even Percy had loosened up enough to sit cross-legged on the floor and mutter disapprovingly into his glass.
Ron stayed distant, though — watching them play but not participating, his expression annoyed. Hermione tried to ignore it. Tonight wasn’t about old wounds or the place for fighting.
When the bottle pointed to Luna, she smiled dreamily and said, “Never have I ever kissed someone I wasn’t supposed to.”
A murmur ran through the circle. Hermione froze, heart thudding, aware of Theo’s stillness beside her. Slowly, deliberately, Luna raised her glass and took a sip — then looked straight at Hermione and Theo, that knowing little smile curving her mouth though no one else seemed to have noticed.
Hermione didn’t move. Neither did Theo. But their eyes met for just a moment — a flash of shared understanding, a silent don’t you dare.
Pansy, oblivious as ever, laughed. “Well, that’s everyone, isn’t it?”
The circle erupted into teasing and protest, and the moment passed. Both Theo and Hermione tried not the itch the welts that had appeared on their arms. The next few minutes of questions were torture while they ignored the urge to itch, until finally they went away. It was incredibly unpleasant and neither seemed eager to let it happen again.
Dean went next, “Never have I ever had something inside me for sexual pleasure.” Many of the girls protested shouting it was sexist, and Theo whispered in her ear it was a bit homophobic as well. None the less all the girls in the circle except for Hermione drank, and a few of the guys including Theo.
Pansy’s eyes honed in on her lack of sipping immediately like a chetah stalking it’s prey, “Granger, what the hairy hippogriff!? How could you not have done that?”
Thankfully, she hadn’t said it too loud, and only Theo had caught on to what was happening. He looked over Hermione’s head and shot Pansy a nasty glare, urging her with his eyes to drop it. Hermione’s face was blazing with embarrassment, but the subject was dropped, and the three went back to the game, which ended up dissipating shortly after that.
By the time the party began to wind down, the air was thick with the smell of wiskey and butterbeer, the laughter turning to the soft murmur of tired voices as one by one people left. Ginny and Harry were curled up together in an armchair, George had started an impromptu toast that devolved into a joke about marriage licenses that hardly anyone could follow, and most of the others still left were either dancing or asleep. Pansy had just left through the floo.
Theo and Hermione stood near the back doorway, half in the shadows, watching the chaos with tired smiles.
“Your friends are… something else,” he said amused.
Hermione chuckled. “You survived them, though. That’s saying something.”
He gave a small, amused nod. “Barely.” Then, lower, “You were incredible tonight.”
“Was I?”
He looked at her, something soft in his eyes. “You always are. But, that was brave to be honest about in front of everyone.”
She felt her cheeks warm but didn’t look away, “I told you I wasn’t experienced.”
“I know, but when you said you’de done that yourself the other night, I assumed that included more than just literally what I was doing. I figured… well.. you know… you’d been a bit more extensive than me.” He explained his bewilderment over what she’d inevitably confessed tonight in the game. She simply gave him a small shrug as a response and the subject was dropped.
And as the last song of the night played, they slipped outside into the cool summer air, the sounds of celebration fading behind them, their hands brushing together in quiet defiance of the chaos they left.
Notes:
Next up, the Potter wedding! leave a comment about what you hope to see happen at the wedding.
Chapter 23: A Potter Wedding
Chapter Text
The five days after the Burrow party passed in a haze of more rain showers, filled parchment, and quiet discipline. With their respective programs only a month away now — Theo’s Healer program at St. Mungo’s and Hermione’s charms mastery— they both threw themselves into study with renewed determination.
Most mornings began early, with books spread across the long library table, quills scratching, and the scent of tea, parchment, and ink filling the air. They quizzed each other on ingredients, case studies, and theory, occasionally slipping into debates that often ended in laughter rather than frustration.
Evenings were softer — reading side by side on the couch or stretched out on the rug near the fire, playing board games, hands linked or fingers brushing as one reached for a quill or a cup of tea. Their affection had become part of the rhythm of their days: a kiss when she solved a difficult question, his hand resting briefly on her back when she grew tired.
They were still very much a couple, though quiet about it — content to move slowly, to let warmth and familiarity deepen without rushing what would come next. Only kisses had been shared lately. The manor felt peaceful, full of gentle focus and quiet promise, like a calm breath before everything new began.
The morning of the wedding sunlight poured through the windows of Hagrid’s hut, spilling across the scattered makeup kits, half-open trunks, and bouquets of wildflowers that filled the little space. The air smelled faintly of lavender and pine; outside, the soft hum of guests gathering on the Hogwarts grounds drifted through the open door.
Ginny sat on a stool in front of the mirror, radiant and fidgeting, while Luna adjusted the tiny cluster of white blossoms woven into her hair. Hermione stood behind them both, smoothing the train of Ginny’s ivory gown for the fifth time that morning.
“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” Ginny murmured, staring at her reflection. Her voice trembled with excitement. “I thought after the war I’d never want something as big as this again with so many people there. But somehow… this feels right.”
“It does,” Hermione said warmly. “Hogwarts was where you and Harry found yourselves, where you both fought for what mattered most. It’s where Harry first had a home. There’s no better place to start the rest of your lives.”
Ginny smiled, eyes shining with unshed tears. “You always know what to say.”
Luna, still dreamily adjusting a ribbon on the bouquet, added, “The magic here remembers you both. It’s happy for you.”
Ginny laughed softly, half amused, half touched. “Then let’s hope the magic behaves long enough to get us through the vows.”
When they finished dressing, the three women stepped outside into the sunlight. Down the slope, in front of the Black Lake, rows of chairs had been arranged facing an arch of intertwined willow branches and floating candles. Friends, family, and press sat to witness what was being called ‘The Wedding of the Century’. Hogwarts loomed in the distance, proud and golden against the summer sky. The castle’s reflection shimmered across the lake — a perfect backdrop for the start of a new chapter.
Hermione caught sight of Harry pacing near the edge of the clearing, already in his dress robes, looking as though he’d rather face another dragon than a wedding aisle. She gave Ginny’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll check on him.”
She found him by the old beech tree they use to study under, running a nervous hand through his hair.
“You look like you’re about to bolt,” she teased.
Harry gave a crooked grin. “You think McGonagall would take points if I did?”
“Possibly,” she said, smiling. Then, softer, “Harry, you’re ready for this. You and Ginny have already faced worse than anything today could bring. This is the easy part — just love, promises, and family.”
He swallowed hard, the nerves in his eyes giving way to warmth. “Thanks, Hermione. I’m really glad you’re here.”
She reached up and straightened his tie. “Always. Now go get marred best brother.”
A moment later, the music began — a lilting string arrangement that floated over the water. Guests rose as Ginny appeared at the top of the slope, her arm linked through Arthur’s. The sunlight caught the fiery copper in her hair, making it glow like fire.
Harry’s breath caught when he saw her. Even from the side angle next to Ginny, Hermione could see it — that look that said there was no one else in the world.
The ceremony itself was simple and heartfelt. Luna read a blessing from an old magical text about courage and constellations; Ron handed over the rings with trembling hands. When Harry and Ginny spoke their vows, their voices wavered but never faltered.
As they kissed — the crowd cheering, the lake rippling behind them, merpeople signing, the castle bells ringing softly in the distance — Hermione felt a rush of peace she hadn’t known she needed. Hogwarts had witnessed their childhoods, their triumphs, their scars. Now it bore witness to their joy. She looked up at the castle towers gleaming against the sky and thought, If ever there was a place for new beginnings, it’s here.
The middle of the Quidditch pitch had been transformed into a bride’s dream. Strings of golden fairy lights floated in the air like captured stars, and long tables were laden with platters of roasted meats, fresh bread, and enough treacle tart to make Molly Weasley proud. The band played a cheerful tune near the dancefloors edge.
Hermione’s bridesmaid duties were finally done — no more directing flower girls, wrangling schedules, or keeping Ginny’s brothers from stealing champagne before the toasts. She slipped off her heels with a sigh of relief and carried them toward the tables where Theo and Pansy sat laughing over dessert together.
Theo looked up the moment he saw her, that small private smile of his softening his features. “Mission accomplished?” he asked.
“For now,” Hermione said, dropping into the empty chair beside him. “If anyone asks me to organize a wedding again, I’ll hex them. Thank god Pansy hired a planner for hers.”
“You did beautifully,” he said quietly, his eyes lingering just a bit longer than necessary.
Pansy smirked over her drink. “Oh, stop being so noble about it, Nott. She deserves a proper toast. To Hermione — survivor of Potter weddings!”
Theo raised his glass to her, and Hermione laughed, the warmth of their shared secret settling in her chest. For the first time all day, she could just breathe a sigh of relief.
Dinner gave way to dancing. The first dance belonged to Harry and Ginny — swaying together under the floating lights, eyes only for each other. Then the crowd joined in. Music spilled across the grass, fast and jubilant.
Theo took Hermione’s hand without hesitation. “Come on,” he said. “You’ve earned a little joy.”
They danced — clumsy at first, laughing when she tripped on the hem of her halter dress, but soon moving together easily, like the rest of the world had distorted around them. Pansy spun by at one point, hair loose, champagne in hand, wildly twirling between Dean and Neville before pulling Hermione into her orbit for a brief, chaotic trio of laughter.
As the music slowed again, Hermione caught sight of Harry and Ginny across the crowd, still wrapped up in each other. A lump rose in her throat, sudden and full with longing for love like that.
When it came time for speeches, Hermione found herself being pushed toward the front by both Ginny and George, who declared she was “the only one sober enough to string together proper sentences.”
She stood, glass in hand, heart pounding, the fairy lights glinting off the golden hoops behind her.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Harry and Ginny,” she began, smiling toward the newlyweds, “it’s that love is rarely convenient, never simple, and almost always worth fighting for.”
A soft murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.
“We all grew up together in the shadow of something dark,” she continued, voice steady now. “And I think, for a long time, we wondered if we’d ever have days like this again — where the laughter was real, where we could dance without fear, where we could build something lasting from everything we lost.”
She looked at Harry, who was already blinking rapidly, and at Ginny, whose grin trembled just slightly.
“You two remind us that the world keeps turning. That no matter what we’ve seen or endured, love finds us anyway — in friendship, in stubbornness, in courage, in pain, and in celebration. You found each other in chaos, and somehow, you made it home.”
Hermione paused, her throat tightening. “So here’s to the both of you — for proving that healing doesn’t mean forgetting, that strength and tenderness can coexist, and that even in a world rebuilt from ashes, love can still bloom strong.”
She raised her glass. “To Harry and Ginny — may your life together be filled with laughter, mischief, little ones, and more treacle tart than either of you can handle.”
The crowd cheered; glasses clinked; Ginny was crying openly now while Harry kissed her temple.
Theo’s applause was quiet but clearly proud, his eyes shining bright when she returned to their table. “You always know how to find the right words,” he murmured in her ear.
“Occupational hazard,” she said with a smile, sitting back down.
The evening rolled on — music, laughter, too much champagne, and bursts of heart fireworks from George’s new prototypes. Theo disappeared briefly to fetch drinks; Pansy had joined Dean and Neville on the dance floor yet again, hair coming completely undone and sparkling dark under the fairy lights.
Hermione wandered toward the refreshment table to steal a piece of honey cake, only to hear a voice behind her that made her stomach dip.
“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” Ron said.
She turned slowly, schooling her features. “It’s my two best friends wedding, Ron. Where else would I be?”
He nodded awkwardly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, right. I just… wanted to say I noticed, you know.”
“Noticed what?” she asked coolly not impressed.
“You didn’t drink at the engagement party,” he said, voice low. “Dean’s question that night — the one about ‘never having had sex’? You didn’t drink. I thought that meant… well then you two must not have” He trailed off, shrugging, eyes darting around enthusiastically. “Anyway, I’m glad to know what it means now. About you and Nott. It means you weren’t stupid enough to fall for a death eater.”
Hermione’s expression didn’t waver. “Ron, whatever it means, it’s not your concern.”
He flushed at the ridicule, frustrated. “I just—he’s not one of us, Hermione.”
Her voice turned crisp. “He’s kind, he’s decent, he makes me feel very safe, and he’s my friend. That’s all you need to know.”
Before he could respond, she walked away — head high, heart pounding. She didn’t look back.
When she rejoined Pansy, the tension had already melted back into laughter and music. Theo returned with drinks, his hand brushing hers in a subtle question — You all right?
She squeezed back. Perfect.
Later, when the band launched into Girls Just Want to Have Fun, Pansy let out a shriek of delight, kicked off her heels, and dragged Hermione onto the dance floor. The two of them spun excitedly, hair flying, laughing so hard they could barely sing along. Ginny and Luna joined in, and for a few blissful minutes, the world was nothing but joy and music.
As the last chords faded, Hermione turned to find Theo waiting near the edge of the dance floor, two cloaks draped over his arm, that familiar amused beam playing at his lips.
“Ready to escape before the next round of champagne explosions?” he asked.
She nodded, breathless and happy. “Yes, please.”
They left the celebration hand in hand, the sound of laughter trailing behind them as they crossed the starlit grounds. The castle loomed golden in the distance, the Black Lake calm and glittering beside them. Hermione leaned her head on Theo’s shoulder as they walked, the warmth of his hand grounding her.
It had been a day of love in every form — friendship, family, and the quiet, growing kind between them that neither of them had dared to name yet. And as the night settled around them, Hermione thought that maybe, just maybe, this was what peace and rebuilding a future felt like.
Notes:
I love how they're growing together in so many ways!
Drop me a comment please, so I know people are actually enjoying this and I'm not crazy.
Chapter 24: A New High
Notes:
I wanted to get this up before I headed to bed for anyone waiting eagerly. I'm sorry if my editing was a bit rushed.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione stirred beneath the sheets, her body heavy with the kind of peaceful exhaustion that follows a night filled with laughter, dancing, and far too many heartfelt toasts. The scent of fresh tea drifted from the small table near the window. Theo had woken her with his footsteps by coming into her room, still in his silk PJs, hair rumpled, eyes half-lidded with sleep but softened by something warm and steady when he looked at her.
“Good morning,” he said serenely.
“Barely,” she murmured, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Nearly noon,” he said, handing her a cup. “The elves refused to let me make breakfast, but I convinced them you’d appreciate tea in bed after last night’s festivities.”
Hermione smiled sleepily. “You convinced them, did you?”
He grinned, settling on the edge of the bed beside her. “I told them it was an emergency. I didn’t specify what kind.”
They sat there for a while, sharing tea and silence, both wrapped in that lazy afterglow of the night before — the wedding, the dancing, the soft way he’d helped her out of her shoes when they’d returned home, laughing quietly at how many blisters she’d somehow acquired even with cushioning charms applied to the shoes.
Theo glanced down at his cup, his thumb tracing the rim carelessly. “I’ve been thinking,” he said finally, voice low but confident.
“That sounds dangerous,” she teased, though her heart picked up just a little.
He smiled faintly, then turned toward her, his tone soft but serious. “These past few weeks… they’ve been the best I’ve had in a very long time. Maybe all my life honestly. You’ve made this place feel alive again. You’ve made me feel alive again.”
Hermione’s breath caught with tenderness. “Theo…”
He shook his head gently, cutting her off before she could protest. “I’m not saying that to make things heavy or to put you in a box. I meant what I said before — I don’t ever want you to feel pressured to be or do anything you’re not ready for. But—”
He paused, eyes meeting hers, unguarded and honest. “I think it’s time we stop pretending this is just something private that lives between the walls of the manor. I want to be able to call you my girlfriend. Not just in my head, but in front of our friends. I want them to know you’re with me — that I’m with you — and that this… whatever we’re building, it’s real and we’re trying to let it grow.”
Hermione set her teacup aside, her fingers trembling slightly. “You mean all of that?”
“I do,” he said, voice jagged with meaningful sincerity. “The last few weeks have convinced me we’re heading somewhere good, something steady is brewing. And I’m done hiding something that makes me this happy.”
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still around them as she stared into his eyes, searching for something.
Then Hermione leaned forward, her hand finding his. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”
His thumb brushed over her knuckles, lingering and gentle. “So… does that mean I can tell Pansy before she inevitably figures it out herself?”
Hermione laughed softly, the sound muffled against his shoulder as she leaned into him. “You can tell whoever you want. But, I do want to be there when Pansy finds out just to see her expression!”
Theo tilted her chin up gently, eyes bright. “Good. Because I’d rather everyone know I’m the luckiest man alive.”
Hermione smiled, leaning in to kiss him — soft, unhurried, and full of simple promises.
When they finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his and whispered, “Girlfriend, then?”
He chuckled, his breath warm against her skin. “Girlfriend.”
Later that evening after dinner and normal evening chit-chat, Hermione and Theo laid on top of the covers of her bed. Lounging together, they had just finished watching The Little Mermaid, which Theo had found endlessly amusing due to humans’ fascination with the creatures. The end music was playing and credits rolling. The lights had already been turned down, to watch the film.
Theo angled his body more towards her from his spot next to her. Their eyes met and they both grinned at each other. His arm rested around her shoulders, fingers tracing slow, absent circles along her arm and left tingling patterns. It wasn’t rushed or heated at the start— just the kind of closeness that felt as natural as breathing.
When she tilted her head up more to look at him, his smile was content. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, and she leaned up to kiss him — soft, unhurried, lingering. Quickly the kiss deepened with fierce urgency. Their tongues caressed each other with shared passion and they both groaned softly with pent up desire. When they pulled apart, they stayed close, foreheads touching, eyes half-closed.
Calmly, slowly, Theo’s hand trailed up her leg playing with the hem of her summer sleep shorts. His eyes searched hers, questioning, “Hermione, can I take these off?”
She barely hesitated to think about it, “Yes.”
She helped him pull them down her legs, and threw them to the side of the bed, now clad before him in just a lounging tshirt and lacey black underwear. His eyes widen taking them in. “Those are pretty sexy.” He muttered into her ear, his hot breath on her skin making her shudder.
He palmed her sex over the material, and she let out a breathy moan. Feeling encouraged by her reaction he pushed his luck, “Can these come off too?”
This time she did briefly hesitate, thinking it over, before nodding in affirmation. He slid these down her thighs himself, also tossing them to the floor.
The cool summer air hit her damp now exposed sex. Mostly shaved bare, but with a small womanly patch of dark curls left on her mons. She squirmed a bit at the feeling, as well as the intensity of his eyes taking her in, as he looked at what he’d uncovered.
“Hermione, you’re so beautiful” he told her with a tone of wonder. His hand hovered over her flesh, waiting in suspense for her encouragement.
“Ok” she whispered, both nervous but also incredibly anxious to feel what flesh on flesh would be like with him.
His hand descended the last two inches to make contact with her directly for the very first time. One finger lightly, slowly swiped up the seam of her closed folds. Her legs trembled slightly, and she let out a deep sigh. He did it once more, before ever so gently spreading her lips apart, allowing the night air to sweep acrossed the damp sensitive flesh within.
The feeling of being exposed like this felt heady, and she whined a bit at the feeling. She looked at his face, but his eyes were locked on her below, entranced with what he was seeing.
He delicately touched the very tip of a finger to the center of her clit, the touch barely there, but enough to flood her with more arousal. Hermione felt like she was breathing far to fast, but merlin it seemed like a good way to die.
Fortified by the sight of the clear wet fluid leaking increasingly from her core, he swiped a finger through it, circling the very edge of her entrance all the way around, collecting the wetness on his finger, as her hips rose up slightly on their own accord.
He used the wetness to ease the glide of his finger around her clit, circling it repeatedly, while her head fell back against her pillow.
“Theo… please…”, she didn’t even know exactly what she was asking for herself, but the knowing look in his eye said he did.
His eyes darkened with desire as they met hers with seriousness and affection, and using his sexiest deep tone he asked her, “Hermione, do you want to know what it feels like to be touched… inside?”
She felt like her brain exploded with heavy desire as she heard the words leave his lips, and her body clearly liked what it was hearing because she felt herself become instantly even wetter.
It wasn’t really a hard decision for her, with a nod of consent she gave permission. He gave her a bright tender grin, and both of their eyes drifted lower on her again.
His finger circled her clit with a bit more pressure than before, once, twice, and on the third go around he lightly tapped her clit before trailing the single finger lower and using it to circle her entrance twice more. Her core was leaking steadily with a mind of its own. They both held their breath as the very tip of his finger aligned with her entrance and ever so slightly began to apply pressure against the void, sinking in ever so slowly till his full fingernail disappeared in her. They both released the breath they been holding, her exhale turning into a low moan.
It felt odd to her, but insanely erotic. Her body was greedy after it’s first taste of fulfillment, and without any effort on her part, her walls clenched down trying to drag him deeper.
A strangled cry broke out of Theo’s throat, “Sweet Salzar, how can you be this tight?”. She couldn’t do anything in response except groan.
When she stopped clenching down, he slowly pushed the digit further in. Soon he was middle knuckle deep, aided by her wetness. Her walls twitched again, and he groaned too, sounding like he was being hurt somehow.
“Hermione, you feel absolutely perfect”, he murmured in her ear. He added a bit more pressure, and the finger finally fully sunk into her core. Her hips rose up at the sensation of the full intrusion.
Hermione’s mind was spinning, how could a single finger feel so full? Weren’t people supposed to enjoy multiple ones at once? And what about cocks, they have to be so much bigger than this right?
She was steered back into the moment and out of her bewilderment by Theo slowly circulating his finger fully buried inside her. Her walls were clenching rhythmically on the digit as it felt like he attempting to map out her insides as he caressed her walls searching for something. She knew exactly what that something was the moment the pad of his finger pushed against her upper wall and sparks flew up her body from deep inside.
“Oh gosh”, she squealed as his finger curled deeper into that exact spot. He started a rhythm of pressure light then hard curling his finger more and more rapidly as her body started to tremble, and her core felt tighter and tighter. He kept at it for a minute before the tension in her body seemed unbearable and she cried out to him incoherently for “more”.
He changed tactics, starting to slide his finger in and out of her mimicking the deepest natural desire her body had. Her groans were getting louder and louder, her hips rising up to meet the thrust of his hand as he pistoled his finger quicker and harder into her, until he was full on finger fucking her, the sound of the wet glide and slam of his finger mixing with her breathy moans.
Every few thrusts, he added a curl of his finger vigorously into the top wall. That seemed to be the right trick, as her body hovered on the pinnacle.
But she suddenly seemed really unsure of letting go, and her voice sounded a bit panicked, “Theo… I feel.. maybe this isn’t… it’s not the same..”.
The instant she voiced it, Theo realized exactly what was about to happen and with a smug grin, and words of encouragement, “It’s ok Hermione, it’s going to feel good, let go”, she came with a loud wail. Liquid gushed out of her as her walls clenched over and over, drenching his hand and the blanket below her body. As the internal tremors faded, he withdrew his hand, and his eyes went straight to her face.
As her normal breathing pattern returned and brain caught up with what happened she suddenly went wide eyed with embarrassment and covered her face with a hand. “Theo, I am so sorry, I have no idea… I mean,”.
“No, no Hermione”, he cut her off before she could finish.
He pulled her hand off her face so he could make eye contact with her his smirk plastered on his face. “You didn’t pee, I swear! You squirted!”
She looked puzzled, “I what..?”
“It was so sexy, I promise! Sometimes that can happen if the right area is stimulated. Not everyone can do it though, but when it happens… well what a turn-on.”, he kept beaming at her in excitement.
She seemed to consider for a moment, then returned the grin, “So basically it confirms you’re amazing at that?”, she teased.
Theo’s smile got even wider with pride, “No, you were amazing. You were so beautiful, and Merlin, you can’t even realize how tight you are. My finger barely fit!”
“Well I don’t know about all that, but it felt amazing. Thank you so much!”
“Hermione, you don’t need to thank your boyfriend for making you feel good, that’s what we’re supposed to do.”
She smiled warmly at him and he kissed her lips chastely, before pulling himself up. With a wave of his wand her bed was dry again, and so was she.
On his way out, he tossed her back her shorts, and with a very heartfelt “Goodnight, Hermione” he strod stiffly from the room.
A little taken back at the quick leave he took, Hermione suddenly put it all together and stifled a giggle. She went to bed that night with thoughts of how she wanted to relieve Theo’s ‘embarrassing problem’, very sure her dreams would not be nightmares tonight.
Notes:
Is it hot in here or is it just me?
Leave me comments so I don't think my first public smut story is a failure.
Chapter 25: Pansy Wins a Bet
Notes:
Pansy is going to be so elated by our young lover's news!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The next evening, Nott Manor glowed with warmth — candles flickering in tall silver sconces, soft music echoing faintly through the drawing room. The dining table was set elegantly but not ostentatious: deep green linens, white roses in low vases, and polished goblets gleaming in the candlelight.
Hermione had helped the elves charm the table for food to stay warm longer and the wine to refill itself at the perfect pace. Theo had been fussing with his cuffs all evening, pretending not to be nervous — and failing.
“Relax,” Hermione said quietly, brushing a bit of lint from his shoulder before their guests arrived. “They’re our friends.”
Now, Theo was fussing with the decanter for the third time.
“It’s wine, Theo,” Hermione teased from across the room as she adjusted a vase of white roses. “Not a potion. It won’t change properties if you swirl it three more times.”
He shot her a helpless look, shoulders tensing. “I just don’t want the night to go sideways. Pansy will make jokes, Blaise will probably smirk the whole time, and Draco—” He hesitated. “Draco is a bit unpredictable these days.”
Hermione stepped closer, smoothing the lapel of his dark waistcoat. “It’ll be fine. We’ll tell them together, and no matter how they react, we’ll still have each other when they leave.”
Theo’s shoulders loosened slightly. “I don’t deserve you at all.”
“Of course you do,” she said kindly, and teased. “You earned me fair and square through shared trauma, patience, and excellent tea. Or maybe it was in spite of the tea… I’m not sure.”
He laughed lowly, and she rose onto her toes to kiss his cheek just as the foyer echoed with the sound of the floo.
Blaise arrived first — tall, composed, and smelling faintly of oak fire and spiced cologne. “My favorite hosts,” he said, sweeping a bow. “I brought the good bottle from my own vineyard. Don’t say I never contribute.”
Behind him, Pansy emerged in a sleek black satin dress, her hair twisted into a crown braid now long enough since she’d been growing it out the last few months. “You two look far too domestic already,” she said, smirking as her eyes flicked between them. “Should I expect matching dressing gowns soon?”
“Not yet,” Theo said dryly a bit exasperated.
“Yet,” Pansy repeated, chuckling.
Draco was last, stepping through the floo with his usual quiet grace. He carried a polished wooden box under his arm — a bottle of vintage wine from his own family’s cellar. He nodded to Hermione first, his expression polite but tempered from their earlier encounters this summer. “Granger.”
“Draco,” she replied evenly. “It’s good to see you.”
He gave a small, but genuine nod. “Likewise.”
As they gathered in the parlor before dinner, Pansy immediately took control of the conversation. “I have gossip,” she broadcasted, perching elegantly on the arm of Blaise’s chair. “The shop is thriving, my engagement ring looks spectacular in every lighting imaginable, and apparently some Witch Weekly columnist called me ‘unapologetically magnetic, with potential for the most romantic wedding of the year.’”
Draco exhaled. “Merlin help us all.”
“Don’t be jealous, darling,” Pansy purred. “Your charm is of the understated, dashing, brooding kind. Brooding sells too, just in smaller batches.”
Hermione restrained a laugh behind her glass. Draco sat next to her, posture impeccable, a faint smile tugging at his mouth as Blaise muttered, “Understated, not often. Brooding? Always.”
When dinner was served, conversation flowed easily. The elves had outdone themselves — roast lamb with rosemary, late summer buttered asparagus, and spiced pumpkin soup to start. Pansy complimented every dish like a restaurant critic keeping them entertained, Blaise told absurd stories about vineyard politics in Tuscany that week, and Draco, though reserved, listened intently, even laughing once or twice at Blaise’s dramatic retelling of a contract negotiation gone wrong due to mistranslation.
Theo relaxed visibly, his hand finding Hermione’s under the table as if by instinct.
Between courses, Hermione found herself watching Draco. He was quieter than usual, eyes occasionally distant — as though half of him was still at home. His cultured demeanor couldn’t quite hide the fatigue around his polished edges. When he caught her looking once, he offered a polite, very practiced smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“How is Astoria? She’s heading into the last few months now.” Hermione asked gently when conversation lulled.
Draco blinked uncertain, caught off guard. “She’s… all right,” he said after a long pause. “Resting more lately.”
Hermione nodded, offering a kind smile back but nothing else — careful not to hint that she already knew more than he was saying.
Pansy, sensing the tension, quickly jumped in. “Oh, speaking of delicate conditions, Blaise here is practically married to his vineyards. You’d think he was raising the grapes by hand. He’s even given some of the vines… names!”
“I do raise them by hand,” Blaise said indignantly. “With very expensive gloves.”
The table erupted in laughter, and just like that, the heaviness eased once more.
Dessert arrived — miniature kiwi fruit tarts with sugared crusts, floating coffee cups that refilled themselves with a tap, and Theo’s favorite vintage opened from the cellar. The conversation had turned pleasantly bubbly, the kind that hummed along in the comfort of familiarity of comradery.
Theo caught Hermione’s eye across the table. She gave him a subtle nod.
He set down his glass and cleared his throat. “There’s something we wanted to tell you,” he said, voice steady but measured.
Blaise leaned forward immediately. “You’re moving to the Continent, aren’t you? I knew it. You have that glow of a man who’s about to overcommit to new property ownership.”
Hermione smirked faintly. “Not quite.”
Theo took a deep breath. “We’re… seeing each other. Officially.”
For two full seconds, there was stunned silence, as they exchanged glances with each other. Then Pansy let out a triumphant squeal.
“I knew it!” she crowed, slamming her hand down on the table so hard her coffee spoon jumped. “Blaise, pay up!”
Blaise groaned. “You said before the wedding—how could you possibly have known that?”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Please. I’ve been watching them make heart eyes at each other for months. It was either this or eventual spontaneous combustion.”
Draco’s expression softened as he glanced between Theo and Hermione, but a hint of something not quite thrilled lured below the surface. “Well,” he said quietly, lifting his glass, “it’s about time Nott Manor had something resembling joy in it.”
Theo grinned. “Thank you, Draco.”
Blaise clinked his glass as well, his smirk good-natured. “To the two of you — may your budding romance survive Pansy’s commentary and my sexual charm.”
Hermione laughed, warmth rising to her cheeks.
Pansy grinned like a cat. “I’m thrilled for you, darling. And slightly jealous you got there before I could meddle properly.”
Theo groaned with indignation. “You meddled plenty.”
As the laughter swelled again, the atmosphere grew lighter — genuine, full of warmth and teasing. They spent another hour telling old Hogwarts stories, arguing about which professor had been most terrifying (Snape won by a landslide), and debating whether Muggle board games should be introduced to pureblood circles.
By the time the candles had burned low, everyone was pleasantly tipsy and mellow.
When it was finally time to say goodnight, Hermione walked Pansy and Blaise to the floo while Theo saw Draco out.
Pansy hugged her tightly at the door. “I’m so happy for you, Hermione,” she said softly, for once without sarcasm. “You bring out something good in him — I can see it. Bene that way since 8th year.”
Hermione smiled, touched. “Thank you. And please, don’t mention any of this to Ginny or Harry. I want to tell them myself when they get back from their honeymoon.”
“Fine,” Pansy said, eyes twinkling. “But only because I’m saving my commentary for a live audience.”
Blaise grinned cheekily. “Try not to scandalize anyone next time.”
After they left in a swirl of green flame, Draco paused at the hearth, his coat folded over one arm. He looked exhausted, but there was something almost wistful in his voice when he said, “I’m glad for you both. Really.”
Theo clasped his shoulder. “Thank you, Draco. Give my best to Astoria.”
When the floo closed behind him, the manor felt still again — candlelight flickering against the dark windows, the faint sound of crickets outside.
Theo turned to Hermione with a small, incredulous laugh. “That… went better than I expected.”
Hermione slipped her arms around his waist, smiling up at him. “I told you. They love us.”
“Pansy loves being right,” he corrected.
Hermione laughed softly, leaning her head against his chest. “Same thing.”
He kissed the top of her head and murmured, “Thank you, for making this house feel like home again.”
And in the quiet after their laughter faded, the two of them stood in the warm glow of the dying candles — the soft hum of new beginnings surrounding them, as if the old manor itself approved too.
Notes:
Well, that went well. But, how will Harry, Ginny... and Ron react? let me know in the comments!
Chapter 26: When in Rome...
Notes:
This is more of a laidback chapter to show how Pansy and Hermione are still growing their friendship, even as new chapters of life unfold.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The old pie tin portkey dropped them into the elite summer heat of Rome on Thursday morning. Pansy immediately threw on her sunglasses and stretched, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Now this,” she declared, “is how one celebrates impending matrimony — with good wine, better shoes, and absolutely no men asking stupid questions.”
Hermione laughed heartly, adjusting the strap of her bag. “Remind me again how you convinced me to do this on such short notice?”
“Please,” Pansy said, looping her arm through hers. “Your program doesn’t start for another two weeks. You needed a holiday, and time spent away from Theo, and I needed someone who can actually read a map. Blaise has his ‘boys’ dinner’ with Theo and Draco, and I wasn’t about to spend the weekend listening to him complain I was underfoot. Besides—” she winked “—you and I are overdue for proper girl time.”
Hermione beamed. “I’ll admit, it does sound better than dodging Draco’s sarcasm and Theo’s overly detailed summaries of potion viscosity.”
“Exactly. You pack the brains, I’ll bring the beauty,” Pansy said airily, tugging her toward the bustling street. “Now, where to first?”
Their first day was a whirl of colors, flavors, and laughter. They wandered through sunlit piazzas, admired crumbling ruins that reminded Hermione faintly of Hogwarts in all its aged majesty, and found themselves in a tiny trattoria tucked between two flower-laden balconies.
Pansy ordered for them both in rapid, confident Italian — “My mother insisted I learn languages useful for flirting, turns out it really does good things for Blaise when I talk like that” she explained — and soon they were sharing bowls of pasta carbonara and a bottle of crisp white wine that left them flushed and tittering.
“You know,” Pansy mused, twirling her fork, “for someone who practically married her textbooks at Hogwarts, you’ve done remarkably well for yourself romantically.”
Hermione felt insulted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, don’t play innocent. The Theo situation is adorable. You’re glowing, Granger.”
Hermione tried to look disinterested, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “We’re… happy,” she said softly.
“Happy?” Pansy scoffed. “That’s the understatement of the century. I’ve seen the way he looks at you — like you’re some ancient magic he can’t quite believe is real.”
Hermione blushed. “You exaggerate, always so dramatic Pans.”
“I never embellish,” Pansy said primly. Then, with a cheeky grin, “Well, not about this.”
The next morning, after sleeping late and indulging in breakfast pastries on their hotel balcony, they spent the day shopping through the cobbled streets. Pansy guided Hermione through more high-end boutiques and street markets, helping her try on Italian silk scarves and wide-brimmed straw hats, insisting on buying her “one for Theo’s sanity and one for your self-esteem.”
Hermione ended up also buying a deep blue sapphire dress with a plunging back that Pansy insisted “Theo won’t survive seeing you in.”
They strolled through the Pantheon, admired the Trevi Fountain glittering in the afternoon sun, and stopped for pistachio (Pansy) and cherry (Hermione) gelato near Piazza Navona.
“Travel suits you,” Pansy said as they sat on a stone bench, watching local children chase pigeons. “You should trek out of the manor more often.”
Hermione smiled wistfully. “Maybe I will. Someday. Once the mastery program isn’t taking over my life. It should only last about two years to complete.”
“Good,” Pansy said. “You deserve fun, Hermione. You spend so much time fixing everyone else, you forget to enjoy being alive for yourself too.”
Hermione turned to her, genuinely touched. “Thank you, Pansy. I’m glad we’re best friends.”
Pansy sniffed dramatically and took a bow. “Obviously. I’m a delight.”
That night, in their shared hotel room, the two women lounged on the bed in fluffy indigo robes, their hair still damp from long showers in the suites luxury rain shower, and their faces lit by the flicker of enchanted candles Hermione had charmed for mood.
They shared a second bottle of red wine and talked the way girls do when the world feels far away — about love, fear, and futures they hadn’t quite planned.
“Do you ever get scared?” Hermione asked suddenly. “Of… being with someone long-term? Wizarding wedding are much different than muggle. Muggles can easily divorce, but wizarding bindings are so hard to undo. They’re basically forever unless crime is involved.”
Pansy tilted her glass to her mouth thoughtfully. “With Blaise? Not scared. More like thrilled. He’s infuriating, charming, and never dull. But it’s real. He sees all my sharp edges and doesn’t flinch away. He lets me be who I am without apology. That’s rare.”
She looked at Hermione. “And Theo? Does he make you feel safe?”
Hermione smiled, soft and unguarded. “Always. He’s patient. Kind. Sexy. I think he’s holding back a bit with me still, but he’s charming, and feels deeply.”
Pansy’s grin softened into something sincere. “Then hold on to that. Not everyone gets both passion and peace in one person.”
For a moment, they just sat there — two girls who had once been enemies, now sharing wine and laughter under a foreign sky.
Pansy broke the silence first. “We’ve come a long way from the sorting ceremony at Hogwarts, haven’t we?”
Hermione laughed at the understatement. “A very long way.”
“Merlin help us,” Pansy said fondly, clinking her glass against Hermione’s. “We’ve both gone and grown up despite a war.”
Their last morning in Rome was bittersweet. They had breakfast at a quaint café overlooking the Tiber, watching sunlight glint off the clear water. Pansy bought them each a charm from a local witch’s stall — a tiny glass vial filled with enchanted dirt from inside the Colosseum.
“For holding onto memories,” she said, handing Hermione hers. “And to remind us we’re not those silly girls anymore, we’re something much more refined.”
Hermione tucked it safely into her pocket with a sniff. “Thank you, Pansy.”
The two spent the last afternoon wandering the streets one last time, arms linked, laughing over bad directions and good espresso. When they finally took the Portkey back home that evening, the glimmering of Rome seemed to linger — in their cheeks, in their friendship, and in the quiet understanding that this trip had changed something between them as new chapters for them both were unfolding.
Pansy wasn’t just Blaise’s fiancée or Hermione’s sharp-tongued ally anymore. She was family — the kind you choose, the kind who knows your past, fears, and loves you anyway.
And as the Portkey pulled them homeward in a rush of light, Pansy’s voice carried over the wind:
“Next time,” she said, laughing, “we’re going to Paris.”
Hermione smiled. “Deal.”
Notes:
love this version of Pansy so much, she doesn't have to be the mean girl from their youth forever!
Chapter 27: The Jilt of Ron
Chapter Text
When the blue swirl of portkey light faded and Hermione’s boots met the marble floor of Nott Manor again, she felt the shift immediately—the air a bit cooler, the quiet of the manor deep and familiar. Pansy’s laughter still echoed faintly from the travel behind her as the two women stepped inside the formal parlor, cheeks flushed from travel, shopping bags charmed to hover obediently at their sides.
“Ah,” Pansy sighed dramatically, removing her sunglasses. “Civilization. I love Rome, but honestly, wizards there have no idea how to enchant for humidity. I nearly melted in that last boutique.”
Hermione smiled, shaking her head. “You bought three pairs of shoes, Pansy.”
“Four,” Pansy corrected with a posh smirk. “And you bought two dresses, so don’t pretend you’re not equally indulgent.”
Before Hermione could respond, Theo appeared from the corridor, still in his gardening robes, a faint trace of ink on his wrist from whatever potion notes he’d been sorting earlier on the day. His face lite up the instant he saw her.
“You’re home,” he said, voice excited and happy.
Hermione’s chest tightened in that familiar, pleasant way. “I am. I missed you.”
Pansy gave an exaggerated sigh. “Merlin, look at you two—it’s like a romance novel in motion. I’ll leave before I’m violently ill from the sweetness.”
Theo rolled his eyes good-naturedly, stepping forward to take Hermione’s travel cloak. “Thank you for keeping her safe, Pans.”
“Oh, please,” Pansy said, arching a brow. “I’m the one who needed protection. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to keep Hermione from stopping at every historical monument within a three-mile radius? She actually reads all the plaques too.”
“I like history,” Hermione said defensively.
“She read half the guidebook aloud to a street performer to explain why what he was doing was appropriation,” Pansy continued, smirking. “But, I’ll grant her this—she’s delightful company. We talked about everything: Blaise, you, life, love. I even let her braid my hair at one point. It was disgustingly sentimental. I’m very proud of us coming so far”
Theo laughed faintly, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit. “Well, I’m glad you two survived each other.”
“We did more than survive,” Pansy said, giving Hermione’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “We bonded. She’s practically my maid of honor now.”
Hermione flushed. “I am not—”
“Too late,, you always knew it would happen” Pansy interrupted, smirking as she turned toward the fireplace. “See you both soon. Don’t be boring tonight.”
With a wink, and a swirl of green floo flame, she was gone.
Hermione turned back to Theo, smiling softly. “You have no idea how good it feels to be home.”
He tilted his head and teased. “You’ve only been gone three days.”
“Three very loud, bright, crowded days,” she said. “Rome is beautiful, but this—” She gestured to the soft glow of the lamps and the faint crackle of the fire. “—is calm.”
Theo reached out, brushing his fingers over her hand. “I missed you too you know.”
“I missed you more than I thought I would.”
They stood like that for a few moments—close, content in a hug, neither in a rush to fill the silence. When they finally moved to sit together in the parlor, Hermione told him all about the details of the trip: the food, the fountains, Pansy’s outrageous bargaining with Italian vendors, and their late-night conversations about love and the past. Theo listened quietly, smiling often, occasionally laughing loudly when Hermione mimicked Pansy’s dramatic flair.
“She sounds ecstatic,” Theo said when Hermione finished describing their last evening overlooking the Tiber.
“She is,” Hermione agreed. “It’s strange how well we get along now when I think about her trying to give Harry over just two years ago. I think… I think she really needed a friend she didn’t have to perform for and to get away form her parents. And I needed one who wouldn’t let me hide from hard feelings and things.”
Theo gave a modest, proud smile. “She’s right—you’re good for people, even when they don’t realize they need you.”
Hermione looked down, cheeks warming under his praise. “Speaking of people… Ginny and Harry get back tomorrow.”
Theo raised an eyebrow. “You’re planning to tell them already?”
She nodded, absently tracing her hand down his arm, feeling his skin prickle. “Yes. Them—and Ron. I think it’s better to do it all at once.”
His expression shifted, carefully guarded but tighter. “Do you want me to come with you?”
Hermione hesitated, then shook her head gently. “No. Not this time. Ron’s still… well, Ron. He’ll take it better if it’s just me. He already thinks I’m being ‘swayed by Slytherins.’”
Theo’s jaw tightened slightly more, though his tone stayed calm. “That’s putting it kindly. He’s been an arse to you for months.”
Hermione sighed, setting her tea cup down. “I know. He’s angry, confused, maybe even jealous—but not of us, exactly. Of change. Everything’s shifting, and he’s holding onto the old version of us as the trio because it’s all he’s ever known.”
Theo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, a bit critical. “And that excuses the way he talks to you? The snide comments? The judgment?”
She met his eyes steadily with sincerity. “No, it doesn’t. But it explains it.”
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair agitated. “You’re too generous with people, Hermione.”
“Maybe,” she said softly. “But the three of us went through things no one else did. We were children, and we fought in a war. We lost people. We—” She swallowed hard. “We made choices no one our age should have ever had to make. Every adult in our lives hung us out to dry alone. That kind of bond doesn’t just disappear because someone’s being difficult momentary.”
Theo’s gaze softened in resignation, and after a moment, he reached for her hand. “You’re loyal. It’s one of the things I admire most about you. But you don’t owe him your own peace. No one deserves that but you.”
Hermione squeezed his fingers slightly. “I know. I just need to do this my way. Once it’s done, everyone will know, and things will hopefully settle. They always do with him, eventually.”
He studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “All right. But for the record, if he says something cruel to you again, I will hex him. Even Potter won’t be able to stop me.”
She laughed softly, tension breaking. “I’ll keep that in mind when I tell you his reaction.”
Theo leaned back, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re brave, you know. I wouldn’t want to face down the Weasley temper without backup.”
“I’ve had practice,” she said with a small smile. “Besides, Ginny will be there. She’ll keep him in line.”
“I hope so,” Theo murmured, though his eyes lingered on her with something deeper than worry—a quiet admiration for the strength she carried even when she didn’t notice it herself. They sat together for the rest of the evening, the manor wrapped in warm lamplight. Conversation drifted to lighter things—plans for the next week, the garden’s progress, Pansy’s inevitable decorating spree when she moved in with Blaise after the coming wedding.
When Hermione grew tired, she rested her head on Theo’s shoulder, and he kissed her hair gently.
“Whatever happens tomorrow,” he murmured, “I’m proud of you for being willing to tell him.”
He leaned in for a deep lingering kiss. She met him eagerly, her tongue sliding down the seam of his lips, asking for entrance. Their tongues battled for awhile, trying to become reacquainted after the few days after. Eventually, they broke apart a bit breathless. Theo rose and pulled her up, escorting her to her room. At her doorframe, he placed a light kiss on her forehead, and turned away.
“Get some sleep Hermione, I’ll see you in the morning. It’s good to have you back.”
The next evening, from the moment Hermione stepped through the front door of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, she nearly forgot where she was. Gone were the oppressive shadows and cobwebs, the dark curtains and the faint, unsettling echo of dark old magic. Instead, the entry hall glowed with soft light from floating sconces, the air carrying the comforting scent of rosemary and lemon.
Ginny’s touch was everywhere — a riot of cozy homely charm overlaid on what had once been not much less than a haunted house. Warm earth toned rugs, cheerful Muggle and magical paintings, vases of wildflowers on nearly every surface. The portrait of Mrs. Black had been permanently silenced and covered with a framed photograph of the new Potter family on the beach grinning ear to ear. Even the old troll leg umbrella stand was long gone, replaced by a simple oak entrance table with a bowl of fresh fruit.
“Merlin,” Hermione murmured in shock, smiling as Ginny swept her into a hug.
“Do you love it?” Ginny asked, grinning ear to ear. “Harry says I overdid it, but honestly, that place needed a major facelift.”
“It’s beautiful,” Hermione said warm with honesty. “It feels like a true home.”
Harry appeared behind his wife, looking tan and blissfully relaxed from their Hawaiian honeymoon. “That’s all her. I just carried the furniture and tried not to trip over the charm work and packaging.”
Ginny elbowed him affectionately. “He also surfed when we were away. Badly.”
Harry groaned in embarrassment. “Don’t let her start.”
Hermione laughed, following them toward the dining room. “I still can’t believe you two went to Hawaii. You must tell me everything.”
“We plan to,” Ginny said, motioning her to the beautifully set table. “But first—dinner. I cooked, not Kreacher, and you’re not allowed to leave until you’ve had seconds.”
Ron arrived moments later, cheeks ruddy from running into the Floo and hair slightly singed at the edges. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, rubbing his neck. “Had a long shift at the shop. I;ve been helping George out while he replaces Lee. George got a new shipment of fireworks and it’s… well, you can imagine.”
“Loud?” Harry offered dryly.
“Catastrophic,” Ron replied with a grin.
Hermione relaxed a little. It was the friendliest she’d seen him in months.
Dinner was… perfect.
The food was simple but delicious, Ginny had learned much from Mrs. Weasley it seemed — roasted chicken, buttered carrots, and mashed potatoes with thyme. Ginny poured plenty of wine, Harry told stories about getting sunburned while trying to surf, and Ron chimed in with jokes about Harry’s “tragic balance issues and worse tan.”
“Oi,” Harry said good-naturedly, “you try standing up on one of those things. It’s like dueling the ocean.”
Ginny laughed so hard she snorted her wine out her nose. “He fell so many times the instructor started counting each failure with tally marks in the sand.”
Even Hermione found herself laughing, tension melting away as the conversation rolled easily between them. It felt, for a while, like the old days — only gentler, more grown-up, the edges softened by time and distance.
Ron seemed at ease, telling stories about George’s latest prank inventions and his mum’s determination to host another family dinner the next week. Hermione smiled, genuinely pleased that for once, things felt… back to their normal.
When the plates were cleared and dessert brought out — treacle tart, of course — Ginny suggested moving to the lounge for coffee and sweets. The room was cozy now, its dark paneling lightened by charmed windows that cast a warm twilight glow. The fire crackled softly in the grate.
They sat together on the couches — Harry and Ginny curled together on one, Ron and Hermione opposite.
“So,” Harry said, stretching his arm around Ginny. “You’ve been quiet tonight, Hermione. How’s Nott Manor treating you?”
Hermione hesitated for half a second, her heart suddenly thudding with nerves. She’d rehearsed this moment with Theo this morning, but now that it was here, her voice caught.
“It’s… been wonderful, actually,” she said carefully. “Theo’s done an incredible job restoring the property, and the elves are happy even though they refused my offer of freedom, and I’ve started preparing for my mastery to begin. It’s peaceful there. Different than the pace the last few years.”
Ginny smiled. “I’m glad. You deserve some quiet after all these years of chaos.”
Ron gave a short nod, chewing his tart loudly. “Can’t picture you living with a bloke like Nott, though. Still weird, that is.”
Hermione set down her tea cup slowly. “Actually… that’s what I wanted to talk to you all about.”
The air seemed to still slightly. Harry glanced up, sensing the shift, while Ginny straightened in her seat.
Hermione took a deep breath. “Theo and I are—well, we’re together recently. Like officially.”
For a long moment, there was silence. The fire crackled, the clock in the hall ticked softly, and Ginny’s eyes widened before breaking into a radiant smile.
“Oh, Hermione,” she said warmly, getting up to hug her. “That’s wonderful! He’s so good for you. You’ve been glowing for weeks.”
Hermione exhaled, hugging her back tightly. “Thank you, Ginny.”
Harry, predictably awkward but sincere, gave a small nod. “He seems like a decent bloke. Bit quiet, but… decent. As long as he treats you right, I’m happy for you.”
“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione said softly, relief starting to blossom in her heart—
—but Ron flew off the sofa next to her.
“You’ve got to be joking,” he said, voice low but sharp. “Nott? As in Death Eater Nott?”
“Former Death Eater’s son,” Hermione corrected evenly.
Ron’s expression hardened. “That’s not the point, Hermione! After everything his lot did to us, to you—bloody hell, they nearly killed you! It wasn’t bad enough just to live there! You had to go and get feelings too?”
“Ron—”
“No, don’t ‘Ron’ me. You lived with him, didn’t you? All this time, hiding this like—like it’s something to be ashamed of! You didn’t tell us you were dating months ago because you knew you shouldn’t be!”
Hermione stood, her calm cracking. “I wasn’t hiding it. I was waiting for the right time to tell you once they were back from their honeymoon — when you could actually listen instead of just assuming the worst. We really were only friends until very recently. This dating thing just happened. I never lied to you.”
Ginny reached out, voice gentle. “Ron, sit down—”
He ignored her. “You’ve changed, Hermione. I don’t like who you’re becoming. You’d never have gone for someone like that back then when you were the real you.”
Her temper flared at the insults. “Maybe I’ve grown up. It’s what people are supposed to do. We aren’t little kids at Hogwarts anymore. House points don’t matter. Maybe I’ve realized that people are more than the families they come from by birth. Theo’s kind, Ron. Thoughtful. Respectful. He makes me happy. Isn’t that what you wanted for me? Don’t I deserve that after all I’ve given up? Spent years keeping the two of you alive. At great cost to myself might I add! Merlin, I don’t even have my parents anymore because of the damn war. Don’t I deserve a happy future?”
Ron’s face reddened with fury. “Not with him! He’s Nott! His father—”
“His father is dead,” she said sharply. “And Theo’s spent every day since trying to undo what his family broke. You’d know that if you gave him half a chance. All of my other friends have seen how hard he’s trying to be better than his family’s legacy. No one else has an issue with him!”
The silence that followed was very heavy, only broken by the fire’s hiss.
Ron stared at her, jaw clenched. Then, without a word, he turned and stormed out, the door slamming behind him hard enough to rattle the windows.
For a moment, Hermione sat frozen, trembling slightly with hurt, the air still thick with the echo of his anger.
Then Ginny was beside her, arms wrapping around her shoulders. “Ignore him,” she murmured fiercely. “He’ll come around. He always does.”
Harry came up behind them, his voice quiet but sure. “He’s an idiot, Hermione. You didn’t deserve that. You never do. He really needs to learn how to reign in his anger, still acting like that at this age is ridiculous.”
Hermione swallowed hard, blinking back hot tears she hadn’t realized had formed. “I just… I thought maybe he’d be better about it this time. He’s had months to adjust.”
Ginny gave her a small, sad smile. “He’s not angry at you. Not really. He’s angry at the world for changing when he isn’t ready to. Harry and I got married, so he thinks that’s pulling him away from Harry. You went back to Hogwarts, then moved in with Theo, he hardly saw you last year. You three were the trio always together doing everything. I think he’s just feeling lost without having you both in the same capacity as he did his whole life.”
Hermione nodded, her voice breaking slightly. “I know. It just hurts.”
Harry handed her a napkin. “We’ll talk to him, all right? Don’t let this ruin your night. You did nothing wrong. If Theo makes you happy, you owe it to yourself to explore that.”
Hermione managed a weak smile. “Thank you. Both of you.”
Ginny squeezed her hand. “Go home to Theo. He’ll be waiting I’m sure. And if Ron ever says another word against you, I’ll hex him myself.”
That made Hermione laugh, the sound small but real.
She hugged them both before stepping into the Floo, the green flames flickering around her. As the world blurred, she heard Ginny’s voice faintly behind her—gentle, protective, full of the same love that had bound them all through everything.
Notes:
Let me know in the comments if you think Hermione and Ron can mend their breaking friendship.
Chapter 28: When Death Comes to Call
Chapter Text
The green glow of the Floo faded, leaving Hermione standing in the entrance hall of Nott Manor, trembling slightly from the emotional wreckage of the evening. Her cheeks were tight with the remnants of dried tears, her eyes raw. The house was dim and still — no warm light spilling from the parlor, no quiet movements of Theo waiting up for her the way he always did.
“Theo?” she called softly, setting her cloak on the stand. Her voice echoed faintly down the marble corridor, unanswered.
She frowned. Usually, he was there the moment she arrived — a steady presence in the flicker of the firelight, a hand at her elbow, a gentle question: How did it go?
The silence tonight was wrong. Weighty.
Her feet carried her toward his study almost of their own accord, the low light beneath the door a muted amber glow. When she pushed it open, the breath caught in her throat.
Theo sat at his desk, elbows braced on the polished wood, his head in his hands. The fire had burned down to embers. His shoulders shook once, barely perceptible, but enough to tell her what words had not. Something was very very wrong.
“Theo?”
He lifted his head slowly. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, the kind of grief present that sits too deep for words. “Hermione,” he rasped, voice breaking on her name.
She crossed the room immediately, dropping to her knees beside his chair, her hands finding his face. “What is it? What happened?”
Theo’s fingers clenched around hers like a man drowning. It took him several moments to force the words out, his throat working uselessly before sound finally came.
“While you were gone…” He stopped, swallowed hard, and tried again. “Astoria. She went into labor.”
Hermione froze, the name hitting her like a cold gust. “But she wasn’t—she wasn’t due until—”
“Two months,” Theo said hollowly. His gaze was unfocused, staring through the window toward the moonlit grounds. “It was too early. Her health had been failing for weeks. Pansy and I were with Draco when he got the news what happened. Apparently she went into labor quite quickly, apparently there was a lot of bleeding they couldn’t stop, while he was here having dinner with us. His mother got her to the healer’s right away, but it all must have happened so fast. By the time someone came by floo to get him, she was already gone.”
Hermione’s stomach dropped. “Oh, Theo…”
He shook his head slightly, tears spilling freely now, his composure cracking. “There were Healers everywhere when we got to the hospital — the best in London. His mother and hers was there too. But there were… complications. She—” He took a shuddering breath. “She bled out, Hermione. They couldn’t stop it.”
For a long moment, the words just hung there, suspended in the air like ash in his mouth. Hermione’s breath hitched, her own eyes flooding for the second time that night.
“She’s gone?” she whispered.
Theo nodded once, a single broken motion of pain. “Both of them. The baby didn’t make it either. It was too small, too weak. It never even drew a first breath when they got it out of her.”
Hermione pressed a hand over her mouth, fighting the sob that rose. For a heartbeat, all she could think of was Draco — his pale, careful politeness at dinner, the anxious tension he had carried for months. She had seen the worry in his eyes, the dread he never spoke aloud.
“Oh, Theo,” she breathed, her heart splintering. “Draco…”
He nodded again, voice barely audible. “He’s destroyed, Hermione. Completely shattered.”
She rose slowly, still clutching his hand. “You should go to him. Don’t worry about me or my row with Ron tonight — Draco needs his friends. He shouldn’t be alone right now.”
Theo’s grip tightened. “We already went. Pansy and I went straight there when we got the message from Narcissa that they’d gotten back from the hospital. But he wouldn’t let anyone in. He—he locked himself in his chambers. Put wards on the doors so strong not even his mother can break them.”
Hermione sank onto the arm of his chair, her heart heavy with helpless sorrow. “He wants to be alone.”
“Yes.” Theo’s voice was raw. “But it’s not good for him. Narcissa was begging him to open the door. He wouldn’t. I could hear him crying in there, Hermione.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he turned away, pressing his palms to his face. “I’ve never heard him sound like that. He didn’t love Astoria, but we’ve all been friends with her since we were children. He cared about her, and their friendship since they married had been getting deeper, even if they weren’t attracted to each other romantically. I don’t know if he’s more upset about losing her, or about the baby. Losing a child like that, with its mother at the same time. I don’t know how someone can deal with all that at once.”
Hermione’s own tears fell freely now. She reached for him, guiding his head to her shoulder as his control finally broke. The sound of his quiet, restrained sobs filled the room — not loud, but the kind that shook through bone. This was the very first time she had ever seen Theo really lose his normal careful composure.
They sat there for a long while, wrapped in grief that wasn’t entirely theirs but close enough to home to wound them both. The fire sank lower until just embers remained, the house utterly still save for the faint tick of the grandfather clock in the hall.
When Theo finally spoke again, his voice was rough, hollowed out. “She softened him. Made him believe he deserved a future. He didn’t need romantic love to enjoy having a family with her.”
Hermione nodded, her throat aching. “And now that future’s gone.”
Theo drew a trembling breath. “I don’t know how to help him through this.”
“You can’t,” she said softly. “Not yet. You can only be there when he’s ready to come out of that room. When he’s ready to let his friends pull him out of the dark pit.”
He turned his face toward her shoulder, eyes closing. “It’s cruel,” he whispered. “She wasn’t supposed to die. Not her. Not now. Not like this. The healers lately had actually been getting more optimistic, trying out new potions that seemed to help.”
Hermione tightened her arms around him, feeling the weight of it all settle like stone between them. “Life doesn’t care about what’s supposed to happen,” she murmured. “But we care. That’s why we keep trying.”
Theo didn’t answer, just sat there breathing unevenly, his tears soaking her sleeve. Hermione stroked his hair gently, whispering whatever soft, meaningless comforts she could find — words meant only to fill the space where worldly understanding couldn’t reach.
At some point, the grandfather clock chimed midnight. Theo’s breathing had steadied, though the exhaustion in his face was palpable. He sat back slightly, scrubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “You’ve had a horrible night already it sounded like, and now—”
“Don’t,” Hermione interrupted gently. “Don’t apologize for feeling, it’s what makes us more human than the darkness.”
He managed a weak smile, the kind that barely reached his eyes. “You really are extraordinary, you know that?”
Hermione shook her head. “No. Just human. And so are you.”
He stared down at their joined hands for a long moment before whispering, “I just wish there was something more we could do for him.”
“There will be,” she said quietly. “When he lets us.”
Outside, the night stretched on endlessly, the sky heavy with stars. Somewhere across the land, a man they both knew was broken sat alone in a locked room, mourning the pieces of his life that would never fit back together.
And inside Nott Manor, two hearts grieved quietly for him — for what had been lost, and for all the fragile, fleeting beauty the world could so easily take away.
Notes:
Well, that was hard to write.
Chapter 29: Astoria Malfoy
Chapter Text
The late summer sky hung low and gray over Wiltshire two days later, the air heavy and unmoving — as if even the wind refused to intrude on the grief settling over Malfoy Manor.
Hermione had never imagined she would stand here again so soon. Yet here she was, standing among black-clad witches and wizards in the sweeping gardens of the Malfoy cemetery, far behind the house, where rows of white roses framed a newly dug grave.
The manor itself loomed in the distance, less menacing now but still imposing, its pale stone catching what little light broke through the grey clouds. Wards shimmered faintly in the air, holding the crowd quiet and contained, as if grief itself demanded order.
Astoria Greengrass Malfoy had been only a young woman. Too young. Too kind for a world that had demanded too much.
Hermione stood near the back of the gathered mourners, her hand loosely clasped in Theo’s. He hadn’t said much since they’d arrived — his face pale and drawn, eyes shadowed from too many sleepless nights. On his other side, Pansy dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, her usual poise replaced by quiet devastation. Blaise had a hand on her shoulder in comfort.
“She was supposed to get better,” Pansy whispered, voice trembling. “We all thought she’d make it through.”
Hermione squeezed her hand. “I know.”
“She was the best of us,” Theo murmured hoarsely. “Even when we didn’t deserve her.”
The service began quietly. No priest, no pomp — just an officiant from St. Mungo’s reading softly from a parchment of farewell blessings. The Malfoy crest had been transfigured into white lilies, glimmering faintly beside the casket.
As the mourners shifted under the gray sky, Hermione’s gaze wandered — not to the coffin this time, but to the living.
She saw Theo standing beside her, his posture solemn, the silver Nott signet glinting faintly on his hand as he clasped it before him. A few paces away, Blaise adjusted his cufflinks, the Zabini crest etched into his own ring. Draco’s was on full display too — the Malfoy seal, gleaming like ice against the black of his mourning robes.
And it wasn’t just them.
Marcus Flint. Neville Longbottom. Even Ernie Macmillan, standing quietly among the crowd. Rings upon rings, the marks of ancient houses now worn by boys barely older than she was. A strange heaviness settled in her chest.
She realized, with a sudden clarity that made her throat ache, how many fathers had died — how many lineages had been severed by the war’s relentless cruelty. These weren’t just heirlooms of wealth and privilege anymore. They were symbols of loss — of youth traded for duty, of innocence sacrificed for survival.
The next generation had inherited titles too soon, burdened with centuries of legacy when they should still have been finding themselves. Theo caught her staring at his ring and tilted his head slightly, a silent question in his eyes. Hermione only gave a small, sad smile in return.
Because how could she explain it?
That in this sea of mourning black and polished silver, she wasn’t just seeing grief for one woman — but the quiet, collective weight of a generation that had grown up too fast, and would never be truly young again.
Draco stood at the front with his mother, still and pale as marble. He hadn’t spoken a word since they’d arrived. His eyes never left the coffin — the sleek white lacquer, the single sprig of lavender resting atop it. His face betrayed nothing, but Hermione could see it in the line of his jaw, the tightness in his throat. He was splintering quietly, and no one could reach him.
Narcissa Malfoy stood beside him, dignified as ever, her expression a mask of grace. But her hand never left her son’s arm. Hermione recognized the tremor in that small touch — a mother’s helplessness in the face of loss she couldn’t heal for her son.
When the officiant finished, there was silence. Then soft music, a string quartet charmed to play something delicate and mournful. Guests began stepping forward to pay their respects — placing flowers and letters, muttering quiet condolences, bowing their heads.
Theo, Blaise, and Pansy went together, their hands shaking slightly as they laid a wreath of pale violets on the coffin. Hermione stayed where she was, watching them with quiet reverence, her own throat tight.
When she finally stepped forward alone, she held only a single white rose. It felt right — simple, pure. She paused by the coffin, her voice barely a whisper.
“You were braver than most people knew,” she murmured. “And kinder than this world ever deserved.”
She laid the rose down gently, her fingers lingering for a moment on the cool lacquer before stepping back.
It was as she turned that she saw him — a familiar figure standing awkwardly at the edge of the crowd. Neville Longbottom.
Hermione blinked in surprise and made her way over. “Neville. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
He gave her a small, somber smile. “Didn’t expect to be here either. But I thought I owed it to her.”
Hermione frowned slightly puzzled. “You knew Astoria?”
“In a way,” he said quietly. “During that last year, when Snape was headmaster — she helped us. The D.A., I mean. She couldn’t risk open rebellion, not with her family’s ties, but… she warned us when Carrow patrols were heading for the Room of Requirement. Slipped us supplies sometimes. Food. Healing draughts. She made sure the first-years stayed out of the dungeons when things got bad.”
Hermione’s breath caught. “I never knew.”
Neville nodded, staring out toward the coffin. “She didn’t want anyone to. Said it would cause trouble for her family. But she saved lives I think, Hermione. She was brave. Quietly, but brave.”
Hermione felt tears sting her eyes again. “That sounds like what I know of her.”
“She deserves to be remembered for it,” Neville said softly. “Not just as Draco Malfoy’s wife.”
Hermione nodded, her throat too tight to speak. They stood together in silence for a moment longer, two veterans of a war that had taken so many — now paying tribute to one who had quietly resisted it in her own way.
As the crowd began to thin, soft murmurs replaced the solemn music. Theo and Pansy had drifted toward a cluster of their old schoolmates — Daphne Greengrass, her face ashen, and a few others Hermione recognized only vaguely.
Hermione lingered on the periphery, unwilling to intrude but unable to leave just yet. She was turning toward the path back to the Floo tent when a soft voice stopped her.
“Miss Granger.”
She turned to see Narcissa Malfoy standing a few feet away, poised and elegant even in mourning black. Her eyes, pale and sharp, were softened by exhaustion.
“Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione said gently. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” Narcissa said, her voice even but weary. “I wanted to thank you for coming. I know this house holds difficult memories for you.”
Hermione hesitated, then nodded. “It does. But Astoria was… special. And Theo, Pansy — they cared deeply for her. I wanted to support them.”
Narcissa’s gaze softened further. “That’s kind of you. You’ve grown into quite a remarkable young woman, Miss Granger. My son was right about that much.”
Hermione was stunned. “Draco—?”
Narcissa gave a faint, sad smile. “He’s spoken of you before. Respectfully, if guardedly. He admires your conviction over the years, though he’d never admit it aloud.”
Hermione didn’t quite know what to say.
Narcissa sighed, glancing back toward her son. “He’s barely spoken since it happened. I’m terrified for him. He blames himself — for not seeing how sick she truly was. I think for getting her pregnant truthfully. Not that he had much of a choice, consummation without preventives was part of their betrothal contract. Heirs are always so important.”
Hermione frowned. “But no one could have known, could they?”
Narcissa’s expression faltered. “Not entirely. We knew she was weak, yes, but… not why.” She hesitated, lowering her voice. “When she became pregnant, the Healers discovered it — a blood curse, inherited generations back in her family. Dormant. It’s the kind of ancient magic that hides until it finds something it can take from you. Pregnancy weakened her beyond repair.”
Hermione’s breath caught with surprise. “A blood curse…”
“She didn’t even know,” Narcissa said softly. “None of us did. By the time the Healers realized, it was too late. The pregnancy accelerated it. There was nothing they could do.”
Hermione pressed a hand to her chest, her heart twisting. “That’s why she was so frail.”
Narcissa nodded, her poise finally faltering, grief cracking through her composure. “She wanted that child so badly. She said it would be a new beginning for our family. I fear… now that it’s gone, Draco believes there’s nothing left worth saving of the Malfoy name.”
Hermione swallowed hard, trying to reassure her. “He has you. And friends who love him. He’ll need time, but he’ll find his way back I think.”
“I pray you’re right,” Narcissa murmured, her eyes glistening. “Thank you again for being here, Miss Granger. For them — and for me.”
She reached out and briefly clasped Hermione’s hand before turning away, her black veil fluttering softly as she returned to her son’s side.
By the time the crowd began to disperse, the clouds had opened into a light, steady drizzle. Umbrellas blossomed across the grounds like dark petals, but no one left immediately.
Draco remained at the grave, motionless, his mother beside him beneath a charmed canopy. Theo stood nearby, silent, his face pale with worry. Pansy had stopped crying, her expression now distant — the numbness that comes when tears run dry. Blaise stood stone still beside her.
Hermione walked up quietly behind them, slipping her hand into Theo’s. He glanced at her, eyes wet, and squeezed back.
“She’ll be remembered,” Hermione said softly.
Theo nodded without speaking, his gaze fixed on Draco — a man hollowed out by grief, unreachable in his current solitude.
The rain began to fall harder then, pattering against the grass and the lilies on the coffin. The officiant murmured the final incantation, sealing the earth gently over the grave. A low hum of magic spread through the air — the ancient spell that marked an old pure-blood burial rite, quiet and haunting.
And then it was over.
One by one, the mourners began to leave. Balise and Pansy lingered until the last, saying their goodbyes in whispers before turning away. Hermione followed them with Theo toward the Floo tent, her heart heavy but resolute.
She looked back once before stepping into the emerald fire. Draco stood alone now, head bowed, rain darkening his robes with the canopy gone, his hand resting on the cold white marble of the headstone.
It was an image that would stay with her for a very long time — a reminder that grief, no matter how it changes shape, never truly leaves the living.
Notes:
Can't believe we're 30 chapters in now.
What's been your favorite part so far? Leave a comment!
Chapter 30: Theo has a ... what?!
Chapter Text
The manor was quiet that night — not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the heavy, lingering silence that follows grief and exhaustion. The last few days had been slow and muted, as if the air itself had thickened with sadness.
Theo and Hermione had tried to stay busy — sorting their books, gathering materials for the start of their respective programs — his Healer training at St. Mungo’s, her Charms and Spellcraft mastery. Yet everything they did felt half-hearted, mechanical. Even the house elves seemed to move more softly than usual.
Pansy had stopped by that afternoon, bringing a bottle of sparkling rosé and pastries from near her shop, her presence as dazzling and determined as ever. She’d told jokes, fussed about redecorating the guest salon, and tried to coax smiles out of them both. Hermione had managed a few, and Theo had even laughed once — but as soon as Pansy left, the laughter faded with her perfume.
Now it was late. The house was still, the moon casting soft light through the tall windows. Dinner had been quiet but comforting — vegetable soup, crusty bread, and tea that Theo swore had calming properties (though Hermione suspected he’d spiked it with a dash of brandy).
They’d ended up in Theo’s bedroom afterward, the same way they often did now — drawn together by habit, by comfort, by something deeper neither had dared name.
Theo lay on his back across the bed, one arm behind his head, the other resting lazily around Hermione’s shoulders as she nestled into his side. She traced idle patterns on his shirt — loops and spirals, the hem of a letter that never quite formed.
For a long time, they didn’t speak. Just breathed together, steady and slow.
It was Theo who broke the silence.
“Feels strange, doesn’t it?” he murmured. “Starting something new… when everything still feels like it’s standing still.”
Hermione hummed softly against his chest. “I know. I keep thinking about Draco. And Astoria. About how quickly everything can change.”
Theo’s fingers brushed through her curls absently. “He hasn’t answered any of my owls. Pansy said he’s still not letting anyone in.”
“He just lost everything,” Hermione said quietly. “It’s going to take him time.”
Theo exhaled deeply, his chest rising against her cheek. “Sometimes I think… it’s vicious. How life just goes on. You’re expected to wake up, go on living, smile at people, act normal. Meanwhile, you’re still bleeding inside, and no one can see it.”
Hermione lifted her head slightly to look at him, her eyes soft. “That’s the hardest part about surviving, Theo. You have to keep living, even when it doesn’t feel fair.”
He gave a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You always know how to sound wiser than me.”
She smiled back gently. “It’s just practice. I’ve had a lot of experience talking people out of giving up.”
“Harry. Ron,” he said knowingly.
“Among others,” she replied with a small laugh.
Silence settled again, this time more comfortable. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting a warm amber glow across the room. Hermione tilted her head, studying him in the flickering light — the faint shadows under his eyes, the curve of his mouth, the little scar near his temple she’d never asked about.
“You’re nervous about tomorrow,” she said softly, not a question.
He sighed. “A little. Healer training’s… not exactly known for being forgiving or easy. And I’m not sure how many patients will want someone with my name near them.”
Hermione reached up and touched his cheek, making him look at her. “You’re going to be brilliant. You care more than half the people who’ll walk through those doors. That’s what matters.”
His eyes searched hers — slow, steady, almost disbelieving — before he whispered, “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
He smiled then, genuinely, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “You always believe in people too easily.”
“Maybe,” she murmured. “But sometimes I’m right.”
Theo chuckled under his breath, the sound low and warm. His arm tightened around her a little, drawing her closer. “And you? Nervous about your first day?”
Hermione sighed, settling her head back on his chest. “More than a little. I keep wondering if I’m doing the right thing — going into research instead of the Ministry right away, or teaching, or—”
“Don’t.” His voice was gentle but firm. “You’ve earned this. After everything… you deserve to do something that’s yours. Something that isn’t just fixing what the war broke.”
She blinked back sudden tears, smiling faintly. “You say the nicest things when you’re tired.”
He smirked. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
She laughed softly — a sound that felt good, almost freeing — and the tension between them finally eased. For a while, they just lay there again, talking about nothing and everything: how early they’d have to wake up, how much paperwork they’d probably have, what Pansy might wear to her next “business luncheon.”
When the conversation faded, Theo’s voice came quietly in the dark.
“Do you ever think about… how far we’ve come? From school, I mean. From who we were then?”
“All the time,” she admitted. “I think about it every time I look at you.”
That made him turn his head toward her, brow raised in faint amusement. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is.” She smiled. “You were the quiet one in the back of the room. Always watching, always thinking. I should’ve known you’d end up being someone who sees people deeply.”
Theo reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. “And you,” he said softly, “you were the girl who changed everything.”
Hermione felt something tighten in her chest — not painful, just too full. She wanted to tell him what his original friendship meant to her, how his steady presence had healed corners of her heart she hadn’t realized were still bruised. But the words caught in her throat, too fragile to say aloud.
So instead, she kissed his clad chest — a soft, wordless thank-you — and let her hand rest over his heartbeat. His own hand reached up, creeping under her shirt. Gently, light touches, that burned her skin, as his fingers explored her chest. She had taken her bra off earlier to be more comfortable with late night lounging.
Her breath hitched as his fingers breezed over her nipples, making them straighten tight with arousal. It was the first time a bra hadn’t been between them when they did this, and the feeling was extremely pleasurable without the barrier. His hand wrapped around her breast, flicking her nipple.
“You’re always so perfect,” he murmured to her. His other hand drifted the flirt under her shorts and underwear. He made quick work of his fingers exclusively on her clit to get her worked up. She wished he’d breach her core, but he hadn’t done that again the first time for some reason, and now with the garments still on her it seemed inconvenient to ask. Regardless, his finger strumming her nipples, massaging her breasts, and the steady building pressure over her clit quickly brought her to a head within five minutes, and she came with a soft moan.
Satisfaction bloomed a crossed her face, as her eyes met hers and he smirked back.
“You’ve gotten too good at that, I get there so fast,” she laughed with ease.
“Hermione, your body just likes me playing it I think”, he teased back, a checky grin on his face.
Noticing the obvious bulge that had formed in the crotch of his sleep pants during their activities, she moved one of her hand high on his thigh, a tentative question in her eyes when he looked at her. His body stiffened, and he put his hand on top of hers to keep it form moving, shaking his head no softly.
The fire in Theo’s room had burned down to a soft, amber glow. Outside, the crickets murmured faintly in the tall grass, the night air heavy with summer warmth. Trying not to feel weird about his constant rejection of her advances, she shifted. Hermione lay curled against Theo, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm draped loosely around her. They’d been quiet for a long time — the kind of silence that felt like unsaid things.
When Theo finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“Hermione… can I tell you something a bit stupid?”
She lifted her head slightly to look at him, smiling faintly. “Since when have you ever said something stupid?”
He gave a small, self-deprecating huff. “Just wait.” His gaze flicked to the ceiling. “It’s about us.”
Her heart fluttered a little, but she kept her voice calm. “Go on.”
Theo shifted slightly, one hand resting near hers. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about… what this is. What it means. And—well—how I want to handle it.” He gestured with one hand down his body.
Hermione watched him carefully. There was a tension in his posture — not fear, exactly, but hesitation.
“I don’t want you to ever feel like I expect anything from you,” he said quietly. “Not now, not ever.”
She frowned softly. “Theo, you’ve never made me feel that way.”
“I know,” he said, his throat tight. “But I still need to say it. You’ve trusted me with… more than I think you realize. And I don’t want to do anything that would make you feel pressured, or uncomfortable, or—Merlin forbid—obligated.”
Hermione shifted closer, resting her hand lightly on his chest. “You could never make me feel that way.”
He exhaled, a little shaky, his eyes flickering to meet hers. “It’s just… I’m not used to this,” he admitted. “Being seen this way. Being cared for this way. In physicality meaning more than a means to pleasure. Touch has rarely meant something emotional too in my life.”
“You mean being valued,” she said softly — not as a declaration, but as a truth that hung gently between them.
Theo smiled faintly, a little sad. “Maybe. It’s terrifying, honestly. You make me feel seen, and that’s wonderful, but it also makes me aware of every flaw, every scar, every bit of myself I’ve worked very hard to keep hidden.”
Hermione’s brows furrowed, her voice tender. “You don’t have to hide from me.”
“I know,” he said, turning to look at her fully now. “But I still worry. I’m afraid that if you really see me — not just who I am in conversation or how I act — but me, entirely — it might… ruin things. That you’ll decide I’m not what you thought I was.”
Her expression softened. “Theo…”
He swallowed, looking away again, his thumb brushing the blanket nervously. “You’ve always deserved the best, Hermione. And sometimes I can’t help thinking I’m not that. That if you ever looked too closely, you’d see all the things I wish I could change about myself — and maybe you’d wish you hadn’t looked at all.”
Hermione’s heart ached. She reached out, gently guiding his chin back toward her. “Theo, I don’t care about perfect,” she whispered. “I care about you. The person who makes me feel safe. The person who listens. The person who shows me what gentleness really is.”
He blinked, his breath catching.
“I don’t expect anything from you either,” she continued. “Not now, not ever. Whatever happens — whatever we decide to share — it will be because we both want to, when we’re both ready. That’s enough for me.”
Theo’s eyes softened, emotion flickering there — something quiet, raw, and deeply vulnerable. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering just long enough for her to feel the warmth in them.
“You always know how to steady me,” he murmured. “Even when I don’t deserve it.”
She smiled gently. “It’s not about deserving, Theo. It’s about choosing each other. And I do.”
He let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing. “The thing is, I’m nervus not just about the emotional connection, but also scaring you away with physical stuff too.”
Hermione looked puzzled, “Theo, I really don’t understand that part. You’ve seen me, felt me, broken me open many times now. I want to give you back the same pleasure. Not because you expect me to, but because I want to make you feel that way too.”
Theo looked a tad less tense, “I know you do, and naturally as our emotional relationship keeps growing, so will our physical one. I’ve not been pushing you away because I don’t want it, I’ve never wanted someone to touch me so bad before in my life. I’m just worried.”
“Theo, I still don’t understand, what the worry is about…?”, her voice trailed off.
He tried to explain better, “Hermione, there’s nothing wrong with being inexperienced, in fact I think it’s incredibly sexy that you are, and I value everything you’ve been letting me experience with you. But, it also means maybe you might get nervous or scared if something isn’t what you expect, and I don’t want us to go backward.”
“Theo, we’re just moving slowly, and I like that. You don’t need to treat me like I’m naïve, I do know about men’s bodies, and sex. Heck, I shared a tent with two teenage boys for months, I’ve caught eyefuls I never wanted. Girls gossip, and boys can be crude. I’m not going to run away scared because I see a penis.”
Theo held back a bit of a laugh at her speech, “No, it’s not quite that. I know you’re a sexual being Hermione,’ he said with a playful wink.
“But…?” she questioned.
“I think you don’t quite realize how much of a sexual deviant I may be, and I’m worried you won’t like the same things I like. That maybe you’ll find them weird, or not sexy”, he said it quickly with nerves.
Now that honesty of words hung between them, Hermione took a breath, and carefully said, “Theo, that’s part of being partners, exploring likes and dislikes together. The only thing I’ll probably never be open to is torture sexual play because of the war. But, I mean… I want to explore things with you as our relationship grows. I promise, I’m going to be pretty open minded.”
Theo’s face seemed to relax a lot hearing her words. “Ok, please just promise me if anything that ever happens, things I do or say, aren’t comfortable with you… that you’ll tell me. Not just today… but going forward always.”
“Oh course, Theo, and I want you too tell me that too.”
He smiled with resolve, “Ok, so does your offer still stand then?”, he asked gaze fell back to his groin and he raised an eyebrow.
She grinned and nodded eagerly.
He carefully untangled himself from her and stood next to the bed. A playful smile had replaced the nervous smile of earlier. He swished his wand, and a low tempo beat begin to play. Slowly, he reached down to the hem of his shirt, and drew it over his chest and head, exposing a toned abdominal area. He wasn’t ripped, but he was active and fit, slight rise of abbs present. A tiny bit of brown hair peaked out from the waistband of his trousers. With one hand he twirled his shirt above his head, while the other hand came down to rest on his belt buckle. His intense gaze met hers and he cheekily winked.
She giggled, “Theo Nott, are you strip teasing me?”
‘If you like it, then yes,” his eyes flashed with mischievousness.
“Oh I am,” she quickly replied.
He threw the short, now having both hands on his belt, ever so slowly unbuckling the clasp, letting the buckle fall to the side. Eyes never leaving her face, he undid the top button deftly. Her breath hitched, as he ever so slowly one hand inched his zipper down, teasing her with suspense. Finally with it open, he began to roll the pants down his thighs. She whistled at him, and he laughed.
He stood in front of the bed clad now in only his boxers, the silken material thin and taught, leaving the size of him not much to the imagination. She sucked in a deep breath slowly releasing it, as he slowly brought the material down his thighs, standing before her nude.
There was a lot of ways Hermione had imagined Theo would look, both in her night dreams and daydreams, but none of them had ever been what actually stood before her. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight, and her breath held.
From a nest of wiry dark curls, jutted out a gorgeous cock. It stood proud, a tiny bit of precum, wet a crossed the very tip. Hermione could already tell her hand wouldn’t fit all the way around it, it was girthy and then some. Purple veins ran along the underside of it’s shaft. The length was impressive, but not crazy, maybe 7 inchs Hermione guessed internally.
But, none of that was what surprised her so much. There on the head of his cock, just after the prominent ridge that wrapped around it, was a silver glinting barbell pieced at a diagonal downward from the center of the cockhead down to the other side below.
Theo Nott had an apadravya piercing.
Theo, chuckled at her surprised, but appreciative reaction, her mouth open in astonishment.
Notes:
anyone see that coming?
Chapter 31: First Days
Notes:
Sorry to leave you hanging, but let's finish that scene =P
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When he caught her blatant staring, his brow quirked. “What?”
Hermione blinked, realizing she’d been looking far too long. “Nothing,” she said quickly, then smiled, unable to stop herself. “It’s just—sometimes I forget to tell you things.”
“Such as?” he asked, half teasing.
She hesitated for only a moment eyes glinting with mirth, before saying it, voice dripping desire. “That you’re… very attractive. And not just handsome — though you are — but... You’re sexy, Theo.”
For a heartbeat, he just stared at her, grinning like the cat who ate the canary.
“Oh, really?” he murmured, voice a little rougher than usual.
Hermione laughed under her breath. “Yes, really. I can’t believe you thought this might send me to pack my bags. You had me starting to get concerned something might be wrong with you… but this...” She gestured to his hard-on, “This is incredibly attractive.”
He looked away, a faint blush coloring his cheeks, but still playful. “I think you might want to touch it before you make a final judgement.”
She rose to her knees at the edge of the bed. He moved closer to stand right before her. She reached for his cock slowly, wrapping a tentative hand around the very base, squeezing it gently. “Your right, I’ll have to do a full assessment.”
Theo smiled and choked back a groan at the contact. She had been right in her initial idea, her hand could not fit all the way around his girth, not even close. There was about an inch gap between her thumb and longest finger wrapped around him. Experimentally she brought her hand up, and then down the thick shaft, applying only light pressure, a bit nervous she might hurt him. The movement caused a deep rumble in this throat.
“Show me? She inquired of him, and he understood the implication. His hand came down over top her own. He gripped a bit harder, showing her it was good to add more pressure. He released her hand, now that she seemed to understand she wouldn’t hurt him. With stead pressure, she moved up and down the shaft, gradually moving a bit faster, as his groans increased in decimal. It felt like liquid steel in her hand, the skin velvety soft for a solid rod.
As she pumped him, her other hand came up to ghost over the head. Her fingertips light brushing over the tip, smearing what was leaking out. Every so slightly, she barely dipped the tip of her finger into the very top of his slit. He hissed with surprise and pleasure,
“Hermione… damn witch.”
Her finger traced the protruding rim of the cockhead softly, before coming to explore the piercing. Gently she ran a figure over it, the metal shimmering in the low firelight. On either side of the head, the bar itself slightly extended a bit extra out from the flesh it went through, each end capped with a small metal ball. She pinched one end of it between her thumb and forefinger, looking at him questioningly.
He nodded to her, breathing hard. Very gently she twisted the metal between her fingers causing the bar to spin inside his flesh. He moaned with clear pleasure, his head lolling back slightly. She did it a few more times saying, “Theo, this is so fucking hot.”
“Careful, Granger,” he said softly. “You’re making it very hard to stay humble.”
She laughed quietly while drawing back that hand to her side, her other hand still pumping him rhythmically. With every pump she gripped him a bit harder, every pass changing the speed, till he was grunting lowly and he couldn’t help but thrust himself into her hand.
His body seemed to stiffen, and he tried to warn her ”I’m… clo-“.
She cut him off, “Do it.”. The words pulled back what little restraint he still had, “Hermione…’, he grunted out and his body jerked with spurt after spurt of thick white cum shooting out of his tip. It dripped down her hand, and some hit his stomach. With a few deep breaths, he tried to slow down his breathing. He vanished his spend from them both quickly, and pulled her into a tight embrace back on the bed.
“That was…. So good, thank you”, he praised her.
“Don’t thank me, it’s what girlfriends do, make their boyfriends feel good”, she teased, parroting his earlier words to her.
Hermione lay curled against Theo, her head resting just beneath his collarbone. His arm was draped around her, fingers tracing slow, absent circles along her shoulder. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. The silence between them was peaceful — a kind of calm that came only from being completely at ease in another person’s presence.
Theo exhaled, the sound low and content, his chest rising and falling beneath her cheek. “You all right?” he murmured, voice soft and rough from exhaustion.
Hermione smiled faintly, eyes half closed. “More than all right.”
He chuckled quietly, the vibration of it soothing through her. “Good.”
They lay that way for a while, listening to the crackle of the fire and each other’s steady breathing. Theo brushed a stray curl from her forehead, his touch light, reverent. “You should sleep,” he whispered.
“So should you,” she murmured back, though her words were already slurring with drowsiness.
“Not yet,” he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair. “I like this part too much.”
She smiled against his chest, her hand resting over his heart. The rhythm beneath her palm was slow and steady — grounding.
As the night deepened, their breaths fell into sync. The world outside Nott Manor might still be uncertain and heavy with grief, but here, in this quiet pocket of warmth and trust, there was peace.
And when sleep finally came, it came easily, the first time they shared a bed since her nightmare — two hearts at rest, finding comfort in the simplest thing of all: each other.
The morning came gently, though far too soon.
A pale, golden light spilled through the tall windows of Nott Manor, painting soft warmth over tangled sheets and sleepy limbs. The fire had long gone out, and the room had cooled, but the weight of comfort still lingered — the kind that comes from falling asleep next to someone who makes the world feel safe.
Theo stirred first. For a moment, he just lay there, blinking up at the ceiling, his mind slow to catch up with the morning. Then, glancing down, he saw Hermione still nestled against him, one arm draped across his chest, curls spread across the pillow like sunlight.
He smiled — a small, quiet thing — and brushed a strand of hair from her face. She mumbled something incoherent, shifted closer, and sighed.
He almost let her sleep longer. Almost. But then he remembered the date.
“Granger,” he whispered, his voice low and amused. “You’re going to miss your first day of becoming a world-changing academic if you don’t wake up.”
Her eyes blinked open slowly, brown and unfocused. “No talking before tea,” she murmured into his chest.
Theo laughed softly. “You don’t have time for tea.”
That got her attention. Hermione sat up so quickly that the blanket slipped off her shoulder. “What time is it?”
“Half eight,” Theo said, still lounging like someone who didn’t have a care in the world.
“Half eight?!” she yelped, scrambling out of bed. “Theo! I was supposed to floo to Cornwall by quarter to nine! You said you’d wake me—”
“I did wake you,” he said, grinning. “Now you’re awake. Mission accomplished.”
She shot him a glare that would have made most people flinch. He only smiled wider, stretching lazily before finally getting up himself.
The next twenty minutes were a blur of activity — Hermione dressing in a simple but elegant set of rose-colored robes, tying her hair back in a sleek braid, checking and rechecking that her enchanted satchel held everything she’d need: wand, parchment, notes, a quill that wrote in three colors depending on subject.
Theo, dressed in his new Healer’s uniform of deep green scrubs, leaned against the doorframe watching her pace. “You know, you could solve the world’s energy crisis with the amount of anxiety you generate before an academic event,” he teased.
She threw a folded scarf at his head. “You’re insufferable.”
“True,” he said, catching it easily, “but you love me anyway.”
That earned him the smallest of smiles — the kind that slipped through even her nerves. “Unfortunately,” she muttered.
Hermione flooed from the manor’s main hearth, the rush of green flame whisking her from Theo’s amused smirk to the elegant stone atrium of the Charms Academy of Cornwall.
It was breathtaking. The building was old, but it had been restored with care — vaulted ceilings, stained glass windows that shimmered with enchantments, and bookshelves carved directly into the walls. The air smelled faintly of sea salt and parchment, the sound of waves just barely audible in the distance.
She stepped out of the fireplace, smoothing her robes and blinking at the brightness. Several apprentices were already there, chatting quietly or looking around with wide eyes. A young witch with short, curly hair smiled at her in welcome.
“You must be Hermione Granger,” she said cheerfully. “Everyone’s heard about the Golden Trio. I’m Amara. I’ll be studying Transpositional Spell Theory — what about you?”
Hermione’s cheeks flushed, but she smiled back. “Advanced Charms of Reconstruction and Repair. I’m particularly interested in restorative magic after battle damage.”
“Ooh, practical and theoretical. Ambitious,” Amara said with a grin. “You’ll fit right in.”
Before Hermione could reply, a door at the end of the atrium opened, and a tall, silver-haired wizard stepped through. His robes were midnight blue, embroidered with tiny, shifting runes that glimmered like stars. His eyes were sharp, but kind.
“Good morning, apprentices,” he said, his voice carrying easily through the hall. “I am Master Aldwin Thorne. Welcome to the Charms Mastery program. You stand here today not as students, but as practitioners — researchers, innovators, and custodians of magical knowledge.”
Hermione felt her spine straighten instinctively.
Thorne’s gaze swept the room, and when his eyes met hers, something flickered — recognition, perhaps, or curiosity. “Miss Granger,” he said with a faint smile. “I’ve read your work on Muggle object transfiguration ethics. Impressive for someone so recently out of Hogwarts.”
Hermione felt heat creep up her neck. “Thank you, sir.”
“I suspect we’ll have much to discuss,” he said, and moved on.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of introductions, demonstrations, and planning. Hermione was placed under Master Thorne’s direct supervision — one of only four apprentices chosen for his circle. Her cohort included Amara, a quiet Ravenclaw graduate named Rajan, and an older witch from Spain specializing in magical linguistics and translation spells.
They discussed theory first — the philosophical framework of charms as extensions of human intent — and then moved to practical work in the afternoon. Hermione spent hours perfecting her casting posture and fine-tuning a delicate restoration charm meant to repair broken runes on old spellbooks.
When she succeeded on her third try, Thorne had nodded approvingly. “Excellent control. You channel focus like someone who’s spent a lifetime trying to hold the world together.”
Hermione smiled at that — a little ruefully, a little proud.
During lunch, she walked out onto the terrace overlooking the cliffs. The sea stretched endlessly below, glittering under the sunlight. The air was crisp and alive, and for the first time in weeks, she felt academically challenged and proud.
By the time Hermione returned to Nott Manor that evening, she was bone-tired but glowing with quiet satisfaction. She found Theo already home, sprawled on the sofa in his parlor, nursing a cup of tea and looking equally drained.
“Rough day?” she asked, setting her satchel down.
“You have no idea,” he groaned. “There was a hexed broomstick accident and someone tried to bite me.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow, half horrified, half amused. “I hope it wasn’t contagious.”
“Only the madness,” he muttered. Then he smiled, eyes softening as he looked at her. “You had a good day.”
She nodded, sinking beside him. “I did. I think… I think I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
He reached over and took her hand, twining his fingers through hers. “Then it’s been a good first day for both of us.”
They sat there in comfortable silence, watching the firelight dance across the walls. For the first time in weeks, there was no heaviness in the air — only quiet purpose, shared beginnings, and the faint, unspoken promise that whatever came next, they’d face it together.
And when the clock struck ten, Hermione leaned against his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed, and whispered, “Good first day, Healer Nott.”
He smiled against her hair. “Good first day, Master Granger.”
Notes:
Do you think Theo will make a good healer? Comment for me!
Chapter 32: Ginny's Help
Notes:
Hermione needs a girlfriend to talk this out with.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The week had flown by in that blur of new beginnings — full days, heavy books, and long evenings that ended with Hermione and Theo nearly falling asleep on the sofa twice, too tired to make it upstairs. Both were enjoying their programs.
Every morning, Hermione flooed to Cornwall, her satchel full of parchment and her mind already turning over spell patterns before she even arrived. Master Thorne had been challenging but fair, and she was starting to find her rhythm in the small circle of advanced charmworkers. They’d spent hours discussing the interplay between emotion and intent in spellcasting — a topic Hermione found endlessly fascinating.
Theo’s first week of Healer training at St. Mungo’s was equally consuming. Every evening when he returned home, exhausted but satisfied, they would compare notes about their days — the eccentric senior Healer who barked at interns like drill sergeants, the first successful diagnostic scan he’d completed on his own, the thrill of solving a spell equation that had eluded him all afternoon.
By Friday, Hermione’s head was full of theory notes and magical schematics, her quill hand cramped from writing. Theo’s days at St. Mungo’s had been equally long — a steady mix of training, chaos, and late nights learning healing charms until his voice went hoarse.
Both were proud of how far they’d come, but a quiet exhaustion hung over them. When Ginny’s owl arrived that morning — Come over tonight, girls’ night, Harry’s on patrol — I’ve got wine and gossip — Hermione didn’t even hesitate.
By seven o’clock, she was standing in front of the familiar black door of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. When Ginny opened the door, she looked radiant — her hair loose, wearing a soft jumper and socks instead of her usual team robes.
“Finally!” she exclaimed, pulling Hermione into a hug. “You look exhausted — sit, sit, sit! There’s pasta on the stove and I already uncorked a bottle.”
Hermione smiled, letting herself be ushered into the kitchen. “You sound like Molly.”
“Good,” Ginny said cheerfully, stirring a pot with her wand. “I’m hoping to inherit her bossiness someday.”
The place looked different now, though — transformed even more under Ginny’s care. Photos lined the walls — the Weasley family, Harry’s first Quidditch team, Luna mid-laugh, even one of Hermione and Theo at the wedding, looking almost shy together.
The kitchen had changed, too. Ginny had filled it with light — copper pans hanging above the stove, potted herbs in the window, and Quidditch schedules pinned beside shopping lists. It felt like a real home now, one stitched together with love and persistence.
They sat down to eat, and soon enough, the conversation flowed as easily as the wine. They talked about Ginny’s team’s season, Luna’s latest creature-hunting adventure (“Apparently there’s a ghost otter in France”), and Molly’s relentless matchmaking for George.
By the time the bottle was half-empty, the laughter had softened into that comfortable quiet that came with true friendship bult over a decade.
Ginny poured another splash of wine into Hermione’s glass and leaned back. “So,” she said with a mischievous smile, “how’s our favorite reformed Slytherin?”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but there was a telltale smile tugging at her lips. “Theo’s fine. He’s… wonderful, actually. Busy with his Healer program, but I think he’s really found where he belongs.”
“And the two of you?”
Hermione hesitated for a moment, tracing the rim of her glass. “We’re good. Really good. I didn’t think I’d ever have something that felt this—” she paused, searching for the word, “—steady. He’s patient, and kind, and so incredibly gentle with me. It’s different from what I thought falling in love would feel like. It’s quieter, but somehow… deeper.”
Ginny’s teasing expression softened. “I’m happy for you, Hermione. Truly. You deserve something easy for once.”
Hermione smiled gratefully but seemed thoughtful. After a moment, she said quietly, “There’s just one thing I haven’t quite figured out yet.”
“Oh?” Ginny asked, sipping her wine. “That sounds interesting.”
Hermione let out a small, nervous laugh. “It’s not exactly scandalous. Just… personal.”
Ginny grinned. “Personal is what wine is for.”
Hermione took a breath. “I suppose I’m just a little nervous. About… what comes next. Physically.”
Ginny didn’t interrupt, only nodded encouragingly.
“We’ve been close, of course, and it’s been—” Hermione stopped herself, blushing slightly. “It’s been lovely. But Theo’s always so careful. He never pushes. I can tell he wants to take things slowly for my sake, and I appreciate that. I really do. But part of me wonders if I’m holding us back somehow.”
Ginny tilted her head. “Holding you back how?”
Hermione sighed. “I don’t have much experience, Ginny. He knows that. And he’s been nothing but respectful. But I can tell he’s nervous too — like he’s afraid I’ll change my mind about him, Merlin, he didn’t even let me see or touch him at all till this past week!”
She narrowed her eyes at Ginny, wanting to tell her more, “Ginny, you literally can never breath a word of this to anyone, but I need to tell someone…”
Ginny leaned forward in sharp interest, “Of course, not even Harry”.
Breathing a sigh of relief and just deciding to come all out with it at once, “He’s pierced!”.
Not at all what she thought Hermione was going to say, Ginny sputtered, “Excuse me… what?!”
At this point, Hermione couldn’t even hold back a giggle, “I know, I was shocked too!”.
Still stunned, Ginny tried to wrap her mind around it, “Theo Nott… like quiet little Slythie bookworm Nott… has a pierced cock?”, now she was practically crying as she laughed. “I really can’t believe this… Holly Hufflepuff, that’s just too good”.
“Ginny, come on it’s not funny”, but even as she said it, Hermione was trying not to laugh too.
“I can’t say I’ve ever seen one of those honestly. But, damn if he knows how to use it, I’m sure it’ll be magical for you!”
Growing a bit more serious, Hermione sat up straighter and looked her friend in the eye, “But, that’s not all… it’s really wide. Ot like, oh that’s juicy wide… but like Merlin’s pants, that’s never going to ever be able to go inside me without tearing me in half wide. I’m not even close to ready to move onto that, yet, but it scares me even thinking about it now.”
Ginny reached over and took her hand. “You’re overthinking it, love. You don’t have to have everything planned. What matters is that it’s with someone who makes you feel safe and desriable — and that’s exactly who Theo is, isn’t he?”
Hermione nodded, a faint smile returning. “He is. He’s wonderful, Ginny. He’s so—honest. Thoughtful. I think that’s what scares me a little. He feels everything deeply, and I don’t want to hurt him.”
Ginny squeezed her hand. “Then you won’t. You’ve both survived wars, loss, and everything in between. You can handle a little vulnerability together. It doesn’t have to be perfect — it just has to be real.”
Hermione laughed softly, wiping at her eye. “You always make things sound so simple.”
“That’s because you make things so complicated,” Ginny teased, grinning. “You think everything has to come with a thesis.”
Hermione chuckled. “I’ll try to leave the research out of it.”
“Good. Because relationships aren’t a subject you can master — it’s one you have to live through.”
They sat together for a long while after that — the candles burning low, the wine nearly gone. The conversation drifted to lighter topics again: wedding stories, Quidditch mishaps, gossip about Luna’s latest article for The Quibbler.
When Hermione finally rose to leave, Ginny hugged her tightly at the door. “You’re going to be fine,” she murmured. “Just follow your heart. It hasn’t led you wrong yet.”
Hermione smiled against her shoulder. “Thank you, Gin.”
“Always.”
As Hermione flooed home to Nott Manor that night, she felt the faintest tingle of nerves in her stomach — not fear, but anticipation. Life had been a whirlwind of endings and beginnings lately, but for the first time in a long time, she felt ready for whatever came next.
And as she stepped out of the green flame into Theo’s quiet study, where a single lamp still burned and a book lay open beside a half-empty teacup, she thought maybe — just maybe — Ginny was right.
Love wasn’t something to study.
It was something to live.
Notes:
how's everyone doing? Do you like the story so far?
Chapter 33: Break Bread Together
Notes:
it's been a bit since the green and red gang was all together, enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Saturday evening arrived with the very last of the remaining summer warmth that wrapped Nott Manor in gold and lavender light. Fall was starting to set in. The air outside was soft and still, the gardens fragrant with honeysuckle and damp grass after a brief afternoon rain. Inside, the manor was alive — the long mahogany dining table gleaming beneath floating lanterns, the faint aroma of rosemary and roasted vegetables drifting from the kitchen, and the silverware arranged with Hermione’s usual precision.
Theo was uselessly pretending to read in his armchair as Hermione walked around the table for the third time, adjusting small details only she could see.
“You’ve checked the forks four times now,” he said without looking up.
“Because you laid them out wrong the first three,” she replied crisply, smoothing a napkin.
Theo’s lips curved into that faint, teasing smile she’d grown to love. “You know, I’m fairly certain there’s no incorrect way to set a fork for someone who grew up muggle.”
“For dinner,” she corrected automatically, “yes, there is.”
He chuckled softly, closing his book. “You’re adorable when you’re anxious.”
“I’m not anxious,” she said, which, of course, meant she was.
He stood, coming to stand behind her and resting his hands on her shoulders. “It’ll be fine,” he said quietly. “They’re our friends. And Draco — well…”
Hermione exhaled. “Draco is the one I’m worried about.”
Theo nodded, his expression sobering. “It’s his first night out since… everything. Let’s just try to make it normal.”
“As normal as dinner with three Slytherins and me can be,” she muttered.
Theo smiled. “You’re one of us now, whether you like it or not.”
Before she could respond, the soft chime of the Floo echoed through the manor.
“They’re here,” he said, giving her shoulders a reassuring squeeze.
Pansy arrived first, her presence as sweeping and bright as always. She looked radiant — hair pinned up with glittering emerald clips, dress of soft silk in moss green. She swept Hermione into an embrace that smelled faintly of jasmine perfume.
“Darling, you look exhausted,” she said immediately. “Too many late nights reading, I assume? Well, you’re glowing regardless. And this room — Theo, Hermione, it’s stunning.”
“Thank you,” Hermione said, smiling in spite of herself.
Blaise followed close behind, effortlessly elegant as ever, carrying two bottles of red wine under his arm. “A little something from the vineyard,” he said smoothly, handing them over. “And before you ask, yes, I did test both myself.”
“I had no doubt,” Theo said, shaking his head.
Then came Draco.
He stepped from the Floo slowly, dusting the soot from his sleeve. He looked… composed, but thinner, paler — like a ghost of himself trying to pass for the living. His posture was impeccable, his robes pressed, his hair neat, but the energy around him was muted.
“Theo,” he said quietly, offering a brief nod. “Granger.”
“Draco,” Hermione greeted gently. “It’s good to see you.”
He gave a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s good to be out of the house.”
Theo gestured to the table. “Then let’s make it a good evening.”
Dinner began with small talk — the kind everyone resorted to when the air still felt fragile.
Pansy chattered cheerfully about the final weeks before her wedding. “Honestly, if one more person asks whether I’ve chosen ivory or eggshell for the table linens, I might hex the whole venue and elope.”
Blaise chuckled. “You’d never elope, Pansy. You’d miss the audience.”
“True,” she said smugly, sipping her wine. “What’s the point of marriage without witnesses to envy you?”
Even Draco gave a faint smirk at that, which felt like progress.
Blaise launched into talk about his vineyard, animated as always. “We’re testing a new hybrid grape next season — one that can handle the cool northern soil. I’m calling it the Firevine Black.”
Theo raised an eyebrow. “Dramatic.”
“I’m a Zabini,” Blaise said with a grin. “We don’t do subtlety.”
Hermione laughed, feeling some of the tension ease. When the conversation turned to their new programs, Theo talked about his early days at St. Mungo’s — the endless training sessions, the chaos of the emergency ward, his shock at how young most of the patients were.
Hermione shared stories from Cornwall — her Master’s first challenge, the demanding exercises, and her quiet pride when she’d been chosen to assist on a restoration project in her very first week.
Pansy applauded. “Our Hermione, already saving the world again.”
“She’ll have rebuilt it by Christmas,” Theo added fondly.
Hermione blushed. “I’m just studying, not saving the world.”
Draco gave a quiet hum. “You’re both doing more than most are.”
The table fell quiet for a moment, the sincerity of his words cutting through the usual banter.
Dessert came — Pansy’s contribution, a honey and plum tart she’d brought from her favorite baker in Diagon Alley — and the tone shifted slightly, mellowed by brandy and candlelight.
Theo, relaxed now, leaned back in his chair. “You know,” he said, “it feels good to have everyone here again. It’s been too long.”
Blaise raised his glass. “Agreed. The world’s been far too quiet without Pansy’s opinions being shared with more than me and Malfoy’s judgment.”
Draco snorted softly. “My judgment was usually accurate.”
Pansy laughed. “You’re not wrong.”
Hermione smiled at the easy rhythm of it, but her eyes kept flicking toward Draco. He was participating, yes, but she could feel the effort it took him to stay present. The hollow grief lingered just beneath his composure.
It was Draco himself who broke the next lull in conversation, his voice quiet but thoughtful.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, swirling the brandy in his glass. “About the Ministry. About the Wizengamot.”
Theo glanced at him, surprised. “You’re planning to attend again?”
Draco nodded slightly. “I already hold the Malfoy seat. But there’s another that’s been vacant — the Black family seat.”
Pansy frowned. “That was your mother’s line, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Draco said. “It passed to Sirius after my grandfather died. And when he… when he was gone, it should have gone to Potter.”
Blaise raised his brows. “And you think Potter should take it?”
Draco nodded again, calm and deliberate. “I do. The Black line’s power shouldn’t fade into history. Whatever else I’ve thought of him in the past, Harry Potter is one of the few who’s proven he can use influence responsibly. I plan to write to him — to encourage him to claim it.”
For a long moment, no one said anything.
Finally, Theo spoke. “That’s… actually a brilliant idea.”
Hermione’s eyes softened. “It really is, Draco. I can speak to him too if you like.”
He gave a faint, humorless smile. “Don’t sound so surprised. I can have good ideas.”
Pansy reached over, touching his hand. “It’s more than a good idea, love. It’s generous. Sirius would have wanted the seat to mean something light again.”
Draco’s throat worked as he swallowed, looking down at the glass in his hand. “Perhaps. I just think the right person should hold it.”
Blaise studied him for a moment before saying quietly, “You’ve changed.”
Draco’s expression flickered — pride, maybe, or melancholy. “Loss tends to do that.”
The air shifted, somber but respectful. Hermione caught Theo’s hand under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. He returned it without looking away from his friend.
After dessert, they drifted to the sitting room for brandy and softer conversation. Pansy and Blaise curled up together on the couch, whispering and occasionally bickering over honeymoon plans.
Theo poured fresh drinks, and Hermione sank into the chair beside him, her body warm and tired, her heart full of complicated affection for the people around her.
Draco stood by the window, one hand resting on the frame, the moonlight silvering his pale hair.
Hermione hesitated a moment before joining him.
“You did well tonight,” she said softly.
He didn’t look at her. “I stayed upright and civil. I suppose that counts.”
“It does,” she said gently.
After a pause, he added, “It’s strange. Seeing everyone move forward. You and Theo, Pansy and Blaise — it’s like the world’s found its rhythm again. And I’m still… stuck.”
Hermione’s heart ached. “You’ve been through more than most. Healing doesn’t move at the same pace for everyone.”
He glanced at her then, his eyes distant but honest. “You make it sound like I’ll get there eventually.”
“I believe you will,” she said. “Because I’ve seen you survive things you shouldn’t have. You don’t stop, Draco. You endure. That counts for something.”
For a moment, his expression softened — truly softened — before he looked back out at the gardens. “Enduring isn’t the same as living.”
“No,” she said quietly. “But one always leads to the other.”
Theo called her name gently then, holding out a glass for her. She gave Draco one last small smile and returned to the others t keep chatting.
Eventually, the others had drifted toward the garden for a smoke and a final drink, their laughter faint through the open doors. The room was quiet now, golden candlelight flickering against the polished wood.
Hermione lingered by the table, gathering plates with a small charm, when she realized Draco was still there — standing beside the mantel, glass in hand, staring at one of the portraits Pansy hadn’t yet banished to the attic. His face was unreadable, but his shoulders looked heavier than they had all evening.
She hesitated, then spoke softly. “You don’t have to stay behind, you know. Theo’s pouring brandy in the garden.”
“I’m fine,” Draco said, not looking away. His tone was flat — practiced.
“You always say that,” she replied gently.
At that, he turned, expression cool and edged. “And you always think you can fix people, Granger.”
The words weren’t cruel, exactly — just tired.
Hermione didn’t flinch. “I’m not trying to fix you. I just—” she paused, lowering her voice. “I know what it’s like to lose someone and pretend you haven’t. It doesn’t work.”
He let out a soft, humorless laugh. “I’m not pretending anything. I’m just… tired of everyone looking at me like I might break. I buried my wife, not my sanity.”
Hermione met his gaze steadily. “Grief doesn’t make you weak, Draco. It makes you human.”
For a heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes — pain, maybe, or recognition. Then he smoothed it over with a faint smirk. “Trust you to turn mourning into a lecture on humanity.”
“Trust you to deflect with sarcasm.”
He huffed out a small breath — not quite a laugh, but close. “You really haven’t changed.”
“Neither have you,” she said quietly.
That earned her a sharp look, but the retort never came. Instead, he drained the rest of his wine and set the glass down with deliberate precision.
“Thank you for the concern,” he said finally, his voice low and even. “But you don’t need to worry about me, Granger. I’m not your project.”
“I wasn’t offering pity,” she said softly. “Just friendship.”
Draco studied her for a long moment — eyes pale, calculating, and yet, beneath it all, deeply sad. “I don’t know if I remember how to do that,” he admitted under his breath.
Hermione’s heart ached. “Then you can start small. Showing up tonight was a good first step.”
He glanced toward the garden, where Theo’s laugh carried faintly through the open doors. “You and he make it look easy,” he murmured.
“It’s not,” she said honestly. “But it’s worth trying.”
Draco didn’t respond. After a long silence, he straightened his robes and moved toward the door.
“Good night, Granger.”
“Good night, Draco.”
As he stepped out into the cooler air of the hallway, she heard him exhale softly — the kind of sound someone makes when holding themselves together just a little too tightly.
And though he would never admit it, Hermione thought — for just a second — that maybe he’d appreciated being asked at all.
When the house finally fell still again, Theo leaned against the doorframe, exhaling deeply.
“How do you think it went?” he asked softly.
Hermione smiled faintly, slipping her arm through his. “Better than I expected. Harder than I thought.”
He nodded. “For all of us.”
They stood there a moment, watching the embers fade in the fireplace. Then Theo said quietly, “You know, Draco might be right about Potter. If anyone could carry a legacy like that and not let it corrupt him, it’s Harry.”
Hermione smiled. “I think Sirius would agree.”
Theo nodded, thoughtful. “Strange, isn’t it? How the world keeps folding back into itself — same people, different shapes.”
She looked up at him, her eyes warm. “Maybe that’s how we heal — by finding new ways to fit into the old places.”
He smiled then, slow and soft, and kissed her forehead. “Then we’re doing something right.”
And together they turned out the lights, leaving the dining room in the hush of starlight and the quiet, lingering peace of a night that — for all its ghosts — had gone better than anyone dared hope.
Notes:
ow do you think it'll go for Draco to speak with Harry?
Chapter 34: A Birthday For the Books
Chapter Text
The day had been long but good. Hermione stepped out of the Floo into the front hall of Nott Manor still smelling faintly of old parchment and spell dust, her notes from the day tucked under her arm. Her head was full of theoretical charm diagrams and Master Thorne’s clipped comments about her precision.
She set her bag down on the entry table and started to call out for Theo, not expecting him to still be at St. Mungo’s. But the manor was quiet — not the usual kind of quiet, though. There was a hum in the air, the faint tingle of fresh enchantments, and something sweet — chocolate, maybe — drifting faintly from somewhere down the corridor.
“Theo?” she called softly.
“Out here,” came his voice, faint but warm, from beyond the glass doors that led to the orchard.
Hermione frowned, curious, then stepped outside. The air was soft and fragrant — the kind evening that felt like it was holding its breath. The sun had dipped low, leaving streaks of pink and gold across the sky, and between the apple trees glimmered a constellation of floating fairy lights.
At the heart of the orchard, Theo stood beside a blanket spread neatly across the grass, topped with a wicker basket, crystal glasses, and a small cake on a silver plate.
Hermione froze, blinking at the sight. “Theo… what is all this?”
He looked up, smiling sheepishly, hands in his pockets. “Happy birthday, Hermione.”
For a moment, she just stared, and then laughed softly, covering her mouth with one hand. “You did all this? Tonight?”
He shrugged. “You only get one birthday a year.”
Hermione walked closer, heart swelling. The orchard looked like something from a memory she didn’t realize she’d been missing — the twilight air full of the hum of crickets, the sweet scent of ripening apples, and Theo watching her like she was the only thing that mattered.
“You shouldn’t have,” she said, even as she sat down beside him on the blanket.
“I absolutely should have,” he countered. “You work harder than anyone I know, and it’s your birthday. You deserve something special.”
She smiled, warmth rising to her cheeks. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Romantic,” he corrected with a small grin, opening the basket. “There’s a difference.”
Inside was an assortment of little things he knew she loved — fresh bread and cheese, sugared strawberries, sparkling cider, and a single slice of German chocolate cake, decorated with a small charm that glittered gold in the lantern light.
Hermione laughed softly as he handed her a fork. “You really remembered I liked this?”
Theo tilted his head. “You only mentioned it once. Back at Hogwarts — during that week before exams when you were sleep-deprived and said chocolate cake was the only reason to stay alive.”
Her chest tightened, a bittersweet ache. “That sounds like me.”
They ate together in companionable silence for a while, watching the last light fade through the orchard. The cake was rich and sweet, and when Hermione licked a smudge of frosting from her thumb, Theo’s eyes lingered on her a heartbeat too long before he looked away, smiling faintly.
When they were done, he leaned back on his elbows, staring up at the darkening sky. “Do birthdays ever feel strange to you?” he asked quietly.
She turned to look at him. “Strange?”
He nodded, still gazing upward. “Just… knowing we’re getting older when we weren’t sure we’d even make it this far. I didn’t think I’d see the end of my teens. Didn’t think I’d earn the right to.”
Hermione lay back beside him, the grass cool beneath her arms. The stars were beginning to blink into view above them, soft and far away.
“I know what you mean,” she said quietly. “Some days I still wake up and expect to be running for my life again. And then I realize I’m safe, and it almost feels like guilt.”
Theo turned his head, watching her. “Survivor’s guilt.”
She nodded. “It never really goes away. But nights like this help.”
He smiled faintly. “Good. That’s what I hoped.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The fairy lights swayed gently in the warm breeze, the trees whispering softly around them. Then Theo sat up, reaching into his pocket.
“I did get you something,” he said, a bit eager to see her reaction.
Hermione blinked in surprise. “Theo, you already—”
“Not something to keep though…,” he interrupted gently.
He held out a small box — dark velvet, tied with a thin gold ribbon.
Hermione hesitated, then opened it. Inside lay a delicate gold charm bracelet, fine as silk thread, the chain glinting faintly in the lantern light. Dangling from it were several tiny charms — intricate and shimmering with faint enchantment.
Her breath caught. “Theo… these are—”
“Patronuses,” he said softly, smiling. “Yours. Mine. Our friends’.”
She turned it gently in her hands. A graceful otter, a clever fox, a sleek mare, a proud stag, a regal panther, a peacock, and even a small, shaggy terrier — each one exquisitely detailed and faintly luminous, pulsing with the soft glow of magic.
Her eyes glistened as she traced the tiny otter charm with her fingertip. “You remembered them all.”
“I wanted it to feel like… family,” he said quietly. “The people who’ve shaped you. Who’ve stayed.”
She smiled through the tears threatening to form. “It’s beautiful.”
He hesitated, his tone softening. “You’ll notice one link’s empty.”
Hermione looked — and saw it, a single space at the end of the chain, waiting for something that wasn’t there.
“Draco,” she said softly.
Theo nodded. “He’s never been able to cast one. But… maybe someday, he will. And when that happens, we’ll add his.”
She swallowed, emotions catching in her throat. “You thought of everything.”
“I thought of you,” he said simply.
Hermione smiled at that — really smiled — before leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “You’re too good to me, Theodore Nott.”
He chuckled under his breath, brushing a curl from her face. “No. Just the right amount.”
They stayed there a while longer, side by side in the orchard — two survivors, two dreamers, wrapped in the quiet magic of a world they’d fought to keep.
When they finally made their way back to the manor, hand in hand beneath the starlight, Hermione felt something she hadn’t in years — wholly content, wholly alive.
When Hermione returned from changing into something comfy after dinner, the lights in Theo’s suite were dimmed, the air scented faintly with sandalwood and pine. From beyond the carved doorway came the sound of water and the low hum of warming charms.
Theo was kneeling by the enormous marble tub that dominated his bathroom—a thing more like a hot spring than a bath—testing the temperature with his wand.
“What are you doing?” she asked, smiling in quiet amusement.
He looked up, sheepish. “Running you a bath. You’ve been on your feet all day, and I remember you saying your shoulders ache after long study sessions. Seemed the least I could do.”
Hermione blinked, touched. “That’s incredibly sweet of you.”
He gave a modest shrug. “There are perks to living in an over-engineered manor. The taps practically know what you need before you do.”
She laughed softly, stepping closer. The water shimmered under a faint charm that released slow curls of steam and a scent of pine forest. Candles flickered along the ledge, their flames dancing in mirrored dark tiles.
They both eyed each other’s bodies appreciatively as they stripped down naked. When she sank into the water, she sighed out all the tension of the week. Theo settled behind her, allowing her to lean back into his chest in the water, content just to talk while she relaxed.
“This is decadent,” she murmured, eyes half-closed. Theo wrapped his arms around her waist snuggly.
“Consider it self-care,” he said lightly. Then, quieter, “You’ve earned a little peace.”
For a long while, the only sounds were the faint trickle of enchanted jets and the occasional splash as Hermione shifted a bit to accommodate his appendage that seemed to be expanding steadily against her butt. Finally, she spoke, voice dreamy with warmth.
“Do you ever think about what comes next?”
Theo smiled. “Constantly. I want to finish the Healer program, maybe open a private practice someday. Something smaller, more personal than St. Mungo’s. And you?”
Hermione tilted her head toward him, a damp curl stuck to her temple. “I want to teach, I think. Maybe work on reforming magical education—make it fairer, more accessible. Travel a bit first, though. There’s so much I haven’t seen yet.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Then we’ll travel. You’ll correct everyone’s spell theory, and I’ll patch up the locals when they ignore your warnings.”
She laughed softly. “That sounds perfect.”
They talked for a long time—about their hopes, the places they wanted to visit, what kind of life they might each want when the weight of training and duty finally lifted.
The tub being enchanted to stay warm, kept a perfect temperature of heat but not boiling all while they talked. As conversation dwindled, Theo began pressing featherlight kisses down her neck, whispering in her ear sexily, “How about a birthday orgasm, darling?”.
The words alone flooded her with arousal, and she nodded enthusiastically, parting her legs between his wider. He licked the outer shell of her ear and blew on it, the cool air tingling down her body, her nipples peaking hard just the tips coming out of the water.
Each of his hands reached around her body, both claiming a breast. He massaged the smooth full flesh globes, occasionally tweaking her nipples and flicking them. More arousal spilled from her mixing with the water of the tub and she groaned meekly.
“Always so responsive… Do you like how my hands make you feel Hermione?” He questioned her with a sly tone in his voice. She groaned again in affirmation as he continued to kiss her neck, sucking on one spot, caressing it with his tongue when it burned, his hands pinching her nipples a bit rougher than before.
She squirmed against him impatient and burning with hot desire, that only increased feeing the ridge of his cock press against the middle of her back, sandwiched between them.
Now working on kissing down the other side of her neck, his two hands drifted slowly lower and lower down her body. Soft caresses over her rib cage, and stomach, down both sides, finally coming to briefly rest at the top of her open thighs.
“Do you want another taste of inside again?”, he softly asked her.
“Mhm.. yes”, she moaned back.
One of his hands moved to caresses the inside of her left thigh close to the junction of her groin. The other grazed over her mons, petting the seam of her folds lightly. With the angle of her legs, the tip of her clit just peaked out from her folds, and he lightly pinched it.
Surprised, she jolted breathless, and he let out a little chuckle. Each hand now coming to a side of her lips. Gently, each hand pulled her folds apart in opposite directions, peeling her open, so all of her vaginal area was exposed to the soft lapping of the water. She panted at the feeling of exposure.
In her ear he muttered low, “Do you like feeling exposed like that? Nothing covering this…”, a finger circled her entrance’s rim”. She whimpered.
He continued to swirl his finger around her entrance slowly, never going into her at all. “Do you like knowing that nothing is preventing me from just slipping alittle something inside you?” Her whine was higher pitched this time.
His finger kept up the motion, “Do you know how much your body craves just alittle something to fill that empty void your feeling?, he whispered seductively in her ear. Her breathing was getting ragged with this dirty talk.
Finally, his finger came to stop just resting on her opening, no pressure at all to push it inside. Just the intense anticipation of the light weight of his finger against the void like a much awaited promise of pleasure.
“Do you want to let me inside?” his voice was thick.
With her pleading “please Theo”, he slowly sank his finger into her, not stopping at all till it was fully embedded in her channel. They both groaned together at the feeling of her walls immediately clenching down on him.
His voice sounded broken and jagged, “Fuck Hermione, so fucking tight. So hot. So wet”.
She wiggled her hips trying to get some friction. “Ok, darling, I’ll help you… don’t worry, I’m going to take care of you”, he whispered in her ear.
With his thumb pressing sporadically down on her clit, he slowly began to move his finger in and out of her, setting small ripples through the water with his wrist movements. At this point she was moaning loudly, not even a bit embarrassed by the noises, the pleasure too good to care.
He moved it into her faster and faster, and started to alternate the thrusts with a curl of his finger to her upper wall. Her head had fallen back on his shoulder, allowing him to look down into her eyes. She looked drunk on pleasure, possessed with need.
Their eyes connected, locked together, and she pleaded with him, “Theo.. not enough.. so good… can’t..”.
Keeping eye contact he asked her, “Do you want me to try for another?”. She nodded still moaning her need.
On the next rise of his finger out, a second finger lined up next to it, locked together. He gently pushed both fingertips into her. They barely sank in an inch before her body was resisting the stretch, walls clamping impossibly tight on them. He began kissing her neck again, whispering “Relax, let me in, relax, let me make you feel so good”. She took a few deep breaths, still moaning lightly. Gradually, the clenching let up, and ever so slowly he pushed the two further inwards, walls giving in just enough to allow them forward, until they were fully descended.
The stretch for her was mind blowing. It pinched in an unfamiliar way, a bit uncomfortable, boarding on lightly painful. And yet, it also felt wonderfully stimulating too. The spread of her walls taunt against his fingers burned in the best of ways, and she felt fuller than ever.
With her walls trembling against his flesh, he slowly started to move them up and down her channel. Nearly bringing them fully out, just to satisfyingly have her swallow them up again hot and tight on the way down again. Over and over again he made the movement at a steady pace, and she withered against him, her head flopping back against his head, shaking side to side trying to crack the buildup of pressure within that felt tightly coiled.
She was practically sobbing for release to him, “Can’t quite.. help.. too much.. too tight.. can’t… let go…”. He knew what she needed, but was a bit worried afterward she may not be so happy if he was too rough. Her endless pleading now to break free though convinced him to give it to her.
His fingers moved faster, the dive in and out harder, rougher. His hand snapped at a quick punishing pace, the water in the tub splashing abruptly with the movements. He was jabbing into her with his fingers at a punishing pace for a few rounds, when suddenly, her hips rose up out of the water, her back arching, his name on her lips like a prayer, and she came hard, his fingers trapped inside her for a moment by the force of her walls clench.
At those same moments, his mind screamed to him that she may be a witch who would enjoy a thorough, hard cock pounding someday, that it might be something her body really wanted, and the image that conjured, was enough for him to cum without his cock even being touched.
As she settled back into the water against him, he withdrew his hands, wrapping them back around her middle, cradling her to him as she found her breath and recovered.
“That was… intense. Are you ok?”, he questioned her, hoping he hadn’t gone too far.
“Theo.. don’t overthink it. I’m not made of glass…. Do you think I enjoyed it?, she reasoned with him.
He smirked against her neck, then pressed another kiss to her there before replying, “In that case, Happy Birthday, this was your second gift.”
She laughed a joyful tingling sound, and kissed his chest. Settling against it to relax more.
When at last the candles burned low around the tub, Theo rose and helped her jelly-legged out of the tub, offering her a fluffy towel. He let her get ready for bed in peace in the bathroom, stepping back into the bedroom while she got ready. Seeing her blissed expression in the mirror she smiled wilder. She was a bit sore between the legs, but immensely satisfied, both due to her physical needs being sated, but also for getting him to show less restraint finally.
She got in bed to cuddle with him. “Thank you,” she said, voice quiet but sincere. “For tonight. For everything. Best birthday ever.”
And as Theo whispered happy birthday one last time before they drifted into sleep together later that night, she realized that maybe getting older wasn’t something she had to wonder if she would get to do anymore.
Notes:
Was that hot enough? Let me know how you like your spice level.
Chapter 35: What Wasn't Meant For Her Ears
Notes:
So, Hermione has a really bad vice... eavesdropping.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione arrived home earlier than usual that Friday, having gotten the hang of the new spell they were learning on the very first try. The afternoon air was heavy and humid, clinging to her skin as she stepped through the Floo into the Manor’s entrance hall. Normally, the sound of quills scratching or elves bustling about greeted her, but tonight the house was unusually still.
She glanced at the clock. Theo should still have been at St. Mungo’s normally. Yet the faint murmur of voices drifted from down the west corridor.
She frowned.
Carefully setting down her satchel, she followed the sound, her sensible shoes silent on the carpeted marble floor. As she reached the end of the hallway, she noticed the study door was cracked open, light spilling through the narrow gap. She froze when she recognized the voices.
Theo’s calm, steady baritone.
And Draco’s.
Her chest tightened. Draco hadn’t visited much since Astoria’s funeral, and when he did, it was fleeting—always polite, mostly distant.
She knew she shouldn’t listen. Merlin, she knew.
But her curiosity—and worry—overrode her better sense.
Just a minute, she told herself. Just to be sure he’s all right.
She stepped closer, close enough to make out the words.
“…so you really think Potter will take it?” Draco was saying.
Theo exhaled, the sound of it carrying even through the crack in the door. “If anyone deserves it, it’s him. You were right to suggest it. And you explaining it to the Wizengamot as a matter of family legacy instead of politics will help.”
Draco gave a low, sardonic laugh. “Imagine that—me recommending Potter for anything.”
Theo chuckled quietly. “We live in strange times, my friend.”
The silence that followed was heavier, though—not strained, exactly, but quieter, as if both men had drifted into their own thoughts.
Then Draco spoke again, his voice softer now. “Do you ever feel like you’re living someone else’s life?”
Theo paused. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I mean…” Draco’s sigh was weary. “Astoria. The house. The money. The titles. It was all expected—things I thought I was supposed to want. Things I always knew I’d get. She was… good. Kind. A far better person than I ever deserved. But I wasn’t in love with her.”
Hermione’s stomach twisted—not from judgment, but from the rawness in his tone.
Theo’s voice followed, measured. “That doesn’t make you cruel, Draco. It makes you a real human.”
“She deserved better than a husband who loved the idea of redemption more than he cared for her,” Draco muttered. “And I don’t even know if redemption was ever mine to have.”
Theo’s reply came gently. “You’ve been doing the work. You’ve changed. That’s more than most people can say.”
A humorless huff of laughter. “And yet you and Granger are the ones who make it look so bloody easy.”
Hermione froze, heart pounding.
Theo hesitated before answering. “It’s not easy,” he said quietly. “It’s… complicated. Worth it, but complicated. We aren’t perfect in many ways.” We both have our struggles.
Draco snorted. “She’s softened you, Theo.”
“She’s strengthened me,” he corrected simply.
That silenced Draco for a moment. Hermione could hear the faint clink of glass—the sound of Theo pouring another drink, perhaps.
Then Draco’s voice, lower now: “Do you… love her?”
Hermione’s pulse stuttered.
Theo didn’t answer immediately. She could almost imagine him rubbing the back of his neck the way he always did when thinking too much.
“I don’t quite yet, but I think I will,” he said finally, voice rougher than before. “But I’m trying not to rush her. She’s been through enough. I don’t want to be another person in her life who demands more than she’s ready to give. Too many people have already done that. Merlin, the whole wizarding world did that to the three of them.”
“Are you scared she’ll hurt you?”
“I mean… yes, I care so damn much already. And we were friends before all this, it would really hurt to lose her in both ways. That’s why it took me so long to let it turn into this, instead of keeping her as just a friend.”
“Pansy was nervous when she moved in that you would hurt each other.”
“When does Pansy not trend towards the dramatic. She and I have been pretty open and honest with each other. I plan to keep doing that.”
Draco was quiet a long time before saying, “Have you two…?”
Theo gave a small, awkward laugh. “No. Not yet. We’re not at that step by a long shot. And honestly? I think that’s part of what I adore about her. She makes me slow down, think about what matters. Enjoy each moment we have together.”
There was something deeply tender in his tone—enough that Hermione’s throat felt tight, a strange awe and warmth swirling inside her.
Draco’s words almost sounded… bitter, “I figured you hadn’t yet, seems like the girl can still walk fine.”
“Draco…”, there was a warning in Theo’s voice.
Draco darkly chuckled, “Don’t act like I don’t know what you’re packing. That thing will tear a girl like that right in half. It should have a warning label on it for virgins that says it’s a dangerous weapon.”
Theo’s voice was tight, boarding on annoyed, but also curious, “How do you know she’s a virgin?”
There was a moment of silence. Hermione wasn’t sure what was happening. A clink of two glasses on wood told her they both must have taken a sip with that question sitting in the air.
“A girl like that doesn’t just sleep with people, Theo. She’s not one of your regular conquests. You forget, I’ve been with two virgins, you haven’t. They have a certain way about them. People like her don’t want a quick fuck for a night, they want emotional connections.”
Theo sounded a bit offended, “I know that. She’s not a fling and I just said I’m not going to rush into that with her. Anything we do will be because she wanted it, and we were emotionally ready for it together.”
“But… you’ve done other stuff with her, yes?”
“Not that it’s your business, but of course, I’m not a monk.”, he sounded a bit amused now.
“And…’, Draco probed.
“And everything has been fantastic!” she could tell he was smiling when he said it.
“And… yet you still seem worried?”
There was a pause, where Theo most be considering if he wanted to have this conversation with Draco.
“Draco, I swear, not a word of this to anyone. I respect her so much, and she doesn’t need people gossiping.
“You, and Blaise are my best friends, everything you’ve ever told me in confidence has stayed with me. Plus, quite frankly I respect the shit out of Granger, I’d never share something like this about her with anyone even if you weren’t requesting silence.”
A pause, more sips of their drinks as glass hit wood.
“Ok, well… sweet Salazar… she’s tight.”
Draco sounded a bit confused, “Well Theo… she’s a virgin… they tend to be pretty tight, and some of them still have a hymen to break even. You have to take your time to really warm them up.”
“No, you’re not understanding… I mean like really really tight. I may not have been with a virgin before, but I’ve been with enough ladies who weren’t easy lays. This is different. The first time she let me touch her, Draco… She was so turned on and I could barely get a finger in. The other day I managed to get two, but it was a major challenge, and she was out of her mind aroused. She liked it a lot though, and she didn’t complain at all, but I know she was sore from her body language for at least the whole day after even though she didn’t tell me.”
“Oh…wow… Merlin’s balls.”
“Yea, I know. She’s really into… us. I know she wants everything we do. But, Draco… I’m so nervous about hurting her. You know… my proclivities. I don’t want to hurt her ever, but especially not early on now. It may make her rightly scared to ever want to try anything more with me.”
There was a curiosity in Draco’s tone, “You think she might be into…. some of those things?”
Theo was choosing words carefully... “I have reason to think she may really enjoy some of it .. yes. And others I think she may be at least be open to trying once to find out…. If I don’t traumatize her from ever wanting me touching her again before we get to a point where we would try those types of things at least.”
“Huh, well you know what they say… it’s always the bookish quiet ones that are a freak in the sheets.”, Draco laughed.
“You’ve said that to me before.”
“Right well, yes it’s something to consider that she may need a bit more… coaxing than others to warm up. But, if you guys move slowly and work up to everything you do, give her body time to adjust to being …. active, it will eventually be ok I think. Honest communication with her being open about what hurts is going to be important.”
“Thanks Draco, that’s what I keep telling myself too, but every time I get a finger in her, I just keep getting stuck in my head that she’s way too tight to enjoy everything I want to build up to trying with her. I don’t want to hurt her ever… physically or emotionally.”
“Theo… you know Severus privately taught me much of what he knew about brewing. He and I kept the manor really well stocked with his home brewed recipes. A lot better quality than what’s on the market, and a lot of it not offered to the public at all. There are a few potions and creams that can help with this type of thing I think. Pain, relaxing, healing… just let me know if you ever want anything from my stock. Actually, you don’t even need to ask… I’ll put together a bundle for you to have on hand just in case in the moment anything seems useful. Just let me know if you want to try anything else.’
Theo sounded really relived, “Thank you, I’d really appreciate that.”
Draco’s next words came out quieter. “It’s hard to be around you two sometimes.”
Theo’s voice softened. “I know.”
“You’re both…” Draco trailed off. “Happy. I can see it. And I want to be glad for you, I really do. But there’s a part of me that looks at you together and—” He exhaled sharply. “I think about what I could have had, if things had been different. If I’d been different at the right time.”
Theo’s reply was low and pained. “You still can have something good, Draco. You just have to let yourself want it again, not be stuck in the past. Just because one door closed, doesn’t mean other won’t open. You have to be open to finding it unexpectedly.”
Draco made a faint, derisive sound. “And what if I found it, but didn’t realize it till too late? Wanting is easy. Trusting it will work out—that’s the hard part.”
Hermione felt a prickle of guilt in her chest. She shouldn’t be here. She’d heard more than she should have—more truth than either man would have said if they knew she was listening.
She stepped back quietly, heart still pounding.
As she turned down the hall toward the stairs, their voices faded into low, indistinct murmurs again—comfortable, quiet. Friends sharing the kind of vulnerability that few ever got to hear. She knew she couldn’t be mad Theo had been so blunt with Draco about her, after all she had run to Ginny about the piercing.
By the time she reached her own chambers, Hermione wasn’t sure what she felt—gratitude for Theo’s honesty, sorrow for Draco’s loneliness, or shame at having trespassed on words not meant for her.
Notes:
Now we know why Theo has been so reserved, and conformation that Draco's heart has been broken.
Chapter 36: Birthday Bliss
Notes:
Can this mixed group survive a night together for Hermione?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
That weekend, the birthday restaurant sat tucked along a quiet cobblestone street in wizarding London, its windows glowing amber in the early evening dusk. It was the kind of place that managed to feel elegant without being ostentatious — enchanted chandeliers hovering like constellations, music soft as a heartbeat, and the smell of butter, herbs, and good wine drifting through the air.
Theo had rented the entire upper salon for the night — a private dining space with high arched windows and a flickering fireplace, a long table gleaming beneath floating candles, and a side lounge filled with velvet sofas and low tables for later in the evening.
Hermione stood just inside the door, momentarily overwhelmed by the sight. “Theo,” she whispered, turning to him. “You didn’t have to go this far.”
He smiled, straightening the cuffs of his dark emerald jacket. “I wanted to. You deserve to be celebrated properly.”
Before she could reply, Pansy and Blaise appeared in a whirl of perfume and laughter.
Pansy’s eyes sparkled as she took in the room. “Well, if this isn’t the most Nott Manor birthday I’ve ever seen. Honestly, Theo, you do have a flair for drama.”
Blaise grinned, offering Hermione a kiss on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Granger. You look radiant. And you’re officially too classy for the rest of us.”
Hermione laughed. “Don’t start, Blaise. I’ve seen your vineyard parties.”
“Touché,” he conceded.
Soon after came Ginny and Harry, looking still tan and blissfully married, followed by Luna — ethereal as ever in silver robes embroidered with tiny moons — and Neville, whose tie was slightly crooked but who beamed proudly when Luna adjusted it for him.
Draco arrived last, in his usual understated elegance — pale grey robes, composure like armor. Ron trailed in beside him, red-eared and stiff, muttering something about being “forced by Ginny.”
Theo greeted everyone warmly, even Ron, whose curt nod was the only acknowledgment he offered. But Hermione refused to let that ruin her evening.
They gathered around the long table, glasses of sparkling elderflower wine floating into each guest’s hand courtesy of a discreet waiter.
The first course arrived — smoked salmon with dill and citrus, followed by roast lamb and charmed vegetables that shimmered faintly with flavor-enhancement spells. The meal was exquisite, the conversation lively, and for the first time this group of mixed individuals were all together because they cared about her.
Ginny and Pansy teased Theo mercilessly about how “domestic” he’d become. Blaise told embellished vineyard stories that had even Draco fighting a smile. Pansy described her latest shop shipment fiasco with so much dramatic flair that Harry nearly choked on his wine laughing.
Ron was quiet for most of it, though he did manage a few polite remarks about Quidditch schedules with Ginny and Harry. Every so often, Hermione caught his eyes on her and Theo, then quickly away again.
But the real surprise was Draco. He joined in the conversation, cautiously at first, then more freely. When Luna asked him about his latest project, he confessed he’d started sketching again — architectural plans, he said, for renovating parts of Malfoy Manor.
“It’s strange,” he admitted quietly. “Trying to make a place that held so many dark things into somewhere worth living.”
Hermione met his eyes across the table and offered a small, sincere smile. “That’s brave, Draco. Truly.”
He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, and something unspoken passed between them — not friendship, exactly, but mutual understanding.
Theo noticed, and the look he gave her was one of quiet pride and encouragement.
By dessert — an elaborate confection of sugared fruit and chocolate — the atmosphere had settled into comfortable warmth, like a family that had earned its peace the hard way.
After dinner, they moved to the adjoining lounge, where Theo had arranged a low table near the fireplace for gifts and drinks. The firelight flickered across the room, softening the space into gold and shadow.
Hermione curled up on one of the sofas, cheeks flushed from laughter and champagne as Pansy insisted she open her presents.
Ginny’s gift was a beautiful journal, bound in soft brown leather with a quill that changed color to match the writer’s mood.
“Now you can write your thoughts in rainbow anxiety,” Ginny teased.
Harry’s gift was simpler — a framed photo of the old DA, smiling and waving. “For perspective,” he said, smiling a bit shyly. She came close to crying.
Luna gave her a woven charm anklet of moonstones “to protect you from nightmares,” and Neville handed her a potted herb that apparently only bloomed when sung to.
Pansy and Blaise, ever the dramatic pair, gifted her a voucher for a weekend getaway to a spa in the Lake District. “So you can stop worrying about everyone else for once,” Pansy declared.
Draco’s gift surprised her most — a set of elegant ink bottles, each filled with shimmering enchanted ink in different colors. “For your research notes,” he said quietly. “I imagine you’re the only one who’d actually use them to color code your notes.”
Hermione’s smile was genuine. “Thank you, Draco. They’re perfect.”
Ron’s gift came next — a wrapped book that turned out to be a new edition of Fantastic Beasts. “I figured you’d want to mark it up,” he said, not meeting her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said softly. It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t hostile either. Progress, maybe.
Theo’s present came last. When he handed her the box, she noticed the faintest shimmer of nerves in his expression.
Inside was a delicate gold bookmark engraved with the words: To my favorite mind — thank you for letting me in.
Her heart coiled. She leaned over and kissed his cheek as everyone pretended not to watch.
Hermione slipped out of the lounge for a moment, the laughter and soft music fading behind her as she made her way down the candlelit corridor toward the washrooms.
As fate would have it, Draco was just coming the other way, his jacket draped over one shoulder, expression distant. They both paused — an instinctive flicker of awkwardness before Hermione gave him a small, tentative smile.
“Hi,” she said softly. “You all right?”
He hesitated, glancing toward the floor, then back at her. “I’m fine.”
She tilted her head, unconvinced. “You’ve said that so many times I’m starting to think it’s your new surname.”
That earned the faintest ghost of a smirk. “You’re still terribly direct, Granger.”
“And you’re still avoiding real answers,” she replied, but her tone was gentle, teasing.
He exhaled through his nose, shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “It’s strange,” he admitted quietly. “Being around all of you again. But, not as full blown enemies. Good, mostly… but strange. There are moments when I forget how much has changed, and then it all comes back at once.”
Hermione nodded. “I know that feeling. It’s like remembering you’re a different person than the one everyone knew — and still trying to figure out who that is.”
He met her eyes then, something raw flickering in them. “Exactly.”
For a moment, the air between them softened.
“I’m glad you came tonight,” she said sincerely. “It meant a lot. To Theo, to Pansy… to me.”
Draco looked faintly surprised by that, then gave a small nod. “You lot make it difficult to stay a recluse,” he said quietly.
Hermione smiled. “Good. The world’s too empty without you in it.”
He didn’t respond right away, but when he finally spoke, his voice was low and honest. “Thank you, Granger.”
“Anytime,” she said, stepping aside so he could pass
After the gifts, the group drifted toward the fire with fresh glasses of wine. Luna, in her serene voice, suggested they play “Two Truths and a Lie.”
“Seems safe enough,” Blaise said, smirking. “Unless someone here can still tell when people lie.” He nodded at Hermione, who rolled her eyes.
“I’m off duty tonight,” she said.
Theo started the game with mild amusement. “All right — I once slept in a tree for a week, I can play the violin, and I once blew up a cauldron so badly it flooded an entire dungeon.”
“Violin’s the lie,” Ginny guessed immediately.
“Correct,” he admitted, grinning. “Flute, actually.”
The group moved around the circle — Blaise revealing a rather questionable story about smuggling enchanted grapes into France, Pansy claiming she’d once hexed a rival shopkeeper’s dress invisible (“True,” Blaise confirmed, laughing).
When it came to Hermione, she hesitated, smiling. “All right. I once broke into the Restricted Section before I had a note, I’ve never lost a chess match, and I’ve kissed someone on the Quidditch pitch.”
“Lie’s the chess,” Ron blurted out automatically. “You were terrible at it.”
Everyone laughed.
Hermione smiled. “You’re right. I lost to Harry twice.”
Harry raised his glass. “I feel vindicated.”
Then came Draco’s turn. He sat forward slightly, the light from the fire catching the edge of his cheekbone. “I once flew a broom to France on a dare, I’ve never been drunk, and I’ve never told my mother I love her.”
The laughter faded. For a moment, no one knew which was the lie.
Theo broke the silence gently. “You’ve definitely been drunk.”
Draco smirked faintly. “Correct.”
The others relaxed again, but the shadow lingered. Hermione caught his eye, a soft ache in her chest. She wanted to tell him that one day, he’d find it easy to say those words again — to love freely, without guilt. But she stayed quiet.
Ron went last in the first round. His tone was stiff, but not cruel. “Let’s see. I’ve been to Egypt, I once rode a broom into a wall trying to impress a girl, and… I don’t regret leaving Auror training.”
No one spoke for a long time.
Finally, Harry said quietly, “Third one’s the lie.”
Ron gave a hollow little laugh. “Yeah. Suppose it is.”
That silence that followed wasn’t awkward — it was heavy, honest. Hermione felt it settle over her like an invisible weight.
The clock above the mantel chimed ten, the sound soft beneath the hum of conversation and the crackle of the fire. Pansy had kicked off her heels entirely and was curled up with her legs on Blaise’s lap, while Ginny and Luna had migrated to the rug, sharing a blanket and a bottle of mead.
Theo had rolled up his sleeves, leaning back into the couch beside Hermione. The tension that had shadowed the start of the evening was gone — replaced by warm, easy energy.
“All right,” Blaise said, swirling the last of his wine. “Round two. And this time, the lies had better be clever.”
“Clever,” Pansy repeated dramatically, “or scandalous.”
Theo groaned. “Merlin save us.”
Theo tapped his chin, pretending to think. “Let’s see. I once got detention for dueling with Seamus Finnigan. I once got mistaken for a Weasley at a Quidditch match, and I once spent an entire day pretending to be left-handed just to annoy Professor Vector.”
Ginny snorted. “You were definitely never mistaken for a Weasley.”
Ron glared faintly. “Oi.”
Theo grinned. “Correct. I was far too well-dressed.”
Hermione elbowed him playfully. “And humble, clearly.”
He leaned closer. “You love it.”
She tried not to smile. “Unfortunately.”
“Fine,” Pansy said, flipping her hair over one shoulder. “My turn. I once attended a Muggle fashion show without realizing what it was. I once dated two people at the same time who didn’t know about each other. And I once told the Prophet that Draco was secretly married to a veela.”
Draco closed his eyes. “Merlin’s beard, Pansy.”
Blaise looked deeply amused. “The lie is the veela. That rumor came from Skeeter.”
“Wrong,” Pansy said smugly. “I was the source. She just paid me for it later.”
Luna gasped softly, delighted. “You’d make an excellent journalist.”
Pansy grinned. “I prefer the term storyteller.”
Theo muttered to Blaise, “Or emotional arsonist.”
Blaise said, “I once won five hundred galleons playing poker with goblins. I once accidentally attended a Death Eater meeting. And I once kissed Professor Sinistra at a Christmas party.”
Hermione sputtered. “What?”
Theo choked on his drink.
Harry looked horrified. “Please tell me that’s the lie.”
Blaise smirked playing dumb. “It is. She turned me down.”
Ginny buried her face in her hands, laughing. “That’s worse somehow.”
Draco looked faintly disgusted. “You have no shame.”
“On the contrary,” Blaise said smoothly. “I’m very proud of it.”
Luna’s eyes sparkled. “My turn. I once convinced a group of first years that butterbeer was made from Niffler milk. I once hexed a mirror because it called me plain. And I once wore a lion’s head to a Quidditch match.”
Everyone stared.
Neville smiled cleverly. “All true.”
Luna tilted her head dreamily. “Correct. I’m very bad at lying.”
Ginny giggled and threw a pillow at her. “Then you lose this round.”
Luna caught it calmly. “Winning isn’t everything.”
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay. I once walked in on McGonagall singing. I once Apparated into the wrong flat wearing nothing but a towel. And I once got lost in the Ministry for two hours.”
Ginny grinned. “The towel one’s true. That happened after training.”
Ron winced. “I still have nightmares about that day.”
Hermione laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink. “Oh, Harry, help us.”
“The lie,” Luna said gently, “is getting lost in the Ministry. You always know where you are.”
He smiled. “Actually, that’s the lie. It was three hours.”
Everyone groaned.
“All right, my turn,” Ginny said, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “I once punched a Chudley Cannons fan for calling Harry overrated. I once lost a bet to George and had to dye my hair green for a week. And I once hexed my wedding dress by accident hemming it.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Lie’s the wedding dress. You were meticulous about that.”
Ginny smirked. “Wrong. I turned it blue. Took three witches and a Muggle washing machine to fix it.”
Draco blinked. “You own a washing machine?”
“Harry bought it” she said cheerfully. “He likes the spin cycle.”
Harry covered his face. “I regret this entire evening.”
Neville smiled shyly when the attention shifted to him. “Let’s see… I once dropped a Mandrake on my foot and couldn’t hear for an hour. I once grew a flower that bloomed only during thunderstorms. And I once accidentally proposed to Hannah Abbott.”
Luna’s face went soft. “You did. You meant to ask her to tea, but you said ‘will you marry me’ instead.”
Neville groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Merlin, Luna.”
All eyes turned to Draco, who swirled the amber in his glass thoughtfully.
“I once broke a broom trying to show off. I once told my mother I wanted to become a Muggle lawyer. And I once hexed Crabbe so badly he couldn’t sit for a week.”
Hermione bit her lip to hide a smile. “You’ve definitely broken a broom.”
Theo nodded. “And you’d never survive as a lawyer. Too much compromise.”
Draco gave a dry smile. “Wrong. I never hexed Crabbe.”
“Because Goyle did it first?” Pansy teased.
Draco smirked. “Precisely.”
Even Ron cracked a faint smile at that.
Ron sighed, running a hand through his hair. “All right. I once flew Dad’s car into a tree. I once set my hair on fire at Hogwarts. And I once ate an entire treacle tart alone on a dare.”
Harry snorted. “The lie’s the dare. No one needed to dare you.”
“Fair,” Ron said, grinning reluctantly. “That was just lunch.”
Hermione smiled softly. “You were better company tonight, Ron. Thank you for coming.”
He looked embarrassed but nodded. “Wouldn’t miss your birthday, Hermione.”
Theo squeezed her knee under the table.
When it came back around, everyone turned expectantly to her.
“All right,” Hermione said, eyes glinting. “I once turned a prefect’s badge into a mouse. I once read Hogwarts: A History twenty-three times. And I once Apparated into the wrong flat in Cornwall.”
Theo smirked. “That last one’s true. You met your Mastery dean by walking straight into his bath.”
Hermione flushed scarlet. “Theo!”
The room exploded with laughter.
Draco nearly choked on his drink, even Ron coughed mid-laugh, and Pansy wheezed, clutching her sides.
Hermione buried her face in her hands. “I hate you.”
Theo chuckled, kissing the top of her head. “But, you want to love me.”
She peeked up through her fingers, cheeks still pink. “Unfortunately.”
The laughter lingered long after the last glass was drained. Even Draco was smiling, quietly, and when Hermione looked around the room — at Ginny’s radiant grin, at Luna humming, at Theo’s fond eyes — she felt the warmth settle deep in her chest.
As the night deepened, laughter mellowed, soft but sincere. They shared dessert wine, told stories from Hogwarts that now seemed impossibly far away, and even Ron loosened a bit, joking with Neville about Hagrid’s cooking.
When the group began to disperse — Luna and Neville first, followed by Ginny and Harry arm in arm — Hermione sat curled on the sofa by the fire, watching the embers.
Theo came up behind her, resting a hand gently on her shoulder. “You all right?”
She nodded, smiling faintly. “More than all right. Thank you, Theo. For everything.”
He sat beside her, their fingers brushing. “You’ve built something rare, you know. A group of people who shouldn’t fit together at all — and yet somehow do.”
Hermione glanced toward the table where Draco, Pansy, and Blaise were still laughing over a half-finished bottle of wine, and Ron was quietly saying his goodbyes.
“I think we all needed tonight,” she murmured.
Theo’s hand found hers, squeezing lightly. “Then it was perfect.”
Hermione looked up at him, her smile soft. “It was.”
And as the last of the candles melted low, she realized that this — the laughter, the pain, the fragile peace between them all — was what surviving truly looked like.
It wasn’t just living through the war.
It was learning, finally, how to live after it.
Notes:
Coming up next - Pansy's wedding!
Chapter 37: Waiting For A Wedding
Chapter Text
The next morning, Hermione sat at the long table in her dressing gown, hair a tumble of curls, cradling a mug of tea between both hands. Theo was opposite her, looking as if he’d only just managed to tame his hair into civility. A plate of toast sat between them, mostly untouched.
The manor was quiet — the sort of quiet that comes after a night of laughter and too much Firewhisky.
“Did we really stay until two in the morning?” Hermione asked softly, breaking a piece of toast in half.
Theo smirked over his teacup. “You did. Pansy lasted until three. She was determined to teach Blaise how to waltz using a chair as his partner.”
Hermione groaned, laughing. “Merlin, I think I remember that. I hope the restaurant staff survived.”
“They’ll recover,” Theo said dryly, then paused. His tone softened. “It was a good night, though. The best in a while.”
Hermione nodded, her expression gentling. “It was. Everyone laughed… properly laughed. I don’t think I’ve seen Draco smile like that since before the war.”
Theo stirred his tea absently, his gaze far away. “He needed it. We all did.”
The silence stretched comfortably between them.
Hermione set her mug down, watching him. “You know,” she said quietly, “there was a time I didn’t think we’d ever get here. All of us in one room — you, me, Pansy, Draco, Harry, even Ron — and no one hexing each other.”
Theo gave a small huff of amusement. “Progress, Granger. Miracles do happen.”
She smiled faintly. “Maybe that’s what healing really looks like. Not big speeches. Just… people learning to breathe around each other again.”
Theo looked at her for a long moment — really looked at her. His blue-gray eyes softened in that way that always made her chest ache.
“You make it sound so simple,” he murmured.
“It isn’t,” she said honestly. “But last night… it felt possible.”
Theo reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers, then curling around her hand. “That’s because you make it possible.”
Hermione blushed, ducking her head, but she didn’t pull her hand away. “You always say things like that before breakfast. It’s very unfair.”
He smiled crookedly. “I prefer mornings where you’re blushing and smiling instead of worrying about everyone else’s feelings.”
Her lips curved. “I can multitask.”
“I’ve noticed.”
They sat there like that — hands linked, smiles soft, the sunlight inching across the table. For a moment, the world outside the manor didn’t matter. No war, no grief, no politics — just two people who had found each other in the aftermath.
Theo finally spoke, his voice quiet. “You know, Hermione… seeing everyone last night — laughing, even Draco loosening up a bit — it reminded me that maybe… maybe we’ve all earned this peace.”
Hermione squeezed his hand. “We have. All of us.”
Then she smiled, a small spark of mischief in her eyes. “Even if some of us can’t keep secrets about walking into other people’s bath.”
Theo groaned, covering his face with his free hand as she laughed. “You’ll never let that go, will you?”
“Not a chance.”
The days slipped by gently, stitched together by small, ordinary routines that felt precious after so much chaos. Every morning, Hermione left through the Floo for Cornwall — the green flames swallowing her before Theo had even finished his first cup of coffee. Every evening, she re-emerged, tired but glowing from the satisfaction of the day’s work.
Theo’s own hours at the healer’s research wing in London were long, but when he came home, the manor no longer felt hollow. It smelled of books and parchment and whatever potion or candle Hermione had experimented with that day.
They made a ritual of it: dinner together at the little round table by the west-wing windows. Sometimes they cooked; sometimes the elves did. Conversation flowed easily — updates about their Masters, funny things that happened during lectures, gossip about Pansy’s increasingly elaborate wedding plans.
“She’s demanding enchanted fireworks shaped like roses,” Hermione said one evening, spearing a roasted potato.
“Of course she is,” Theo replied dryly. “Blaise will pretend to protest and then commission twice as many.”
“They deserve a bit of magic,” she said softly. “After everything.”
“We all do,” Theo murmured.
By midweek, they were counting down the days until the wedding — half amused, half sentimental. Hermione had been helping Pansy with the last-minute planning, and Theo had been roped into a tuxedo fitting against his will.
Each night ended the same way: quiet, intimate moments in bed. Sometimes they read side by side, sometimes they just lay there, limbs tangled, her head on his shoulder as he traced lazy circles on her arm. Sometimes they had a good snog, twice he got her off purely with clitoral stimulation before falling asleep with no time for reparation from her.
It was Thursday night when the conversation took a different turn.
The candles on the bedside table had burned low, their light flickering across the deep blue of the room. Outside, a fall rain whispered against the windows. Hermione lay on her stomach, chin resting on her folded arms, watching the play of shadow over Theo’s face.
“Theo?” she asked softly.
He hummed, eyes half-closed. “Mm?”
She hesitated — not because she feared the answer, but because the question felt heavy. “Do you ever think about… what would’ve happened if the war hadn’t?”
Theo blinked, opening his eyes fully. “You mean… if everything had gone right?”
“Yes.” She rolled onto her side, facing him. “If none of it had happened. If Draco had never been marked, if I’d never joined the Order, if everything had just… been norma kids at boarding school. Do you think we would’ve been friends? Or found each other at all?”
For a moment, all he did was stare at the ceiling. Then he sighed, one arm curling under his head.
“I used to think about that a lot,” he said quietly. “Especially right after the war. I’d picture Hogwarts as it should have been — no sides, no fear. Just… lessons, Quidditch, ordinary teenage mistakes.”
Hermione’s heart ached. “And what did you imagine?”
Theo smiled faintly. “That you’d still be the girl sitting front row, hand always up, terrifying everyone with your brilliance.”
She laughed softly. “And you?”
“Probably in the back row pretending to read,” he admitted. “I’d have thought you insufferable.”
“I was insufferable,” she said with a smile.
“But brilliant,” he countered. “And brave. I think I would’ve noticed you anyway. Maybe not at first — I wasn’t exactly… open to the idea of knowing anyone outside my house. But eventually, I’d have seen you for what you are.”
Hermione tilted her head. “And what’s that?”
He met her eyes, expression unreadable but warm. “Impossible to ignore.”
She swallowed, caught between a laugh and a sigh. “So you think we still would’ve found each other?”
Theo was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and thoughtful.
“I think… the war broke a lot of us. But it also stripped away everything that kept us blind. If it hadn’t happened, maybe I never would’ve looked past what I’d been taught — and maybe you’d have never looked twice at a boy like me.”
“That’s not true,” she said quickly. “You’re—”
He reached over, brushing his thumb along her jaw. “Hermione, be honest. You would’ve thought I was another arrogant Slytherin with too much money and too little empathy.”
She smiled sadly. “Perhaps. But I like to think I would’ve seen through it eventually.”
He chuckled softly. “You would’ve bullied me into self-reflection within a week.”
“Exactly.”
They both laughed quietly, the kind of laughter that came from shared understanding. The rain outside grew steadier, tapping against the glass in a steady rhythm.
After a moment, Theo’s tone turned softer still. “Maybe it doesn’t matter how we found each other. The world burned down, and somehow, here we are — two people who shouldn’t have had any reason to meet, and yet…”
Hermione finished the thought. “And yet we’re lying in bed, planning our friends’ wedding, talking about what could have been.”
He nodded, eyes searching hers. “Maybe that’s proof enough that fate’s got a twisted sense of humor.”
Hermione smiled, leaning over to kiss him lightly. “Maybe it’s proof we were supposed to find each other, no matter the path.”
Theo didn’t answer right away. He just pulled her close, resting his chin on her head. “If that’s true,” he whispered, “then I’d still find you — war or no war, Gryffindor or Slytherin, whatever world we ended up in.”
Her chest tightened. “You mean that?”
He kissed the top of her hair. “Every word.”
They lay there in silence after that, the kind that didn’t need filling. The candles guttered low, the rain softened to a drizzle, and Hermione listened to his heartbeat against her ear — slow, steady, real.
Notes:
Things are going so smoothly for them lately.... anyone else feel a wrench coming soon?
Chapter 38: Italian Fairytale
Notes:
The long anticipated wedding in Italy has arrived.
Sorry in advance this is obscenely long, but there were too many good moments to cut any out.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The morning sunlight poured through the open balcony doors of Pansy’s villa suite, painting the marble floor in ribbons of gold. Outside, the Tuscan hills rolled endlessly — vineyards heavy with grapes, a few lazy clouds drifting above them. From the terrace below came the soft sounds of preparation: the rustle of tablecloths, distant laughter, and the clinking of glassware.
Inside, however, the air was a whirlwind of silks, perfume, and nervous excitement.
Pansy Parkinson sat in front of an ornate mirror framed in gold leaf, surrounded by fluttering house-elves armed with brushes, curling irons, and jars of enchanted powder. Her gown — all soft ivory and lace — hung from a stand beside the window, shimmering faintly with a charm that made it catch the light like morning dew.
Hermione sat nearby on a chaise, wearing a light lavender bridesmaid’s dress that complimented her curls perfectly. She was sipping espresso, watching the chaos unfold with an amused smile.
Pansy caught her gaze in the mirror. “Don’t smirk at me, Granger. This is what perfection looks like in progress.”
Hermione laughed. “It looks more like controlled panic.”
“Same thing,” Pansy said airily, as one of the elves began weaving tiny white blossoms into her dark hair.
For a while, they were quiet — Pansy directing her elves with a practiced hand gesture, Hermione helping with jewelry decisions, the morning slipping by like something fragile and fleeting.
Then, softly, Pansy said, “I wish my parents could see this.”
Hermione’s laughter faded. “I know,” she said gently.
Pansy kept her gaze on her reflection. “Not because they deserve it — they don’t. But because for once, I’d like to be proud of what I’ve built without feeling like it’s in defiance of them.”
Hermione set her coffee aside and stood, resting a hand on Pansy’s shoulder. “They may not be here, but look around you. You’re surrounded by people who chose you. That matters more than blood.”
Pansy’s eyes met hers in the mirror — a little glossy, but fierce. “You’re right, of course. Typical.”
Hermione smiled. “Always.”
A few minutes later, when the elves finally stepped back, Pansy was breathtaking. Her hair fell in glossy curls over her shoulders, threaded with flowers and pearls. Her skin glowed; her dark eyes sparkled with barely contained emotion.
“Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue,” Hermione murmured, holding out a small velvet box.
Pansy turned, curious. “You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to.” Hermione opened the box to reveal a delicate blue sapphire hairpin shaped like a crescent moon. “Something blue.”
Pansy’s lips softened. “It’s beautiful.”
She reached to hug her, careful not to smudge her makeup. “Thank you, Hermione.”
Hermione smiled. “Draco sent his gift this morning,” she said, nodding toward a slim silver bracelet laid out beside the vanity. “Something new. I think he’s trying.”
Pansy’s expression flickered with gratitude. “He is. It means more than he knows.”
“And Theo,” Hermione added with a smirk, “insisted on sending something borrowed — one of the Parkinson family pearls, apparently reclaimed by your fiancé from a vault. He said it’s poetic justice.”
Pansy laughed, genuine and bright. “Leave it to Theo to make theft sentimental.”
They both laughed softly, and for a moment, there was peace — just two women who had survived everything and found their way back to joy.
When the elves announced they were finished, Pansy rose and turned to Hermione, her gown flowing around her like liquid silk. She looked every bit the fairytale she’d once scoffed at — radiant, poised, and glowing from within.
“Well?” she asked. “Do I look ready to marry a Zabini?”
Hermione grinned, eyes shining. “You look like the version of yourself you were always meant to be.”
Pansy smirked, dabbing at the corner of her eye. “Careful, Granger. Keep saying things like that, and I’ll start crying before the ceremony.”
Hermione took her hand and squeezed it. “Then let’s go make sure all that makeup was worth it.”
Outside, the villa bells began to ring softly, calling the guests to their seats among the vineyard rows below. Pansy exhaled once, deeply — a queen gathering her courage — and then smiled.
“Showtime,” she whispered.
Long rows of vines rippled in the soft Italian breeze, and somewhere in the distance, a violin played the opening notes of a gentle waltz.
White chairs were arranged in a semicircle between the vines, garlanded with soft green ivy and cream-colored silk ribbons. It was small — barely two dozen people — but it didn’t feel empty. It felt intentional, warm, and full of history. Every face there meant something.
Hermione stood behind the last row of seats, the scent of lavender and ripe grapes swirling around her. Her bridesmaid gown — soft lilac silk with silver embroidery — shimmered faintly in the sun. Her curls were pinned back, a few strands loose by her cheeks.
Beside her stood Theo and Draco, both in perfectly tailored dress robes of black with subtle silver stitching, Zabini’s chosen colors.
Theo looked calm, his usual collected self — though when his eyes met Hermione’s, they softened instantly. Draco, by contrast, was composed but distant, the faintest ghost of strain shadowing his expression.
Hermione took a slow breath. “You both ready?”
Theo smiled faintly. “Are you?”
She exhaled. “As I’ll ever be. Pansy would kill me if I tripped.”
Draco gave a quiet huff of amusement — not quite laughter, but close enough that she noticed. “If you trip, I’ll catch you. The press would have a field day if Blaise’s best man and Pansy’s only bridesmaid caused a scene.”
She shot him a look, but there was a hint of humor in it. “I’d rather not test that theory.”
Theo chuckled. “Then it’s settled. Two groomsmen, one bridesmaid, zero chaos.”
The violin swelled. Somewhere behind them, an elf called softly that it was time. Hermione looped her left arm through Theo’s, her right through Draco’s. For a moment, the symmetry of it made her pause — Gryffindor and Slytherins, two men who could never have stood side by side with her years ago, now steadying her steps down the aisle.
“Ready?” Theo asked quietly.
Hermione nodded. “Let’s do this.”
They walked out together beneath the pergola, the white silk canopy catching the golden light. Heads turned — Blaise standing at the altar looked momentarily taken aback by the unexpected grace of the trio’s entrance.
Pansy, radiant at the far side ready to enter in her ivory gown, visibly brightened when she saw them.
The crowd was small but filled with faces from every piece of their shared history:
- Narcissa Malfoy, regal and calm, seated beside Blaise’s elegant mother, both women beaming with quiet pride.
- Ginny and Harry, hand in hand, whispering something that made Luna giggle.
- Astoria’s younger sister Daphne, sitting near the front, her expression wistful but full of warmth.
- A handful of Slytherins — familiar faces from school — their old housemates who had survived the war and learned, slowly, to rebuild.
They reached the altar without mishap, Hermione’s heart pounding with emotion rather than nerves. Theo gave her arm a light squeeze before letting go to stand on Blaise’s left. Draco followed on his right, his face a mask of practiced composure.
Hermione took her place just behind where Pansy would stand, catching the bride’s eye as she started down the aisle with a reassuring smile. Pansy’s lips trembled slightly, and Hermione realized she wasn’t far from tears.
The ceremony itself was simple — just as Blaise and Pansy had wanted.
The officiant, an older Italian wizard with kind eyes, spoke of love as partnership, of friendship as the foundation of lasting bonds. As he spoke, Hermione’s gaze drifted over the gathered faces — her friends, her found family. She thought of how much they had all lost, and how hard they had fought to make moments like this possible.
When Blaise took Pansy’s hands, his voice was steady. “We’ve both spent our lives pretending we didn’t need anyone,” he said softly, his accent rich and smooth. “You made me realize that needing someone isn’t weakness. It’s the bravest thing I’ve ever done.”
Pansy laughed through a tear. “You always say things like that just to make everyone else cry.”
“I’m only trying to match you,” Blaise replied.
A soft ripple of laughter went through the guests, gentle and genuine.
Theo smiled faintly, watching his oldest friend with a look of pride. Hermione caught the way his thumb brushed absently at the edge of the ring he wore — the subtle gesture of someone reflecting on the weight of promises.
When it was Pansy’s turn, her words wavered slightly, but her eyes never left Blaise’s.
“I used to think I’d have to be perfect to deserve happiness,” she said. “But you showed me that love isn’t earned — it’s given. And that sometimes, being loved for who you are makes you stronger than pretending to be perfect ever could.”
Even Draco blinked a little too fast at that.
The officiant smiled, murmured the final blessing, and with a wave of his wand, silver light spiraled up from their joined hands, wrapping them in a faint, glowing thread.
“You may kiss,” he said softly.
And Blaise did — a gentle, deliberate kiss that drew cheers and applause from the little crowd.
As the newlyweds turned toward their friends and family, Pansy caught Hermione’s gaze again — and in that single look, there was a world of gratitude.
Theo stepped beside Hermione, their shoulders brushing. “She looks happy,” he murmured.
“She is,” Hermione said, her eyes glistening. “Really, truly happy.”
Draco, standing on her other side, gave a small nod — the kind that carried more meaning than words.
Together, they watched as Blaise and Pansy walked down the aisle to a shower of floating petals and enchanted bubbles, the air filled with soft music and the scent of fall wine.
When the couple disappeared into the golden light beyond the vines, Hermione exhaled a slow, full breath.
Theo reached for her hand, his fingers finding hers naturally. Draco noticed, said nothing, but his lips curved ever so slightly — not in mockery, but something closer to quiet approval laced with a bit of jelousy.
For a moment, the three of them stood there, watching the sunlight filter through the vineyard, each of them lost in thought about love, friendship, and how far they had all come.
The war had taken much. But here, in the Tuscan warmth, surrounded by laughter and vows, it felt like something beautiful had finally grown in its place.
By sunset the hills had turned the color of warm honey, and the vineyard glowed as if the whole valley were holding its breath. Rows of lanterns floated above the long banquet table, their light reflecting in glasses of deep red wine. The air smelled of rosemary, roasted garlic, and blooming jasmine that climbed the pergola overhead.
Soft music drifted from a quartet near the terrace. Guests wandered between the vines and the stone patio, laughter mixing with the hum of cicadas. It was beautiful in that rare, human way—unhurried, imperfect, alive.
Hermione stood beside Theo near the edge of the terrace, watching Pansy and Blaise begin their first dance. They looked utterly content, moving slowly beneath a canopy of fairy lights. For a moment, the world felt whole.
Luna appeared at Hermione’s elbow, barefoot and smiling dreamily.
“You know,” she murmured, eyes following the dance, “it was rather poetic that you were walked down the aisle by both Theo and Draco. Two threads tied around the same heart.”
Hermione puzzled. “Two threads?”
Luna nodded serenely. “Your hearts have all been tangled together since the war. It isn’t bad—tangles make nets, and nets keep people from drifting away.”
Before Hermione could answer, Luna drifted off to twirl near the dance floor, leaving her a little speechless and faintly pink-cheeked. Theo, overhearing just enough, squeezed her hand and whispered, amused,
“She may be stranger than prophecy, but she’s not wrong.”
Hermione smiled, leaning lightly against him. “No… she isn’t.”
When dinner began, everyone took their places at the long table. Between the rows of crystal and silver sat plates of fresh pasta, charmed to stay warm. Conversation hummed easily: Ginny teasing Harry about his sunburn that seemed to still not fade from their honeymoon, Narcissa complimenting Blaise’s mother on the wine, Draco speaking quietly to Blaise.
Then Theo rose from his chair, glass in hand. The table gradually fell silent. He looked slightly flushed from the wine, but his voice was clear and warm.
“Most of you know I hate public speaking, which makes it perfectly cruel that Blaise asked me to do this. But—here we are.”
“Blaise and I grew up learning how to act like heirs before we learned how to be people. Then Pansy came along and ruined both of us—in the best way possible. She taught Blaise that caring isn’t a weakness, and she taught the rest of us that friendship can be sharper and kinder at the same time.”
He glanced at the couple; Pansy dabbed her eyes dramatically.
“I’ve known Blaise through arrogance, mischief, heartbreak, and triumph, and I’ve never seen him more himself than when he looks at you, Pans. You balance him. You make him laugh at his own jokes, which is a miracle.”
Laughter rippled through the table. Theo’s tone softened.
“The war took too much from all of us. But somehow, we’ve built something gentler from what’s left—family that wasn’t given by blood, but chosen by love. So tonight, here’s to rebuilding, to forgiving, to wine that never runs out, and to a marriage that will last through every season.”
He lifted his glass. “To Blaise and Pansy.”
The crowd echoed it softly—“To Blaise and Pansy!”—and the clinking of crystal filled the air.
Pansy rose to hug him, mock-scolding, “You sentimental fool.”
He whispered back, “You started it.”
Later, as dessert was served—tiny tiramisu and sugared figs—Narcissa Malfoy crossed gracefully to where Hermione was standing near the balcony rail.
“Miss Granger,” she said, voice smooth as silk. “Or should I say Master Granger-to-be?”
Hermione smiled politely. “Either is fine, Mrs Malfoy. It’s lovely to see you here.”
Narcissa’s pale eyes softened. “You’ve always surprised me. You keep showing up in places I never expected you to be, and somehow making them better.”
Hermione hesitated, uncertain how to answer. “That’s… kind of you to say.”
“It’s honest,” Narcissa said simply. “Astoria admired you, you know. Quietly. She once told me that you made her believe redemption was possible.”
Emotion tightened Hermione’s throat. “Thank you. I—I didn’t know.”
Narcissa gave a small nod and moved back toward her seat, leaving Hermione touched and a little overwhelmed.
Across the room Draco had been watching, jaw tight. When his mother returned, he avoided Hermione’s eyes —speaking with a stiffness that made her ache for him.
As the night deepened, music floated once more over the vines. Near the back of the terrace, Harry and Draco stood apart from the crowd, glasses of brandy in hand.
“You really think you should take it?” Draco asked quietly.
“The Black seat?” Harry’s voice was low. “Sirius left it for a reason. Someone has to keep that legacy from fading into dust—or worse.”
Draco stared into his drink. “You’d have every right to refuse.”
“I won’t,” Harry said simply. “The Wizengamot needs someone who understands both sides. Sirius wanted change. I’ll try to honor that.”
Draco’s mouth twitched—the closest thing to approval he could manage. “Then maybe I’ll actually look forward to a vote.”
They clinked glasses, awkward but sincere. Across the terrace Hermione noticed and allowed herself a quiet smile.
A new song began—slow, lilting, threaded with violins. Fairy lights shimmered in the olive branches overhead. Theo found Hermione where she stood watching Pansy and Blaise dance.
He held out a hand. “Dance with me?”
She hesitated only a heartbeat before placing her hand in his. He drew her close, one arm around her waist, their movements slow and unhurried.
“You know,” she whispered, “you’re really quite good at this.”
“Decades of pure-blood etiquette lessons finally paying off,” he murmured against her hair.
She laughed softly, head resting on his chest. Around them, conversation dimmed; the world seemed to shrink to the circle of their arms, the scent of wine and jasmine, the sound of his heartbeat.
When the music ended, Theo kept holding her. She tilted her face up, and for once he didn’t hesitate. He kissed her—gently, reverently, the way one does something inevitable. It wasn’t showy or dramatic, just true.
For a moment, even the air seemed to still. Then somewhere near the table Luna sighed contentedly. “Ah. The tangle tightens nicely.”
Laughter rippled again, but Hermione barely heard it. Theo’s forehead rested against hers, both of them smiling like people who finally understood where they belonged.
The night had turned soft and golden, the fairy lights swaying overhead like slow-moving stars. Music drifted through the air, laughter mingled with the scent of grapes and candle smoke. Hermione felt warm from both the wine and the contentment of seeing her friends happy — Pansy radiant in Blaise’s arms, Theo laughing at something Luna had just said, Ginny dragging Harry to the dance floor.
She was halfway through a sip of her drink when she heard it — a sharp, muffled sound that didn’t belong to the rhythm of joy around her. A voice breaking. A woman’s voice.
No one else seemed to notice. The laughter swallowed it whole.
Hermione turned her head toward the far end of the terrace, where the light dimmed into the shadow of the stone colonnade. There, half hidden, stood Daphne Greengrass — Astoria’s sister — her pale green gown trembling around her knees as she pointed an accusing finger at Draco Malfoy.
Hermione froze.
Daphne’s voice came again, low but shaking. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t get to stand under lights and drink wine while she’s dead.”
Draco stood opposite her, rigid, face white as parchment. His glass had fallen to the ground unnoticed, red wine pooling like blood on the stone.
“Daphne—” he began, voice quiet, imploring.
But she was past hearing. Tears streaked down her face. “You killed her! You and your name and your cursed house! You did this to her, Draco—don’t you dare pretend you didn’t!”
A few nearby guests turned, but the music swallowed the words. Hermione, heart pounding, slipped from her seat and crossed the space quickly, placing herself between them.
“Daphne,” she said gently, “please. This isn’t the time or the place.”
Daphne’s eyes flashed — grief and rage and exhaustion tangled into something unrecognizable. “You defend him now? After what he’s done?”
Hermione’s voice stayed steady. “I’m not defending anyone. But right now, you’re hurting, and so is he. Let’s not make it worse.”
Daphne looked at Draco one last time — his stillness, his blank eyes — and then turned sharply on her heel. Her green skirts disappeared into the vineyard’s darkness.
Silence hung for a beat. Hermione let out a slow breath.
Draco still hadn’t moved. The set of his shoulders looked wrong — too tight, too burdened. He bent to pick up the broken glass, but his hand was shaking.
“Leave it,” Hermione said softly. “You’ll cut yourself.”
He didn’t argue. He just stared at the red stain on the stone as if it were something that could swallow him whole.
“Come on,” she murmured, touching his arm. “Let’s walk.”
He followed her wordlessly away from the music and lights, down a narrow path that wound between rows of grapevines. The air was cooler here, the hum of insects loud under the quiet ache of night. They stopped at a small stone wall overlooking the valley, the sky deep violet overhead.
Draco leaned on the wall, head bowed, breath coming in uneven pulls. “I didn’t expect her to be here,” he said finally, voice rough. “I thought… maybe she wouldn’t come.”
Hermione folded her hands together, waiting.
He gave a hollow laugh. “She’s right, though. I did kill her, in a way. Astoria. If I hadn’t—”
“Stop.” Hermione’s voice was gentle but firm. “You didn’t kill her.”
He looked up at her then — and she saw it, the grief that had never found a voice. The sharp guilt carved into every line of his face.
“She died because of me,” he said. “She was already weak — the blood curse ran in her family, but we didn’t know how bad it was until—” He broke off, swallowing hard. “Until she was pregnant.”
Hermione’s chest ached. “Draco, it was a curse, not your fault.”
He shook his head. “We weren’t supposed to be married for love, but I thought… I thought I could at least keep her safe. That’s what I told myself. The Malfoy heir marrying a Greengrass would stabilize things. And then she… she wanted a child. Or maybe she thought she had to have one. The contract required—”
His voice faltered. “We slept together only once. Just once. I didn’t love her. I… think she knew.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “Draco…”
He ran a hand over his face. “When she told me she was pregnant, she was so happy. I should have said no. Should have stopped it, should have—”
He broke off, breath catching. “She got sick so fast. The healers said the curse in her blood couldn’t handle it. The baby was too weak. And by the time they tried to save her—”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.
Hermione reached out, laying a steady hand on his arm. “You didn’t cause that, Draco. You didn’t choose it. The curse did. The war did. The systems that trapped both of you in that marriage did. But you didn’t.”
He laughed, quiet and bitter. “You always find a way to absolve people, don’t you, Granger?”
“Not absolve,” she said. “Understand. There’s a difference.”
He looked at her then — really looked — and for a moment he didn’t seem like the arrogant boy she remembered or the cold widower everyone whispered about. He just looked lost.
“I lost them both in one night,” he said softly. “And I didn’t even know how to mourn them. There was no one left to tell me how.”
Hermione squeezed his arm. “Then mourn them now. It’s not too late.”
For a long time, he didn’t speak. The vineyard wind whispered through the vines; somewhere far off, laughter rose again from the reception, faint and unreal.
Finally, Draco said, “Do you know the only thing that gives me any peace? My father rotting in Azkaban. He’d have called Astoria’s death a price worth paying for purity. He’d have told me to marry again for legacy. Sometimes I’m glad I’ll never hear his voice again.”
Hermione swallowed hard. “That doesn’t make you cruel, Draco. It makes you real.”
He nodded faintly, eyes distant. Then, after a long pause, he said, “I owe you something.”
She startled. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I do.” He drew a slow breath. “For everything. For the way I treated you at Hogwarts, for the things I said… for standing on the wrong side of the war. For letting people suffer while I did nothing. I was a coward.”
Hermione shook her head. “You were a child. We all were.”
“That’s not an excuse,” he said quietly. “But thank you for saying it anyway.”
They stood there in the quiet for a long while, the night around them heavy and soft. The vines swayed in the wind, and the moon rose pale over the Tuscan hills.
When Draco finally turned back toward the lights of the reception, his shoulders seemed a little lighter — not unburdened, but no longer collapsing beneath the weight.
Hermione followed him partway up the path. Before they stepped back into the glow of the fairy lights, she touched his sleeve.
“For what it’s worth,” she said softly, “Astoria knew you didn’t love her, but she still believed in your redemption.”
Draco looked at her, eyes bright in the lantern light. “I’ll try to keep that path,” he said.
Then he straightened his shoulders, smoothed his cuffs, and walked back toward the laughter and music. Hermione lingered for a moment longer, the cool air brushing against her face, before she followed — quietly, solemnly, back into the light.
The reception had mellowed into that soft, late hour when laughter turns low and the music slows to something wistful. Lanterns glowed like suspended fireflies above the terrace. Hermione had just stepped out from the shadows of the garden, her thoughts still quiet after speaking with Draco, when a familiar voice called her name.
“Oi, Hermione—dance with me before Ginny hexes me for sitting too long.”
Harry was grinning, jacket undone, tie askew, his glasses slightly crooked. He looked—Hermione thought fondly—exactly the same and yet entirely grown.
She laughed. “You’ve been hiding at the dessert table.”
“Strategic retreat,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the dance floor. “Also, the tiramisu’s excellent.”
The band shifted into a slow, lilting tune. They began to move easily together—no formal steps, just a comfortable sway built on years of friendship and near-disasters survived side by side.
“It’s good to see you smiling again so often,” Harry said softly.
Hermione met his eyes. “I could say the same.”
He shrugged, glancing toward where Ginny was laughing with Luna near the wine table. “Married life’s… surprisingly good. We’re making Grimmauld Place feel like a home instead of a curse.”
She smiled. “I’m glad. You both deserve that peace.”
Harry tilted his head, studying her. “And you? How’s life at the manor?”
Hermione’s cheeks warmed a little. “Quiet. Productive. Complicated.”
He grinned. “Complicated sounds like code for ‘Nott.’”
“Maybe.” She laughed, eyes soft. “It’s strange, Harry. After everything, I never imagined I’d end up finding comfort in someone who once stood so far on the other side.”
Harry nodded thoughtfully. “The war scrambled a lot of things. But Theo’s different. He looks at you like you rebuilt the world with your bare hands.”
Hermione blinked, touched. “You noticed that?”
“Hard not to,” he said simply. “You make each other calmer. I like that for you.”
They turned slowly under the strings of light. Hermione rested her chin lightly on his shoulder, a rush of nostalgia catching her. For a heartbeat, it felt like the Yule Ball, like the Gryffindor common room, like home.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “For always knowing how to say exactly what I need to hear.”
Harry smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Old habits die hard.”
When the song ended, he kissed her cheek. “Go find him. He’s been watching you from the edge of the dance floor this entire time.”
Hermione turned—and sure enough, there was Theo, standing just beyond the circle of light, his hands in his pockets, eyes warm and unreadable.
She smiled at Harry one last time. “Don’t let Ginny catch you sneaking more dessert.”
He laughed. “Too late.”
And as she crossed the terrace toward Theo, the music carried them both forward into the next quiet moment of their story.
Beyond the terrace, the vines swayed in the night breeze, and the stars began to come out—bright, patient witnesses to everything they’d all survived to reach this quiet joy.
Notes:
I thrive on feedback and comments.
Let me know what you thought of the wedding please!
Chapter 39: Living in The Moment
Notes:
A peaceful interlude form all the summer gatherings... before the world tilts on them.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first cool winds found the orchard at Nott Manor before the calendar said they should. Leaves turned the color of tea and honey at the edges, and the mornings began with sweaters and steam.
They fell into a rhythm that didn’t feel like trying—just being.
Midweek evenings were for crosswords and quiet. Theo sprawled along the sofa with her feet in his lap, skimming a healer’s handbook with a pencil stuck behind his ear. Hermione annotated a parchment on reversible charm sequences until ink dotted her fingers.
“Five-letter plant,” he asked without looking up. “Soothing properties. Professor Sprout’s favorite.”
“Fennel,” she said, then added, “or Neville.”
Theo smiled down at the page. “I’ll put ‘Nevil.’ Close enough.”
She laughed, let her head drop to the cushion, and looked at him the way one looks at something safe.
A Thursday night rain kept them in. Wind rattled the panes and turned the orchard to watercolor. They played wizarding chess on the rug and bickered cheerfully over soup spices, Hermione insisting on more garlic, Theo arguing for restraint. The elves hovered, scandalized that anyone would salt in the pot.
When the storm broke, the house felt washed. Hermione stood barefoot at the open door, breathing petrichor and apple leaves. Theo came up behind her and slipped a cardigan over her shoulders without a word—his, too big, smelling faintly of tea and clean parchment. She tugged it tighter and reached back to catch his hand.
Letters arrived like small weather systems: Pansy sent a cream-thick card from the Amalfi coast with a lipstick print and a grievance about sun in her eyes (“Blaise is obscenely happy; send sunglasses”). Ginny owled a schedule for her first full league matches, marginalia full of exclamation points; Harry scrawled a line beneath—paperwork’s moving, Black seat nearly there—wish Sirius could see this. Draco sent nothing, but Narcissa sent a note on crisp vellum: Thank you for your kindness in Italy. The garden has more light than it used to.
Hermione showed Theo the last one over tea. He read it twice, then folded it carefully along the crease. “Light’s stubborn,” he said. “It finds a way.”
On a Saturday they tackled the library. They spent hours on ladders—Hermione in socks, Theo insisting on steadying the ladder even when she didn’t need it. They made piles: Keep, Restore, Donate. She ran wand-tips along frayed spines and breathed life back into tired bindings; he mended shelves and put a small warming charm in the window seats.
“Future thesis-writing perch,” he declared, testing the cushion with one hand. “Granger containment strategy.”
She arched an eyebrow. “I am gloriously uncontainable.”
“Then it’s a truce seat,” he amended. “For when we argue about the use of too much garlic.”
She kissed him for that, laughing against his mouth.
Small kindnesses wove the days together. A cup of tea cooling beside the bath she never had time to draw; a note tucked in his healer satchel (You can do difficult things); an umbrella charm on the front steps; a miniature fox patronus sent mid-lunch to chase her otter around the Cornwall terrace until she snorted into her sandwich and an apprentice asked, astonished, “Was that—playful?”
“Yes,” she said simply, “it was.”
That night, she showed Theo the bracelet he’d given her—tiny patronus charms glinting in lamplight—and added a charm of a quill he’d fashioned (awkwardly, adorably) out of transfigured wire. “For today,” he said, suddenly shy. “You wrote something that moved your Master to silence. That’s… no small thing.”
She blinked fast. “You listen too well.”
“I like your voice,” he said, as if explaining a fact.
On the last Sunday of September, they walked the orchard rows with mugs of apple tea. Hermione explained a theory about layered intent in restorative charms and how it changed the way damaged structures accepted magic. Theo told her about a teenage patient who wouldn’t stop making jokes through pain, and how laughter sometimes hurt and helped at once.
They stopped beneath a tree with a low branch that liked to snag her braid. Theo gently freed the curl and looped it behind her ear. “You collect the world,” he said, looking a little in awe. “And then you sort it into meaning.”
“You mend people,” she replied. “And call it a job.”
They kissed there, under the branch that always caught her, both of them smiling into it.
October knocked with cooler evenings and a sharper sky. Theo’s shifts stretched later; Hermione’s projects grew trickier. They missed each other in small ways—a lukewarm dinner, a nearly-collided hallway, a dozed-off sofa with a book tented over a face. But the misses only made the catches sweeter.
One late night, she returned to find him asleep at his desk, still in hospital greens, fingers ink-stained from a half-finished note. She covered him with a blanket charm and pressed a kiss to his hair; he woke to it, bleary and soft.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice warm with sleep. “You’re home.”
“Mm,” she said, nuzzling at his temple. “Show me the thing you were writing.”
He handed it without protest: why patients lie (and why it’s sometimes mercy)—his neat, careful thoughts in the margins. She read it there with him, lamp haloing the quiet. “You’re good,” she whispered when she finished. “At the work and at the words.”
“So are you,” he said, and it felt less like praise than a shared truth.
On a crisp Tuesday, Hermione came back giddy—Master Thorne had invited her to co-author a paper on restorative ethics and residual intent. Theo spun her once in the entry hall, ridiculous and unreserved, both of them laughing so hard the elves politely looked away.
“Co-author,” he said, setting her down but not letting go. “How does it feel?”
“Like breathing deeper,” she confessed.
“Keep breathing,” he said. “I’ll keep the tea warm.”
They learned each other’s silences. When Hermione traced the same sentence too many times, he took her walking. When Theo came home quiet-eyed, she put a record on—muggle jazz—and let the notes loosen the air. Some nights they said nothing at all, bodies a soft line on the sofa, her toes tucked under his calf, his pulse steady under her ear. Silence grew friendly. It stayed.
They made a habit of market mornings in early October—Cotswold bread, soft cheeses, a too-heavy bouquet Hermione insisted she could carry (“I’m strong”) and Theo inevitably shouldered (“Yes, but I’m taller”).
On the walk back, she recited lines from the first book she loved after the war—a slim volume about rebuilding cities—and he recounted a frustrated Healer’s lecture with perfect, affectionate mimicry. She laughed so loud a spaniel started barking three stalls away, and he bowed to his audience.
News trickled in like a tide: Harry’s parchment arrived with a seal—Black seat confirmed—and three words beneath: for Sirius, always. Hermione read it at the window; Theo stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, chin on her shoulder.
“Good,” he said. “Right.”
She nodded into his cheek. “Light’s stubborn,” she echoed, and felt him smile.
One evening, the bracelet clinked softly as she stacked books. She paused, thumb on the empty link. “Do you think we’ll add it?” she asked quietly. “Someday?”
Theo followed her gaze. “If he wants to learn,” he said. “If he can.”
“And if he never does?” she asked.
“Then we leave the space,” Theo said, simple as breath. “Not everything has to be finished to be loved.”
She swallowed, nodded, and kissed him—grateful for the way he could make peace sound like something practical.
They let themselves be seen. A Saturday lunch in Diagon Alley where Theo’s hand stayed at the small of her back and no one whispered loud enough to matter. A Sunday match where they cheered Ginny until they were hoarse. A Thursday evening at Grimmauld where Harry burned the roast and no one cared, because family is noisy and imperfect and fine.
On the way home that night, Hermione leaned against Theo’s shoulder in the carriage, London a blur of lamps beyond the glass. “This feels… easy,” she said, surprised.
“It’s work,” he replied softly. “But the kind worth doing.”
She laced their fingers together. “Then let’s keep doing it.”
“Gladly,” he said, as if she’d offered him the world.
On the first truly cold night of October, they curled beneath a blanket on the library window seat Theo had charmed warm. The orchard beyond was black and silver, breath fogging the glass. Hermione read a paragraph aloud and paused, thinking.
“Do you remember,” she asked, “when we used to think peace would feel like fireworks?”
Theo hummed, tugging the blanket higher. “It’s quieter,” he said. “More like a room you finally recognize in the dark.”
She smiled into his shoulder. “Exactly.”
The clock in the hall chimed the hour. He kissed her hair without ceremony. The house held them with its gentle old bones. Outside, a leaf loosed itself and fell. Inside, two cups of tea cooled, and no one minded.
Routine, at last, didn’t mean small. It meant theirs.
Notes:
A BIG story shift is about to hit soon.
Chapter 40: The Letter That Tilts the World
Notes:
Things are about to get very interesting dear readers.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Nothing peaceful ever lasts though, and on a Mid-October Sunday, a rapping of an owl at the window ruined the calm that was Nott manor. Theo opened the window and the owl dropped the letter on the breakfast table.
Hermione snatched it up first, her eyes narrowing at the address: "To All Magical Citizens of Age." She broke the seal with a flick of her wand, unfolding the parchment. As she scanned the contents, her face paled, her pacing halting abruptly.
"What is it?" Theo asked, wiping syrup from his chin. "Another tax on Floo powder?"
Hermione didn't answer immediately. Instead, she cleared her throat and began reading aloud, her voice steady at first but growing tighter with each line. The letter was formal, scripted in elegant, looping cursive, with the Ministry's eagle emblem at the top.
Ministry of Magic Office of the Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister
Decree for the Preservation and Restoration of Magical Bloodlines Effective Immediately
To All Magical Citizens of the United Kingdom,
In the wake of the devastating Second Wizarding War, our community has suffered unprecedented losses. The population of witches and wizards has plummeted to critical levels, threatening the very fabric of our magical society. Pure-blood lines teeter on the brink of extinction, and even among mixed-blood families, the birth rate has fallen alarmingly low due to the traumas of conflict, displacement, and loss. To ensure the survival and strength of future generations, the Ministry of Magic, under my authority as Minister, hereby enacts the following Marriage and Procreation Law. This decree is not taken lightly but is essential for the rebuilding of our world.
Article 1: Mandatory Marriage for Eligible Citizens All magical individuals aged 18 to 45, regardless of blood status, gender, or prior marital history, must enter into a legally binding marriage. This mandate addresses the population slump directly resulting from wartime casualties and aims to foster the birth of strong, magically potent offspring to replenish our numbers.
Article 2: Obligations for Existing Marriages Couples who are already married as of the date of this decree must produce at least two children within the next five years if they do not already have them. This requirement ensures the continuation of family lines and the growth of our community. Failure to meet this obligation, despite compliance with all other aspects of the law, will be addressed through Ministry-provided medical assistance (see Article 6).
Article 3: Petition Process for Self-Selected Partners Those not currently married have one month from the date of this decree to petition the Ministry for approval of a partner of their own choosing. Petitions must be submitted in person at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Marriage Division, accompanied by a vial of blood from each petitioner. The Ministry will employ an ancient Compatibility Blood Spell, derived from verified Arithmantic and Potions-based rituals, to determine if the proposed couple is magically compatible. Compatibility is defined as a sufficient alignment of magical cores to produce offspring with robust magical abilities, minimizing the risk of Squib births or weakened lineages.
If the petition is approved:
- The couple must begin cohabiting immediately upon approval.
- They have three months from the date of approval to solemnize the marriage in a Ministry-recognized ceremony.
- From the date of the wedding, the couple has one month to consummate the marriage, as verified by a simple Ministry-issued monitoring charm (non-invasive and temporary).
- The couple must achieve pregnancy with their first child no later than 12 months after the wedding date.
- A second child must be conceived by the fifth anniversary of the marriage.
Article 4: Ministry-Matched Pairings for Unpartnered Individuals For those without a self-selected partner to petition with, or whose petitions are denied due to incompatibility, the Ministry will utilize the same Compatibility Blood Spell to match single individuals. All eligible citizens must submit a blood sample to the Ministry for inclusion in the matching database. Matches will be assigned based on optimal magical alignment, prioritizing the production of strong magical children.
For Ministry-assigned matches:
- The matched individuals have one month from the date of the match notification to move in together and establish a shared residence.
- They have three months from the match date to marry in a Ministry-recognized ceremony.
- From the date of the wedding, the couple has one month to consummate the marriage, as verified by the aforementioned monitoring charm.
- The couple must achieve pregnancy with their first child no later than 12 months after the wedding date.
- A second child must be conceived by the fifth anniversary of the marriage.
Article 5: Provisions for Same-Sex Couples and Adoption Same-sex couples, whether self-selected or Ministry-matched, are fully recognized under this decree. In lieu of biological procreation, such couples will be prioritized for the adoption of war orphans from magical families. Adopted children must number at least two within the five-year period, and the couple will be subject to the same cohabitation, marriage, and adoption timelines as outlined above. Ministry assistance will be provided to facilitate adoptions, ensuring the orphans are placed in compatible, nurturing environments.
Article 6: Medical Assistance for Conception For all couples—whether existing, self-selected, or Ministry-matched—who comply with the decree but encounter difficulties in conceiving, comprehensive medical help will be available at no cost through St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. This includes fertility potions, spells, and consultations with Healers specializing in reproductive magic. The Ministry is committed to supporting every effort to fulfill the procreation requirements.
Article 7: Provisions for Widowhood or Partner Loss In the unfortunate event that a partner's death occurs before the production of two children, the surviving spouse will be granted a two-month mourning period. Following this, they will be rematched via the Ministry's Compatibility Blood Spell with a new partner, and the timelines for cohabitation, marriage, consummation, and procreation will reset from the date of the new match. This ensures no individual is left without the opportunity to contribute to our society's restoration.
Article 8: Penalties for Non-Compliance Failure to comply with any aspect of this decree—including but not limited to submitting blood samples, petitioning on time, cohabiting, marrying, consummating, or meeting procreation deadlines—will result in severe consequences. Offenders may face imprisonment in Azkaban for a term not less than ten years, or, in cases of repeated or egregious violation, the snapping of their wand and permanent removal from the magical world, including Obliviation and exile to the Muggle realm. The Ministry urges all citizens to view this law not as a burden, but as a collective duty to heal and strengthen our community.
For inquiries or to schedule petition appointments, contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Marriage Division, via owl or Floo Network. Blood sample submission stations will be available at all major wizarding hubs, including Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade.
In service to the greater good,
Kingsley Shacklebolt Minister for Magic
Notes:
Well, thanks Kingsley =P
Chapter 41: A Deep Think
Chapter Text
The parchment lay between them on the breakfast table, edges curling in the heat from the teapot. Neither had spoken since the seal cracked. The words—cold, bureaucratic, absolute—hung in the air heavier than any curse.
Theo was the first to move. He pushed a hand through his hair, the motion rough.
“Merlin’s sake, they’ve lost their minds.” His voice was low, somewhere between disbelief and anger. “This isn’t rebuilding—this is ownership.”
Hermione still hadn’t looked up. Her eyes were fixed on the black ink that spelled out what so many lives now owed. “They’re legislating people like resources,” she whispered. “I fought a war for a world that would never do this.”
Theo reached for her hand on instinct, then hesitated halfway. She flinched as if struck, pushing her chair back. “Don’t.” Her voice trembled but didn’t break. “Please, Theo, not right now. I just— I can’t think clearly yet, and if I say something now, I might… regret it.”
For a long moment the only sound was the faint ticking of the kitchen clock.
Theo nodded slowly, the muscles in his jaw tight. “Then think. As long as you need. I’m not going anywhere. This is a surprise to me too. I’m not sure what to think either. Maybe we both need to think… apart first before we talk.”
Hermione swallowed nodding, eyes bright. “I know. That’s what makes it harder.”
She turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind her. The parchment still sat on the table, the Minister’s elegant signature shining like a threat.
Theo stared at it, then at the empty chair she’d left, and whispered, “So much for peace.”
Hermione stumbled out of the Floo into the kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, coughing on soot and barely contained fury. Her usually neat curls were a frazzled halo around her head; her cardigan was half buttoned wrong, thrown on to come here quickly. The fire behind her sputtered as though it, too, disapproved of the Ministry’s latest insanity.
The kitchen was quiet—Harry and Ginny’s coats were hanging by the door, a teapot humming lazily on the stove. The house was calmer now than it had ever been under the Order. Yet today, Hermione felt the same tightness in her chest she’d known during the war: the sense that something irreversibly wrong had just been set in motion.
Ginny padded in from the hallway, barefoot, her hair loose from its plait. “Hermione?” she asked softly. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a Dementor.”
Clearly, Potter’s had not read their mail yet today. Lovely she thought, I have to tell them myself.
Hermione thrust the parchment at her wordlessly. The Ministry’s seal gleamed like an accusation under the lamplight.
Ginny skimmed the first few lines—then let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a scoff.
“Oh, you’ve got to be joking. They’ve gone full medieval. No, worse—Victorian.”
“I wish they were joking.” Hermione sank into a chair. “Everyone is being sent these letters. It’s everywhere by now.”
Ginny read on, face blanching as her lips moved silently over the words. “They can’t make people— Merlin, they actually can’t— oh, for heaven’s sake!” She slapped the parchment onto the table. “This isn’t governance; it’s reproductive panic with a quill.”
“Precisely,” Hermione said bitterly. “They’ve bureaucratized coercion.”
Ginny sat beside her, mouth tight, knuckles white on the tabletop. “Harry’s on patrol. I’m sending him an owl the second he’s back at the Auror Office. This is madness.”
Hermione shook her head. “It’s signed by Kingsley himself. It’s already law.”
Ginny froze. “Kingsley?”
Hermione’s voice cracked. “Yes. It’s already happened, I don’t think they’ll take it back. They clearly kept it a very hushed secret till roll-out.”
For a few moments, neither spoke. The ticking of the clock filled the silence. Then Hermione sighed and raised her wand.
“Expecto Patronum.”
Her otter swirled out in a shimmer of silver and darted off through the wall. Her voice followed it, low and urgent:
“Pansy. Grimmauld Place. Now, please.”
It was less than ten minutes before the Floo roared again. Pansy stumbled through, a gust of ash following her, looking both furious and impossibly elegant. Her hair was twisted up in a hasty bun that would’ve taken most women an hour to perfect.
“Well,” she declared, brushing soot from her robes, “I see we’ve entered the era of Ministry-sanctioned matchmaking. How positively ancient Greece of them. If it wasn’t so terrible, Id say it was a throwback to ancient trends.”
Ginny snorted despite herself. “You’ve read the letter?”
“Read it? I’ve nearly memorized the damn thing,” Pansy said, pulling a small folded parchment from her bag and flinging it dramatically onto the counter. “Blaise and I received ours over breakfast two hours ago. He nearly hexed the sodding owl. I told him killing the messenger was bad form—though in this case, rather tempting.”
She waved her wand, conjured herself a glass of wine, and sat down hard. “Tell me you have more alcohol. We may need it.”
Ginny flicked her wand at the cupboard; a bottle of red wine floated over. “At this point, I’m considering starting to think we should invest in your husbands vineyards, though maybe since I won’t be able to drink soon that’s needless.”
Hermione gave a strangled laugh. “You’re already planning compliance?”
Ginny sighed, pouring them all generous glasses. “Not compliance. Strategy. Harry and I already planned to have children. This just... changes the timeline. I’m not ready to retire from Quidditch after one season, so we’ll delay. We’ve got five years to have two— I can work with that. But Merlin, what a way to make something sacred feel like filling out tax forms.”
Pansy clinked her glass against Ginny’s. “To reproductive bureaucracy.”
They both drank.
Hermione just stared at her glass. “I can’t believe we fought so hard to free people from blood status tyranny, and now the Ministry’s decided to measure our worth in offspring.”
“That’s the wizarding world for you,” Pansy said dryly. “Trade one set of shackles for another—at least these come with paperwork not hardware.”
Hermione rubbed her temples. “They’re not even hiding it behind euphemism. Compatibility blood spell. Mandatory conception window. I could write a thesis on how horrifyingly unethical this is.”
Ginny smiled faintly. “You probably will.”
Pansy leaned forward, tone sharpening. “Hermione. Tell us how you’re really doing.”
Hermione hesitated. “I’m… angry. And scared. For everyone. But also…” she faltered, glancing at the fire. “Theo and I have been good. We’re slow, but steady. I really like him. Lately, I think—” she swallowed hard “—I think I might love him.”
Ginny smiled softly. “Then maybe this won’t change anything.”
“That’s the thing,” Hermione said, voice breaking. “It does. Because I don’t want it to happen like this. We’re not ready to talk about marriage yet. And now if we do, it’ll sound like it’s because of the law, not because we both want it. We wouldn’t be having that conversation normally for years yet I think. How do you even know what’s real under that kind of pressure?”
Pansy’s expression softened in an unfamiliar way. “Hermione, I get it. Blaise and I were the same. We hadn’t decided about kids yet. It was something we were… circling. And now? Now it’s an order from on high.” She took another sip, her laugh brittle. “Nothing says romance like mandatory procreation deadlines.”
Ginny let out a shaky laugh. “Honestly, if it weren’t so terrifying, it’d almost be funny.”
“Oh, it’s still funny,” Pansy said darkly. “Just in the kind of way that makes you want to hex someone while you laugh.”
Hermione’s shoulders shook with a quiet, exhausted giggle. “I’m fairly certain you just described my emotional state since reading this.”
“See?” Pansy said, triumphant. “You’re already adapting.”
But the humor dissolved quickly, leaving behind the ache beneath.
Ginny leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Look,” she said softly. “ I think you and Theo love each other, even if you haven’t said it yet. You don’t need to make any decisions tonight. Let yourself breathe. Let yourself feel before you react.”
Hermione nodded, eyes glistening. “That’s what I told him—that I needed to think before saying something I might regret. But it feels like the clock started the second the letter arrived.”
Pansy reached over, squeezing her hand. “You’ve always beaten impossible deadlines, darling. This one won’t be different.”
Ginny added gently, “And whatever happens, you’re not alone.”
Hermione looked between them—her chosen family, her war sisters—and something in her chest eased just slightly.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Pansy raised her glass again. “To friendship, rebellion, and not murdering Ministry officials in the next thirty days.”
Ginny clinked hers with a grin. “Yet.”
Hermione laughed—a real one this time, shaky but alive. For a moment, the firelight danced on their faces, softening the fear, the doubt, the impossible choices ahead.
But when the laughter faded, the silence that returned was different. Heavy. Real.
And somewhere deep inside her, Hermione knew that by this time next month, everything would change again.
Not ready to face Theo, upon leaving, she went alone to a special place to think more. The park looked almost the same as it had when she was a child—smaller now from growing taller, of course, but still ringed by the same line of poplar trees that whispered in the wind like they remembered everything. Hermione stood just inside the gate, hands shoved deep into her coat pockets, breathing in the damp, loamy smell of autumn. The air had that crisp edge that promised rain, and for the first time in days, she felt something like quiet.
Her boots crunched over the gravel path. She passed the old duck pond, half-choked with reeds, and the bench where her father used to sit with a book while her mother pointed out constellations on summer nights. She remembered her small fingers sticky with melted ice cream, the sound of laughter that used to fill this place. Back when her world had been simple—safe—before magic, before war, before impossible laws written in black ink and sealed with cheap red ministry wax.
It felt strange, coming here again. The park had always been her anchor till she went to Hogwarts, her earliest memory of belonging somewhere utterly mundane, wonderfully ordinary. Now it felt like walking through a photograph of someone else’s life.
Her mind circled, as it had all day, around that letter.
Around what it meant.
The words were so clear in her memory she could see them even now, etched behind her eyelids like a scar: All magical persons between the ages of eighteen and forty-five must be married within one month...
A population decree.
A mandate to fall in love on command.
To build families like policy, not choice.
Hermione sank onto a cold metal bench, pulling her coat tighter around her. She’d fought so hard for freedom—spent years believing the worst had already been survived. That their generation had earned the right to choose who they loved, and when, and how.
Now, the Ministry had taken that too.
And worse still, they’d done it under the guise of rebuilding.
She tilted her head back, watching the pale sky fade into bruised purples and golds. Somewhere, she imagined Theo sitting in his study, hands tangled in his hair, thinking of her. She could picture him so vividly—his restlessness, his quiet thoughtfulness, his steady, unwavering eyes.
He’d offer to marry her she suspected, unless she’d been completely misreading their connection the last few months. Not in words, but in the instinctive way he’d reached for her hand after reading the decree. The way his mouth had opened like he wanted to say we could petition together, and the way she’d stopped him before he could.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want him. Merlin, she wanted him more than she had ever thought she could want anyone. But love, to her, was sacred precisely because it was chosen—fought for, not assigned. And in the wizarding world, it was forever. Divorces were near-merlin impossible.
Her heart ached with the impossible contradiction: she wanted to be free from control, and yet she wanted him.
Somewhere behind her, laughter rippled through the cooling air. Hermione turned. A group of children were racing down the hill toward the playground, coats flapping, scarves trailing. Their shouts carried across the park—bright, fierce, alive.
She watched them climb onto the swings and the jungle gym, watched a small boy with a shock of dark curls push a girl’s swing higher and higher until she shrieked with delight.
And then, before she could stop herself, she imagined another child among them—smaller, with dark hair that curled like Theo’s and eyes bright and curious like her own. The image was so vivid it made her breath hitch.
The thought didn’t frighten her entirely.
It warmed her if she thought about in a distant future.
For the first time since the letter arrived, she felt something that wasn’t panic or anger. It was gentler—hope, maybe, or the faint outline of it. Maybe this was less than ideal, but it might bring them together deeper. More shared trauma.
The sky dipped toward twilight. The children’s parents called them home. Hermione sat there for a while longer, letting the wind lift strands of her hair, feeling her heart slow into something steady.
When she finally rose from the bench, she knew what she had to do.
The walk back to the apparition point was long enough for her thoughts to settle. She took one last look at the park gates before turning on the spot and disapparating with a soft crack.
The familiar scent of Nott Manor—forrest, parchment, and faint traces of smoke—welcomed her as she stepped out of the Floo. Her boots clicked against the marble. The house was quiet, gilded light spilling from the corridor sconces.
She shrugged off her coat and froze when she saw movement in the foyer.
Blaise Zabini was coming down the staircase, his expression unreadable but his tone measured when he greeted her.
“Granger,” he said with a small nod. “You’ve got quite the man in knots. Thought I’d check he hadn’t gone and turned himself into a tragic poem before dinner.”
Hermione blinked, taken aback by his calmness. “Is he… alright?”
“As alright as any of us,” Blaise said wryly, adjusting his cuffs. “He’ll listen to you. Always does.” He glanced toward the west corridor. “He’s in his parlor. Don’t wait too long.”
And with that, he tipped his head politely and swept toward the Floo, vanishing in a flare of green fire.
Hermione stood there for a long moment, the echo of Blaise’s words humming in her ears. He’ll listen to you.
Then she turned and walked down the corridor.
The door to Theo’s parlor was half open, a soft glow spilling out. He was there by the fire, seated on the couch, hands clasped loosely between his knees. When she entered, he looked up.
For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.
The air between them was heavy with all the things they hadn’t said.
Hermione stepped forward, her fingers curling nervously at her side. Theo rose to meet her halfway.
Their eyes met—tired, questioning, full of something deeper neither quite dared name yet.
And then they just stood there in silence, the flames flickering between them, two souls on the edge of a choice that would change everything.
“Theo, we need to talk.”
Notes:
What do you think they'll say to each other?
Chapter 42: A Choice Together
Notes:
A not surprising choice is made, but the angry is very real still.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He stood. “You’re back.”
“I needed time to think,” she said softly, closing the door behind her. The latch clicked like punctuation.
He nodded, as though he’d expected that answer. “Did it help?”
She looked at him for a long time, her throat working. “Yes,” she said. “Not really, but some.”
Theo gestured toward the sofa. “Come sit.”
Hermione crossed the room and sat down beside him, but she didn’t lean back. She sat on the edge of the cushion, hands twisting in her lap, as if she were holding something fragile — or trying to keep from shattering.
“I can’t stop thinking about that letter,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “I keep hearing the words in my head. ‘For the preservation of magical society’ — as if we’re resources, not people. As if we didn’t just fight a war for the right to choose how to live.”
Theo didn’t interrupt. His silence wasn’t avoidance; it was invitation.
“I spent years,” Hermione said, her words gaining momentum, “fighting for their cause. For equality, for decency, for a world where people could love who they wanted without fear. And after everything—after the blood, and the fear, and the bodies—they’ve decided to… to legislate affection. To measure families like numbers on a parchment. They took what we bled for and turned it into—into compliance.”
Her breath hitched. “It feels like I gave them everything, Theo. Every piece of myself I had left to give. And all they ever do is take.”
Theo’s brow furrowed. He turned slightly toward her, resting one hand on the back of the couch near her shoulder, but not touching. “You’re allowed to be angry,” he said quietly. “You should be.”
She gave a broken laugh. “Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it. I’m tired, Theo. I’m so tired. I thought the war was the worst thing I’d ever have to live through, but at least that had purpose. At least then, I knew what I was fighting against. This…” Her voice cracked. “This feels like betrayal from the inside.”
Theo’s gaze flickered to the firelight, and for a long moment he said nothing. Then, softly: “I feel it too.”
Hermione turned to him. He wasn’t the sort to show emotion easily — not anger, not grief. But his jaw was tight, his eyes dark, and there was something fragile in his voice that made her chest ache.
“I spent my entire childhood learning the language of pureblood politics,” he said. “The hierarchies, the old laws, the expectations. When I turned my back on that, I thought I’d escaped it for good. But here we are — new regime, same control. Different language, same chains.”
He gave a bitter, humorless smile. “My father used to talk about bloodlines. The Ministry just changed the branding.”
Hermione’s throat closed. “I hate that you’re right.”
He finally looked at her — really looked — and what she saw in his expression broke something open in her. He wasn’t angry like she was. His fury was quieter, colder, but it burned just as deep.
“I’m furious,” he said softly. “Because they’ve made something sacred into something bureaucratic. Because now, every promise means less. Every vow feels like it comes with paperwork.”
Hermione blinked rapidly, her vision blurring. “I know,” she whispered. “That’s what scares me. What happens to real love now? How do we know what’s real when everything’s been turned into obligation?”
Theo didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped loosely. The fire painted his face in uneven golds and shadows.
“I think the only way to know,” he said finally, “is to hold on to the parts that can’t be written down.”
Hermione’s breath caught. “Like what?”
He turned his head, meeting her eyes. “Like this,” he said simply, gesturing between them. “Whatever we’ve been building. Whatever it is. It’s not something they can legislate.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The weight of the world seemed to settle on the couch between them — not crushing, but grounding. Shared.
Then Hermione whispered, “Things between us… they’ve been good. Better than I ever expected they could be.”
Theo smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I know. It’s been… a surprise. A really good one.”
“I don’t want this to change because of a law,” she said, her voice small but steady. “I don’t want us to start saying things before we’re ready. Not because the Ministry expects it, but because it’s true when we say it.”
He nodded slowly. “I don’t want that either.”
Her fingers fidgeted in her lap, twisting her sleeve. “I keep thinking about what the word ‘love’ even means now. It used to mean freedom — choosing someone, choosing every day. But now it feels like it’s been turned into a legal term.”
Theo’s eyes softened. “Then we won’t use it that way. We’ll wait until it means what it’s supposed to again before we say it.”
Hermione looked at him — really looked — and felt something in her chest loosen, like she could breathe again.
A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. Theo reached out, hesitated, then brushed it gently away with his thumb. The touch was featherlight, reverent.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He gave a small nod, thumb lingering just a second longer before he withdrew his hand. “You don’t have to thank me for caring,” he said quietly.
They sat like that for a long time, the silence no longer empty but full of the hum of understanding.
The fire shifted, sending up a burst of sparks, and Hermione leaned back finally, exhaustion tugging at her bones. She exhaled slowly. “So what now?”
Theo turned to her, eyes thoughtful. “We decide what our choice looks like before they try to make it for us.”
Theo leaned back, stretching his legs out toward the hearth. “I’ve been thinking about it since the letter arrived,” he admitted. “If the Ministry means to count every heartbeat in Britain, then the only way to fight them is to decide what those heartbeats mean ourselves.”
Hermione gave a weary laugh. “That sounds like something you’d find carved into a statue in the Atrium.”
He smiled faintly. “Let them quote me then. You’ll still know what I meant.”
They fell quiet again. The hush was different now — no longer strained, just heavy with the sort of truth that doesn’t need more words.
After a while Theo spoke again, slower this time.
“I’ve been angry too, you know. Not just for you, or for me. For everyone. But if I’m honest…” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Part of what scared me most today was realising that even without the law, I think we’d have ended up married eventually. Not because anyone said we had to. Because it was just beginning to feel inevitable — the good kind of inevitable.”
Hermione’s breath caught; she turned toward him. The fire threw soft orange light across his face, picking out the tired lines at the corners of his eyes. “You really think so?”
He nodded once. “I do. Just not yet. Not like this.”
Something inside her loosened — a knot she hadn’t realized she’d been holding since morning.
“I think you might be right,” she murmured. “But I don’t want them to steal that from us. I don’t want our first real choice together to be one we make out of fear.”
Theo reached for her hand then, folding his fingers carefully through hers. “Then we won’t. We’ll take it back.”
She looked down at their joined hands, at the way their fingers fit as if they’d been practising for months — which, in a way, they had.
“How?” she asked.
“By doing what we were already doing,” he said. “We’ll register together to test — not because they forced us, but because it keeps them out of our lives. We’ll tell them we’re an established couple and let the Ministry tick its little box. And then we’ll keep living the way we’ve been. Our pace, our choice.”
Hermione frowned, though there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “That’s almost cunning enough to make me nervous.”
Theo’s mouth curved. “Slytherin ingenuity. Gryffindor moral outrage. We make a balanced pair.”
She laughed softly — the first real laugh since the morning. It sounded fragile but honest, like the beginning of thaw after a long frost.
“Alright,” she said. “But let’s make it a proper protest. We’ll wait until the thirtieth day. No earlier.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “A dramatic deadline. Very you.”
“Call it what it is,” she replied. “A polite, bureaucratic ‘sod off.’ ”
Theo laughed outright then, a low, rough sound that filled the room and made her heart ache with relief. When it faded, he leaned his head back against the couch and sighed.
“Merlin, you make all of this bearable.”
Hermione shifted closer, resting her head against his shoulder. “You make me believe it might still be fixable.”
For a long time neither of them moved. The fire popped; the clock ticked. Outside, wind brushed against the old windows, whispering through the ivy.
Theo’s arm slipped around her shoulders. He didn’t pull her in — just rested his hand there, warm and steady.
“I hate that this happened,” he murmured. “But I’m grateful it’s you beside me in it.”
Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed. “Me too.”
They stayed like that until the warmth from the hearth turned drowsy and the words between them dwindled into breathing. The anger was still there, coiled somewhere deep, but for the first time it wasn’t ruling either of them. It had become something else — shared, tempered, almost manageable.
Hermione felt the weight of the day settle over her, gentle but irresistible. She shifted a little, curling her legs up on the couch. Theo adjusted automatically, drawing the blanket from the armrest over both of them.
Notes:
Anyone got predictions about other characters pairings from this law?
Let me know!
Chapter 43: Masks On
Notes:
let's find out what's going on with our other favorite characters!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The weeks that followed settled into a rhythm that felt almost normal—if anything in a world rearranged by law could be called that.
Each morning, Hermione woke in her lilac-and-mahogany chamber where they’d fallen asleep together to the muffled sounds of house-elves moving through the manor. Her own program was having a brief reprieve from classes to allow the students to conduct research and prepare for project proposals to be due soon to their Masters, so she didn’t have a morning rush. The early light spilled across her small desk, glinting off piles of parchment and quills, and by the time she reached the library Theo was already gone—off to St. Mungo’s for his healer’s program. She’d started to recognize the pattern of his departures: the faint trace of coffee on the counter, a half-finished note in his slanted handwriting left beside her tea mug.
She always answered with her own: a scrawl on the back of a Charms text or a page margin—Lunch in the orchard if you’re free, or Don’t forget to eat between saving lives.
It became a language between them. Unspoken, but steady.
Hermione spent most of her days at the Charms Institute in Cornwall to use the library, apparating in the late morning, returning late afternoon with ink on her fingers and the smell of spell dust in her hair. Her newest mentor, Master Blythe, was brilliant and exacting, and by the end of each progress report session her mind felt stretched thin in that satisfying way that meant she was learning.
Theo would return from St. Mungo’s around the same time, his healer’s robes wrinkled, exhaustion etched into the corners of his eyes. They’d meet in the kitchen or the garden—wherever they happened to cross first—and exchange the same simple question that had become their ritual:
“How was your day?”
“Survivable.”
And then they’d both smile.
Evenings were quieter. Sometimes they ate in his parlor, sometimes in hers. Other nights, they left the plates untouched for hours much to the elves wrath while they read together in the library, their knees brushing under the shared blanket. The physical closeness between them hadn’t moved further; neither of them had wanted it to. They’d been doing the same things they’d already explored as the need struck every few days. It was left her satisfied, but nonetheless felt like never enough. But the emotional closeness—every glance, every hand resting a little longer than necessary—had deepened so much that it hummed beneath everything they did.
They’d told only their closest friends about their plan to register together at the deadline.
Ginny had been the first to know, listening with her elbows on the Burrow’s worn kitchen table, nodding grimly. “At least you’re doing it your way,” she’d said. “That’s what matters.”
Pansy, of course, had been both scandalized and impressed. “Delaying your paperwork till it’s practically late as protest—honestly, Hermione, I think I’m in love with your civil disobedience.”
Harry had simply squeezed Theo’s shoulder and said, “Good luck, mate.”
For a little while, the world felt manageable again—like the quiet before a storm, but calm enough to breathe.
Then one morning, the storm cracked the edges of their peace.
Hermione was sitting on the terrace, parchment spread around her, reviewing charm matrices for her next assessment when an owl swooped low, dropping a folded note beside her teacup. She recognized Ginny’s neat, decisive script instantly.
You won’t believe this. Neville and Hannah petitioned yesterday. Denied. The Ministry said their ‘compatibility’ was insufficient. He’s gutted. Be careful.
The words blurred for a moment as Hermione reread them. Denied.
Neville—steady, kind Neville—and Hannah, who had fought alongside them in the war, who ran a blooming apothecary shop using mainly what Neville grew, who were happy together and have been casually dating on and off for a year. Two people who were good people, two people who were magically competent. Denied.
She felt her stomach twist.
By the time Theo returned from his rounds that evening, she was pacing the parlor, letter clenched in her hand.
“Theo.” Her voice came out sharper than she meant it to. “They denied Neville and Hannah.”
He blinked, setting down his healer’s bag. “Denied what?”
“Their petition. The Ministry said they weren’t compatible enough.” Her laugh was brittle. “As though love is a measurable blood test reaction!”
Theo ran a hand through his hair, his expression darkening. “That’s—bloody absurd.”
Hermione pressed a trembling hand to her forehead. “If they can deny them, what chance do we have? They’re one of the most chamring couples I know!”
He crossed the room in two strides, taking her shoulders gently in his hands. “Hey,” he said softly. “Look at me.”
She did. Her eyes were wide, frightened in a way he’d never seen before.
“We’re not them,” he said firmly. “We’re us. And whatever this ridiculous spell measures, it’s not half of what matters. We’ll be fine.”
Hermione shook her head. “You can’t know that—”
“I do,” Theo interrupted, a rare edge of certainty in his tone. “Because I know us. I know how we work together. I know how you make me better. And I know there’s not a single person in this world who’d fit me better than you.”
She opened her mouth, but no words came. The fear in her chest stuttered, softened.
Theo’s thumb brushed against her cheek. “If the Ministry can’t see that, then it’s their test that’s broken—not us.”
Hermione swallowed hard, the tightness in her throat easing. “You really believe that?”
“With everything I have.”
For a long moment they just stood there—his hands warm against her arms, her heartbeat steadying under his gaze. The fear didn’t vanish entirely, but it became something else: smaller, quieter, bearable.
Finally she sighed, leaning into him. “You’re infuriatingly calm.”
He smiled against her hair. “Healer’s training 101. Comes with the job.”
Hermione let out a soft, shaky laugh and rested her forehead against his chest. “I wish I could borrow it.”
“You already have.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her there, the two of them breathing in sync, the world outside their window as uncertain as ever—but for now, bearable.
They stayed that way until the fire burned low again, talking quietly about the weeks ahead. About the forms they’d need to file, the apointment they’d need to attend, the witnesses they’d ask, and what kind of life they wanted if the Ministry granted them permission to keep what they already knew was real.
On a chilly evening, the Zabini estate was everything a postwar dream wanted to be — elegant, extravagant, and alive. Pansy and Blaise had transformed their new marital home outside London into a vision of velvet and candlelight for their Halloween masquerade. Enchanted lanterns floated between the orchard trees, music from a live string quartet drifted through the open French doors, and laughter spilled out across the lawn like it belonged to another, simpler world.
Hermione and Theo apparated just beyond the gates, joining the slow procession of guests moving up the lantern-lined path. The air smelled faintly of smoke and damp earth, and through the flicker of jack-o’-lanterns she could see silhouettes in sweeping ahead in robes and glittering masks.
Hermione’s costume was simple but graceful — a deep wine-red gown that shimmered when she moved, and a mask of gold leaves that caught the candlelight like autumn itself had decided to take human form. Theo had insisted on wearing black and silver, his half-mask carved like a raven’s wing. Together, they looked like they’d stepped out of a storybook.
When they reached the ballroom doors, Pansy was there to greet them in a gown of midnight blue sequins, her mask tipped like a crown.
“Finally!” she declared, sweeping Hermione into a hug that smelled of jasmine and champagne. “My favorite soon-to-be political fugitives have arrived.”
Hermione laughed. “We’re not fugitives.”
“Not yet,” Pansy said with mock severity. “Give the Ministry a few weeks.”
Theo smirked. “You do realize this is the first party we’ve attended as a publicly declared couple?”
Pansy clasped her hands dramatically. “Oh, I do. And I intend to gossip about it for at least an hour.”
Blaise appeared at her side, dapper as ever in dark green silk. “Ignore her. She’s been terrorizing guests since sunset. Welcome, both of you. Drinks are charmed to refill unless you protest loudly, and the dance floor occasionally levitates. Fair warning.”
They stepped inside, swallowed by the warmth and hum of the party. The chandeliers glowed with flickering orange light, shadows of bats darted playfully across the walls, and the air buzzed with the energy of people pretending — just for tonight — that they weren’t living under decree.
Theo took Hermione’s hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as they moved through the crowd. “You look incredible,” he murmured.
She smiled beneath her mask. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Lord Nott.”
He groaned softly. “Don’t start that again. The way you say it does things to me that shouldn’t happen here.”
But she could see the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. For a little while, they danced. The music was lively — violins, tambourines, the pulse of a world refusing to go quiet. Hermione let herself lean into the rhythm, into the warmth of Theo’s hand at her waist. His eyes never left hers, even through the gold of her mask.
For an hour or so, everything was light — laughter, conversation, the swirl of fabric. Ginny and Harry arrived late, Ginny still sun-touched from chaser training, and Pansy forced them onto the dance floor with mock threats. Luna appeared ethereal as ever, telling anyone who’d listen that she’d seen five future weddings hovering in the air tonight like benevolent ghosts.
Even Hermione laughed at that. For the first time since the law had passed, she felt almost normal.
Then the atmosphere shifted.
It wasn’t dramatic — just a subtle pull, like gravity changing. A quietness that moved through the room as people turned to look toward the entryway. Draco Malfoy had arrived.
He wore no mask. Typical drama queen. Just a simple dark suit, his pale hair slicked back, the candlelight catching on the silver crest of his family ring. There was something ghostly about him — composed, immaculate, but distant, as though he’d stepped out of the same haunted house they were all trying not to think about.
Theo noticed Hermione’s gaze and leaned in. “Do you want to talk to him?”
She hesitated. “I think we should.”
Theo nodded and followed her through the crowd. Pansy spotted them passing and gave Draco a brief, warning look to be nice, but didn’t interfere.
“Malfoy,” Theo said as they approached.
Draco turned, raising his glass in greeting. “Nott. Granger.” His voice was polite, but there was no warmth in it. He’d clearly not gotten any warmer about the law since they’de had dinner last week.
Hermione managed a small smile. “You look well, Draco.”
“Do I?” His mouth quirked — not quite amusement, not quite bitterness. “Well enough for government property, I suppose.”
Theo frowned. “You’ve been brooding over the letter, then.”
“Of course I am,” Draco said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Who isn’t?”
Hermione exchanged a glance with Theo before asking carefully, “Have you… decided what you’re going to do about it?”
Draco’s eyes flicked to her, sharp and pale. “Yes,” he said finally. “I’m entering as a single participant.”
Theo blinked. “You’re letting them match you?”
Draco gave a soft, hollow laugh. “Why not? All my life, someone else has made my choices for me. My father, my family, the war, the Ministry. Why should this be any different?”
There was bitterness there, but beneath it, something raw — something almost weary.
“That’s not true,” Hermione said quietly. “You’ve changed more than you think. You don’t have to let them decide for you again. You could at least try to petition with someone you like. Give it a shot. You deserve a shot at making your own happiness.”
He looked at her then, truly looked — and for a heartbeat, she saw not the boy who’d sneered at her in school, nor the man at the funeral, but someone caught between what he’d been and what he wanted to be.
“You sound just like Dumbledore,” Draco said softly. “Always believing in people who don’t deserve it.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “Maybe that’s how people learn to deserve it.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then sighed and looked away. “You and Nott will be fine,” he said flatly. “They’ll take one look at you two and stamp ‘approved’ on the spot. Golden girl of the world and the reformed pure-blood heir — it’s practically unity propaganda.”
Theo stiffened. “That’s not what this is.”
“I know.” Draco’s voice was gentler now, though no less bitter. “And that’s what makes it worse.”
Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but he was already turning away, setting his empty glass on a tray as he passed. “Enjoy your evening,” he said over his shoulder. “Before they measure that too.”
They watched him go — his shoulders straight, his steps careful, like a man walking through invisible wreckage.
Theo exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I keep forgetting how much of him is still… broken and cynical.”
Hermione nodded slowly, eyes on Draco’s retreating form. “He’s not the only one.”
They stood there for a while, the music resuming around them, the laughter creeping back in. The party reclaimed its brightness, but the illusion had cracked.
Theo turned to her at last. “You alright?”
Hermione looked up at him, her golden mask gleaming faintly in the candlelight. “Yes,” she said softly. “But I hate what this world keeps asking of people.”
He reached out, linking his fingers through hers. “Then we’ll keep saying no, in every way that matters.”
The night wore on in a haze of music, laughter, and champagne bubbles that sparkled under the chandeliers. By now, most guests had shed their masks or pushed them up onto their heads, revealing faces flushed with heat and drink. The air hummed with that peculiar kind of energy that came when everyone was pretending the world wasn’t tilting under their feet.
Theo and Hermione had drifted from one circle of friends to another, pausing to talk, laugh, and deflect the curious questions about whether they’d petitioned yet. Hermione had learned to smile with her wineglass raised and say, “We’re waiting to see if the Ministry comes to its senses.” It always got a few weak laughs and sympathetic nods.
They were heading toward the open French doors for some air when a familiar voice called, “Theo! Hermione!”
They turned to see Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood making their way through the crowd. Neville looked flushed and endearingly uncomfortable in formal robes that didn’t quite fit his broad shoulders; Luna wore a gown of pale silver that shimmered like moonlight, her mask made entirely of translucent feathers. Together, they looked like a mismatched fairytale — improbable but somehow right. They were holding hands.
Hermione blinked in surprise. “Neville! Luna! I didn’t realize you two were…”
“Matched by the Ministry?” Luna finished for her, with that dreamy little smile that made everything sound like prophecy. “Yes. The compatibility spell chose us. Isn’t it funny? I think the Ministry expected me to be very upset, but it turns out I quite like him.”
Neville rubbed the back of his neck, clearly blushing under his lion mask. “It’s been… an adjustment,” he admitted. “But not bad, really. Luna’s been helping me with the greenhouse expansion at Hogwarts between lessons, and I think we’ve gotten used to being around each other in less than a week.”
Hermione grinned despite herself. “That’s wonderful. You both got lucky. It could have been someone dreadful.”
Theo chuckled. “I think the Ministry’s matchmaking charms may have accidentally done something right for once.”
Luna tilted her head, eyes distant but oddly focused, as if she were peering into a constellation only she could see. “Things aren’t always as straightforward as they seem,” she said softly. Then, turning her gaze toward Theo, she added, “Don’t pick out a ring for Hermione yet.”
Theo looked affronted. “What?”
Luna smiled serenely. “Someone you don’t know about yet will help you choose it.”
Hermione felt a shiver trace her spine — not fear, exactly, but that peculiar, shimmering feeling Luna always inspired when she said things that sounded half like nonsense and half like fate.
Neville sighed good-naturedly. “She’s been saying things like that all week. I think she just enjoys keeping me confused and making everyone else curious.”
“I do,” Luna said cheerfully. “But it’s still true.”
Theo gave a polite half-smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
They chatted a while longer — about Hogwarts, about Neville’s latest teaching work with Herbology first years, about Luna’s upcoming weekend research trip to Sweden for snow yetis — before parting ways with fond hugs.
Outside, the air was cooler. Fairy lights glowed along the terrace and the scent of wine and autumn roses drifted from the gardens. They found Ginny and Harry leaning against a stone balustrade, their heads close together.
“Hey, lovebirds,” Ginny called as they approached. “We were just talking about you.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “All good things, I hope.”
“Mostly,” Harry said with a grin. Then his tone shifted, just slightly. “Actually, we wanted to warn you about something before you hear it from someone else. It’s Ron.”
Hermione’s stomach tightened. “What about him?”
Ginny sighed, swirling the wine in her glass. “He’s… not taking this marriage law well. He’s angry — at the Ministry, at everyone who’s already coupled off. He’s oretty pissed you both have each other. He told Mum he’s entering as a single because he has no prospects.”
Harry nodded grimly. “He said it’s ‘better to be forced than pitied.’ He’s shutting everyone out.”
Hermione’s breath caught with empathy. “Oh, Ron…”
Theo reached for her hand but didn’t speak, letting her process it.
Ginny gave a sad smile. “He’ll come around eventually, but I think he’s feeling left behind. Everyone else is moving on — starting families, getting married by choice — and he’s still stuck trying to figure out who he is without the war or without you both at his side.”
Hermione bit her lip, guilt pricking her chest. “I never wanted him to feel like that. I just—”
“I know,” Ginny said gently. “But that’s Ron. He feels everything like it’s life or death. He’s never been very rational.”
Harry’s arm came around Ginny’s shoulders, grounding her. “He’ll manage. He always does. I just didn’t want you blindsided.”
Theo squeezed Hermione’s fingers softly. “It’s not your job to fix him, you know.”
She looked up at him, grateful for the quiet steadiness in his voice. “I know,” she whispered. “But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to try.”
Ginny smiled wryly. “If it makes you feel any better, I threatened to hex him if he shows up to the Ministry drunk to meet his assigned wife.”
Hermione managed a laugh. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” Ginny said proudly. “He called me overbearing. I told him I got it from Mum.”
Even Harry snorted at that.
The tension broke — laughter again, softer this time, worn around the edges by shared worry. Then the band inside changed tempo, and the sound of strings swelled through the night — slow, deliberate, the unmistakable rhythm of a waltz.
Theo turned toward the open doors, then back to her. “Dance with me?”
Hermione hesitated only a heartbeat before nodding. He led her onto the terrace-turned-dancefloor, where other couples were already circling beneath strings of fairy lights that looked like stars fallen to earth.
He took her hand, the other settling carefully at her waist. The world seemed to shrink — the music, the laughter, the golden light reflecting off his mask. Their eyes locked, and everything else blurred away.
They moved together effortlessly, the years of trust and friendship between them shaping every turn. But there was something in it now — a slow-burning tension that had been building for months, an ache under her ribs that made it hard to breathe when he looked at her like that.
Theo leaned close enough that she felt his breath against her ear. “You realize everyone’s watching us,” he murmured.
“Let them,” she whispered back.
He smiled then, small and genuine, and spun her. Her gown flared like a flicker of flame, her mask glinting under the fairy lights. When she came back into his arms, she didn’t pull away. His hand lingered just a little too long on her back.
The music swelled — rich and romantic, the kind of melody that didn’t belong to a world full of Ministry decrees and grief and laws. For a few minutes, there was only this: the warmth of his body, the rhythm beneath their feet, the feeling that maybe — just maybe — the universe was still capable of beauty.
When the song ended, they stood still for a long moment, their faces close, breaths mingling. The noise of the party crept back in around them, but neither of them moved.
“Ready to go home?” Theo asked softly.
Hermione nodded, her heart hammering. “Yes. Home.”
They didn’t speak as they left the party hand in hand, the night pressing around them like velvet. But every step hummed with unspoken promise — and the quiet, dangerous thought that maybe the Ministry wasn’t the only one changing what marriage meant.
Notes:
Who do you think Ron will be paired with? let me know in the comments please!
Chapter 44: The Night Before
Chapter Text
The fire in Theo’s private parlor had burned down to embers, casting long shadows across the room. Outside, November wind rattled the windows, whispering through the orchard trees that had long since shed their leaves.
Hermione sat curled on the sofa, one leg tucked beneath her, a blanket around her shoulders. A pot of tea — long gone lukewarm — rested on the low table between her and Theo. Neither had said much for the last half hour. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but heavy in that particular way silence gets when both people are thinking too much to speak.
Their appointment was in the morning.
9:00 a.m. sharp, Level Three of the Ministry — the Office of Magical Population and Family Affairs.
Theo finally broke the quiet. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.” His voice was soft, almost disbelieving. “Letting a Ministry charm tell us if we’re allowed to stay together.”
Hermione let out a dry little laugh. “It’s absurd, isn’t it? They take something as human as love, and turn it into paperwork.”
He leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’d think after everything they put us through in the war, they’d stop trying to control people’s lives.”
Hermione watched the firelight flicker across his jaw, the tension there. “I think that’s exactly why they can’t stop,” she said quietly. “They’re afraid of losing control again. So they make laws like this and call it rebuilding.”
Theo’s hand fell into his lap. For a long moment, he stared into the flames. “And here we are, helping them do it.”
She frowned. “That’s not fair. We’re not doing this because we believe in their law. We’re doing it because…”
“Because we don’t want to be apart,” he finished for her, looking up.
Their eyes met, and the words she wanted to say next — the ones that had been building in her chest for weeks — caught in her throat.
Theo gave a small, self-deprecating smile. “Sorry. That sounded sourer than I meant it.”
“No,” she said softly. “You’re right. But that doesn’t make it wrong either.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re sure about this? About us registering together?”
Hermione hesitated. She’d gone over this question a hundred times — in her head, in her journal, with Ginny and Pansy over tea. Every time, she’d come back to the same answer.
“I am,” she said finally. “I hate that we have to prove it, but I’m sure about you.”
Theo looked down at his hands, then reached across the table to take hers. His fingers were warm, steady. “Merlin, I wish I could be calm about this. I keep thinking — what if they say no? What if something stupid in the spell says we’re not compatible?”
Hermione squeezed his hand. “Then we hex the examiner and run.”
He laughed — surprised, real laughter that cracked through the tension like light through clouds. “You’d do that?”
“In a heartbeat,” she said, smiling faintly. “I’ve broken bigger laws for worse reasons.”
Theo shook his head, still chuckling. “Remind me to never get between you and justice.”
They sat like that for a long time — fingers entwined, the fire burning lower. There wasn’t much left to say, not that words could fix anything anyway. They were both scared — not of each other, but of what the Ministry might decide about them. About what came next.
Eventually, Theo stood and offered his hand. “Come to bed. You’ll overthink yourself into an essay if you stay up any longer.”
Hermione took his hand, standing with him. “You mean we’ll overthink ourselves into one,” she corrected.
He smiled tiredly. “Fair.”
As they climbed the stairs, she leaned her head briefly against his shoulder. “Whatever happens tomorrow,” she murmured, “we face it together.”
Theo stopped in the hallway, turning to look at her. “Always,” he said simply. Then he kissed her forehead, soft and certain — the same way he had hundreds of times before, but tonight it lingered before he tugged her into her bedroom to cuddle on the sofa.
Theo tilted his head, his dark eyes catching hers. “You’re awfully quiet tonight, Granger,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, with that familiar Slytherin drawl that always sent a shiver down her spine. “What’s going on in that brilliant mind of yours?”
Hermione smiled, a faint flush creeping up her cheeks. “Just… thinking about us. About how this feels right, even with everything going on out there.” She gestured vaguely toward the window, where the world seemed to press in with its demands.
Theo’s fingers stilled on her arm, and he shifted to face her fully, his gaze softening. “It does feel right, doesn’t it?” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “You and me. I never thought I’d have this—have you. I hope I can keep you.” His hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over her lower lip.
Her breath hitched at the touch, her heart racing. They’d been somewhat intimate before—kisses that left her dizzy, touches that lingered just on the edge of more, a handful of mind-blowing orgams—but tonight felt different. There was an unspoken promise in the air, a desire to explore the depth of their connection. Hermione leaned into his hand, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before she opened them again, meeting his gaze with a mix of nervousness and trust.
“Theo,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly, “I want… I want to be closer to you. More than we have been so far.”
His eyes darkened, not with lust, but with a fierce, reverent intensity. “Hermione,” he said, his tone serious now, “If you trust me.. I want to try something…”.
Theo exhaled, a slow smile curving his lips as he leaned in to kiss her, soft at first, then deepening as she melted into him. His lips were warm, tasting faintly of wine, and Hermione felt a spark ignite in her chest, spreading warmth through her limbs. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer until she was practically in his lap, her fingers threading through his dark hair.
They moved slowly, savoring each moment. Theo’s kisses trailed from her lips to her jaw, then down the sensitive column of her neck, eliciting a soft gasp from Hermione. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured against her skin, his breath hot and teasing.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice breathy but certain. She tugged gently at his shirt, and he chuckled softly, pulling back just long enough to help her lift it over his head, revealing the lean, toned planes of his chest. Her hands explored him tentatively, tracing the faint scars from the war, each one a testament to the battles they’d both survived.
Theo’s hands were gentle but sure as he guided her to lie back on the sofa, the cushions soft beneath her. He knelt between her legs, his eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he leaned down to kiss her again, slow and deliberate, before his lips began a leisurely descent. He kissed her collarbone, then the hollow of her throat, his hands sliding under her sweater to caress the soft skin of her stomach. Hermione’s breath quickened, her fingers gripping his shoulders as he lifted the hem of her sweater, pausing to look at her.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice raw with sincerity. “Every part of you.”
Her heart swelled at his words, and she nodded, giving him permission to continue. Theo’s movements were careful, reverent, as he eased her out of her sweater, his lips following the path of his hands. He kissed down her sternum, then lower, pausing to check in with her again. Hermione’s cheeks burned, but she nodded, her trust in him absolute.
When his lips reached the waistband of her jeans, he hesitated, his fingers brushing the button. “Still okay?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill through her.
“Yes,” she breathed, her hands reaching for his, guiding him. “Please, Theo.”
With a soft smile, he unbuttoned her jeans, easing them down with care, his touch never faltering. He kissed the sensitive skin just below her navel, then lower still, his hands steadying her hips as she tensed slightly, anticipation mingling with nerves. Theo’s lips were warm, his movements slow and deliberate, designed to make her feel safe, cherished, and desired. He whispered words of reassurance against her skin, telling her how much he wanted her to feel good, how much she meant to him.
He licked her seam, then held her folds open. Giving him access to suck her clit into his mouth. The feeling was wonderful. She was withering after only a few moments of his mouth on her sex. His tongue traced love letters against her clit. One finger gently dove in and out of her steady.
As he continued, Hermione’s world narrowed to the sensations he was eliciting—his breath, his touch, his tongue, the way he seemed to know exactly what she needed at what speed. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding his head between her thighs, her breaths coming in soft, uneven gasps. The firelight danced across their bodies, casting shadows that flickered like their emotions—vulnerable, intense, and deeply connected.
When the wave of pleasure finally crested, Hermione’s back arched, a soft cry escaping her lips as she clung to Theo’s hair, her body trembling with the intensity of it. He stayed with her through it, his hands gentle, his lips pressing soft kisses to her skin a the junction of her thighs as she came down from the high, her chest heaving.
Theo moved back up to lie beside her, pulling her into his arms. He brushed a curl from her face, his eyes searching hers. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with concern.
Hermione nodded, a shy smile breaking through her flushed expression. “More than okay,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss his temple. “That was… incredible.”
He chuckled, a low, warm sound, and tucked her against his chest. “Good. I want you to feel good, Hermione. Always.”
Later, lying beside him in the dark, Hermione stared up at the ceiling, listening to the faint crackle of the dying fire downstairs. Theo’s hand found hers under the blankets, and she held onto it tightly — a silent promise that, no matter what magic or Ministry decree said, this was real.
Notes:
ministry meddling at it's finest in the next chapter!
Chapter 45: The Ministry
Chapter Text
The Ministry of Magic was never quiet, but that morning it felt suffocating. The usual bustle of workers and the whoosh of fireplaces were overshadowed by a grim, collective tension — couples standing in line, clutching paperwork, avoiding each other’s eyes as if embarrassment were contagious.
Hermione and Theo stepped out of the lift on Level Three, the newly established Office of Magical Population and Family Affairs. The bronze plaque beside the door gleamed with bureaucratic self-importance, taunting them, engraved with the Ministry’s new motto:
“For the Future of Magic.”
Hermione stopped to stare at it, her stomach twisting. “They really have no shame, do they?”
Theo leaned in, muttering under his breath, “Should’ve added: ‘And the destruction of personal freedom.’”
Despite herself, she smiled — small, brittle, but real.
Inside, the air smelled of parchment, ink, and a faint metallic tang from too much magic being used in too small a space. Dozens of desks were arranged in neat rows, manned by older officials in identical gray robes. Couples sat across from them, heads bowed, quills scratching, nervous energy humming like static.
At the reception desk, a middle-aged witch with iron-gray hair and an expression that could curdle milk looked up from her clipboard. “Names?”
Hermione cleared her throat. “Hermione Granger and Theodore Nott. We have a nine o’clock appointment.”
The woman’s eyes flicked over them, unimpressed. “Form 42B?”
Theo held it up. “Right here.”
Hermione passed it over.
The woman stamped it with unnecessary force, then slid two small parchment cards toward them. “Testing chamber twelve. Through that corridor, third door on your left. Do not touch any testing equipment without being told. And for Merlin’s sake, don’t drip blood on the floor — it stains the runes.”
“Lovely,” Theo murmured as they turned away.
They found Chamber Twelve halfway down the corridor — a small, sterile room lined with silver glyphs that pulsed faintly with magic. In the center stood a large crystal orb mounted on a pedestal, surrounded by two chairs and a heavy wooden desk.
Behind it sat their assigned official, a narrow man with sallow skin and watery blue eyes. His nameplate read Mr. Crispin Yarrow, Senior Bonding Examiner. He didn’t bother standing as they entered.
“Granger. Nott. Sit.”
They obeyed.
He rifled through their paperwork with exaggerated slowness, pausing only to make small, disapproving noises. “You’ve been… involved for approximately five months?”
“Closer to six,” Hermione corrected politely.
He raised a thin brow. “And you believe that’s long enough to warrant petitioning as an established couple under the Decree?”
Theo’s voice was calm but edged. “We believe it’s long enough to know we don’t want the Ministry deciding for us. We’ve been living together since the start of summer.”
Yarrow made a mark on the parchment. “Yes, well, that’s what they all say.” He glanced at Hermione. “I assume you’re the same Hermione Granger who turned down the job offer with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures after the war?”
“I am,” she said, sitting straighter tense.
He sniffed. “And you, Mr. Nott — Healer trainee, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting,” Yarrow said flatly, as if neither fact impressed him. “Well. You’ll need to provide your witness statements, then blood samples. Compatibility results are processed overnight. If your magical alignment scores are appropriate, you’ll receive approval by owl tomorrow morning. If not…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Theo’s jaw tightened. “If not?”
“Then you’ll be reassigned,” Yarrow said blandly, shuffling papers. “The Ministry will provide you each with new partners based on magical core compatibility.”
Hermione’s stomach dropped, but she kept her tone measured. “We understand.”
Yarrow slid a quill and two smaller parchments across the desk. “Witness testimonies.”
Hermione took them out of her satchel — five scrolls in all, sealed in different colored wax. “We have statements from Ginevra Potter, Luna Lovegood, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Zabini, and Harry Potter.”
Yarrow blinked at the last name, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like celebrity couples again, and filed them away without comment.
“Very well,” he said briskly. “Place your left hands on the orb. When instructed, each of you will contribute a single drop of blood into the reservoir. The charm will measure your magical resonance, genetic balance, and emotional frequency. Do not move during the reaction.”
Theo muttered under his breath, “What are we, cauldrons?”
Hermione shot him a warning look but couldn’t help a flicker of amusement.
Yarrow stood, wand at the ready. “On my count — three, two, one.”
They pressed their hands to the smooth, cool surface of the orb. Magic thrummed through it immediately, a low hum like a heartbeat. The crystal flared blue, then green, threads of light weaving between their palms.
“Now — the blood,” Yarrow instructed.
Theo used the tip of his wand to nick his fingertip; Hermione did the same. Two drops fell into the silver groove at the orb’s base, hissing faintly as they met. The orb pulsed brighter, colors shifting rapidly through white, violet, black, gold, emerald, and back to white.
Yarrow leaned over it, eyes narrowed. “Hm.”
“Hm what?” Hermione asked, pulse quickening.
“Preliminary readings look… interesting,” he said in a tone that managed to sound both grudging and scandalized. “That’s all I can tell you until processing is complete. You’ll receive an owl with your final score by morning. Don’t contact the Department before then — it won’t expedite anything.”
Theo stood, his politeness wearing thin. “Thank you for your time.”
“Yes, well,” Yarrow said, already marking something on his clipboard, “we’ll see if it’s worth thanking me for.”
They left the chamber hand in hand, both silent until the door closed behind them.
Hermione exhaled shakily. “Well. That was… dehumanizing.”
Theo gave a humorless laugh. “I feel like we just applied for beast breeding rights.”
They walked through the main corridor, the sound of their steps echoing off the stone floor. Everywhere, couples sat waiting — some nervous, some excited, a few quietly crying. Hermione wanted to scream.
As they approached the lift, a familiar voice slurred from down the hall:
“Well, if it isn’t the Ministry’s golden unity pair.”
Theo and Hermione turned. Draco Malfoy was standing — or rather, swaying — near the archway, his robes rumpled, eyes glassy, a flask half-hidden in his hand. The sharp scent of Firewhisky hit them before he even spoke again.
“Draco,” Hermione said softly, shocked. “Are you—”
“Drunk?” he interrupted. “Spectacularly.” He gave a crooked, bitter smile. “Figured if I’m going to let the government decide who I rot beside for the rest of my life, I may as well numb myself first.”
Theo’s voice was quiet but firm. “You shouldn’t be here like this.”
“Oh, spare me the healer tone,” Draco snapped, stumbling a step closer. “You two get to waltz in here together, all smiles and devotion, and I get the lottery of compatible misery. How fair is that?”
Hermione reached out instinctively. “Draco, that’s not—”
He jerked back, eyes bright and furious. “Don’t pity me, Granger! Not you. You’re better at saving broken things than anyone I know, but I’m not something to fix.”
The hallway had gone silent; a few clerks were pretending not to stare. Hermione swallowed hard. “We’re not trying to pity you. We’re worried about you. We care about our friends. Draco, your our friend.”
“Well, don’t be pitying me,” he said coldly, straightening his robes. “I’ve survived worse than this.”
Before she could respond, another voice called out down the hall. “Merlin’s sake, Draco, I turn my back for ten minutes—”
Blaise Zabini appeared, looking exasperated but composed as ever. He caught Draco by the arm before the blond could stumble again. “Sorry,” he said to Theo and Hermione. “He started drinking at breakfast. I have it under control though, don’t worry.”
Theo frowned. “You’re taking him for his test?”
“Someone has to make sure he doesn’t hex the examiner.” Blaise sighed, adjusting Draco’s collar with the weary patience of an old friend. “Come on, mate. Let’s get this over with.”
Draco didn’t resist, but his gaze lingered on Hermione a moment longer. His voice, when he spoke again, was quieter — roughened. “I hope your result’s worth saving the world, Hermione Granger.”
Then he let Blaise lead him away down the corridor, their footsteps echoing until they disappeared through another door.
Hermione stood frozen, her throat tight.
Theo slipped an arm around her shoulders, steering her gently toward the lift. “Let’s go home.”
She nodded, leaning into him as the lift gates closed behind them. The Ministry floor dropped away beneath their feet, but the weight in her chest stayed exactly where it was.
By the time they returned to Nott Manor, the late-autumn sky had turned lavender and gray. The orchard shimmered faintly with frost, and their boots crunched softly on the gravel path as they crossed toward the front doors. Neither had said much since leaving the Ministry — the silence between them felt fragile, stretched thin like spun glass.
Inside, the house was warm, but Hermione still felt cold. The flickering sconces along the hallway threw golden light across Theo’s profile — drawn, tense, his shoulders rigid beneath his robes. She wanted to touch him, to say something comforting, but every word felt too small for the weight of what they were waiting on.
When they reached the stairs, Theo turned to her. “So,” he said quietly, “are you still sure about your plans for tonight?”
She nodded. “I think so. Ginny and Luna invited me to come over for a bit of a… distraction. We’ll have tea, talk about nonsense, maybe watch one of those old Muggle movies Ginny likes. I think it’ll keep me from obsessing all night.”
“That’s probably wise,” he said. “Pansy’s dropping by here later. She threatened to bring cards and make me drink until I stop brooding.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Sounds about right.”
They lingered there, in the middle of the grand staircase landing, neither moving. The silence stretched again, filled only by the soft ticking of the manor’s old clock.
Theo exhaled slowly. “I was thinking…” He hesitated, glancing toward her room down the west-wing corridor. “Maybe we should sleep separately tonight. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow, and we’ll both be restless. Might be easier that way.”
Hermione’s heart pinched, though she knew he was right. “Yes,” she said quietly. “That’s what we agreed.”
He nodded once, then added, softer, “When you get home — even if it’s late — you’ll still want your own room tonight?”
“Yes.” She forced a small, reassuring smile. “I think if we try to sleep in the same bed, we’ll just keep each other awake.”
Theo’s expression was unreadable for a moment, then he reached out and brushed his fingers over hers. “All right. But breakfast, first thing?”
“Breakfast,” she promised. “We’ll open the letter together.”
He nodded, looking down at her hand before letting it go. “Good. I don’t think I could read it without you there.”
Hermione swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “Then it’s settled.”
They stood for another heartbeat — two people wanting desperately to hold onto something normal in the midst of what wasn’t. Finally, she took a step back toward the sitting room hearth.
“I’ll floo straight to Ginny’s,” she said. “Try to actually relax, all right? No pacing the halls.”
Theo gave a small huff of laughter. “You make it sound like I do that often.”
“You do,” she said, smiling despite herself. “Every time you’re nervous.”
He lifted a brow, pretending offense. “And you bite your quill when you overthink. We all have our vices.”
That earned him a genuine laugh. The moment lightened, just enough.
Hermione turned toward the fireplace, already feeling the pull of the hearth’s green light as she grabbed a pinch of Floo powder from the small jar on the mantel.
She paused, glancing back at him one last time. He was watching her — not anxiously, but with quiet steadiness, hands in his pockets, the firelight gilding the edge of his hair.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said softly.
Theo nodded, voice low. “Goodnight, Hermione.”
She tossed the powder into the flames. “Potter’s”
Emerald light flared around her. The last thing she saw before spinning away into the Floo network was Theo’s figure framed by the flickering hearth — waiting, unmovable, a shadow against the fire.
Grimmauld Place was glowing with soft candlelight when Hermione stepped through the Floo. The air smelled of cinnamon, tea, and a faint undercurrent of wood polish — unmistakably Ginny. There was music playing quietly from a wireless in the corner, something jazzy and low that reminded Hermione of rainy evenings and old gramophones.
“’Mione!” Ginny called, appearing from the kitchen barefoot, hair piled messily atop her head. “Merlin, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Tea or wine?”
“Wine,” Hermione said immediately.
“Good girl.”
Luna was already curled up on the sofa, legs tucked underneath her, wearing a pale blue jumper patterned with tiny moons and thestrals. She gave Hermione a dreamlike smile. “I thought you’d come covered in Ministry dust and worry,” she said serenely.
Hermione blinked. “That’s… not wrong.”
Ginny snorted, handing her a glass of red wine. “You’ll get used to Luna speaking in riddles. She’s in top form today. She’s been doing it all evening.”
“I have not,” Luna protested mildly. “I’ve just been saying what’s true before other people are ready to hear it.”
Hermione took a long sip, sinking into an armchair opposite them. The warmth of the wine spread through her chest, easing the knot of nerves. “All right then,” she said. “What truths have you been sharing tonight?”
“That you and Theo are very nervous,” Luna replied without hesitation. “And that you should stop trying to outrun fate, because it’s far more patient than you are.”
Hermione laughed softly. “You’re not wrong about the nerves. We both feel like we’re about to sit for an exam we didn’t study for and the penalty for failure is death.”
Ginny flopped onto the sofa beside Luna, pulling a blanket over her legs. “That’s basically what the Ministry’s turned love into, isn’t it? A standardized test.”
Hermione sighed. “Don’t remind me.”
Luna twirled a strand of hair thoughtfully. “I don’t think you’ll fail in all senses,” she said. “You two glow together.”
“Glow?” Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes,” Luna said simply. “It’s very faint — the way people do when their magic recognizes each other’s heartbeat. It’s rather pretty.”
Hermione felt her cheeks warm. “I— well, that’s… reassuring, I suppose.”
Ginny grinned. “Take it from the moon witch herself, that’s high praise.”
For a while, the three women sipped their wine and let conversation drift to safer topics — Ginny’s Quidditch training schedule, Luna’s latest article draft for The Quibbler (“Fwooper Song Therapy: Can Madness Be Musical?”), and Hermione’s struggles balancing her mastery coursework with Ministry bureaucracy.
But Luna had that look in her eye again — the one that meant she was holding something back until the right moment.
It came when Ginny disappeared into the kitchen to fetch a second bottle. Luna turned toward Hermione, her voice soft but bright with secret knowing. “You should prepare yourself,” she said.
“For what?”
“For the next chapter,” Luna said, as if it were obvious. “Theo’s part in your story is about to grow, and both your hearts need to stay open to more. That’s all.”
Hermione frowned, unsure if Luna meant the compatibility results or something else entirely. “You do realize you sound like a Divination textbook, right?”
Luna smiled dreamily. “Trelawney was always right eventually. Just never when she expected to be.”
Ginny returned with the bottle, plopping back onto the couch. “What are we talking about now — fate again?”
Luna beamed. “Yes! And weddings.”
Hermione blinked. “Weddings?”
“Yes,” Luna said serenely. “Neville and I are getting married next week.”
“What?” Ginny nearly dropped her glass. “You’re what? I didn’t get an invite!”
Luna’s tone didn’t change at all. “We wanted to do it under the full moon. It’s good for grounding magic and inviting fertility spirits.”
Hermione stared, speechless. “You’re serious?”
“Entirely,” Luna said. “It’ll be very small. Just the two of us, an officiant, and some fairies in the forest near Ottery St. Catchpole. They promised to bring starlight in jars for the ceremony.”
Ginny buried her face in her hands giggling. “Of course they did.”
Luna looked mildly puzzled. “Well, someone has to hold the light during the binding ritual.”
Hermione found her voice. “You said fertility spirits. Luna— are you—”
“Naked?” Luna offered helpfully. “Yes, it’s a symbolic ritual. You offer the gods your truth and they bless your union. Very traditional, really. My parents did it this way.”
Ginny groaned. “Remind me to warn Neville’s gran before she finds out through The Prophet.”
“Oh, we’re not telling her until after,” Luna said airily. “She worries enough about the wedding cake being haunted if it’s chocolate.”
Hermione laughed so hard she almost spilled her drink. “Only you, Luna.”
Luna smiled, unfazed. “It’s all very natural, really. The gods like honesty, and Neville’s a good man. He understands the difference between love and propriety.”
Ginny shook her head, still chuckling. “Well, congratulations, you absolute lunatic.”
“Thank you,” Luna said sincerely. “I think it will be beautiful.”
The conversation drifted again — laughter, stories, the kind of warmth that fills a room when the world outside feels uncertain. Then, after a while, Ginny’s tone shifted.
“So… you both know about Ron, right?”
Hermione blinked. “No. What about him?”
Ginny hesitated, swirling her wine. “He got matched yesterday.”
Hermione’s breath caught. “Already? With who?”
Ginny grimaced. “Cho Chang.”
Hermione nearly choked. “What?”
Luna smiled faintly, as if she’d been expecting it. “That makes perfect sense.”
Ginny turned to her, incredulous. “How in Merlin’s name does that make sense?”
“They both carry grief that never healed properly,” Luna said softly. “She lost Cedric. He lost Fred. Sometimes souls recognize the shape of loss in each other before they recognize love.”
For a moment, no one spoke. The air felt heavy — sad but strangely hopeful.
Hermione exhaled slowly. “Maybe… maybe it’ll help him. Having someone who understands.”
Ginny nodded. “That’s what I’m hoping too. I just don’t want him to resent it.”
Luna’s eyes softened. “He might. At first. But grief and fate are both stubborn things. They’ll find a way to teach him gentleness again.”
Hermione stared into her glass, the wine catching the candlelight like blood and rubies. “It’s strange,” she murmured. “The way everything’s changing. Who’s paired with who. Who’s choosing, who’s not. It feels like we’re all being written into someone else’s story.”
Ginny leaned over, squeezing her knee. “Then write your own ending, love. You’ve always been better at that than anyone.”
That made Hermione smile — tired but genuine. “You make it sound easy.”
Ginny grinned. “Nothing’s easy. But it’s easier with wine.”
They laughed again, the sound bright and aching all at once.
By the time midnight came, the candles had burned low. Luna had dozed off against the sofa arm, murmuring something about moonflowers blooming in her dreams. Ginny and Hermione sat quietly, wrapped in a blanket, watching the flames flicker in the hearth.
Ginny nudged her gently. “You’ll be fine tomorrow, you know. Whatever happens you’ll have your friendship.”
Hermione nodded, though her heart still fluttered like a trapped bird. “I hope so.”
“Trust Theo,” Ginny said simply. “And trust yourself.”
Hermione smiled faintly, finishing her glass. “I do.”
She looked over at Luna, softly snoring beneath her silvery hair, and felt a curious calm wash over her. Maybe Luna was right — maybe fate was patient. Maybe love didn’t need a Ministry decree to make it real.
Notes:
Cho and Ron! Thoughts on that...?
Chapter 46: The Letter That Changed Everything
Chapter Text
The manor was unusually still that morning — the kind of silence that carried weight, like the air before a storm. A pale mist clung to the orchard outside the breakfast windows, softening the edges of the world into something dreamlike and uncertain.
Theo and Hermione sat across from each other at the long oak table in the morning room. Between them sat a pot of tea, two half-eaten scones, and a copy of the Daily Prophet neither of them had turned past the front page.
The clock above the mantel ticked far too loudly.
Hermione had tried to make small talk — about her mastery readings, about the weather, even about Pansy’s plans to redesign the library curtains — but each attempt had fizzled under the heavy pulse of what they were both waiting for.
Theo stirred his tea without drinking it. The spoon clinked against the cup, again and again, until Hermione’s nerves snapped.
“If you keep doing that,” she said, her voice thinner than she meant, “I might hex the spoon.”
He looked up at her — eyes tired, almost apologetic. “Sorry.”
They lapsed back into silence.
She watched him over her teacup, her mind spinning in circles. What if they’d been denied? What if the Ministry decided they weren’t compatible enough, and forced them apart? What if the future she’d barely begun to imagine — quiet mornings, shared laughter, a life of her choosing — was already slipping through her fingers?
Theo broke the silence this time. “You didn’t sleep much, did you?”
She gave a small shrug. “Neither did you.”
He smiled faintly. “No. I kept picturing that blasted examiner’s face.”
“The one who looked like he’d been carved out of disapproval?”
“Exactly.”
That earned a small laugh from her — short-lived, but real. It hung in the air between them like something fragile and precious.
And then — the flutter of wings.
Hermione froze, every muscle in her body going taut. Theo looked up sharply, his hand already gripping the edge of the table.
Through the open window, a large tawny owl swooped in, its Ministry seal glinting in the morning light. It landed neatly on the table between them, extending its leg with practiced impatience.
Hermione’s stomach dropped.
Theo reached for the parchment, his movements steady but his hand trembling slightly as he untied the ribbon. The owl gave a low hoot and took off again, disappearing back into the fog.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The letter sat between them, unopened — just a folded piece of parchment, yet heavy enough to tilt the entire world.
“Do you want to—” Theo began.
“No, you,” Hermione interrupted.
He hesitated, then carefully broke the seal. The wax cracked with a soft snap that made Hermione flinch. He unfolded the parchment, his eyes scanning the first lines — and then stopped. His brow furrowed.
“What?” she asked, dread curling through her chest. “Theo, what does it say?”
He didn’t answer immediately. His lips parted, closed again, and then he handed it to her silently.
Hermione took it, her fingers trembling. Her eyes fell to the Ministry crest stamped at the top — golden phoenix wings surrounding the words:
“Office of Magical Population and Family Affairs — Division of Compatibility Assessment”
She began to read aloud. Her voice wavered but held.
Official Ministry Correspondence — Compatibility Determination
To: Miss Hermione Jean Granger and Mr. Theodore Lawrence Nott
Date: November 14, 2000
Subject: Petition for Couple Compatibility Assessment
Following the submission of your petition and accompanying witness documentation, the Office of Magical Population and Family Affairs has completed your compatibility evaluation under Decree No. 77/9, the Matrimonial Reformation Act.
After extensive magical, genetic, and emotional resonance analysis, we are pleased to inform you that your pairing has been approved for continued partnership consideration.
However, the Department must also report an anomalous finding within your assessment:
The Compatibility Orb registered a Perfect Triadic Resonance Score (100%), a result so rare it has not been recorded in over a century.
This indicates a shared magical and emotional alignment between three individuals, not two, forming a bonded triad rather than a pair.
As required under Section 5, Clause 4 of the Decree, any Triadic Resonance identified through Ministry assessment must be honored and formalized to preserve magical balance within the population.
Accordingly, this office hereby assigns Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy as the third member of your partnership, effective immediately, pending official confirmation of his consent to triadic registration.
All further instructions regarding joint residency, oath-binding ceremony scheduling, and integration protocols will be delivered within three business days.
Failure to comply with this decree will result in wand breaking.
We extend our congratulations on your extraordinary magical compatibility and service to the future of wizardkind.
Signed,
Crispin Yarrow, Senior Bonding Examiner
Office of Magical Population and Family Affairs
Ministry of Magic, London
Hermione’s voice faltered on the last lines. The parchment slipped from her fingers, landing silently on the table.
For a heartbeat, there was no sound but the faint ticking of the clock and the whisper of the wind outside.
Theo was staring at her — pale, stunned, his mouth half-open as if words had fled him entirely. “They—” he began, but couldn’t finish.
Hermione blinked once. Twice. Her pulse roared in her ears. “They can’t mean—”
Theo reached out instinctively as she swayed, but she didn’t hear him. Her breath caught in her throat, her vision narrowing into a blur of gold and white.
Then the room tilted.
The last thing she felt was Theo’s arms catching her before everything went dark.
Notes:
Well, hello Draco... welcome to the triad!
Chapter 47: The Meeting
Chapter Text
When Hermione woke, the world felt muffled — as though she were surfacing through heavy water.
The ceiling above her was familiar: the pale carved beams of her bedchamber at Nott Manor, light leaking through the tall drapes. For a moment, she lay very still, half expecting the nightmare to dissolve.
But it didn’t.
The parchment lay folded neatly on the bedside table, the Ministry seal catching the light.
Reality settled like ice through her veins.
She sat up slowly. Her head throbbed, and her mouth felt dry. Someone — Theo, surely — had taken off her shoes and tucked the blanket over her. On the chair beside the bed sat a tray with tea and a few butter biscuits, untouched and cooling.
Her wand rested on the table beside the letter. She stared at both for a long time, feeling utterly suspended — as if any movement might shatter the fragile calm that held the room together.
The door creaked open.
Theo stood in the threshold, barefoot, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, his hair rumpled from running his hands through it too many times. He looked exhausted but oddly steady, the way someone looks when they’ve already spent all their panic and are now simply existing.
“You’re awake,” he said softly.
She nodded. Her voice came out hoarse. “How long?”
“About two hours.”
He crossed to her side, setting a fresh cup of tea on the table before sitting down at the foot of her bed. For a while, he didn’t speak. Neither of them did.
Finally, Hermione whispered, “Tell me it doesn’t say what I think it says.”
Theo’s eyes flickered to the folded parchment, then back to her. “I wish I could do that if only to make you feel better.”
She swallowed, staring at her hands. “A perfect triad. That’s what it said. That… doesn’t even sound real.”
“It’s not common,” Theo said quietly. “I remember hearing about it once, years ago — some kind of rare magical resonance that binds three people together instead of two. I thought it was just high level magical core theory.”
Hermione gave a soft, broken laugh. “Well, apparently we’re living the theory now.”
Silence again. Outside, a branch tapped gently against the windowpane, rhythmic as a clock.
“I closed the manor wards,” Theo said suddenly. “No one can Floo in. No owls, no visitors, nothing. Not until we decide what we’re going to do.”
She blinked. “You shut the wards?”
He nodded. “Pansy tried to call through. I didn’t answer.”
There was something both comforting and terrifying in that — the idea that they were completely sealed off, just the two of them in this enormous house full of echoes.
Hermione pressed a hand to her forehead. “I can’t even begin to think what this means. If we have to— if the Ministry expects me to—”
She couldn’t finish the sentence.
Theo didn’t push her to.
“I keep thinking,” she said after a moment, voice barely above a whisper, “about what it would mean to be bound to Draco. To be legally tied to him. To live in this same house that’s been just ours. To share my body with him too” she stopped again, shaking her head. “It’s absurd.”
Theo was quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful, measured. “You’re not wrong.”
She looked at him sharply. “Then why do you seem so calm?”
He hesitated, then exhaled looking a tad guilty. “Because I’m still trying to understand how I feel about it.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed.
Theo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m angry, obviously. That the Ministry thinks it can decide who we love, who we live with, who we build a future with. That it’s out of our hands. That it can rewrite something that’s ours. But…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “Draco’s not the man he was. We both know that. He’s broken in ways I recognize. He’s found the light. He’s no longer dark.”
Hermione stared at him, startled by the quiet honesty in his tone. “You mean because of Astoria.”
Theo nodded. “And everything before her too. After her. I don’t know what kind of shape he’s in right now reading his own letter about this, but… I think part of me understands why the magic reacted the way it did. He and I share too much history. And you—” he looked at her, steady now— “you’ve always been part of that same current, even when we didn’t realize it.”
Her throat tightened. “You think it’s right, then? What the Ministry said?”
“I think magic doesn’t care about politics,” Theo said softly. “It doesn’t lie. But that doesn’t mean the Ministry gets to own the truth it finds.”
Hermione turned away, staring out the window. “I don’t want to be someone’s assignment again, Theo. Not yours. Not his.”
“You’re not,” he said, immediately. “Not to me. Never to me.”
The words sat between them like a lifeline.
For a long while, they just breathed — the sound of the wind, the faint crackle of the dying fire downstairs.
Finally, Hermione whispered, “I don’t even know what to do next.”
“Nothing,” Theo said. “Not today. Not until we decide for ourselves what we want.”
She nodded, slow and uncertain. “And when the Ministry comes knocking?”
He gave a wry, tired smile. “Then they can bloody well wait outside the wards. For today, I’m only going to lift them to Draco. He’s just as impacted as we are, if he wants to seek us out to talk, we need to let him in.”
Hermione let out a shaky laugh, half relief, half disbelief. “You really think we can just ignore them?”
“For now? Yes. We’ll figure out the rest later all together.”
He reached over then, brushing a stray curl from her face, the touch light but grounding. “You fainted on me,” he murmured, attempting a faint smile. “Gave me quite a scare.”
“I was overwhelmed,” she said dryly.
“I noticed.”
He stood, picking up the untouched tray. “I’ll make something proper for supper later. You should rest.”
As he reached the door, she called softly, “Theo?”
He turned.
“Thank you. For not… saying anything you didn’t mean.”
He hesitated, then nodded once. “You deserve honesty, not comfort that’s fake.”
Outside, the fog thickened over the orchard. Inside, the manor stayed silent — sealed and waiting, the air heavy with the weight of what came next.
Soon night had fallen hard over Nott Manor. The fog from the orchard pressed close against the windows, muting the world beyond the glass. Inside, every lamp in the formal parlor had been lit, the fire casting gold across the polished wood and gilt frames, though the air still felt cold.
Theo stood by the hearth, sleeves rolled, shoulders taut. The wards hummed faintly through the manor — open now only for one person.
Hermione sat on the velvet sofa, hands clasped in her lap. A teacup had gone cold on the table beside her ages ago. She kept glancing at the flames, counting the heartbeats until the Floo roared to life.
When it did, she flinched.
The green light flared high, and Draco Malfoy stepped through — tall, composed, and completely sober. He was dressed in a dark waistcoat and black robes without embellishment, his blond hair combed neatly back, though the tiredness under his eyes was impossible to miss. He paused on the threshold, brushing soot from his sleeves before meeting their eyes.
For a heartbeat, none of them spoke.
“Thank you for letting me through,” Draco said finally, his voice quieter than she expected. “I wasn’t sure you would. I tried earier but ti was closed. I thought it was personal, but Pansy said she couldn’t get in either. I didn’t tell her why.”
Theo’s reply was calm, measured. “We almost didn’t today. We’re still digesting it.”
Draco nodded once, accepting that without argument. “Fair.”
Hermione stood, smoothing her skirt to give her hands something to do. “You’re looking better than the last time we saw you.”
His jaw tightened briefly, shame flickering across his face. “Yes, well. I remember that day poorly. And by ‘poorly,’ I mean with regret.”
“You don’t owe us an apology,” she began, but he shook his head.
“I do,” Draco said firmly. “To both of you. I was… angry, and not just at the law. I was angry at everything. Watching people I know find some measure of happiness while my life felt like it had been signed away in ink before I even held a quill.” He hesitated, eyes dropping. “It was childish.”
Theo shifted, the smallest release of breath. “We’ve all said worse under firewhisky.”
Draco gave a short, humorless smile. “You’re generous. I don’t deserve it.”
For a moment, the room was filled only with the sound of the fire. The three of them stood in a loose triangle around the hearth — too far apart to be familiar, too close to be strangers.
Hermione broke the silence awkwardly. “You read the letter, then.”
Draco gave a single nod. “I did. And before you ask — yes, it’s genuinely legal. I spoke with my solicitor this afternoon before coming. He confirmed it’s legally binding.”
Theo’s voice dropped. “And what exactly does that mean, in your understanding?”
Draco’s pale eyes flicked between them. “It means we have three choices: comply, resist, or disappear. And I’ve already had my fill of exile.” He paused, his voice lowering. “If I don’t sign the registration forms, the Ministry can confiscate my wand and assets within the month. Send me back to prison if they want. I’d rather not see the inside of Azkaban just because I offended their sense of power.”
Hermione’s throat went dry. “So you’re agreeing to this?”
Draco hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yes. Reluctantly. I’m not delusional enough to think any of us wanted this, but… if the magic truly linked the three of us, then perhaps the Ministry will be less inclined to meddle if we appear cooperative.”
Hermione looked between them — Theo standing rigid, Draco perfectly still — and felt a strange dizziness, as though the room had tilted on an unseen axis.
“I don’t understand how it could have happened,” she said softly. “Triads are supposed to be almost impossible. And yet—”
“The orb doesn’t fabricate results,” Draco interrupted gently. “I looked it up in the Malfoy library. Triadic resonance means that our magical cores harmonize together. It’s not romantic by definition necessarily, though it very often is— but it’s more about energy, potential balance, harmony of magical cores.”
Theo gave a faint snort. “So we’re magically… compatible housemates with interlocking magics?”
“Something like that,” Draco said, dryly but without malice.
Hermione folded her arms. “That’s all well and good in theory, but it doesn’t make this normal.”
Draco’s gaze softened a fraction. “Nothing about any of our lives has been normal since we were eleven.”
Theo looked up at that, their eyes meeting — something unspoken flickering between them, some old understanding or shared ache that Hermione couldn’t quite name. It made her chest tighten unexpectedly with unease.
Draco must have noticed the question in her face because his tone gentled further. “Theo and I have known each other most of our lives,” he said. “Before everything went to hell. There was a time when we actually kind of liked each other but it was short lived.”
Theo’s lips curved down faintly with panic. “Liked might be a strong word. Tolerated, perhaps.”
Draco huffed something close to a laugh. “Tolerated, then.” He glanced toward Hermione. “That’s what I meant earlier. This—” he gestured loosely between them, “—is complicated. It will take time to make peace with it all. But I don’t see another way forward except through.”
Theo crossed to the sideboard, poured three glasses of scotch, and set them down — one for each of them. “Then we agree,” he said quietly. “We comply. Slowly. Together, if that’s what it means.”
Draco accepted his glass with a nod. “Day by day.”
Hermione stared into the fire, her pulse uneven. “Day by day,” she echoed.
The silence that followed was strange — not comfortable, not hostile. Just full.
She looked up once and found both men watching her — Theo steady and protective, Draco sharp and unreadable.
Draco set his glass down untouched. “Tomorrow,” he said quietly, “we’ll tell them. Our friends, I mean.”
Theo nodded once. “Together.”
Hermione didn’t trust herself to speak. She just inclined her head.
Draco glanced toward the fire. “Then I’ll take my leave.”
Theo walked him to the hearth. For a second, they stood close — too close — the air between them heavy with things unsaid. Draco looked like he wanted to say more, but instead gave a short nod and stepped into the flames.
When the green light faded, Theo stayed there, staring at the empty grate.
Hermione rose slowly. “You okay?”
He didn’t turn immediately. When he did, his expression was quiet, distant. “Ask me in the morning.”
She nodded, understanding that was all he could manage.
As she climbed the stairs to her room, she glanced back once. Theo was still standing by the fire, head bowed, the weight of fate settling around him like ash. They slept apart again that night, both needing space alone for their thoughts.
And somewhere, deep in the wards of the manor, three faintly intertwined threads of magic pulsed in answer — uneasy, but alive.
Notes:
Oh Theo... is there something you want to share with Hermione maybe?
Chapter 48: The Surprise
Chapter Text
The air drifting in the manor smelled faintly of pine, rain, and parchment.
Hermione sat on the settee beside Theo, her hands folded carefully around a cup of tea she hadn’t touched. Across from them, Pansy and Blaise shared a loveseat; Blaise’s hand rested lazily along the back of it while Pansy’s heel bounced in nervous rhythm.
Ginny and Harry were together on the opposite sofa, his arm draped over her shoulders, her expression somewhere between curiosity and mild apprehension. Luna had taken the armchair nearest the window, looking dreamlike as usual, her wand twirling idly in her fingers as she gazed at the garden beyond the glass.
Draco stood slightly apart from the group near the fireplace, immaculate as always in dark robes, though his posture was rigid — a study in controlled discomfort.
Theo cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming.”
The murmur of side conversations died away.
Hermione could feel her heart hammering as she glanced toward Theo. They had rehearsed this conversation twice over breakfast, and still, her palms were damp.
“I imagine you all know why we asked you here,” Theo began, his voice steady but tight. “Hermione and I received our compatibility results from the Ministry yesterday morning.”
Ginny smiled brightly, though her eyes flicked between them curiously. “I take it that means good news?”
Theo hesitated. “Yes, but… it’s a bit complicated.”
Luna tilted her head. “Complicated in the way a Crumple-Horned Snorkack courtship is complicated? Or more like when the moon insists on rising in the wrong phase?”
Draco gave a small, strangled sound that might have been a suppressed laugh.
Theo blinked. “Er… more the second one I think.”
Hermione glanced sideways at him, biting back a nervous smile.
Theo continued, “We were told our results were compatible. Exceptionally so, actually.” He paused, voice lowering slightly. “But there was something… unexpected about them.”
Blaise leaned forward. “Unexpected how? Don’t tell me they matched Hermione with someone else because of your family’s affiliations. That’d be a bloody scandal.”
Theo glanced toward Draco — who was studying the fire now — then back at his friends. “Not exactly.”
Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again. Words seemed inadequate.
Draco finally turned, tone clipped but clear. “I’m the complication.”
For a moment, the room froze.
Ginny looked baffled, looking from Draco to Theo to Hermione and back again. “Wait — what?”
Pansy’s foot stopped bouncing. Blaise’s eyebrows shot up. Even Harry’s easy composure faltered into confusion.
Luna, however, merely nodded thoughtfully, as if she’d expected this all along. “Oh yes,” she said dreamily. “The starlines made that obvious months ago. Three constellations crossing in one sky — it was bound to happen.”
Everyone turned to look at he in shock. Realization began to dawn on their faces.
She just smiled serenely and sipped her tea.
Theo gave a faint, weary smile. “Leave it to Luna to be the only one unsurprised.”
Blaise exhaled sharply, trying not to laugh. “You’re serious, though? The Ministry matched all three of you?”
Draco inclined his head once. “That’s correct. A perfect triadic compatibility score in fact.”
“Merlin’s beard,” Pansy whispered, eyes wide. “That’s practically unheard of.”
Ginny frowned, trying to catch up. “So you three — what does that mean exactly? You’re supposed to… all marry each other?”
Hermione nodded, her voice quiet but steady. “According to the law, yes. We’re expected to comply. But we don’t— we don’t know what that looks like yet for us exactly. It’s… a lot to process.”
There was a long pause. The fire popped, echoing softly.
Harry cleared his throat. “Well,” he said awkwardly, “I suppose there are worse people you could be magically bound to. You do still get to be with Theo. I mean—” he looked at Draco and visibly struggled, “—no offense.”
Draco’s mouth twitched. “None taken. I’m still deciding whether I agree with you though.”
The tension cracked into laughter — small, nervous, but enough to let the air move again.
Blaise leaned back, smirking faintly. “Well, this will make dinner parties interesting.”
Pansy smacked his arm lightly. “Blaise! Be serious.”
“I am serious,” he said, grinning. “But I’m also happy for you three. You’ve all been through hell. Maybe this will… balance something you’ve been missing from your healing.”
Ginny nodded, though her eyes lingered on Hermione with concern. “Are you okay, really?”
Hermione hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I think so. Or at least, I will be eventually… maybe… I honestly don’t know. We’re taking it day by day.”
Theo reached over, resting a hand gently on her knee — a small gesture, but grounding. “We’ll figure it out,” he said quietly.
Luna was still watching Draco with that same calm, knowing expression. “You shouldn’t fight the pattern,” she said softly. “Sometimes magic shows us what the heart can’t yet name.”
Draco gave her a long, unreadable look. “You have an unnerving habit of sounding prophetic, Lovegood.”
“I’m only observant,” she said serenely. “You’ve been circling each other’s gravity for years. In twos. It was never enough. It was only a matter of time before the universe noticed.”
Hermione felt heat creep up her neck, unsure what to make of that.
Theo glanced toward Draco, a flicker of something complicated passing between them — not hostility, but wary understanding.
Finally, Theo stood, setting his cup aside. “We’re grateful for your support. But we’d appreciate some privacy for the next few days while we work out… what this means.”
Pansy rose immediately and crossed to Hermione, squeezing her hands. “You’ll always have me, no matter what it looks like,” she whispered, eyes glimmering. “And for what it’s worth… I think you three might surprise yourselves once this settles.”
Hermione smiled weakly. “That seems to be the theme lately.”
Ginny hugged her next, muttering something about being brave in new ways. Luna merely patted her arm and said something about “alignment and patience.”
Blaise clapped Theo on the shoulder on their way out. “You’ve officially entered uncharted territory, mate. But if anyone can navigate a miracle like this without losing their heads, it’s you.”
When the Floo flared green one last time and the room fell quiet, only the three of them remained.
For a long time, none of them spoke.
Draco finally exhaled and said, quietly, “Well. That went better than I expected.”
Theo nodded, voice dry. “No hexes. No tears. I’ll take it.”
Hermione sank back into the sofa, staring into the dying fire. “Tomorrow,” she said softly, “the rest of the world will know.”
Neither man argued.
Outside, the first flakes of snow began to fall — thin, tentative, fragile as breath — and inside, the three of them sat in the flickering light, silent but bound now by something more powerful than any decree.
Notes:
Oh boy, how is the world going to react even if their friends are supportive?
Chapter 49: Come What May
Chapter Text
The morning after their announcement dawned bleak and gray, a mist curling low over the Nott Manor grounds. Inside, the breakfast parlor was warm and golden, but the mood was anything but light.
Theo poured tea with the same careful precision he always did, his movements quiet and deliberate, as though control could hold the world together. Hermione sat across from him in a soft dressing robe, hair still damp from her shower, eyes shadowed from too little sleep.
Neither of them had spoken much. They’d both known the whispers would start eventually. They hadn’t expected it so dramatic though.
A tapping sound broke the silence. An owl, large and gray-winged, thudded against the windowpane and hooted impatiently.
Theo frowned. “I didn’t order a paper today.”
Hermione rose, opened the latch, and the owl swept in with practiced arrogance, dropping The Daily Prophet directly into her hands before taking off again into the mist.
The headline hit her like a curse.
THE GOLDEN GIRL’S GOLDEN SCANDAL: HERMIONE GRANGER CAUGHT IN MINISTRY-MANDATED LOVE TRIANGLE
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
Hermione’s stomach dropped. She hadn’t even realized she’d sat down until Theo gently pried the paper from her fingers.
“Do you want me to—”
“No,” she whispered. “Read it aloud. I need to hear it.”
Theo’s jaw clenched, but he unfolded the newspaper and began.
THE GOLDEN GIRL’S GOLDEN SCANDAL: HERMIONE GRANGER CAUGHT IN MINISTRY-MANDATED LOVE TRIANGLE
By Rita Skeeter
It seems our beloved savior’s sidekick has found herself entangled in a most unconventional arrangement. Reliable Ministry sources confirm that Hermione Jean Granger, known for her tireless (and often tiresome) crusades for equality and justice, has been granted special dispensation under the new Marriage Mandate — a rare and shocking triadic compatibility match involving not one, but two eligible pure-blood wizards.
That’s right, dear readers: two.
The lucky gentlemen? None other than Theodore Nott, newly reinstated Lord Nott and promising Healer-in-Training, and Draco Malfoy, infamous former Death Eater turned reclusive widower.
One cannot help but wonder what curious twist of fate — or ambition — landed Miss Granger between two of Slytherin’s most eligible (and, some whisper, morally flexible) bachelors.
An inside source from the Ministry’s Department of Magical Population confirmed late yesterday that the trio’s compatibility results were “unprecedented — a perfect magical resonance.” Yet, skeptics have already begun murmuring that the so-called harmony was achieved through experimental charms, or perhaps Miss Granger’s well-known penchant for “breaking the rules when it suits her.”
Could the former Muggle-born activist have manipulated the testing process? After all, this is the same witch who once stormed into the Wizengamot to argue for house-elf rights and was seen openly fraternizing with convicted former Death Eaters during post-war reconciliation efforts.
And what of Lord Malfoy, who until recently lived in seclusion following the tragic (and suspiciously timed) death of his wife, Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy? Insiders say that his sudden re-emergence in society — and this bizarre bond — may be less about destiny and more about damage control.
As for Lord Nott, friends describe him as “gentle” and “bookish,” though those same friends admit he’s “never been known to say no to Hermione Granger.” One wonders whether the young lord truly understands what he’s getting himself into — or if he’s merely along for the ride.
Observers are already speculating what this means for the upcoming implementation of the Marriage Law. Does this triad signal a loophole, a political experiment, or something even darker? Skeptics in the Ministry suggest the “Golden Girl” has once again bent the rules to suit her ideals.
Still, perhaps Miss Granger’s intentions are pure. After all, she has always preached unity — and what could be more unifying than sharing herself between two former dark husbands?
When reached for comment late last night, Ministry spokesperson Wilhelmina Triggs stated:
“While triadic matches are rare, the Ministry supports any pairing deemed magically sound. We wish Miss Granger and her partners the best in their union and future contribution to the wizarding population.”
One can only hope that when it comes to fulfilling their duty to that population, Miss Granger’s trademark diligence will once again be on full display in the next year.
— continued on page 3, with sketches of the happy trio and commentary from society columnist Celestina Marchbanks.
Theo’s voice had gone flat by the end. He didn’t read the rest.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Hermione stared down at her plate — her toast untouched, her tea gone cold — and whispered, “I knew she’d do something like this. I just didn’t think it would be this cruel. She’s always hated me.”
Theo folded the paper carefully, too carefully, and set it back on the table. “Cruel’s her trade.”
Her voice cracked. “She makes it sound like I planned this. Like I wanted it.”
Theo rose abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He snatched the paper back up, snapped his wand from his pocket, and with a sharp flick and a muttered “Incendio,” the Daily Prophet burst into flame.
The fire caught quickly, curling the pages inward until Rita Skeeter’s smirking byline turned to ash.
Theo watched it burn, his jaw tight. “You don’t deserve this,” he said quietly.
Hermione pressed her palms over her face, but the tears came anyway — hot, angry, humiliated. “They’ll never let me live it down. Not after everything I did to help rebuild the Ministry. Now I’m their fun scandal headline.”
Theo crossed the room, knelt beside her chair, and pried her hands away gently. “Look at me.”
Her eyes were red when she met his.
“We know the truth,” he said. “Our friends know the truth. That’s what matters. The rest of the world—” his mouth twisted into something halfway between a grimace and a smile, “—the rest of the world can choke on their gossip.”
Hermione gave a watery laugh, then pressed her forehead against his. “They always said you were the reasonable one.”
“I’m not reasonable,” he murmured. “I’m furious. But if I start hexing reporters, it’ll only prove her point.”
She exhaled, shaky but calmer. “Do you think Draco’s read it yet?”
Theo stood, his expression darkening. “If he has, I imagine the Prophet’s offices are already under siege.”
Hermione laughed again, a broken sound that turned genuine halfway through.
“Come on,” Theo said softly, taking her hand and pulling her up. “Let’s go outside. You shouldn’t breathe that air any longer than necessary.”
As they stepped out into the chill morning fog, the ashes of the paper scattered in the fireplace, the ink still curling and blackening — Rita Skeeter’s words turning to smoke, rising toward the ceiling and vanishing into nothing.
Theo still held her hand as they walked down the gravel path toward the tree line. Hermione’s mind was spinning with fragments of Rita’s words, ugly and vivid, looping like a curse.
She opened her mouth to say something — she didn’t know what — when the sharp pop of apparition split the air behind them.
Theo spun around, wand already half-drawn.
Draco Malfoy stood at the edge of the path, his stern expression carved from granite. His cloak flared around his boots in the wind, and his eyes — pale, sharp, unreadable — fixed on Hermione.
“I saw the article,” he said, voice low.
Theo straightened, the tension in his shoulders visible. “Of course you did. Everyone in Britain saw the bloody article.”
Draco ignored the jab. He looked directly at Hermione, his tone softer now. “Are you all right?”
Hermione hesitated, startled by the concern beneath his usual reserve. “No,” she admitted honestly. “Not really.”
He gave a single, short nod. “Then we’ll fix it.”
Theo frowned. “Fix it how?”
Draco’s jaw clenched. “By suing them. For libel. For invasion of privacy. For whatever bloody statutes I can twist into knots until The Prophet chokes on them.”
Hermione blinked. “Draco, that’s— I appreciate it, but I don’t think it’ll help. It’ll only make the story bigger. It won’t change if people believe it.”
“Then it’ll make me the story instead of you,” he snapped, the anger in his tone startling both of them. “Merlin knows I’m better equipped to play the villain.”
Theo studied him carefully, then said quietly, “That’s not what she needs right now.”
Draco exhaled sharply, looking away, the fight draining from his voice. “No. I suppose not.”
The three of them stood in silence for a long moment, the only sound the crunch of gravel underfoot and the caw of distant crows in the orchard.
Finally, Hermione spoke. “I don’t want to spend my life reacting to people like her,” she said softly. “I want to live it. On my terms. I just don’t know what those terms are anymore.”
Draco looked at her, something almost vulnerable flickering in his eyes. “None of us do, Granger. We all had plans once — before the war, before the Ministry decided to start rearranging our lives like chess pieces.”
Theo glanced between them. “Then maybe we should start by saying what we do want.”
Hermione turned toward him, brow furrowed. “You mean… right now?”
He nodded. “Why not? If we don’t name it, the Ministry will name it for us. So will the media”
She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “All right.”
They began walking again, the three of them side by side down the orchard path, the fog curling around their ankles.
Hermione spoke first. “I want to finish my mastery. I want to teach someday possibly — maybe at Hogwarts, maybe abroad. I want to make magic accessible to people who were told they didn’t belong. Maybe someday I could want to run for Minister.” She paused. “And… I want a home. Not a house — a home. Somewhere warm. With people I trust.”
Theo smiled faintly. “That sounds like you.”
She nudged him lightly. “Your turn.”
He sighed, glancing out at the trees. “I want to heal people. Real healing, not just potions and paperwork. I want to build something that outlasts the name I inherited. Leaves it better than what I inherited. The Notts were… cold. I want warmth. I want peace.”
His voice lowered. “And maybe… I want someone who makes me feel human in the middle of all this madness.”
The words hung in the mist between them. Hermione’s chest tightened, but before she could answer, Draco spoke — quieter than either of them expected.
“I want redemption,” he said simply.
They both looked at him.
He kept his gaze forward. “I want my mother to stop worrying when she sees my name in a headline. I want to stop being a symbol of every wrong thing my family ever did. I want to do something good and have it mean something.”
Hermione’s voice softened. “You already have, Draco. You just don’t see it yet.”
He gave a small, disbelieving huff of laughter. “Perhaps. But I also want…” He trailed off, choosing his words carefully. “I want to be around people who don’t look at me and see either pity or fear. Maybe that’s what this is meant to teach me.”
Theo glanced at him sidelong. “You mean us.”
Draco’s mouth quirked faintly. “yes, I mean… both of you.”
For a few minutes, none of them spoke. They walked until they reached the old stone wall at the end of the orchard, the one that overlooked the wide valley below. The clouds were beginning to break, streaks of pale sunlight threading through.
Hermione leaned on the wall, looking out across the land. “We’re not what Skeeter painted us as,” she said finally. “We’re not some twisted romance or political scheme. We’re just—”
“People trying to survive something new,” Theo finished.
“Exactly.”
Draco joined them at the wall, his gloved hands braced on the stone. “Then maybe that’s how we handle it. Quietly. Together. We don’t give them the scandal they want.”
Theo met his eyes, steady. “Together,” he echoed.
Hermione looked between them, then nodded slowly. “Day by day.”
They stood like that for a while — three unlikely figures in the gray morning, bound not by law or duty, but by shared exhaustion and something fragile, tentative, that might someday grow into understanding.
The wind picked up, stirring the fog around their feet.
Finally, Draco said softly, “If you ever change your mind about suing the paper, I’m still happy to make Rita Skeeter’s week miserable.”
Hermione laughed — a tired, genuine sound. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Theo smiled faintly. “You’d enjoy it too much.”
“Undoubtedly,” Draco said. “But for once, it might be for the right reasons.”
The three of them started walking back toward the manor — not quite side by side, but close enough that their shadows began to overlap on the pale gravel path.
Notes:
they're all being a bit too civil too each other over this... that's got to change =P
Chapter 50: Rekindling The Past
Chapter Text
By Thursday evening, exhaustion and loneliness had become Hermione’s constant companion. The past several days had blurred together — lectures, practicum sessions, papers to draft, and the relentless whisper of gossip that seemed to follow her everywhere she went. Even at the Charms Institute, where professionalism usually trumped rumor, she could feel it: the lingering looks, the subtle pauses in conversation when she entered a room.
And always, the howlers.
They came every morning like clockwork — shrieking red envelopes that exploded with insults and slurs until the manor’s wards had to be adjusted just to muffle the sound. By now, the house-elves simply gathered them and burned them before she was awake. She’d told them not to, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to be angry.
It was easier not to hear the words.
Theo had been working night shifts for his Healer program all week, coming home when she was already gone. His letters — left neatly folded on the kitchen table in his careful handwriting — had become their only form of conversation.
Get some rest.
There’s soup waiting in the kitchen.
Proud of you.
Simple things. But they mattered.
Draco had been gone too — some international business with the Malfoy accounts that had required him to leave abruptly. The house felt emptier without his quiet presence echoing in the halls.
Now, Nott Manor felt too large. Too hollow. Too haunted by echoing footsteps and thoughts she couldn’t quiet.
Hermione flooed home just after sunset, brushing soot from her robes. The sitting room was quiet, golden light spilling through the tall windows from the sconces the elves had lit. She dropped her satchel by the door and rubbed her temples, the beginnings of a headache pressing against her skull.
She was halfway down the hall toward her chambers when she froze.
A sound — faint, distant — drifted through the air. A low, rhythmic noise that she couldn’t quite place. It echoed from the family wing, down toward Theo’s rooms.
Hermione frowned.
It was… strange. Muffled. Intermittent. Almost like—
She shook her head, annoyed with herself. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath.
Still, curiosity prickled at her. Theo wasn’t supposed to be home until the morning; he’d mentioned a double shift when they last exchanged notes. So who—
She hesitated at the turn in the hallway, her heartbeat quickening despite herself. The manor was old, full of sounds — creaking beams, enchanted doors settling, portraits whispering to one another. But this sound… it didn’t feel like the house.
It felt human.
She moved quietly, slippers silent against the runner. As she neared Theo’s corridor, the noise grew clearer — not louder exactly, but more defined. Her stomach tightened in confusion. It wasn’t constant, just these strange, drawn-out bursts of sound followed by silence, and then again.
Her mind, tired and overworked, scrambled for explanations.
Maybe he’d returned early and hurt himself in some way? Or perhaps he was having a nightmare — the kind that left people gasping and incoherent from the war?
Her chest tightened at the thought. The war had left them all with ghosts that surfaced at inconvenient hours.
She stopped just outside his bedroom door, heart hammering. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the hall.
“Theo?” she called softly.
No answer. Just another muffled noise.
The scene before her froze her in place, her mind struggling to process the scene unfolding on their shared bed—the bed where Theo had held her just nights ago, whispering promises of their future together. There, tangled in the sheets, was Theo, his dark hair disheveled, his lean body arched in ecstasy. But it wasn't her he was with. It was Draco Malfoy, the complication to their reastionship, now positioned dominantly over Theo, their bodies moving in a rhythm that spoke of familiarity, not novelty.
Theo was on his back, legs wrapped around Draco's waist, his hands clutching at the blond's shoulders. Draco's pale skin glistened with sweat, his youths trademark sneer softened into a possessive smirk as he thrust steadily, deliberately. Theo's eyes were half-lidded, lost in pleasure, soft moans escaping his lips—sounds Hermione had falsely thought were reserved for her alone.
Draco leaned down, capturing Theo's mouth in a bruising kiss before pulling back, his voice a low, husky drawl laced with nostalgia. "Fuck, Theo, you feel just as good as you did back at Hogwarts. Remember those nights in the Slytherin dorms? Sneaking around after curfew, thinking no one knew about us."
Theo gasped, his fingers digging into Draco's back, urging him deeper. "Draco... don't stop. Gods, yes..."
Hermione's world tilted. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move. The room smelled of sweat and sex, the air thick with the scent of their colognes mingling—Theo's earthy rain and Draco's crisp, expensive apple. The sheets were rumpled, pillows askew, and on the nightstand sat an open bottle of Firewhisky, half-empty, as if this had been planned, savored.
Draco chuckled, a dark, intimate sound, as he shifted his angle, eliciting a sharper cry from Theo. "You were always so eager back then, weren't you? Bottoming for me in the prefect's bathroom, whispering how you'd leave that pure-blood bullshit behind if I asked. And now? Look at you, still begging for it like the good little slut you were in sixth year."
Theo's response was a whimper, his body trembling as Draco's hand wrapped around him, stroking in time with his own thrusts. "I... I missed this. Missed you."
The words hit Hermione like a Cruciatus Curse. Missed him? They'd seriously dated? Her mind reeled, flashing back to Hogwarts—the sly glances between Slytherins she'd dismissed as house politics, the way Theo had always been evasive about his past relationships. And Draco—arrogant, reformed Draco, newly friends with her Draco, who'd claimed to have turned over a new leaf after the war.
Finally, a choked sob escaped her throat, shattering the moment. Theo's eyes snapped open, widening in horror as he spotted her in the doorway. "Hermione! Oh gods, no—"
Draco froze mid-thrust, his head whipping around. For a split second, surprise flickered across his features, but it quickly morphed into that familiar piercing gaze. He didn't pull away immediately, as if savoring the power of the moment. "Granger," he drawled, his voice still rough from exertion. "Didn't expect you home so soon. Care to join? Or is this a bit too... Slytherin for your Gryffindor tastes?" It seemed like he was teasing her, actually wanted her to join, his sexy eyes calling to her.
Theo shoved at Draco's chest, scrambling to disentangle himself, the sheets pooling around his waist. "Hermione, wait—it's not what it looks like. I can explain—"
And the realization hit her that whatever this was, she had intruded.
Hermione stepped back, pulse racing, throat dry. She shut the door carefully — quietly — and took a shaky breath.
The air in the hallway felt suddenly too thin, too warm.
Her thoughts tumbled over each other — confusion, embarrassment, worry.
Whatever was happening, she needed to talk to him… to both of them. But not now. Not like this.
She turned and hurried down the hall, retreating to her own chambers before her heart could decide whether it was hurt, alarmed, intrigued, jealous, or everything. She warded the door locked shut and sound proofed it.
Notes:
What a conversation they need to all have. What do you think will happen when she speaks to them?
Chapter 51: The Escape
Notes:
Every girl needs a good friend during heartbreak.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione didn’t remember falling asleep.
Only the sharp ache behind her eyes and the swollen pull in her throat told her she must have cried until her body gave up sometime past midnight.
When she woke, the sky outside her window was still half-dark — the world caught between blue and gray. For a few disoriented moments, she thought she might still be dreaming. The manor was too quiet, and the fog pressed against the windows like something alive.
She turned over and saw the faint outline of Theo’s note on her bedside table from two days ago — “Soup in the kitchen, get some rest.”
Her chest hurt.
She couldn’t stay here. Not today.
She slipped out of bed, her limbs heavy, throat raw. She didn’t bother with breakfast, didn’t even glance toward Theo’s door as she moved through the house. The corridors felt endless, each step echoing like guilt.
By the time the sun began to crest the horizon, Hermione was already at the Floo in the front foyer, cloak thrown over her shoulders, her satchel clutched tightly to her chest.
The green flames flared, and she vanished into the hearth — into anywhere but here.
Class that day might as well have been in another language.
Her quill scratched nonsense across parchment while Professor Haversham lectured about interwoven enchantment matrices, but the words refused to stick. Her mind kept looping back — to the manor, to the quiet sound in the hallway, to the ache of uncertainty in her stomach that hadn’t gone away since.
She wasn’t even angry, not really. Just… unraveling.
Every spell she cast came out wrong — too weak, or too strong. By the second hour, she’d charmed her own sleeve to keep turning pages for her.
“Miss Granger,” Haversham said at one point, his sharp brow raised, “you appear distracted.”
“Yes, sir,” she murmured. “I— I apologize.”
He studied her for a moment, then softened slightly. “Even the brightest of us lose focus sometimes. You’ve been working too hard.”
Hermione nodded, grateful for the mercy but unable to smile.
When class finally ended, she lingered in her seat, letting the others file out around her. The thought of returning to Nott Manor made her chest tighten. She couldn’t face Theo. Not yet. Not with everything twisting inside her — the noise she couldn’t unhear, the fear that her heart had been foolish enough to hope for too much, too fast.
She needed to breathe. To think. Away from all of it.
Hermione gathered her things and stepped outside into the crisp afternoon air. The Cornish cliffs stretched before her, wild and windswept, the sea churning far below.
She took a deep breath, reached for her wand, and whispered, “Expecto Patronum.”
Her silver otter leapt into being, twirling once before fixing her with patient eyes.
She swallowed hard, her voice trembling as she spoke the message.
“Theo… I’m going away for the weekend to think. Please don’t reach out — not you or Draco. I need space. I’d like us all to sit down together Sunday morning when I return and talk about everything.
And… please, don’t— don’t sleep together while I’m gone. I just— I need time to clear my head.”
Her voice cracked on the last words, but the Patronus only bowed its head in silent understanding before darting away into the wind, vanishing toward the manor.
Hermione stood for a moment longer, eyes stinging, then pulled her cloak tighter and turned toward the nearest Floo station.
The familiar swirl of emerald fire dropped her into Pansy’s elegant sitting room — all marble floors, velvet cushions, and the faint smell of perfume and old parchment.
Pansy, still in her dressing gown with her hair up in a towel from just showering, startled at the sound. “Merlin’s sake, Hermione, what—”
“I needed to get out,” Hermione said softly. “Just for a few days.”
Pansy assessed her, her sharp features softening instantly. “You look like you’ve been trampled by a herd of Kneazles.”
Hermione gave a tired, humorless laugh. “I feel worse.”
Pansy crossed the room, hands on her hips. “Did something happen? Did Theo—”
“Please don’t ask,” Hermione interrupted quickly, her voice small but firm. “Not yet. I can’t talk about it. I just… need a change of airatmosphere
Pansy studied her for a long moment, eyes calculating but compassionate. Then she nodded once, decisive. “Fine. A change of scenery you shall have.”
Before Hermione could ask what that meant, Pansy was already moving — wand in hand, muttering to herself. “Clothes… shoes… sunscreen… oh, and swimsuits, obviously.”
“Pansy—”
Pansy turned with a grin that was pure Slytherin mischief. “We’re going to Barcelona.”
Hermione blinked inconfusion. “What?”
“Ginny’s got a match there tomorrow with the Harpies,” Pansy said, snapping her fingers at an elf who appeared with a travel trunk. “She’s been begging me to come cheer her on for the last few weeks, and I was going to decline, but now it seems fate insists I should attend — with you. Two nights. Sun, wine, and something other than British tragedy.”
Hermione hesitated. “I can’t just—”
“You can,” Pansy interrupted smoothly. “You’ve earned it. Britain can survive two days without Hermione Granger saving it.”
The corners of Hermione’s mouth twitched, and for the first time that day, a flicker of real gratitude passed through her chest. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m effective,” Pansy corrected, smirking. “Now go grab that sensible beige robe you like so much; I’ll have Blaise sent a note so he doesn’t think I’ve been kidnapped.”
She scribbled something quick and efficient on parchment and snapped her fingers for an owl.
Hermione sat quietly while Pansy finished packing — the first sense of calm she’d felt all day slowly, tentatively finding her again.
When the trunk snapped shut with a satisfying click, Pansy straightened, chin high. “All right. Hotel’s expecting us. Suite room, good view, and a proper bar downstairs. Let’s go, darling.”
Hermione stood, gripping her satchel. “Thank you, Pansy.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Pansy said lightly as they stepped into the Floo together. “Wait until the tapas.”
The green flames roared to life, and in a whirl of color and motion, the two women disappeared.
They stumbled out into the lobby of a grand Barcelona hotel moments later — the air warm and perfumed with citrus, the sound of distant music floating in from the open terrace.
Pansy brushed soot off her sleeves, looked around approvingly, and declared, “Right. Step one: no crying. Step two: sangria.”
Hermione let out a fragile laugh, it felt like maybe she could start breathing again.
The Barcelona twilight painted the sky in ribbons of rose and violet, the kind of beauty that demanded attention even from the weary. Hermione stood on the hotel balcony beside Pansy, watching the last of the sunlight scatter across the sea. The air was warm, humming with life — distant laughter from the plaza below, the soft strum of a guitar drifting upward.
Pansy leaned against the railing, hair pinned up elegantly, a chilled glass of sangria in her hand. “You know,” she said lazily, “there’s something to be said for Mediterranean therapy. Wine, warm air, and not a single howler screeching insults at you.”
Hermione grimaced palely. “It’s definitely quieter than home right now.”
Pansy turned, her dark eyes narrowing in mock severity. “You’re dodging the point. You needed air. Now breathe it.”
Hermione exhaled, the sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh. “I’m trying.”
“Good. Now come on — I’m starving. You can be sad, but you can’t be sad on an empty stomach.”
They left the hotel just as the city was waking for the night. The streets shimmered under lamplight, tiled mosaics glinting beneath their feet as they wandered through narrow lanes toward a bustling tapas bar Pansy claimed was “positively famous, darling.”
The host recognized her name — she’d apparently sent an owl ahead — and led them to a table on the best terrace. A warm breeze fluttered the napkins; somewhere nearby, someone was laughing too loudly.
They ordered a spread of everything: olives, manchego, roasted peppers, sizzling garlic shrimp. Hermione managed a few bites, but mostly pushed food around her plate, her appetite trailing behind her mood.
“So,” Pansy said after a while, tone carefully light, “are you ready to tell me what this grand escape is all about, or do I have to guess?”
Hermione hesitated, glancing around at the people nearby — tourists, locals, couples leaning close over wineglasses. The normalcy of it all felt impossibly distant.
“It’s… complicated,” she said finally. “Things at home are just… tangled.”
Pansy took a sip of wine, her brow arching. “Tangled, as in emotional, romantic, or political?”
“All three,” Hermione admitted softly.
Pansy gave a dry little laugh. “Of course they are. You’ve always been an overachiever.”
Hermione smiled despite herself, but her eyes stayed fixed on her glass. “It’s just… a lot. I thought I was handling everything, but now I’m not sure.”
Pansy studied her quietly, but didn’t press further. She changed the subject instead, rambling about fashion week, Blaise’s vineyard expansion, and how Luna had sent her an enchanted flower that refuses to die even if you light it on fire.
It was a mercy.
For the rest of dinner, Hermione let herself drift — listening, smiling when appropriate, letting the city’s hum drown out the noise in her head.
By the time they returned to the hotel, the hour was late and the streets had quieted. Pansy kicked off her heels the moment they entered their suite, collapsing dramatically onto the nearest bed.
“Remind me why I ever wear those death traps,” she muttered.
Hermione laughed softly, perching at the vanity to untie her hair. “Because you like being taller than everyone else.”
Pansy peeked up, smirking. “Touché.”
The easy banter filled the space for a while — the clink of jewelry being set aside, the soft hum of the city through the window. But eventually, silence settled again, and Pansy looked over from her bed, her voice gentler now.
“All right,” she said. “Out with it. Whatever’s been eating you alive since you got here.”
Hermione’s hands froze mid-motion. She stared down at her lap for a long moment before whispering, “I walked in on something.”
Pansy didn’t move, didn’t interrupt — just waited, eyes patient and sharp.
“I was tired,” Hermione continued quietly. “I got home early from my program. I heard noises coming from Theo’s room and thought maybe he was hurt, or having a nightmare, or— I don’t even know what I thought. So I went to check.”
She swallowed hard with glassy eyes. “It wasn’t that. I didn’t stay long enough to see much, but it was clear what was going on. Draco was fucking him silly. What I heard… Pansy… Theo and Draco dated before, like seriously at Hogwarts. This was like… make-up sex or something rekindled.”
Pansy exhaled slowly, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she rose, crossed the room, and sat beside Hermione on the edge of the bed.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry.”
Hermione gave a weak laugh. “You don’t even know what to say, do you?”
“Not really,” Pansy admitted softly. “Because it’s horrible — but it’s also… not exactly a betrayal, is it? Not in the way it would be for other people.”
Hermione turned to her, confused and wounded all at once.
Pansy sighed. “You three are bound by law now. You and Theo, Theo and Draco, you and Draco — it’s all part of one mess the Ministry wrapped in a pretty bow. The three of you are supposed to share a bond, magical and emotional as a triad. That’s… complicated, Hermione. It means there are going to be overlaps you can’t control.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “That doesn’t make it hurt less. We should have all talked about it. They should have told me. Not let me walk in on it like that.”
“I know.” Pansy’s tone was sympathetic, but steady. “And it shouldn’t. You’re human, not a clause in a Ministry contract. You love Theo— or you’re on your way there. But he’s got to find his way through this whole mess too.”
Hermione blinked rapidly, tears gathering despite herself. “I thought I was prepared for all of it — for sharing, for being reasonable — but it’s so different when it actually happens. I just keep thinking… what if I’m not enough? What if Theo prefers him over me and I turn into the third wheel?”
Pansy shook her head. “You are enough. But this whole situation isn’t about enough, it’s about impossible. None of you asked for this law, or this triad. You’re all improvising.”
Hermione looked down, voice breaking. “Did you know about them? Theo and Draco?”
Pansy hesitated, then sighed. “Not exactly. But looking back knowing this now… there were signs. Hogwarts in the later darker years — after Draco and I split. They both got quiet around each other in that particular way. You know — long glances, unexplained absences. I didn’t think much of it at the time honestly.”
She reached over, touching Hermione’s hand lightly. “For what it’s worth, Draco’s always been more loyal than people think. He wasn’t a terrible boyfriend to me. And Theo— he probably didn’t know how to tell you. He’s terrified of hurting people he cares about. Heck, he really might have thought it was all tucked away in the past.”
Hermione wiped at her face, her voice soft. “Maybe I’m just tired of being brave all the time.”
Pansy smiled sadly. “Then don’t be. Not tonight.”
They sat in silence for a while — the city humming softly outside the window, the weight of everything pressing down but somehow less suffocating with someone else there.
Eventually, Pansy stood and dimmed the lamps. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll go watch Ginny rock and yell inappropriate things in Spanish. It’ll be good for you.”
Hermione managed a small laugh through the tears. “You’re an awful influence.”
“I’m a magnificent influence,” Pansy corrected, slipping under her covers. “Now go to bed before I hex you into relaxation.”
Hermione crawled beneath the sheets, exhaustion finally beginning to pull her under.
As the lights faded and the quiet deepened, she whispered into the dark, “Thank you, Pansy.”
Pansy’s sleepy voice drifted back, half a sigh, half a smile. “Anytime, darling. That’s what friends are for — dragging you to Spain when your love life explodes.”
The sunlight over Barcelona the next morning was the kind that demanded you forgive the world for existing. It spilled golden and unrelenting through the hotel curtains, stirring Hermione awake long before she wanted to move. For a moment, she forgot where she was — the air smelled faintly of sea salt, not English fog, and there were church bells ringing somewhere in the distance.
Then she remembered: Theo Draco. Spain. Pansy. A self-imposed exile from everything that hurt.
And strangely, she felt… lighter. Not fixed, but less breakable.
Pansy was already up, perched on the end of her bed in a silk dressing gown and sunglasses, sipping espresso as if she were auditioning for a magazine cover. “Morning, tragic heroine,” she said, smirking. “We’re going out.”
Hermione groaned. “Out? I barely have the energy to—”
“Breathe? Nonsense. You’ll feel better with sunshine and tapas.”
“More tapas?”
“Don’t insult Spanish cuisine, Granger. Get dressed.”
Within an hour, they were walking through the city streets, arm in arm. Barcelona glowed — the streets mosaic-bright, the balconies dripping with flowers, the air full of spice and laughter. They wandered through the Mercado de la Boqueria, weaving between stalls piled with fruit and cheese, charmed knives slicing ham paper-thin.
Pansy bartered outrageously for a silk scarf, arguing in perfect, rapid Spanish that made Hermione blink. When Hermione teased her about it, Pansy only smiled over her shoulder. “I dated a wizard from Madrid once. Useless in most respects, but he taught me excellent vocabulary.”
They ate pastries so rich Hermione almost forgot to feel guilty for enjoying them, drank iced coffee in a little café that overlooked the gothic quarter, and spent a half hour wandering through Gaudí’s Park Güell, where the bright, surreal architecture made the world feel almost dreamlike.
Pansy posed on a mosaic bench while Hermione took photos with a borrowed Muggle camera. For a few stolen moments, Hermione let herself laugh freely, her hair tangled by the breeze, the sun warming her shoulders.
It wasn’t escape exactly — just a brief mercy.
By early afternoon, they apparated discreetly to the outskirts of the Montjuïc Quidditch Stadium, where the Harpies were scheduled to play the Hurricanes in a high-profile exhibition match. The place buzzed with energy, bright banners fluttering in the Mediterranean wind, fans painted in green and gold shouting chants in both English and Spanish.
Hermione had forgotten how alive professional Quidditch matches felt — the sound of beating wings, the metallic gleam of brooms darting through sunlight. Pansy handed over their tickets at the private entrance, and they were ushered up to the VIP box reserved for family and friends of the players.
Harry was already there, sitting near the front with a Harpies scarf draped casually around his neck. When he turned and saw them, his face broke into a surprised grin.
“Hermione! Pansy! What are you doing here?”
“Cheering on your wife, obviously,” Pansy said smoothly, slipping into the seat beside him.
Harry looked from her to Hermione, concern flickering behind his smile. “You all right? You look—”
“Tired?” Hermione offered. “I am. But I’m all right.”
His brow furrowed. “Something’s going on, isn’t it?”
She shook her head quickly. “It’s nothing you need to worry about. Just needed a weekend away.”
He hesitated, clearly wanting to ask more, but let it go. “Well, you picked a good day for it. Ginny’s been flying like she’s got lightning in her veins lately.”
Hermione smiled faintly, grateful for the change of subject. “She’s always had that kind of energy.”
The whistle blew, and the match began.
From the very start, it was clear that Ginny was in her element. She streaked across the pitch in Harpies green, hair a comet of red behind her as she dove, twisted, and passed the Quaffle with unshakable precision.
Pansy whistled loudly — shockingly loud — when Ginny scored her second goal. “Merlin’s knickers, that woman’s terrifying!”
Harry beamed proudly. “Tell me about it. That’s my wife!”
Hermione found herself cheering too, her voice joining the roar of the crowd. For a few hours, the world beyond the pitch didn’t exist. She wasn’t the subject of scandal or law or heartbreak — she was just Hermione, watching her best friend dominate the sky.
Between plays, she caught glimpses of Harry watching Ginny with unguarded adoration — the way he leaned forward whenever she neared the goalposts, the small, awed smile he couldn’t suppress. It made Hermione’s chest ache in a complicated way — joy for them, grief for herself.
Still, she smiled.
By the final quarter, the Harpies were ahead by twenty points. Ginny executed a breathtaking feint past two Bludgers and scored again, and the stands went wild. Even Pansy was shouting herself hoarse.
When the whistle blew for the last time, the scoreboard flashing Harpies — 270, Hurricanes — 150, Ginny shot into the air, circling the stadium in triumph. Her teammates clustered around her midair, green uniforms glinting in the sun.
Hermione clapped until her palms stung.
“She’s brilliant,” she said softly.
“She’s unstoppable,” Harry replied, his voice full of quiet awe.
After the ceremony, as the crowd began to disperse, Harry turned to Hermione. “You’ll tell me what’s wrong when you’re ready, yeah?”
She nodded. “I promise.”
He squeezed her shoulder gently before heading down to meet Ginny near the field. Hermione watched him go, a small smile tugging at her lips that Harry still cared so much for her.
Pansy stretched beside her, yawning dramatically. “Well,” she said, “that was a spectacular distraction. Sunshine, victory, and half the stadium trying to flirt with the Harpies’ star chaser.”
Hermione laughed quietly. “It was perfect.”
They lingered for a while in the stands as the crowd thinned, the late afternoon sun turning the stadium gold. For the first time all weekend, Hermione felt almost steady — bruised but breathing.
When they finally stood to leave, Pansy looped her arm through hers. “See? Barcelona was exactly what you needed.”
Hermione didn’t argue. She just looked out over the pitch one last time and whispered, almost to herself, “Maybe it was.”
The hotel suite glowed softly in the amber light of the city. From the balcony, the faint hum of Barcelona’s nightlife drifted in — distant laughter, clinking glasses, a busker’s guitar. The Quidditch match had ended hours ago, but the high energy of it had melted into the slow rhythm of night.
Hermione and Pansy had changed into soft pajamas — Hermione’s were cotton and plain; Pansy’s, of course, were black silk. A half-empty bottle of sangria sat between them on the low coffee table beside a box of Catalan chocolates.
Pansy had her feet propped on the table, hair loose for once, a faint sun-warm glow on her skin from the day spent outside. Hermione sat cross-legged beside her on the couch, an open bar of chocolate melting slowly in her hand.
They’d been talking for hours — about the match, about Ginny’s unstoppable form, about the strange ease that came from being somewhere no one whispered about them in public.
But now, the laughter was fading, and the kind of silence that only came before confession settled between them.
Pansy broke it first. “You’re thinking too loudly again.”
Hermione gave a faint, guilty smile. “Am I that obvious?”
“Always,” Pansy said dryly, swirling her glass. “You’re a very transparent overthinker. So, what are we spiraling about tonight? The Ministry? The boys? The meaning of life?”
Hermione hesitated, staring down at the sangria. “Theo and Draco.”
Pansy’s brows lifted slightly. “I should have guessed.”
Hermione bit her lip, struggling for words. “There’s something I never told anyone. Months ago —I overheard them talking. I didn’t mean to. I was walking down the hall and caught part of the conversation in Theo’s study.”
Pansy straightened a little, her expression softening. “What did you hear?”
“They were talking about me.” Hermione’s voice wavered. “Theo said he wasn’t sure what to do about me — that he didn’t want to ruin what we had. And Draco was teasing him, trying to push him to admit he cared for me. They were talking about a lot of details about our sexual explorations. I thought it was just two guy friends talking about relationships.”
She swallowed. “But now I know they weren’t just friends. They had been together. He wasn’t confiding in someone neutral — he was talking to someone he used to have feelings for and fuck.”
Pansy was quiet for a long time. She leaned back into the couch, exhaling. “Ah,” she said finally, understanding dawning in her tone. “So that’s the bruise you keep pressing.”
Hermione let out a shaky laugh. “I just feel stupid. I thought it was harmless. But now it feels… different. More intimate than I realized.”
“It was intimate,” Pansy said carefully. “But that doesn’t mean it was dishonest.”
Hermione frowned. “What do you mean?”
Pansy glanced toward the window, where the lights of the city glimmered like stars. “Theo and Draco have known each other their whole lives. The things they’ve shared, the war they survived, the family secrets they carry — they’re bound in ways most people never are. You don’t just erase that because someone new walks into the picture. And you shouldn’t have to.”
Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. “But how am I supposed to trust what they say about me, when half of it is built on old feelings between them?”
“By remembering that those feelings are part of who they are,” Pansy said simply. “Not a threat to you — a truth about them. You will have separate relationships develop with each of them as individuals, and then you’ll need to develop a separate dynamic too of all three of you together as one unit.”
Hermione looked up, brow furrowed. “You sound like Luna.”
“Merlin forbid,” Pansy muttered, smirking faintly. “But I’m serious, Hermione. I was with Draco for two years — I know what it’s like to love him, and I know what it’s like to stop. He’s not easy to let in, and when he does let someone in, it stays permanent. That’s not betrayal. That’s… endurance.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “You think I’m overreacting.”
“I think you’re human,” Pansy said softly. “And I think you’re in love with Theo, whether you’ve said it yet or not. Which makes all of this infinitely messier.”
Hermione laughed weakly. “You’re not wrong.”
Pansy nudged her with one foot. “Of course I’m not. But I also think you’re scared — not of Theo, not of Draco, but of losing control, of getting hurt. You’ve built your whole life around being the rational one, the one who knows the answers. And now you’re in a situation where no one has them.”
Hermione’s voice was a whisper. “It’s like standing in a storm and trying to reason with the wind.”
“Exactly.” Pansy smiled faintly. “But storms clear eventually. You just have to stop fighting the rain.”
They sat quietly for a while after that, the city’s hum filling the space between words.
Finally, Hermione sighed and leaned her head against the back of the couch. “Do you ever think our generation’s just… tired?”
Pansy chuckled, soft and rueful. “Constantly. But we keep going, don’t we? We build shops and vineyards and chase Quaffles and fall into impossible love triangles, because stopping would mean admitting the war took everything worth having. And we can’t let it.”
Hermione turned her head, smiling tiredly. “You’re wiser than I expected.”
“I’m devastatingly wise,” Pansy said, pretending to inspect her nails. “But don’t tell Blaise — he prefers me shallow and terrifying.”
Hermione laughed, the sound low and genuine. The tension in her chest finally eased a little. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For not making me feel insane.”
“Insane? Darling, if we’re measuring by that yardstick, we’re all due a St. Mungo’s holiday. You’re fine.”
Hermione grinned despite herself. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I am,” Pansy murmured, draining the last of her sangria. “Now go to bed. You’ve spent a week holding your heart like a ticking timepiece. Let it rest.”
Hermione stood, stretching. “What about you?”
“I’m going to finish this chocolate and send an owl to Blaise bragging about my excellent influence on you.”
Hermione smiled, shaking her head. “Goodnight, Pansy.”
“Night, love.”
As Hermione slipped into her bed, the soft sea breeze carried through the open window.
For the first time in days, the ache in her chest dulled just enough for her to close her eyes. And as she drifted toward sleep, she thought that maybe — just maybe — there was still a way through all of this that didn’t end in the finality of doomed heartbreak.
Notes:
Now shes got to face the music with the boys in the morning.
Chapter 52: The Common Ground
Notes:
This is a really rough mess to untangle, this is just the start of trying to begin healing.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The floo flared green and spit Hermione out into the marble entryway of Nott Manor.
Her boots touched the cold floor with a heavy thud, her travel cloak still dusted in ash. The grand hallway felt too quiet — that tense kind of quiet where the air itself seemed to hold its breath. She stood there for a moment, frozen, staring down the long corridor that led to the parlor.
She could feel them before she saw them.
Two magical signatures, both achingly familiar — one dark and sharp as winter steel, the other steady but trembling at the edges.
When she finally stepped into the parlor, both men stood waiting.
Theo rose first. He looked awful — pale and hollow-eyed, like he hadn’t slept since she’d gone. His hair was rumpled, his jaw shadowed with stubble, and he kept wringing his hands in front of him like he couldn’t quite remember what to do with them.
Draco stood beside the fireplace, perfectly composed by comparison, but there was a heaviness in his eyes that betrayed the mask. His posture was rigid, hands tucked behind his back, expression schooled into something careful and sad.
No one moved closer.
No one tried to touch her.
“Welcome home,” Theo said quietly. His voice cracked on the second word.
Hermione nodded stiffly, unbuttoning her cloak with shaking fingers. “Thank you.”
The silence that followed was unbearable.
They all migrated toward the circle of leather chairs that surrounded the low coffee table, each taking one — like a tribunal of ghosts convened in the ruins of something once precious.
The fire crackled faintly in the hearth.
Hermione looked between them — the two men fate had stitched her to, one she nearly loved and one she could not yet name what she felt for — and she realized none of them would survive this unless someone finally spoke.
She drew a slow, deliberate breath.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said softly, her voice brittle with restraint. “A lot. About us. About what this… triad means, and what it’s already doing to us.”
Theo’s knee bounced restlessly. Draco’s eyes flickered toward her, then down to the rug.
“If this has even a chance of working,” she continued, “we have to have complete honesty. No more evasions. No half-truths to protect anyone’s feelings. I won’t live in secrets anymore. Not after everything we’ve all survived.”
Her voice shook, but it didn’t break.
For a moment, the only sound was the hiss of the fire. Then Draco spoke.
He didn’t look at her right away — his gaze stayed fixed somewhere on the floor, like he couldn’t bear the sight of her. “You’re right,” he said finally, his voice low and measured. “And I owe you an apology first.”
Hermione’s fingers tightened on the arms of her chair.
Draco swallowed hard. “That night… inviting you to join us, it wasn’t the right time, it was a fucked-up power move, I know your not going to just jump into bed with us like it’s nothing — it was disrespectful to you. I knew what you were walking in on would hurt you, and I didn’t stop it. I didn’t stop myself. You didn’t deserve to be blindsided like that.”
He finally met her eyes, grey and glass-bright. “And I do know that you’re not casual with intimacy. You never have been. That’s what makes what we did worse. We should have all talked about this when we first got matched. Put it out in the open for you. I’m sorry, Granger. Truly.”
She stared at him for a long moment — the apology was soft but it hit like a blow.
Then Theo spoke, voice shaking. “He’s right. And I need to say I’m sorry too.”
His hands were knotted together in his lap. “We didn’t plan it. We didn’t mean for it to happen. He came by that night to talk — about the press, about the tension with his mom, about how to keep this from falling apart. We were both tired, and angry, and confused. And then one thing led to another and—”
He stopped, choking on the words. “I should’ve stopped it. I didn’t. And that’s on me.”
Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth for a moment, her chest tight. The admission wasn’t unexpected — she’d known it already in her bones — but hearing it aloud felt like ripping open a wound that hadn’t even begun to close.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. “Then I need honesty about your past. All of it. No more guessing. No more half answers.”
Theo lifted his head, meeting her gaze with rawness that made her throat ache. “You remember that night — when I told you I’d been in love once before?”
Hermione nodded slowly. “I do.”
He exhaled, the words trembling out. “It was him. It was Draco.”
Draco’s eyes flickered wide, but he said nothing — only watched Theo like he’d been unaware of that truth and was surmised it finally surfaced.
Theo went on. “We were sixteen when it started. It wasn’t meant to be anything serious. We were both… angry at the world, angry at ourselves. Angry at the Dark Lord rising and our families falling into line. It was a comfort more than a relationship. But it grew into something else, well… at least for me— something dangerous, given everything that was happening at the time. He was drowning in darkness, and I couldn’t pull him out without going under too. So I let him go. Because I thought if I stayed, I’d lose myself completely.”
His voice cracked. “I loved him. I out it behind me, moved on. Or I thought it was past me. I think a part of me still does though in a weird way— not the way I’m starting to love you, but in that deep, old way you never quite shake off.”
Hermione’s breath hitched.
Draco looked up sharply then, his expression a strange mix of anger and grief. “I didn’t know that,” he murmured. “Not like that.”
Theo gave a broken dark huff. “You were too busy trying to self-destruct to notice.”
Draco’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. The silence that followed was thick with memory — things unsaid, things already forgiven but never forgotten.
Hermione sat back slowly, trying to steady her breathing.
So that was the truth.
The secret that had hung like smoke in every room with the three of them.
It wasn’t just about a one-night lapse.
It was about a love that had once burned too fiercely to survive when it was drowning in darkness— and now the ashes of it had drifted into her life.
Her voice, when she spoke again, was softer. “Thank you for telling me.”
Theo’s eyes filled with relief and guilt all at once. “You can hate me if you need to. I’ll understand.”
“I don’t hate you,” she said, shaking her head. “I just… need to process what this means. For all of us.”
Draco leaned forward slightly, his tone low and careful. “You don’t owe either of us forgiveness. But I think we all need to decide whether this is something we can build on — or something we let die before it ruins us.”
Theo nodded faintly. “I don’t want it to die.”
Hermione closed her eyes, tears gathering against her lashes. “Neither do I. but, it’s going to take a lot to get over this… to get through all of our baggage with each other.”
The fire crackled again, loud in the stillness.
Theo finally whispered, voice hoarse, “Whatever happens next… we do it honestly. No more secrets.”
Hermione nodded. “Honesty,” she echoed.
Draco inclined his head, eyes shadowed but resolute. “Then honesty it is.”
The weight of truth lingered heavy in the air — not suffocating, but thick enough to reshape it.
Theo sat forward now, elbows braced on his knees, staring into the flames. Draco leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed neatly over the other, but his composure was brittle — a glass mask with cracks beginning to show. Hermione was somewhere between them, hands folded tightly in her lap, heart thudding slow and painful in her chest still.
Finally, she broke the silence again.
“If we’re doing this,” she said, her voice quiet but steady, “then we need rules. Not restrictions, just… something to hold on to. Structure. Otherwise it’ll all unravel.”
Theo nodded quickly, almost relieved she’d taken charge. “I agree. Completely.”
Draco exhaled softly through his nose. “Merlin, of course you’d suggest rules,” he muttered, though there was no venom in it — just a faint, weary fondness.
Hermione almost smiled. “You’d prefer chaos?”
He gave a shrug that was half amusement, half exhaustion. “I’ve lived with chaos most of my life. But fine. Let’s talk structure.”
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees now too, mirroring Theo. “If this is going to work — if it’s even possible for it to work — we have to treat it as more than three people coexisting. It has to be three separate relationships, and one shared one. That’s… four, really.”
Theo’s face contorted, counting on his fingers. “You mean—”
“Yes. I have to have a relationship with you,” she said softly, looking at him. “And with Draco. And the two of you have to have one with each other. And then there’s the us — the triad. All of that has to exist, and be honest, and nurtured. If any on the four aren’t functioning, the whole thing falls apart and dies.”
The room went still again, the enormity of that statement settling like snow.
Draco was the first to speak, his tone uncharacteristically quiet. “That’s a lot of work.”
Hermione looked at him evenly. “It’s also the only way this won’t destroy us.”
Theo gave a slow nod. “She’s right. We can’t fake our way through it. We can’t just… force the three of us to mesh together as one and hope it sticks. It has to be built brick by brick.”
“Brick by bloody brick,” Draco murmured, rubbing a hand over his face. “And each of us is carrying a different kind of mortar.”
Hermione almost smiled, weary but appreciative. “Exactly.”
Theo straightened a little, looking between them. “Then maybe the first rule is honesty. Even when it’s ugly. We don’t hide, we don’t pretend, we don’t—” His voice caught. “We don’t let fear make us stupid again.”
Draco nodded slowly. “Agreed.”
Hermione’s throat tightened, but she found her voice. “Second rule: no rushing. I need time. I need to understand how to—” She hesitated, cheeks coloring faintly. “How to be with both of you. I can’t pretend I know what I’m doing. It’s new. It’s terrifying. And I won’t let this law dictate my pace.”
Theo’s expression softened immediately. “You set the pace,” he said quietly. “Always.”
Draco inclined his head. “I’ll follow your lead.”
Theo shot him a look. “We’ll follow her lead.”
That earned him a ghost of a smile from Draco. “We’ll follow her lead,” he corrected.
Hermione’s eyes stung with something dangerously close to gratitude. “Thank you.”
She looked between them again. “We also need to talk about boundaries. Physical ones.”
Theo winced but nodded. “Yeah.”
“I don’t want to control what you two have together,” she said slowly. “But I need… space. For now.”
Draco leaned forward slightly, voice steady. “You have it. Both of us will wait for you to say when — or if — anything changes.”
Theo nodded earnestly. “We won’t be together again. Not until you say it’s all right.”
Hermione blinked at him. “You mean that?”
He met her gaze, earnest and open. “Completely.”
Draco’s tone was softer now, careful in a way Hermione had never quite heard from him before. “We want you to feel safe in this — not cornered, not outnumbered. This isn’t about claiming you. Or leaving you out. It’s about choosing each other. All of us.”
Hermione let out a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Theo added quietly, “And that means you can choose, too. If you want to be close with one of us — or both — that’s yours to decide. Different stages of our lives may call for different levels of intimacy or closeness. We’ll follow your pace, your comfort. Always.”
There was no pressure in his voice, no coaxing. Just the steady warmth of someone offering trust.
Hermione nodded, blinking back tears. “That’s… more generous than I expected.”
Draco’s mouth curved faintly. “You’re not the only one who’s been forced to grow up fast, Granger.”
That startled a small laugh out of her, shaky but real. “I suppose not.”
The fire popped softly. None of them spoke for a while.
Theo finally broke the silence again, voice low. “I think we all know this won’t be easy. There’s going to be jealousy, confusion, probably a lot of sleepless nights.”
Draco’s expression darkened with something self-aware. “And at least one of us is a bloody expert at self-sabotage.”
Hermione looked between them, her voice gentle but firm. “Then that’s the other rule. We deal with problems when they happen. Not weeks later. Not when they’ve festered into resentment.”
Theo nodded. “Agreed.”
Draco gave a reluctant nod too, then added dryly, “You realize you’re basically assigning us therapy homework.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Good. Maybe we’ll all be healthier for it.”
Theo gave a small laugh — the first real one in days — and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? That we’re even trying this?”
Draco smirked, the first flash of his old self showing through. “Ridiculous, yes. But if anyone can make logic out of madness, it’s her. She has a way of bringing idiots together, and keeping everyone alive.”
Hermione blushed faintly, shaking her head. “Flattery won’t make this easier, you know.”
“Wasn’t trying to,” Draco said softly. “Just being honest.”
The room fell quiet again — not the suffocating silence of before, but a tentative kind of peace.
Theo leaned back finally, rubbing at his face. “So… honesty, no rushing, no secrets, and you set the pace for everything. That’s a start.”
Hermione nodded. “It’s something.”
Draco tilted his head slightly. “And the group relationship?”
Hermione hesitated, then smiled faintly. “Let’s just start by trying to exist in the same room domestically without imploding.” That drew a quiet laugh from both of them — a sound small but genuine at least.
The fire had burned down to faint coals, shadows dancing against the dark-paneled walls. None of them had moved much; the weight of what they’d already said pressed down like a shared gravity. But there was still more to decide, more ground to stand on before this fragile honesty could become something they could build from.
Theo broke the quiet this time, his voice soft but steady.
“There’s… another part we can’t avoid talking about,” he said, looking between them. “The law requires we be living together within three weeks. That’s—well, that’s soon.”
The words hung heavy in the air. Hermione felt her stomach tighten. She’d known, of course. But hearing it spoken aloud made it solid, unavoidable — another brick in the wall of this new life the Ministry had boxed them into.
She rubbed her palms together nervously. “Three weeks.”
Draco leaned back in his chair, eyes on the fire, jaw working silently before he finally spoke. “Then the question becomes where.”
Theo looked to him, cautious. “You want to stay at the Manor, don’t you? Malfoy Manor, I mean.”
Draco gave a small, humorless laugh. “You think that’s a reasonable idea? You want her”—he nodded toward Hermione—“living there, after what happened?”
Hermione’s throat went tight. Just the mention of the place made her chest constrict.
Draco’s gaze softened slightly when he caught the flicker of fear across her face. “No,” he said, quieter this time. “That’s not fair to her. And honestly… I can’t say I’m all that keen on sleeping under that roof either. Too many ghosts.”
Theo nodded slowly. “Then Nott Manor makes the most sense.”
Hermione looked between them, hesitant. “Are you sure? This is your home, Theo.”
He gave a small shrug. “It’s big enough. And if we’re really trying to make this… triad thing work, it should feel neutral. Not mine. Ours.”
Draco gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “That would make the most sense. And I imagine my mother will be relieved to have the house to herself for a while. She’d hover, and that’s the last thing I need right now. Neither of you want her breathing down your neck while we work on this either.”
Theo offered a faint smile. “She seems like a hoverer.”
“You’ve no idea,” Draco muttered, but there was a hint of fondness there.
Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “So it’s settled, then. You’ll move here. Within the next three weeks.”
Draco inclined his head. “Yes.”
Theo’s brow furrowed, thinking ahead as always. “But we’ll need to decide on rooms. And boundaries.”
“Separate bedrooms,” Hermione said immediately. “For now.”
Both men nodded without hesitation.
Theo was the first to speak after a beat. “Of course. Until it feels right otherwise.”
Draco added, quieter to her, “And you should feel free to go where you’re comfortable. If you want to spend time in my rooms, or his, or neither, that’s your choice.”
Hermione blinked, taken aback by the calm in his tone. “You’re both being surprisingly reasonable about this.”
Theo gave a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re not trying to win points, Hermione. We’re trying to survive this without losing each other. Or all getting our wands snaped by Kingsley.”
Draco smirked faintly. “Also, it’s a practical arrangement. We’re three adults navigating a situation that would make even the goblins blush. Reason is all we’ve got.”
That drew a genuine laugh out of her — small, but real. “That might be the most self-aware thing you’ve ever said, Draco.”
He inclined his head. “Don’t get used to it.”
The moment of levity passed, and Theo leaned forward again, elbows on his knees. “There’s one more thing I think we need to talk about — not just living together, but being together. Publicly.”
Hermione nodded slowly. “You mean… letting people see us.”
“Exactly,” Theo said. “The Prophet won’t drop this story anytime soon. We can’t keep hiding or it’ll just make things worse. We need to start being seen together — as individuals and as a group. Show people that we’re not a scandal; we’re just… trying in a hard situation.”
Draco gave a quiet hum of agreement. “Public image,” he said dryly, “my old favorite nightmare.”
Hermione sighed. “They’ll eat us alive.”
“Probably,” Draco said with a half-smile. “But if we’re going to be forced into this, we might as well control the narrative and enjoy doing it.”
Theo nodded. “We can start small. Dinner at one of the quieter wizarding restaurants in London. Maybe a weekend outing — something casual.”
“And in private,” Hermione added, “we keep working on building the… connections.”
Draco arched a brow. “Connections.”
Hermione flushed a little. “You know what I mean. The relationships. I have to get to know you both individually. Really know you. Not as classmates or allies or awkward partners under a mandate.”
Theo’s expression softened. “I’d like that. We can take it one day at a time — talk, spend time together, learn what makes this work. No pressure.”
Draco nodded slowly. “Fine by me. I can manage civility and a few dinners a week to start.”
“That’s fair,” Hermione said, smiling faintly. “I think we can all agree to that.”
The conversation lingered into the late afternoon. They talked about logistics — practical things, like which room Draco might take (the east wing, near the garden view), how to manage meals and routines, and what kind of privacy they all needed. But beneath every logistical question was something more — a quiet, shared awareness that they were rewriting the shape of their lives.
When the fire finally dwindled to grey ash, they sat in a comfortable silence for the first time all day.
Theo was the one to speak at last. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right yet, but we’ll find our rhythm. We’re all too stubborn not to.”
Hermione smiled tiredly. “That might be the one thing we truly have in common.”
Draco gave a soft, humorless chuckle. “Stubbornness and bad timing. The makings of a great epic.”
Theo smiled faintly. “Or a great disaster.”
Hermione glanced between them, and despite everything — the tension, the ache, the uncertainty — she felt the faintest flicker of hope.
“Let’s try to make it something better than either,” she said softly. “Let’s make it ours.”
Theo’s eyes warmed, and Draco inclined his head, quiet agreement passing between them.
The three of them rose together, each drained but steadier than when the conversation had begun. They would fail, stumble, and probably argue again — but for the first time since the match, there was a plan at least.
And a fragile, flickering belief that they might just manage it, but it would be a steep long climb to the top with rockslides to avoid.
Notes:
What do you think dear reader?
Chapter 53: Trying to Breath
Chapter Text
The week that followed their conversation was an exercise in restraint.
Theo and Hermione fell into a rhythm that almost — almost — felt like the one they’d had before their relationship had ever turned romantic. They rose early, ate breakfast together, and went their separate ways: she to Cornwall for her Charms Mastery program, he to St. Mungo’s for his healer training.
Their schedules were opposite enough that by the time one returned home, the other was either asleep or studying. And even when they did find themselves in the same room — over tea, over dinner, passing each other in the hall — they treated each other like close friends trying not to remember that once, his hand had fit perfectly against the small of her back, or that she had fallen asleep more than once with her head on his chest.
Theo, for his part, had gone to almost painful lengths to give her space. It was emotionally killing him to go backward with her, she could tell it in his pained expression when he hesitated reaching for her hand.
If he reached past her for a teacup, his fingers never brushed her wrist. If they both leaned over the same book, he angled his chair away, careful not to let their knees touch. He spoke gently, smiled when he could, but every gesture was cautious — the way one handles a fragile thing they’re terrified of breaking.
It was kind. It was thoughtful.
And it was quietly devastating.
Hermione didn’t realize how much she missed his casual affection — the absentminded brushes of his hand against her arm, the way he used to tuck her hair behind her ear, the warmth of his forehead kisses — until it was gone. His warmth in bed at night keeping her mind feeling safe.
She respected him for it.
And it made her heart ache all the more.
When Saturday finally arrived — the day Draco was to move in — the manor was unsettlingly quiet.
The elves had spent the last two days preparing the east wing suite that Theo had chosen for him: three rooms overlooking the back gardens, with tall arched windows and pale green curtains. It was a beautiful space — elegant, calm, and far removed from the gothic darkness of Malfoy Manor.
Hermione had helped the elves charm the wallpaper and hang the paintings. None of them spoke of it as “Draco’s room.” They all called it the guest suite. But everyone knew what it meant.
Theo had been pacing the foyer since before breakfast, checking his watch every few minutes even though the clock over the mantel was charmed to chime on the half-hour.
When the floo finally whooshed to life in a burst of green flame, both he and Hermione froze.
Draco stepped out, dressed in tailored traveling robes of slate grey and white, carrying only a single enchanted trunk that floated obediently behind him. His blond hair was neatly combed, his expression calm — but the faint tightness around his mouth betrayed how hard he was trying to make this look effortless.
“Theo,” he greeted with a nod, voice smooth but guarded.
“Draco,” Theo replied evenly.
Then his grey eyes flicked to Hermione. For a second, something softened there. “Granger.”
“Malfoy,” she said automatically, then caught herself. “Draco.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “That’ll take some getting used to.”
Theo stepped forward before the awkwardness could settle. “Your rooms are ready. East wing, overlooking the gardens. You’ll have plenty of privacy.”
Draco nodded once, glancing around, noticing subtle changes in the foyer, like a bowl of the green apples he loved so much sitting on the counter, and a third shoe shelf and extra coat hook… likely installed for him. “It’s… alittle different than I remember.”
“The manor or me?” Theo asked dryly.
“Both,” Draco admitted.
Theo almost smiled. “Let’s get you settled, then.”
They walked together through the long corridor that stretched from the grand foyer to the east wing. The hall smelled faintly of lemon oil and wood polish, the high windows letting in soft autumn light. Hermione followed a few steps behind them, watching how their shoulders moved — how they seemed careful not to walk too close, as though the memory of what had once been still haunted the space between them.
Theo stopped at a tall double door and gestured for Draco to enter.
The rooms inside were warm and sunlit — pale cream walls, dark green drapery, a carved fireplace, and a four-poster bed draped in light grey linen. The elves had already unpacked and arranged everything Draco owned with impeccable neatness.
Draco took a slow look around, setting his traveling gloves on the mantel. “It’s… nice.”
Theo raised a brow. “High praise, coming from you.”
Draco shot him a sideways look that might’ve been amusement. “Don’t get used to it.”
Hermione lingered near the doorway. “We didn’t want you to feel like a guest,” she said carefully. “But we also thought separate rooms might make this easier, at least for now.”
Draco inclined his head. “That’s sensible.” He hesitated, then added, “Thank you. Both of you. For… accommodating this. Me.”
Theo crossed his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe. “You’re not a guest anymore, Draco. Ou can’t keep thinking of yourself as a ‘complication’ to us. This is your home now too. Strange as that still feels to say.”
“It feels stranger to hear,” Draco admitted.
Hermione gave him a small, tentative smile. “You’ll get used to it. I did.”
The rest of the afternoon passed in a quiet kind of domestic haze.
Draco moved through the manor like someone reacquainting himself with a forgotten dream — touching the carved banisters, peering into rooms, asking about the changes Theo had made over the years in rooms as friends they didn’t normally use this past six months. Hermione found herself following him through the library, the conservatory, the Lady of the Houses formal receiving parlor.
He made small, dry observations about the décor — half teasing, half sincere — and for the first time in months since Astoria had passed, Hermione caught glimpses of the boy she remembered from school. Still sharp, still proud, but gentler now. More human.
By dinner, the three of them were seated together in the informal dining room — a modest space compared to the grand hall, with soft candlelight and silver cutlery that gleamed in the flicker of the flames.
Theo poured wine for everyone, his movements careful and deliberate. “To… new beginnings,” he said, raising his glass.
Draco lifted his in return, arching a brow. “That sounds optimistic.”
“Optimism is necessary,” Hermione said quietly, clinking her glass to theirs.
They drank.
Conversation at first was stilted — about their programs, about Pansy’s latest shop display, about Blaise’s new hybrid raspberry/grape vineyard investment in Tuscany that Draco had backed. But as the wine worked its slow magic, some of the stiffness eased.
Draco talked about the Black family library and the archaic marriage contracts that had resurfaced since the law passed. Theo asked Hermione about her latest charms project. Hermione made them both laugh describing a disastrous classroom experiment that had turned her professor’s hair periwinkle for three days two weeks ago.
For a little while, it almost felt… normal.
When dinner ended, Draco lingered in the parlor with Theo, discussing warding updates for the property to better include his ancestral magic too, while Hermione excused herself for bed.
As she climbed the grand staircase, she paused halfway up and looked down. Through the open doorway, she could see them — Draco standing by the hearth, one hand in his pocket, Theo leaning against the mantle, nodding along.
Their body language was careful but no longer cold or burning hot. Not old lovers, not quite just friends — something in between, the fragile beginnings of trust reborn.
Hermione exhaled, her chest tight with the weight of it all.
The morning light spilled into the breakfast room in soft gold ribbons, painting the long oak table and the cream-colored drapery with warmth. It was the kind of peaceful autumn morning that should have felt ordinary — but nothing about this breakfast was ordinary.
Hermione was the first to arrive. She wore one of her soft cardigans and had her hair loosely tied back, the curls escaping around her temples in sleep-tousled wisps. The elves had set out eggs, toast, and tea, along with a small pot of strawberry jam that she suspected Theo had asked for on her behalf.
She stood by the window for a moment, watching the fog lift off the distant orchards. There were two empty chairs waiting at the table — one for each of the men who now shared this house, this future fate with her. The sight made her chest tighten with a confusing mix of fondness and heartache.
Theo entered first, hair still damp from a shower, his healer’s robes hanging unfastened over a simple white shirt. He smiled — gently, warily. “Morning.”
“Morning,” she returned softly.
There was a moment’s pause before he crossed the room to kiss the top of her head. The gesture was small but intimate, hesitant, like someone testing the warmth of water before stepping in. Hermione leaned into it ever so slightly before sitting.
Draco came in not long after, looking too composed for someone who had only just moved in. His blond hair gleamed in the light, and his robes were impeccable — silver and deep green, perfectly pressed.
“Good morning,” he greeted, voice formal but not cold.
Theo nodded at him. “Morning, mate.”
“Draco,” Hermione said with a polite smile.
He inclined his head toward her. “Hermione.”
The use of her first name — careful, deliberate — startled her more than it should have. It was… nice to hear it on his lips.
For a few minutes, they ate in silence. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, but fragile — as though any wrong word might shatter it. Theo sipped his tea, flipping through the Prophet with a wary eye; Draco buttered his toast with surgical precision. Hermione picked at her eggs, trying to convince her brain this was normal.
Then the owl came.
It swooped through the tall window with the fluid grace only a well-trained family owl could possess, landing neatly beside Hermione’s plate. The letter it carried was sealed in deep green wax stamped with an ornate M.
Hermione froze, glancing instinctively to Draco.
His knife stilled halfway through slicing a piece of grapefruit. “That’s my mother’s seal,” he said immediately, frowning. “Why is she writing to you?”
Theo leaned over, curiosity flickering in his blue-green eyes. “What does it say?”
Hermione broke the seal carefully, unfolding the elegant parchment. Narcissa’s handwriting flowed across the page in immaculate looping script.
My Dear Miss Granger,
I trust you will forgive the boldness of this correspondence. I have been made aware, through certain Ministry channels, of the… truth of the arrangement that now binds you, my son, and Mr. Nott.
Though the circumstances are regrettable in their origin of force, I believe there is value in civility and understanding. I would like to invite you to tea with me this afternoon at the Peacock Tearoom in Diagon Alley.
There are matters of both courtesy and… family that I believe we should discuss privately.
Please accept this as a gesture of goodwill, not intrusion. I look forward to your company.
— Narcissa Black Malfoy
The letter trembled slightly in Hermione’s hands.
Draco had gone pale. “She wants to see you? Alone?”
“Yes,” Hermione said, her voice small but steady. “This afternoon.”
Theo frowned, lowering his cup. “That doesn’t sound like a casual invitation.”
Draco ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. “She’s going to pry. She’ll want to know what’s happening between us, how much we care for each other — and she’ll do it politely, with her tea and her perfect posture, until you agree to whatever she wants.”
Hermione folded the letter carefully, meeting his eyes. “She’s your mother, Draco. I don’t think she means me harm.”
He sighed heavily. “No. But she’s still a Malfoy. She’s never not meant to influence the chessboard before she makes her next move.”
Theo leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. “Still… maybe it’s worth going. It could help. Ease public tension, show you’re all on decent terms. Ease some of your fears perhaps?”
Draco shot him a sharp look. “That’s easy for you to say. She adores you. You’re polite. You’re old money. You don’t challenge her existence just by breathing.”
Hermione startled. “Draco—”
He exhaled hard and softened slightly. “I don’t mean that the way it sounds. She didn’t really share my father’s beliefs. She was in a hard position in the war. It’s just… she’s never had tea with a Muggle-born before. You’re going to rattle her, even if she doesn’t mean to let it show.”
Theo reached across the table, resting his hand lightly on Hermione’s wrist. “If you go, you don’t have to tell her anything personal. You decide what she gets to know.”
Hermione nodded slowly, covering his hand with hers. “I know. But I think I should go. It might be an olive branch… or at least an attempt at one.”
Draco’s jaw clenched. “Fine. But please—don’t let her corner you into promising her anything. Especially about me.”
“I won’t,” Hermione said firmly.
For a while after that, no one spoke. The silence wasn’t angry, just heavy.
To break it, Theo glanced at the window, where a pair of birds flitted past. “You know,” he said, forcing a lighter tone, “we’ve got owls, but maybe we should get another creature around here. Something living. Something ours.”
Hermione looked up, surprised. “Like a pet?”
“Why not?” Theo said with a small shrug. “It’d make the place feel less like a museum and more like a home.”
Draco gave him a skeptical look. “You can’t possibly mean a cat. They climb the drapes.”
Hermione blinked, then gave a faint, wistful smile. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about Crookshanks a lot lately.”
Theo tilted his head. “Your cat from school?”
She nodded. “He went missing during the war. I like to think he got out when it was dangerous— found a safe place, maybe even a new family. But I still miss him. He was such an odd creature, half-kneazle, cleverer than most wizards.”
Draco’s lips twitched. “He used to hiss at me all the time at Hogwarts.”
“He had excellent judgment,” Hermione said dryly.
Theo chuckled, pleased to see the spark back in her. “So what would you want? Another cat?”
“Maybe,” she said softly, looking at the window again. “Or maybe something stranger. Something small and magical. Something that feels… alive.”
Draco smirked faintly. “We could get a puffskein. I hear they hum when they’re happy.”
Theo grinned. “Or a niffler. I could use help finding loose galleons.”
Hermione laughed — and for the first time all morning, the sound was easy, bright, unguarded.
Draco’s expression softened a little at the sound. “Maybe we’ll surprise you, once we’ve figured out how to coexist without hexing each other.”
Theo raised his cup in mock toast. “To small creatures and domestic chaos.”
Hermione clinked hers against his, smiling. “And to trying.”
As the clock in the hall chimed eleven, Hermione rose reluctantly, folding Narcissa’s letter once more.
“I should go get ready,” she said quietly.
Theo stood too, smoothing his robe. “You’re sure you want to do this alone?”
“I need to,” she said. “If I’m going to be part of this strange new… family, I should at least understand what kind of woman raised one of its members.”
Draco grimaced. “Just—don’t let her manipulate you into pitying her. She’s good at that.”
Hermione’s expression softened. “So are you, sometimes.”
That earned a reluctant, almost fond smirk from him. “Touché.”
As the green flames swallowed her up, Theo and Draco stood together in the silence she left behind — two men who couldn’t quite name what they felt, only that it mattered. With a nod to Draco, Theo headed to a healing class.
Notes:
What does she want to meet about you think?
Chapter 54: Tea Time
Chapter Text
Hermione paused at the corner of the cobbled street, staring up at the elegant navy awning of The Peacock Tearoom. Her pulse thudded beneath her ribs — too fast, too anxious.
She’d faced Death Eaters, debated Ministers, and survived the Battle of Hogwarts… yet somehow, tea with Narcissa Malfoy felt more intimidating than all of it.
She took a steadying breath—
“Hello, Hermione.”
Hermione nearly jumped. Luna Lovegood stood a few feet away, wearing a soft blue cloak embroidered with tiny silver moons, her radish earrings swaying gently. A paper bag of honeyed pastries hung from one wrist, and she looked serene as ever, as though she had simply appeared out of thin air.
“Luna!” Hermione said, half startled, half relieved. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, just picking up something sweet for Neville,” Luna said dreamily. “He’s been cross with the snargaluffs in Greenhouse Four. They never respond well to grumpiness, you know.”
Hermione smiled despite herself. “That sounds like him.”
Luna’s pale eyes flicked toward the tearoom sign, then back to Hermione. “You’re going to see Narcissa Malfoy.” It wasn’t a question.
Hermione blinked. “How did you—?”
“I saw her owl pass overhead this morning,” Luna said simply. “They fly differently when the letter’s meant to change someone’s day.”
Hermione gave a small, breathless laugh. “Of course they do.”
Luna tilted her head, studying her with that strange mix of distance and warmth. “You look nervous.”
“I am,” Hermione admitted. “I’m not entirely sure what she wants.”
“She wants to understand you,” Luna said softly. “And she wants to protect her son. But she doesn’t yet realize she might have to do both at once.”
Hermione frowned. “That’s… actually very insightful.”
Luna smiled. “People who’ve lost too much often speak like they have nothing left to say. But they usually mean the opposite.”
Hermione exhaled slowly, her chest easing. “You always know the right thing to say.”
“Oh no,” Luna said serenely. “I just say the thing that’s already true. Most people talk around it.”
Hermione gave her a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Luna.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Luna said with a gentle shrug. “Just remember to drink your tea slowly. Narcissa Malfoy strikes when the second cup is poured.”
Hermione blinked. “That’s… oddly specific.”
“I’ve read her aura before when I was a guest in her cellar,” Luna replied, perfectly calm. “She’s more owl than snake these days though I think.”
Before Hermione could reply, Luna stepped forward and hugged her — a light, comforting squeeze that somehow felt grounding and ethereal all at once.
“You’ll be fine,” Luna said softly against her shoulder. “Just don’t let her mistake your compassion for permission.”
And with that, Luna drifted off down the lane, her cloak trailing behind her like twilight, leaving Hermione standing in front of the tearoom doors — calmer, a little braver, and ready to face whatever came next.
The Peacock Tearoom was precisely what its name promised — all blue velvet and shimmer. The walls were painted a rich teal, gilded mirrors reflecting crystal chandeliers that glowed like drops of sunlight through water. Small enchanted peacocks strutted along the wainscoting, their feathers rippling faintly with illusionary magic.
It was one of the most exclusive tea establishments in wizarding London, frequented by the kind of witches who wore pearls to breakfast and treated gossip like diplomacy.
Hermione stood at the entrance for a moment, taking it all in. Her palms were slightly damp, though she’d cast a drying charm twice already. She wore a neat cream blouse, her hair tamed as best she could manage, and a soft green skirt that brushed her ankles — professional but not ostentatious.
“Miss Granger.”
The voice — low, cultivated, undeniably composed — made her turn.
Narcissa Malfoy rose from a corner table near the window. She was dressed in elegant mourning grey, her hair swept into a perfect chignon, a single pearl at her throat. Her beauty was as poised as it had been the day she stood in the Great Hall after the war — but there was something new in her expression now. Less hauteur, more calculation.
“Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione greeted, inclining her head politely.
“Please,” Narcissa said, gesturing to the chair opposite her. “Do sit. I took the liberty of ordering the house blend — it’s quite restorative.”
“Thank you,” Hermione said, taking her seat.
The teapot poured itself at a flick of Narcissa’s wand, the scent of bergamot and rose filling the air. A plate of lemon biscuits hovered between them.
For a moment, they sipped in silence, the din of soft conversation and clinking china filling the space. Narcissa’s blue-grey eyes never left Hermione.
When she finally spoke, it was with the kind of smooth control that made even compliments sound like interrogations.
“You must forgive the… abruptness of my invitation,” she said, setting her teacup down with a quiet click. “I thought it best we speak privately, before the Prophet finds a new way to twist your situation into spectacle.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “That’s very thoughtful. Though I confess I wasn’t sure what to expect.”
“No,” Narcissa said softly. “I imagine you weren’t.”
She studied Hermione for a moment, then added, “You look well. I hope you’ve found Nott Manor comfortable.”
“It’s lovely,” Hermione said carefully. “Theo has done a wonderful job keeping it in order.”
“Yes,” Narcissa said, almost to herself. “His mother had an impeccable sense of taste. And he was always the gentlest of the boys.”
Hermione hesitated. “You knew him well?”
Narcissa’s smile was small, wistful. “Well enough. The old pure-blood families saw much of one another in those days. Before… everything changed.”
Hermione heard the echo of war in those words — a subtle mourning for a world that had been shattered, and perhaps a relief that it had been.
Then Narcissa leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering. “I suppose I should be direct, Miss Granger. You must be aware that triads — magical triads, I mean — are exceedingly rare.”
Hermione nodded. “That’s what the Ministry told us.”
“I suspect they told you very little,” Narcissa said delicately. “Would you like to hear the truth?”
Hermione hesitated only a moment before nodding.
“Triads,” Narcissa began, folding her hands neatly in her lap, “are not merely a legal arrangement. When the blood-compatibility spell designates three individuals rather than two, it means there is a magical resonance between them — a balance of energies that cannot exist in a typical pairing. In ancient magical society, it was seen as sacred — an embodiment of harmony between differing magical cores.”
She paused, eyes glinting with curiosity. “Do you understand what that means for your situation?”
Hermione’s fingers tightened around her teacup. “That… we’re all supposed to fit together.”
“In more ways than one,” Narcissa said softly. “Emotional, physical, and magical balance. It’s not simply a matter of living together — it is the forging of a new magical current. Once formalized by oath or marriage, you’ll find that your magic will begin to respond to one another’s presence in strange ways.”
Hermione blinked. “Respond how?”
“Oh,” Narcissa said lightly, “you’ll see. Spells strengthening, or occasionally misfiring when one of you is angry or unsettled. Shared dreams. Heightened intuition. Deeper sexual drives. The old records are full of such stories. Some triads became legendary; others imploded.”
“That’s… comforting,” Hermione murmured, dryly.
Narcissa smiled faintly. “It’s not meant to be. It’s meant to prepare you.”
They sipped tea again, the silence between them filled with the hum of quiet danger that always accompanied honesty.
Then Narcissa continued, her voice more measured now. “I imagine you’re wondering why I called on you instead of my son.”
“I did wonder,” Hermione admitted.
“I suspect Draco would have told me to keep out of his affairs,” Narcissa said, her tone almost fond. “And I respect his independence. But I also know my son. He will never ask for what he needs, and he will take what is freely given to him without guilt.”
Hermione frowned. “What are you saying?”
“That this triad — inconvenient though it may seem — could be good for him.”
Hermione blinked. “Good?”
“Yes,” Narcissa said firmly. “For years I’ve watched him build walls no spell could breach. He’s tried to carry the weight of his father’s sins and his wife’s death as though they were punishments he deserved. But with you and Mr. Nott… I see something shifting. He’s steadier. Less bitter.”
Hermione swallowed hard. “We’re… trying to make it work.”
“I know,” Narcissa said softly. “And I am grateful. I cannot imagine this is easy for you.”
“It isn’t,” Hermione admitted. “But I believe in giving people chances.”
“Then you are already ahead of most of us,” Narcissa murmured.
For a while, they spoke about small things — the weather, Diagon Alley’s latest restorations, Pansy’s shop window displays. Hermione almost began to relax.
And then Narcissa said, too casually, “I do hope you’ll forgive me for being indelicate, but I must ask — has the Ministry provided a you with a detailed timeline for… family obligations?”
Hermione stiffened. “Family obligations?”
“Procreation,” Narcissa said smoothly, as though discussing wine. “Surely they expect a Malfoy heir from this union. The Nott line, too, if one traces the lineage properly. It would be unwise to let that expectation linger unaddressed.”
Hermione blinked, caught entirely off guard. “I— That’s not something we’ve even discussed yet. But, I’m sure you know what the law states for a timeframe.”
Narcissa tilted her head slightly. “Then perhaps you should. These laws are not easily bent, Miss Granger. And the Ministry will not wait forever. Draco’s position, his name — they make him a figure of interest. If they perceive reluctance, they could—”
Hermione cut in, her voice firmer than she expected. “With respect, Mrs. Malfoy, I understand your concern. But that’s not a conversation for you and me to have now. It’s one for us — Draco, Theo, and me. Together. And only when we’re ready.”
For a long moment, Narcissa said nothing. Then, to Hermione’s surprise, she smirked. Not mockingly — approvingly.
“Well said,” she murmured. “You’ll need that steel, Miss Granger. Draco may act like a cynic, but he admires conviction. As do I.”
Hermione exhaled slowly. “I’m glad.”
“Still,” Narcissa said, lifting her teacup again, “do think on it. The Ministry’s expectations may not care for your personal preference in pacing.”
Hermione frowned slightly. “Perhaps not. But I do.”
“Good,” Narcissa said simply. “Then I hope, in time, you’ll come to see that being a Malfoy — even by law — need not be a burden. We can be… surprisingly loyal to those we claim.”
The phrasing was deliberate. Hermione recognized the offer buried beneath it — an invitation not just to acceptance, but to alliance.
She set down her teacup carefully. “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Malfoy. And for your… candor.”
“It was my pleasure,” Narcissa said smoothly, rising to her feet. “Do take care of yourself, my dear. The papers will forget their scandal soon enough — but the legacy you help build will last longer than their ink.”
The bells over the tearoom door chimed softly as Hermione and Narcissa stepped out into the chill of late afternoon in early December. The cobblestones gleamed with the faint sheen of drizzle, and the golden shop windows reflected the fading sunlight in watery streaks.
For a heartbeat, everything was calm — the quiet hum of passersby, the flicker of floating lanterns beginning to light the alley.
Then came the click.
And another.
A sudden flurry of bright flashes erupted from across the street.
“Miss Granger! Mrs. Malfoy! Over here—look this way!”
Hermione froze as three figures emerged from behind a stack of Daily Prophet crates o the street corner — quills hovering, cameras snapping furiously. The enchanted bulbs burst with blinding light, echoing like small explosions in the narrow street.
Narcissa reacted instantly, her spine straightening with aristocratic poise. “Do not speak,” she murmured under her breath, the words crisp as glass. She reached for Hermione’s arm in a gesture that was equal parts protection and presentation, her chin lifting with imperious calm.
“Mrs. Malfoy, is it true you approve of your son’s triad?”
“Miss Granger, are you expecting to move into the Malfoy manor household next?”
“Are wedding plans already underway?”
Their questions came rapid-fire, ridiculous, invasive.
Hermione’s heart pounded in her chest. For a second she thought she saw Rita Skeeter herself among them — quill glinting, grin sharp.
Narcissa raised her wand just slightly, voice cold and commanding.
“Gentlemen,” she said, “if you publish a single image without my explicit consent, I will see your editors personally tried for harassment under Ministry law. Do I make myself clear?”
The reporters faltered but still clicked two last hurried shots before she swept her cloak around Hermione like a shield.
“Come, Miss Granger,” Narcissa said firmly, guiding her toward the nearest apparition point. “Let them print what they wish. I’ve survived worse scandals.”
The green flare of apparition left the echo of shutters snapping behind them — and the certainty that by morning, every witch and wizard in Britain would have seen the photograph of Hermione Granger and Narcissa Malfoy leaving tea together.
Narcissa Malfoy had not threatened her, not exactly. But she had laid the future out like a chessboard — every move premeditated, every piece already in play.
And though Hermione felt exhausted by the weight of it, there was something else under the surface too.
Resolve.
Whatever this triad became — however tangled and difficult and unexpected — it would not be dictated by the Ministry, or the press, or even Narcissa Malfoy.
It would be theirs.
Notes:
How pushy is she going to be for her son do you think going forward?
Chapter 55: The First Snow
Notes:
The gang needed to drop back by, to make sure they're not killing each other.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The dining room at Nott Manor had never felt so alive.
Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, catching on silver goblets and fine china, filling the air with warmth. Pansy had charmed garlands of floating lilies to drift lazily above the table, and the air smelled faintly of thyme and roasted lamb.
It was the first real gathering since Draco had moved in — a deliberate attempt to restore a bit of normalcy after weeks of tension. Hermione had insisted on it. “We need to stop hiding,” she’d told the boys that morning. “If we act ashamed, the rest of the world will think we should be.”
And so, here they were.
Harry and Ginny sat together at one end of the table, fingers occasionally brushing under the tablecloth. Pansy and Blaise occupied the middle, looking effortlessly glamorous, as always. Theo sat beside Hermione at the head of the table, Draco on her other side — the arrangement feeling almost ceremonial in its balance.
Conversation was cautious at first.
“So…” Blaise drawled, cutting into his roast, “the three of you seem to be surviving cohabitation.”
Theo smirked slightly. “Surviving, yes. Thriving is a work in progress.”
Hermione shot him a look over her glass of water. “We’re adapting,” she said diplomatically.
Pansy leaned her chin into her palm, studying them. “Adapting. Such a polite word for what must be utter chaos.”
Draco gave her a dry glance. “And you speak from such serene experience?”
“Of course,” Pansy said sweetly. “I married Blaise Zabini. Every day is chaos with better wine.”
Blaise grinned, toasting her with his glass. “And you adore it.”
Harry chuckled softly, glancing at Hermione. “Honestly, I’m just impressed no one’s hexed each other yet.”
“Yet being the operative word,” Ginny added, her tone teasing but gentle. “Though, for the record, you all look good together. Healthier, even.”
Hermione blinked. “Healthier?”
Ginny shrugged. “Maybe it’s the sunlight. Or you’ve stopped sleeping on top of your books.”
Theo laughed quietly, and even Draco smirked. For a moment, the air lightened.
Dessert had just been served — sticky toffee pudding with clotted cream — when the flutter of wings filled the room.
A tawny owl swooped through the open window, dropped a rolled-up copy of The Daily Prophet right in the center of the table, and soared out again before anyone could react.
“Bloody hell,” Pansy muttered. “They never miss a chance to ruin a good meal.”
Hermione’s stomach sank. She knew before Theo even reached for it that whatever was printed inside would not be kind.
He unrolled the paper, brow furrowing as he read the headline. His jaw tensed. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake.”
Hermione’s hand trembled slightly as she reached for it. The headline screamed across the front page in glittering black ink:
-----------------------------------------------
“Malfoy Matriarch and the Mudblood: Secret Tea Meeting Raises Eyebrows Across Wizarding London”
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
Diagon Alley was abuzz yesterday afternoon when Daily Prophet photographers captured the unexpected sight of Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy, widow of the late Lucius Malfoy, sharing tea with none other than Miss Hermione Granger — former war heroine, controversial Muggle-born witch, and current figure at the center of the Ministry’s most talked-about triad registration.
Sources confirm the pair spent over an hour together at The Peacock Tearoom, speaking privately over tea and lemon biscuits before departing together through the front door.
“They looked quite cordial,” reported one witness. “Like an in-law meeting before a wedding, if you ask me.”
The Ministry has yet to comment on whether the meeting was political, social, or personal in nature, though many speculate that Mrs. Malfoy may be attempting to rehabilitate her family’s reputation through an alliance with Miss Granger — a witch whose own moral standing, once unassailable, has been publicly questioned since her involvement in a state-sanctioned magical triad with two formerly dark pure-blood wizards.
Several pure-blood families have already expressed concern over the implications of the match, with one source close to the Wizengamot calling it “an unsettling dilution of ancient lines.”
Others, however, have praised Narcissa Malfoy for her “progressive courage” in meeting with a Muggle-born under such circumstances.
Of particular note were the numerous photographs taken of the pair leaving arm-in-arm — an image which, while surely meant to appear polite, has already sparked rumors of a power play within the triad. Some claim that Mrs. Malfoy intends to influence the arrangement’s political direction, while others suggest that Miss Granger, never one to shy from ambition, may be seeking political campaign legitimacy through proximity to the Malfoy name.
When approached for comment, Mrs. Malfoy’s representatives declined to respond. Miss Granger could not be reached for clarification.
For more on this developing story — including speculation on whether a Malfoy heir might soon be expected from the triad union — see Page 6.
--------------------------
The table went utterly still.
Hermione stared down at the headline until the letters blurred. Her chest burned — humiliation, anger, exhaustion all tangled together.
Pansy broke the silence first. “Merlin’s tits, Rita never changes.”
“Language,” Blaise murmured, though even he looked murderous.
Theo exhaled through his nose, then stood abruptly, snatching the paper off the table. “That’s it.” He tossed it into the fireplace, flicking his wand sharply. The paper caught with a roar of flame, curling into ash in seconds.
“Good riddance,” Ginny muttered darkly.
Hermione stared into the fire, her voice soft but shaking. “She called me that again. After everything. After everything we fought for.”
Draco’s hand tightened around his wineglass until it cracked with a sharp sound. “If I ever find that woman alone in a dark alley—”
“Don’t,” Hermione interrupted, though her voice was fragile. “It’s what she wants — outrage, scandal. She feeds on it.”
Harry leaned forward, frowning. “Are you all right, Hermione?”
She gave a short, brittle laugh. “Not quite. But I will be.”
Theo rested a hand on her shoulder — gentle, grounding. “You shouldn’t have to keep defending yourself to the world.”
“No,” she said, looking down at the fire, her expression hardening. “But I always will, won’t I?”
Pansy reached for the wine bottle and poured Hermione another glass. “Then you might as well do it while drinking good Bordeaux.”
That earned a few small, hollow chuckles. Even Draco smiled grimly.
“Rita’s going to twist whatever happens,” Blaise said pragmatically. “The fact that you had tea with Narcissa will fuel her for weeks.”
“Let her write,” Hermione said quietly. “We’ll keep living.”
Theo looked at her, admiration flickering behind his worry. “You’re handling this better than most would.”
“I’m tired,” Hermione admitted softly. “That’s all. Too tired to give her what she wants.”
Ginny reached across the table, squeezing her hand. “Then don’t. Let the rest of us be angry for you.”
Hermione smiled faintly, grateful. “Thank you.”
Across from her, Draco finally spoke, voice low but even. “She’ll get bored soon enough. She always does. And if she doesn’t—” He glanced at Theo. “—I happen to know a few old hexes we could dust off.”
Theo smirked. “Purely academic ones, of course.”
“Of course,” Draco echoed, a wry edge to his tone.
For a moment, the tension broke. Ginny rolled her eyes. “You two are going to terrify the Ministry’s press office.”
“That’s the plan,” Theo said lightly.
Hermione let out a quiet breath, her shoulders easing just slightly. “Well, if I’m to be public enemy number one, at least I’m in excellent company.”
Pansy lifted her glass. “To excellent company, then.”
The rest followed suit — glasses raised high over the table that had moments ago been heavy with anger, now filled instead with the faint, stubborn glow of shared loyalty.
“To excellent company,” they echoed, voices strong.
By the time the last of the lunch dishes vanished themselves from the table, a hush had settled over the manor. The air in the dining room still carried the faint scent of cinnamon and wine, but something softer had replaced the earlier tension — the kind of quiet that comes after shared outrage and laughter have wrung everyone out.
Then Ginny glanced out the tall window and gasped.
“Oh, would you look at that!”
Everyone turned.
Beyond the frosted glass, fat white flakes were tumbling lazily from the sky, sticking to the lawns and treetops of the Nott estate. The gray winter clouds above made the snow glow faintly, like falling starlight.
“The first accumulation,” Blaise said, rising from his chair with an appreciative hum. “I’d forgotten how good it smells before it settles.”
Theo looked out and smiled — a real, unguarded smile that Hermione hadn’t seen in days. “We used to play out there for hours as kids. I haven’t in years.”
Pansy stretched languidly. “Well then, what are we waiting for? Someone conjure me proper boots.”
Moments later, the group spilled onto the manor’s back lawn, bundled in cloaks and scarves. The air was cold enough to nip at their noses, but there was laughter everywhere — the kind that came freely, instinctively, without thought.
Ginny scooped up a handful of snow and threw the first snowball straight at Harry. It hit his shoulder with a satisfying thwack.
“Oh, it’s war, Weasley,” he said, grinning.
Hermione ducked behind Theo just as another snowball sailed past. “I’m a non-combatant!” she shouted — and then yelped as Pansy hit her squarely in the back.
“No one’s neutral, Granger!” Pansy called, laughing so hard she nearly dropped her next snowball.
Draco, naturally, stood aside at first, arms crossed, observing the chaos with an amused smirk. “You all look ridiculous.”
Theo bent down, packed a snowball neatly, and lobbed it with perfect precision — hitting Draco directly in the chest.
“You were saying?”
Draco blinked, snow falling off his robes. “Nott, you’re a dead man.”
That was all it took.
Within seconds, the snowy grounds became a battlefield — snow flying in arcs, laughter echoing between the hedges, scarves coming undone, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. Harry ducked behind a fountain for cover, Ginny chased Blaise halfway across the lawn, and Pansy shrieked as Theo and Draco temporarily joined forces against her.
Hermione found herself laughing — really laughing — as she stumbled through the snow, hair damp and curls frizzing, her gloves soaked. For a moment, the world didn’t feel heavy or watchful. There was no Ministry, no Rita Skeeter, no marriage laws or looming expectations. Just friends, and joy, and snowflakes melting against her skin.
She paused by the old oak at the edge of the lawn, breath puffing out in misty clouds. The manor looked beautiful from here — its gray stone softened under a layer of white, the lake beyond it glassy and half-frozen.
Theo trudged up beside her, hair wet with snow, a boyish grin on his face. “You look like you’re plotting revenge.”
“Always,” she teased.
Draco appeared on her other side, brushing snow off his gloves. “You two are terrible shots, by the way.”
“Oh really?” Hermione said, feigning innocence. “Would you like a demonstration?”
He arched an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t dare.”
She did.
Her snowball hit him directly in the chest, splattering across his immaculate wool coat.
Theo burst out laughing as Draco stared down at the mark in disbelief, then slowly, deliberately bent down to pack his own snowball.
“Oh no,” Hermione said, backing away.
“Oh yes,” Draco said — and the chase was on again.
By the time the sun began to dip, the group was sprawled in the snow, breathless and grinning. Blaise had conjured a floating tray of steaming cocoa and brandy, and everyone was pink-cheeked, laughing quietly between sips.
Theo sat beside Hermione on the steps leading back up to the terrace, his arm brushing hers. Across from them, Draco leaned against a pillar, half-smiling as he watched the others.
“It feels different today,” Hermione murmured after a while.
Theo tilted his head. “How so?”
“Lighter,” she said softly. “Like maybe things can still be… normal. Even if our version of normal doesn’t look like anyone else’s.”
Theo’s expression gentled. “Maybe it never has. But it’s ours.”
Draco’s gaze flicked to them at that, something unreadable but quiet in his eyes. He didn’t speak, only raised his cup slightly in a silent toast — to her, to Theo, maybe to the strange peace of the moment.
Hermione smiled faintly and raised hers back.
Snowflakes drifted down again, slow and steady, melting against their hair and lashes. Laughter still echoed faintly from the yard. And for the first time in a long while, Hermione thought — perhaps this, this impossible new life, could one day feel like home.
Notes:
Some one on one for the triad coming up.
Chapter 56: Missing The Us We Had
Notes:
Hermione has some one of one with each of her men.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
By the time the last guests had Flooed home, the manor had settled into a hush broken only by the faint crackle of the hearth. The air smelled faintly of pine and melted snow; a few stray flakes still clung to the carpet near the door where everyone had tracked in.
Hermione stood at the parlor window, gazing out at the blanketed lawn. The night sky was the color of pewter, and the moonlight turned the drifts to silver. Behind her, Theo stirred the fire. Sparks rose and burst in soft orange light. Draco lounged in one of the wingback chairs, wet coat discarded, sleeves rolled up. Another half-finished glass of wine sat on the table beside him.
None of them spoke for a long while. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was full of something tentative and fragile, as if they were all afraid to break it.
Theo finally looked up from the fire. “You know,” he said, voice low, “I think it’s been years since I let myself just… play.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “You were good at it.”
“I used to be,” he admitted. “Back when the world wasn’t demanding so much.”
Draco’s voice was softer than usual. “You both looked ridiculous, you know. But it suited you.”
Hermione turned, one brow raised. “Ridiculous? I seem to recall hitting you twice... in your snarky little face.”
He gave a quiet huff that might have been a concealed augh. “A fluke of wind.”
Theo smirked. “Admit it, Draco. You had fun.”
The blond’s expression flickered—something unguarded for just a heartbeat. “Maybe I did.”
Hermione crossed the room and sank into the couch between them, the fire’s warmth wrapping around her. Her fingers itched toward the steaming mug of cocoa Theo had placed there earlier for her, made just the way she liked it.
“Today felt…” she searched for the word. “Human.”
Theo nodded slowly. “That’s exactly it.”
For a while they simply sat, sipping quietly. The only sounds were the soft pop of the logs and the distant tick of the mantel clock. Outside, snow fell again, slow and silent.
When Theo shifted to reach for another log, his knee brushed hers. Neither moved away. The touch was nothing—barely there—but Hermione felt the pulse of it all the way through her.
Draco was watching them; not jealous, exactly, but curious, thoughtful. “You two have a rhythm,” he said after a moment. “Like you breathe in sync.”
Hermione’s cheeks warmed. “It’s just… familiarity. We did date for the last six months before you entered the picture.”
“Familiarity,” he repeated, tasting the word like wine. “Or something more?”
Theo shot him a look—half warning, half weary amusement. “Don’t provoke.”
“I’m not,” Draco said, quiet again. “I’m trying to understand what I’ve walked into.”
The fire popped sharply. Hermione looked between them, feeling that same odd charge she’d sensed a dozen times before—something magnetic threading the air between the two men. It wasn’t tension born of anger anymore. It was history and understanding, and something that almost hummed with untapped magic.
She set down her mug and leaned back in thought. “Maybe we’re all still figuring that out.”
For a long time no one spoke. The light flickered across their faces—Theo’s earnest, Draco’s guarded, hers somewhere between hope and fear.
Theo was the first to move. He reached out, slow and careful, and brushed a damp curl from Hermione’s temple with the tenderness of a month ago, letting his fingers linger against her cheek. “You’re freezing,” he murmured.
“I’m fine,” she said, though her breath caught slightly.
Draco watched the gesture, then rose quietly and fetched a wool blanket from the armchair. Without a word, he draped it around her shoulders. His fingers brushed the nape of her neck as he tucked it into place. Her skin hummed where skin on skin had touched.
“Better,” he said simply, retreating to his seat.
The warmth of both their touches stayed with her. She looked from one to the other, uncertain what to say.
Theo leaned back, the flicker of a smile ghosting across his mouth. “You know, this—” he gestured at the three of them, the fire, the hush “—isn’t how I imagined mid-December.”
Hermione laughed softly. “How did you imagine it?”
“Less complicated,” he admitted. “But probably even colder.”
Draco tilted his glass, studying the red light caught in it. “Complicated doesn’t always mean bad.”
Theo’s gaze met his. “No. It doesn’t.”
Something passed between them—an understanding too layered for words. Hermione felt it like warmth radiating outward, steady and quiet.
The clock chimed nine. Outside, the wind rose and rattled the windows. She drew the blanket closer around herself. “It’s strange,” she said after a while. “The world still feels uncertain, and yet… right now, sitting here, it almost feels like we’re on the verge of finding safety.”
Theo’s voice was gentle. “That’s the point of home, isn’t it? To make the uncertain bearable.”
Draco’s eyes softened. “Then maybe we’re finally building one. We’re pouring the foundation right now.”
Hermione looked at both of them—their faces lit gold by firelight, their walls lowered for once—and felt something steady settle in her chest. A spark of possible belonging, cautious but real.
She smiled, small and genuine. “Maybe we are.”
The three of them sat there until the fire burned low, shoulders nearly touching, conversation dwindling into comfortable silence. No declarations were made, no lines crossed—but when Draco finally bid them goodnight and Theo lingered behind to bank the fire, Hermione knew as she headed to her room that whatever this was becoming, it was already showing it would certainly turn into more than mere survival. It was the beginning of plowing the soil before planting the seeds of trust.
A few days later, the manor was hushed when Hermione flooed home from her Charms program, her satchel still slung over one shoulder. The air inside felt different when Theo wasn’t there — quieter, but heavier somehow, the kind of silence that made you aware of your own heartbeat.
She dropped her bag onto the console table and rubbed her temples. A long day of spell refinements had left her drained. The lamps were already lit, their soft glow pooling across the marble floors, and faint music floated from the formal drawing room — piano, something melancholy.
When she peeked in, Draco was at the instrument.
He sat straight-backed, elegant as ever, his fingers tracing the keys with deliberate grace. The melody was restrained, almost mournful.it carried a dark sadness, that felt like Draco as music.
He stopped playing when he noticed her reflection in the glass door. “Hermione.”
She smiled faintly. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. I didn’t know you played.”
“Not often,” he said, standing and sliding his hands into his pockets. “Only when my head’s too loud.”
Hermione nodded, understanding that better than she wanted to.
“Where’s Theo?”
“Still at St. Mungo’s,” Draco replied. “A potion mishap in the trainee ward, he said he’d be a bit late.” He gestured to the couch. “You’re home early.”
“Class finished ahead of schedule. My instructor said I looked like I was trying to perfect myself into madness.”
The corner of his mouth twitched — almost a smile. “He’s not wrong about your need for prefection.”
She rolled her eyes but sat down anyway, folding her legs beneath her. “You sound like Theo when you say things like that.”
“Then he’s rubbing off on me, or maybe we both just spent far too many classes with your hand waving in the air” Draco said teasing.
They lapsed into a silence that wasn’t uncomfortable, just weighted. She could feel him watching her from across the room, and she didn’t know whether it unsettled or steadied her.
Finally, he broke the quiet. “Hermione… I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Properly.”
Her pulse quickened. “About?”
He moved to the chair opposite her, every motion controlled, deliberate — yet his eyes betrayed a restlessness she hadn’t seen before. “About… everything. This situation. The law. You. Theo.”
She inhaled slowly. “All right.”
“I know,” he began, his tone gentler than usual, “that this arrangement wasn’t something you asked for. You and Theo had a rhythm, a foundation, an understanding, a dream together of the future. And then suddenly, I was inserted into it like—” his mouth twisted bitterly “—a cursed amendment no one voted for.”
Hermione looked at him for a long moment before speaking. “You’re not a curse, Draco.”
He huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh. “You don’t need to lie to make me feel better.”
“I’m not lying,” she said, leaning forward slightly closer to him. “It’s been… hard, yes. For all of us. But not because of you. Because of what’s been forced on us.”
He looked down at his hands, pale against his dark trousers. “Still. I can’t help but feel I’m standing in a doorway that was already closed. That I’m trespassing on something sacred. You guys petitioned to get married because you wanted to have a life together, you didn’t ask for me. I’m a unneeded third wheel.”
Her heart softened. “You’re not. We’re all trying to figure this out.”
He nodded, jaw tight. “Theo and I… we have history. You deserve to know that I didn’t mean for what happened between us that night to happen. It was… grief and nostalgia and something I can’t quite name. I’m sorry you walked in on it. I’m sorry it hurt you. And I’m even more sorry I was a right arse about it. I’m not even sure what made me say that to you in that moment.”
Hermione felt the old ache in her chest, but it was dulled now, like a scar rather than a wound. “I was hurt,” she admitted softly. “But mostly because I didn’t understand. Because I felt deceived. Now I think… maybe none of us really did.”
Draco met her gaze then, and for a moment she saw it — the same hollow guilt she’d carried after the war, mirrored in his eyes. “Theo loved me once,” he said, his voice nearly breaking on the word. “And I didn’t see it. I thought what we had was just… defiance. Rebellion. I was sinking in darkness back then, and when he ended it, I convinced myself he was weak for wanting the light and didn’t care about me enough.”
He gave a bitter smile. “Now I think he was just braver than I was.”
Hermione swallowed hard. “You were boys in a war, Draco. Everyone was just trying to survive.”
“Maybe. But I think I broke something in him — and I didn’t realize how much until I saw the way he looks at you.”
Hermione blinked, startled. “How he looks at me?”
“Like he’s finally breathing again.”
Draco exhaled through his nose, then added, almost inaudible, “And I envy that.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
The admission hung in the air like static, humming faintly between them.
Hermione’s chest ached. “Draco…” she began, but he shook his head.
“I’m not saying that to unsettle you. I just—” He paused, eyes flicking away, voice roughening. “I don’t want to be the reason something good crumbles. But I also can’t pretend this doesn’t matter to me. Any of it. I want him to look at me like he used to, like he looks at you now. I know you and I aren’t even close to anything like that right now, but someday I hope maybe we can all look at each other the way Theo looks at you right now.”
Hermione leaned back, fingers tracing the embroidery of the couch arm. Her thoughts were a swirl of compassion, confusion, and something warmer she refused to name.
“I don’t want it to crumble either,” she said quietly. “I don’t even know what it is yet. But maybe that’s all right.”
Draco looked up then, and their eyes locked — hers soft and searching, his dark with guarded longing.
The silence stretched. She could feel it — that almost imperceptible pull, like gravity shifting slightly between them. He was close enough that she could see the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the muscle ticking in his jaw, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for her hand and didn’t dare.
Finally, he murmured, “You’re very hard not to admire, you know that? Beauty and brains. A perfect combination.”
She felt heat crawl up her neck. “You’re not so bad yourself anymore.”
That earned her the faintest smirk — brief, but real.
He leaned back, forcing a breath out. “If you ever start to feel suffocated by all this, tell me. I’ll step back. I won’t trap you in something that already feels like a cage in the first place without the extra complications..”
“Draco,” she said softly, “you’re not the cage. The law is.”
He looked at her for a long moment, and something in his expression softened — something almost like relief. “Then maybe we can both learn to live outside the bars, even if we’re still inside them.”
Hermione smiled sadly. “That sounds like something Luna would say.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment since I know your good friends.”
Their eyes met again, and for the briefest instant, time slowed — the world narrowing to the distance between their breaths. There was no touch, no move forward. Just that charged stillness, alive with the ache of what might come later.
Then the clock chimed in the hall, and the moment fractured like thin ice. Hermione stood, gathering her things, her heart fluttering strangely.
“I should… go change for dinner before Theo gets home,” she murmured.
Draco nodded once, his face unreadable. “Of course.”
She hesitated at the doorway, glancing back. “Thank you for being honest with me.”
His gaze softened. “You make honesty… oddly easy.”
Hermione left before her pulse could confuse her more..
When the door closed behind her, Draco sat back down at the piano and pressed a single key. The note lingered — fragile, unresolved — before fading into silence.
Theo returned home long after sunset, his coat still damp from the sleet outside. Hermione heard him come in from the library and closed her book, unsure what to expect. They’d been careful these past weeks — too careful — circling one another like fragile planets caught in the same orbit but afraid of collision.
Dinner was quiet. They sat across from each other at the long dining table, the candles between them flickering softly. The air was thick with unspoken things. Draco was absent, dining with his mother in London for a fundraiser, leaving the manor to its uneasy quiet.
Theo finally broke the silence.
“I heard from Blaise today,” he said, pushing his plate aside. “He said Pansy’s new line of self cleaning serving dishes is selling out faster than she can produce it. She’s insufferably proud.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “She’s earned it.”
They fell into light conversation after that — safe topics, neutral ground — until dessert was finished and the dishes vanished with a soft pop. But even as they spoke of ordinary things, the air between them was charged, heavy with all that hadn’t been said.
When Theo stood, Hermione did too, almost without thinking.
He hesitated. “Do you want to sit for a bit? In my rooms, I mean. Oh… sorry… I mean nevermind, I know we agreed only you prompt that right now. Sorry, old habits. I didn’t even mean anything sexual either… just to sit and talk, I swear.”
Her pulse skipped. She hadn’t stepped into his private space since everything had changed. “Yes,” she said quietly. His eyes widen, and he smiled charmingly. Her heart beat a bit faster.
His sitting room was warm, lamplight and firelight mixing in soft gold tones. A storm rattled faintly at the windows. Theo poured two glasses of mulled wine and handed her one before settling opposite her near the hearth.
For a while, they watched the flames. The silence wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t hostile either — it was taut, full of meaning waiting to surface.
Finally, Theo spoke, his voice low.
“I keep thinking about how far back we’ve had to go.”
Hermione looked at him, uncertain.
He met her eyes. “With us. With trust. With… everything.” He rubbed a hand through his hair, the movement restless. “I hate that I hurt you. I hate that when I look at you now, part of me still sees the way you looked at me that night — like I’d broken something sacred.”
Her throat tightened. “You didn’t mean to. It wasn’t done viciously. I know that now. It’s all shades of gray. I just wish we’d all been more honest before it even happened.”
“Knowing doesn’t fix it.” His voice roughened slightly. “I want to hold you again, and it feels wrong. Not because I don’t want to — Merlin knows I do — but because I’m afraid you’ll think I’m just trying to erase what happened instead of earn you back. I know I need to mend the cracks I created with us.”
Hermione stared into her wine. “You don’t have to earn me back,” she said softly. “We’re trying to build something new. That means we start where we are, not where we were.”
He gave a small, crooked smile. “You always make things sound simple.”
“It’s not simple,” she said, meeting his eyes. “It’s just… worth doing.”
Theo’s gaze lingered on her, searching, pained. The firelight flickered across his face, catching in the shadows under his eyes — exhaustion, regret, longing.
“I still think about how we were before all this,” he murmured. “When you laughed easily. When I could touch your hand and not wonder if I’d overstepped. When we thought we would be planning a wedding for just us. A future we had been talking about for awhile.”
Hermione’s breath caught at the raw honesty in his voice. “You still can hold me hand,” she whispered.
For a long moment he didn’t move. Then, tentatively, he reached out, his fingers brushing hers. It was barely contact — a whisper of warmth — but the air around them shifted, as though even the fire had leaned closer to listen.
Hermione’s heart ached and skin burned with weeks of built-up tension. “Theo…”
“I’m not asking for anything tonight. I won’t ask you for anything at all again until you start inviting it. ” he said quietly. “I just need you to know — I’m still here. However long it takes. However slow it has to be.”
She looked at their joined hands, her thumb tracing a faint line across his knuckles. “You’re still the person I feel safest with,” she said. “Even after everything.”
Theo’s eyes softened, and she saw tears threaten at the edges. “Then maybe that’s enough for now.”
They sat that way for a long time — the storm outside, the fire within — neither pulling away, neither crossing more lines than they could mend. The tension between them wasn’t gone, but it had changed; it was quieter, steadier, something they could learn to hold without fear.
When she finally stood to leave, Theo rose too, walking her to the door.
“Goodnight, Hermione,” he murmured, his voice almost breaking on her name.
“Goodnight, Theo.”
For an instant, she almost leaned in for her goodnight on the temple kiss— not for passion, but for comfort.
Instead, she gave his hand a final squeeze and slipped away into the hall, her heart heavy and full all at once.
Notes:
What type of scene would you like to see?
I have this extensively plotted out, but there's always room to add chapters.
Let me know!
Chapter 57: Walking in a Winter Wonderland
Notes:
With Theo at work, and Hermione on break, she and Draco are going to be getting more private moments over the holidays.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The December sun slanted pale and gold through the frost-rimmed windows of the breakfast room. Outside, the manor gardens glistened under a thin crust of snow. Inside, the long oak table was half covered in scattered toast crumbs, a steaming teapot, and a small enchanted garland of holly that hummed faintly with magic whenever someone reached for the jam.
Hermione sat at the head of the table, hair still damp from her morning bath, wrapped in one of Theo’s sweaters (much to his smirky satisfaction) that hung nearly to her knees. Draco was reading The Daily Prophet, though she suspected he was only pretending; his eyes hadn’t moved down the page in minutes. Theo, already in his St. Mungo’s robes, was stirring sugar into his tea with the distracted precision of someone mentally counting the hours before another long shift.
The silence between them was thick but not hostile — the kind that came when emotions had been building for days and none of them quite knew where to begin.
It was Hermione who broke it.
“So,” she said lightly, buttering her toast, “we should probably talk about Christmas.”
Theo blinked, as if startled back to the room. “Right. Christmas.”
Draco folded the paper with deliberate care. “You mean the holiday that has apparently crept up on us while we’ve been avoiding each other’s eyes?”
Hermione gave him a look — half exasperation, half amusement. “That would be the one.”
Theo chuckled under his breath, tension loosening a little. “She’s on winter break now for awhile,” he explained to Draco, nodding toward Hermione. “But I’ll only have a few days off between rotations. So we need a plan that fits around my shifts.”
“I have no shifts,” Draco muttered. “Merlin forbid the Wizengamot makes me come in during the season of goodwill.”
Hermione smiled playfully into her tea. “Then you’ll just have to suffer through too much leisure time with us... and mostly me”
That earned a faint mischievous smirk. “I’ll bear it somehow.”
She looked between them. “Normally I’d spend Christmas Eve at the Burrow — but Harry and Ginny are hosting this year at their place. You’re both invited, of course.”
Draco arched a pale brow. “The Weasleys and I under one roof. Truly, the spirit of peace on Earth endures.”
Theo gave him a warning glance. “You don’t have to go if you’d rather not.”
“Oh, I’ll go,” Draco said dryly, “if only to witness the miracle of Ronald Weasley not hexing me before pudding.”
Hermione bit back a laugh. “Ginny would kill him before he got the chance.”
That earned an almost genuine laugh from both men, and for a moment the room lightened.
Theo leaned back in his chair, studying the holly garland’s lazy sparkle. “What about Christmas Day itself? We could have breakfast here, open presents, maybe take a walk if the snow holds.”
“And dinner?” Hermione asked.
Draco hesitated, then said quietly, “I’d like to have Mother here, if that’s all right. It’s her first Christmas without me in the manor and—” he stopped, swallowing the rest.
“Of course it’s all right,” Hermione said gently. “She shouldn’t be alone.”
Theo nodded in agreement. “We can make room at the table for her. Merlin knows the dining hall is big enough for half of Wiltshire.”
Draco’s shoulders eased, and he gave a small, sincere nod. “Thank you.”
They lingered after that, talking through half-formed ideas for the day. Hermione suggested decorating gingerbread men — Draco was skeptical until she promised he could enchant his to duel Theo’s. Theo suggested a walk through the orchard after lunch, the same one where he’d first taken her for her birthday picnic months ago. Draco added, almost shyly, that they could end the evening with a fire in the library and read aloud — “something old and tragic,” he said, “so no one expects carols.”
Hermione smiled at that. “A very Slytherin Christmas.”
“A very us Christmas,” Theo corrected softly, and his eyes lingered on her long enough to make her heart flutter.
Draco noticed the look, glanced away quickly, then reached for the teapot with a bit too much force. The lid clinked.
“I’ll handle dessert,” he said, as if to cover the moment. “Mother always said my treacle tart could melt even a Weasley’s prejudice.”
“I’ll believe it when I taste it,” Hermione teased.
The corners of his mouth twitched — there and gone again.
The meal wound down slowly, warmth replacing the earlier unease. The tension between them didn’t vanish — it pulsed quietly beneath the conversation, an undercurrent of awareness each of them tried not to name.
Theo checked the time, rising reluctantly. “I have to go. My briefing for rotation starts early.”
Hermione stood too. “Be safe. I’ll leave supper for you in the warming charm.”
He smiled faintly, brushing her hand in a gesture that was almost instinctive. “You always do.”
Draco watched the exchange in silence, then looked away, pretending to examine the snowfall outside. When Theo disapparated with a soft crack, the room felt larger and emptier all at once.
Hermione gathered plates, more for something to do than necessity. “It’s strange,” she said quietly. “For the first time since the war, I’m not dreading Christmas. It feels… complicated, but not hopeless.”
Draco leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “You’ve always been better at hope than the rest of us.”
“Maybe,” she said, looking up at him. “But you’re getting better at it.”
Their eyes met for a moment longer than either intended — not tender, not yet, but something fragile and growing.
Outside, snow began to fall again, thick and silent. The manor’s old walls creaked softly, as if settling around them.
The manor grounds were dusted in a thin quilt of snow, sunlight filtering through bare branches like soft shards of glass. Hermione’s breath fogged in the cold air as she stood by the parlor window, mug in hand, watching flakes drift lazily down. The house felt cavernous today—Theo was away at St. Mungo’s, and the halls had that echoing quiet that comes when one voice is missing.
Draco’s footsteps sounded behind her. “You’re staring hard enough to melt the glass.”
She smiled faintly. “I was just thinking we should have a Christmas tree. It feels strange not to.”
He followed her gaze to the frosted lawn. “We don’t have one?”
“Not yet. I think the elves assumed we’d conjure one.”
Draco’s mouth curved wryly. “Conjured trees are rubbish. They smell like candle wax instead of pine.”
She turned to him, tilting her head. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”
“I may have watched Mother insist on the real thing every year,” he admitted. “Even when Father thought it was plebeian.”
Hermione smiled, amused. “Then you’re coming with me to find one.”
“Out there?” he said, arching a brow at the window, where the forest loomed dark beyond the orchard.
“Yes,” she said, pulling her cloak around her. “Unless you’re afraid of a little cold.”
His smirk deepened. “Granger, the only thing I fear is your stubbornness.”
They walked across the snow-packed lawns, their boots crunching softly, the air crisp and sharp. The world was still, save for the whisper of wind in the trees and the occasional rustle of a bird. Hermione’s cheeks flushed pink against the cold; Draco’s breath came out in steady clouds beside her.
When they entered the forest edge, the scent of pine wrapped around them—rich, clean, and alive. Hermione inhaled deeply, smiling. “I missed this smell. My parents and I used to go tree-hunting every December when I was a kid.”
Draco glanced sideways at her, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve had to rebuild so many traditions from scratch.”
She nodded, brushing snow from a low branch. “I suppose I have.”
They wandered through the evergreens in silence for a while, inspecting this tree and that, the rhythm of their conversation growing easier. Every so often, their shoulders brushed, sending small, unexpected sparks through her that had nothing to do with the chill.
Finally, she stopped before a tall, full-branched fir dusted in snow. “That one,” she said softly. “It’s perfect.”
Draco looked up, considering. “A bit taller than you, then.”
Hermione laughed and shrugged. “Most things are.”
He smirked, drew his wand, and with a murmured Diffindo, severed the trunk cleanly. The tree drifted to the ground in a graceful fall, landing in the snow with a muffled thud. He turned to her, breath misting. “There. Happy?”
“Very,” she said, smiling.
For a second, he simply looked at her—wind catching strands of her hair, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with something like joy. His heart gave a strange, unfamiliar twist.
“Let’s get it home,” he said, voice lower than before.
Back at the manor, they wrestled the fir into the informal parlor—the one with mismatched armchairs and Theo’s perpetually crooked rug that he loved. Snow still clung to the branches, glittering faintly in the lamplight.
Hermione flicked her wand, setting a gramophone on the mantel. A moment later, the room filled with the cheerful brass of a Muggle Christmas tune.
Draco blinked. “What in Merlin’s name is this?”
“Crosby,” Hermione said, laughing at his bewildered expression. “You’ll like it.”
“I doubt that.”
“Give it a chance.”
He did, grudgingly at first, as she began to charm strings of fairy lights around the branches. The air filled with the smell of pine and cinnamon, the crackle of fire, and the soft hum of her singing under her breath.
Draco found himself helping, conjuring delicate silver baubles and transfiguring scraps of parchment into ribbon. When one spell went slightly astray and showered glitter across her hair, she gasped and swatted at him playfully.
“Draco Malfoy!”
He lifted both hands, feigning innocence. “Consider it festive.”
She laughed, and the sound filled the room—light, unguarded, genuine. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her laugh like that, if ever.
When they stepped back to admire their work, the tree glowed softly, its ornaments catching the firelight.
Hermione sighed contentedly. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is,” Draco agreed, though he wasn’t looking at the tree.
She felt his gaze, warm against her skin, and turned. For a moment, neither spoke. The gramophone spun a slower melody, and the air between them seemed to hum.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For doing this with me.”
His eyes softened. “Thank you for letting me.”
Their hands brushed as they adjusted one last ribbon. The contact lingered, neither of them pulling away. The firelight painted the space between them in gold and shadow.
Hermione’s breath caught; Draco’s lips parted slightly, as if to say something—then he looked away, exhaling.
“I should—finish the wreaths in the hall,” he said, stepping back.
“Of course,” she said quickly, her heart fluttering too fast.
He paused at the doorway, turning back to glance at the glowing tree, then at her. “You make this place feel alive again, you know that?”
Hermione smiled faintly, eyes shining. “Maybe it just needed a bit of warmth.”
Draco’s gaze lingered one heartbeat longer than it should have. Then he left, his footsteps fading down the corridor.
Hermione stood before the tree, the music soft around her, the scent of pine thick in the air. She touched one of the silver ornaments and let herself smile—small, wistful, but real.
Later, the afternoon light had faded into the gray-blue hush before dusk. The manor was quiet now; Theo had gone for his rotation many hours ago, and only the crackle of the fire filled the silence. Hermione sat curled on the sofa in the drawing room, a book open but unread on her lap. The orange glow flickered across the pages, blurring the words.
Draco entered softly, carrying two cups of tea. “You looked like you needed another one,” he said, setting one on the low table beside her.
“Thank you,” Hermione murmured. She could tell he’d brewed it himself—too strong, the way he always did, but it warmed her hands.
He lingered near the opposite chair for a moment before sitting down, watching her as though turning a thought over in his mind. Finally, he spoke.
“I didn’t want to bring this up,” he began carefully, “but we agreed on honesty, didn’t we?”
Hermione looked up from her tea, wary. “Yes…?”
He shifted, straightening a crease in his sleeve. “You spoke about holiday traditions earlier—about the Burrow, about Hogwarts memories—but you never mentioned your parents being a part of Christmas this year. I—” he hesitated, tone softening “—I know it’s not my place to pry. But you’ve never said much about them. And now that we’re… whatever we are, I thought maybe I should understand.”
Hermione’s fingers tightened around her cup. For a moment she thought she could brush it aside with a polite half-truth, but the gentleness in his voice undid her. They had promised truth after all.
“They’re not part of my holidays anymore,” she said quietly.
Draco frowned, confused. “Why not?”
She stared at the fire, its flames reflected in her eyes. “Because… they don’t remember who I am.”
He froze. “What do you mean they don’t—”
“I obliviated them,” she said, the words trembling as they left her mouth. “During the war. I made them forget me entirely—changed their names, their memories, everything. Sent them to Australia to keep them safe.”
The confession hung heavy in the room. Draco’s breath caught; he’d known her bravery, her intellect, but never the sheer, brutal weight of what she’d done out of love.
“Hermione…” he whispered.
“I thought I could fix it afterward,” she continued, voice cracking. “After the war, I found them again. But they were happy—really happy—and I tried to undo it, but it couldn’t be undone with risking very likely permanent brain damage. So I left them that way. They’re out there somewhere, celebrating Christmas without knowing I ever existed.”
Her composure failed. The first tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. She pressed her sleeve to her face, but more followed—quiet, shaking sobs that filled the silence between them.
Draco hesitated, caught between awkwardness and instinct. Then, slowly, he rose from his chair and crossed to the sofa. He knelt beside her, uncertain, and rested a tentative hand on her shoulder.
“You did what you had to,” he said softly. “You saved them.”
Hermione shook her head, voice breaking. “But I lost them. I erased myself from my own family, Draco. How do I ever live with that peacefully?”
He had no answer. All the clever words he could have chosen—rationalizations, reassurances—died on his tongue. Instead, he did something that surprised them both: he reached for her, gently pulling her into his arms.
It was clumsy at first. He wasn’t used to comforting people, and he’d never touched her this intimately before, and she wasn’t used to letting anyone see her like this. But after a moment, she leaned against him, her forehead pressed to his shoulder, his hand hesitating once before settling lightly at her back.
The scent of tea and smoke and snow hung between them. Her sobs slowed, quieted, until the only sound was the rhythmic crackle of the fire.
Draco spoke again, his voice rough. “You always think of everyone else first. It’s maddening, you know.”
She gave a faint, tear-choked laugh against his collar. “I can’t help it.”
“I know,” he said, exhaling. “But if it helps at all… I think they’d be proud of you. Even if they don’t remember why.”
Hermione closed her eyes, letting that sink in. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He gave a small, awkward shrug that jostled her slightly. “Don’t thank me. I’m terrible at this sort of thing.”
“You’re not,” she said quietly.
That silenced him. He looked down at her, her curls damp from tears, her expression soft but weary. There was something painfully tender about her then—something that made his throat tighten.
“You should rest,” he murmured. “It’s been a long day.”
She nodded, pulling back slightly but not letting go just yet. Their eyes met, and for a fleeting moment the air between them felt charged again—an undercurrent neither wanted to name.
“Goodnight, Draco,” she said finally, standing.
He nodded, still kneeling by the hearth. “Goodnight, Hermione.”
She left the room with the faintest smile, and he stayed where he was, staring into the fire long after her footsteps had faded—trying to understand the strange ache her absence left behind.
Notes:
Draco has a heart buried in there somehwere.
ow do you think it will be for her to see Ron on Christmas eve?
Chapter 58: A Weasley Christmas Eve
Chapter Text
The manor was still half asleep when Theo Apparated into the foyer just after dawn. Snow had fallen overnight, muting everything into a hushed, silvery calm. He shrugged off his healer’s cloak, the scent of antiseptic and potion herbs still clinging to it, and set his satchel down with a sigh that came from somewhere bone-deep.
It had been a long night. Broken bones, cursed wounds, two deliveries gone wrong but saved. He was so tired his hands trembled slightly when he unbuttoned his cuffs. All he wanted was silence, a warm drink, and maybe—if she was awake yet—the sound of Hermione’s voice.
He followed the faint smell of pine through the corridor, rubbing his temples. The scent grew stronger as he approached the informal parlor. When he stepped through the doorway, he froze.
A Christmas tree stood in the corner of the room.
A real one—towering, full, its branches glittering with charm-lit baubles and soft golden ribbons. The hearth glowed beneath it, casting light across the ornaments and the stray snow still melting on the rug.
Theo blinked once, twice, then let out a soft, stunned laugh. “Well,” he murmured, “you’ve been busy.”
Hermione appeared from the kitchen, still in her dressing gown, hair half pulled back and mug in hand. Her face lit up when she saw him. “You’re home!”
He smiled, that tired, aching sort of smile that softened his whole expression. “Barely. I think my legs are just pretending to work.”
“Sit,” she said immediately, ushering him to the couch. “I’ll get you tea.”
As she hurried off, Theo looked around again. There were traces of yesterday everywhere: a pine bough resting on the windowsill, bits of glitter stuck to the rug, a gramophone still sitting on the mantel, silent now but probably the culprit behind the faint smell of peppermint and wax in the air.
She’d done this with Draco. He could tell—not because she’d said anything, but because the garlands were hung with precise, elegant symmetry, the ribbons tied just a little too perfectly. Hermione’s decorating style was warm and haphazard; this tree was balanced.
She came back with a steaming cup and sat beside him. “What do you think?”
Theo took a sip before answering, letting the warmth settle in his chest. “It’s beautiful,” he said softly. Then, after a beat: “You and Draco did this yesterday?”
She hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Yes. I mentioned wanting a tree, and he said conjured ones were a disgrace to the season. So we went to the forest. Cut one down ourselves.”
Theo managed a small laugh. “Of course he did.”
“He actually wasn’t terrible company,” she said, almost apologetically. “He was… really trying with me, even.”
Theo’s eyes stayed on the fire, his fingers tracing the rim of his mug. Draco was being kind. He wanted to be glad for that, and part of him was. But another part—quieter, darker—twisted with something close to envy.
He’d missed it.
He’d missed her laughter filling this room, the sight of her cheeks flushed from the cold, the warmth of a memory being made without him.
He told himself it was unfair to feel that way. He had his healer rotations, his duties. This was what he’d chosen. Still, it stung.
“I’m glad,” he said finally, his voice careful. “You deserve a good day after the weeks we’ve had.”
She looked at him, eyes soft with understanding. “You sound like you wish you’d been there.”
Theo’s mouth twitched. “Maybe a little… ok maybe a lot.”
She reached out, her hand brushing his. “We can still make more memories. There’s plenty left to do on Christmas.”
He squeezed her fingers lightly, feeling that familiar, complicated warmth rise again—affection tangled with longing, with exhaustion, with the faint ache of knowing how easily he could lose the rhythm between them if he blinked.
Draco appeared briefly in the doorway, hair uncharacteristically mussed, a book tucked under his arm. “You’re back early,” he said, tone neutral but polite.
Theo nodded, leaning back against the couch. “Finished rounds before sunrise. The hospital was merciful for once.”
Draco’s eyes flicked to Hermione—barefoot, smiling—and then to the tree. “We saved the top ornament for you.”
Theo’s eyebrows lifted. “Did you now?”
Draco gestured toward the silver star resting on the side table. “It’s a tradition, isn’t it? The last touch goes to the one who wasn’t here.”
Theo studied him for a moment, then gave a slow, tired smile, his heart blooming with touched warmth. “That’s very thoughtful.”
Hermione stood and fetched the ornament, offering it to Theo. “Would you do the honors?”
He rose, stretching, and crossed to the tree. His fingertips brushed hers as he took the star, and she smiled up at him—quiet, warm, steady.
He lifted it onto the highest branch, straightened it carefully, and stepped back. The star caught the light and shimmered.
“There,” Hermione said softly. “Now it’s perfect.”
Theo turned to her, the glow of the fire dancing across her face, and his chest tightened with something fierce and wordless. He loved her—he knew it, even if he hadn’t said it to her. But he was sharing her now, and the realization was both beautiful and unbearable.
Draco lingered at the threshold, watching them with an unreadable expression before quietly excusing himself.
Hermione and Theo stood before the tree a moment longer, the quiet between them full of everything they couldn’t yet say.
“Go get some sleep,” she whispered, resting a hand lightly on his arm.
He caught her gaze, tired but tender. “I’ll dream about this. About you.”
She smiled softly. “Then dream something peaceful for both of us.”
As he left for his room, she turned back to the tree, the star’s light reflecting in her eyes—wondering, not for the first time, if there was room in one heart for so many kinds of love.
The next evening, when the manor had gone still hours ago, Hermione was still up.
Theo was asleep upstairs, exhaustion finally claiming him after days of rotations. The fire in the parlor had burned low, only embers now, painting the walls in copper light.
Hermione sat curled in the armchair nearest the tree, a blanket wrapped around her knees and a book open but forgotten in her lap. The tree’s golden charms cast soft reflections across the glass panes, and every so often, one of the enchanted baubles hummed faintly like a sigh.
She’d meant to go to bed an hour ago, but the quiet was soothing. The kind of quiet that made her remember how long she’d spent fighting for moments like this — peace, light, normalcy.
A sound at the doorway made her glance up.
Draco stood there, barefoot, his white shirt loose at the collar, hair falling a bit untidily into his eyes. He looked — human, almost disarmed. It was incredibly attractive.
“I thought you’d gone to bed,” she said softly.
He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. The house is too quiet.”
“You could use a Calming Draught.”
He smiled faintly. “I’d rather talk.”
Hermione set her book aside. “About what?”
He stepped closer, the fire catching in his pale hair. “About how you’ve managed to make this place feel like Christmas. It hasn’t felt like anything but a mausoleum for all the years I visited Theo here.”
She smiled, lowering her eyes. “You helped.”
“I carried a tree and made a mess,” he said, leaning against the mantel. “You gave it a soul.”
Hermione looked up then, meeting his gaze. It held steady — searching, conflicted, and warm in a way that made her heartbeat quicken.
“You surprise me sometimes,” she murmured.
“I surprise myself,” he said, voice low. “Especially around you.”
Something in his tone made the air change — thicker, charged. Neither of them moved, but the space between them seemed to shrink all the same.
The fire popped. Outside, wind whispered through the eaves.
Hermione rose, crossing to the tree, her hand brushing one of the silver ribbons. “You know,” she said quietly, “I used to think I hated this season last year. Too much memory, too much expectation. But now… it feels different.”
Draco came closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, smell the faint trace of pine and parchment. “Because of him?”
“Because of both of you,” she said honestly. “Because somehow, against all logic, we’re maybe just starting at making this work.”
Draco’s breath caught, just barely. “Are we?”
She turned to him then — slowly, carefully — until they were standing a breath apart. The golden light from the tree reflected in his eyes.
“Yes,” she said. “Even when it’s messy. Especially when it’s messy.”
He laughed under his breath, but it was soft, almost disbelieving. “You always did have a talent for hope.”
“I had to,” she said, voice quiet. “Someone needed to.”
For a long moment, they just looked at each other. Her hand still rested on the branch beside his shoulder; his fingers twitched at his side as if fighting the urge to close the distance.
When he spoke again, his voice was rough. “Sometimes I think you see me too kindly.”
“Maybe you don’t see yourself kindly enough,” she said.
The silence between them stretched — a delicate, trembling thread. Hermione could feel her pulse everywhere: in her throat, her wrists, the tips of her fingers.
Draco exhaled, the sound catching slightly. “Hermione…”
She shook her head just slightly, eyes never leaving his. “Don’t.”
But she didn’t move back.
The air was thick with everything neither dared to say. He reached up then, almost without meaning to, and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered for a moment against her skin, a touch light as breath, but it sent something electric through her chest.
She closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself.
When she opened them, he’d already stepped back a half pace — the spell between them broken, but not gone.
“Sorry, I should let you rest,” he said quietly.
Hermione nodded, trying to breathe normally again. “Goodnight, Draco.”
He hesitated at the doorway, his hand on the frame. “Goodnight, Hermione.”
And then he was gone, leaving her standing before the glowing tree, her skin still tingling where his fingers had brushed her.
She sank slowly back into her chair, heart racing, the lights flickering soft gold across her face.
Somewhere upstairs, the house creaked — old, breathing, alive again.
Hermione whispered into the empty room, more to herself than to anyone else:
“Merlin help me.”
What she was feeling for Draco wasn’t nearly as strong as for Theo, but there was no mistaken it wasn’t just a subtle seedling of friendship that was growing with him. It was something far less innocent.
On Christmas Eve, Grimmauld Place looked nothing like the dark, brooding house Hermione remembered from the war— garlands of holly and twinkling fairy lights wrapped around the banisters, candles hovering over the dining table, their flames charmingly charmed to shimmer gold and red. The faint scent of cinnamon, evergreen, and butterbeer hung in the air.
Theo, Draco, and Hermione arrived by floo just before dusk. The moment they stepped into the warm, bustling kitchen, they were met with a chorus of familiar voices, laughter, and the general chaos of a Weasley gathering.
“’Bout time!” called George, carrying a tray of biscuits shaped like snitches. “We were beginning to think you’d been kidnapped by Skeeter for another headline!”
Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Not yet, thankfully. Coud still happen though.”
Across the room, Ginny — radiant in green — waved them in. “Come on, everyone’s upstairs in the parlor! Harry’s trying to keep Luna from charming the tree to sing again.”
Theo smiled quietly at the sight — this was all so far removed from his usual world of formality and hushed tones. Draco, however, looked visibly tense, his shoulders drawn as though every garland might conceal a hidden judgment or curse him.
Hermione reached out, brushing her hand against his sleeve — a silent reassurance. His gaze flicked to her briefly, and though he said nothing, the look in his eyes softened.
Upstairs, the parlor was crowded but joyful. The fire blazed, stockings hung over the mantle — one for each Weasley, and somehow, a few extra had appeared this year.
Neville and Luna sat together near the fire. She wore a silver gown scattered with little stars that seemed to drift and reform with every movement, and Neville looked content — slightly overwhelmed, but content.
When Luna spotted them, she waved dreamily. “Oh, good, you’ve arrived. I told Neville we shouldn’t start the pudding until all the constellations were properly aligned. Now they are.”
Neville smiled sheepishly. “She means the guests.”
Hermione laughed and moved to hug them both, grateful for the touch of easy friendship.
“Glad you came,” Neville said. “And that the Prophet hasn’t scared you lot into hiding.”
“Not permanently,” Theo said dryly, which made Luna grin in approval.
They all moved into the rhythm of the evening — laughter, the clink of glasses, Bill’s old enchanted ornaments bursting with confetti, and George telling stories that made half the room cry with laughter and the other half pretend not to wipe their eyes.
It was a warm, boisterous gathering, and for a while, Hermione allowed herself to relax.
Then she spotted Ron in the boisterous ginger crowd..
He was standing near the drinks table, shoulders squared, jaw tight — Cho Chang at his side, a hand resting lightly on his arm. Hermione hadn’t seen her in years, and she looked older, poised, and quietly strong.
When Cho noticed Hermione’s gaze, she smiled — calm, polite. Hermione returned it, grateful for the gesture.
“Don’t start anything,” Ginny muttered as she passed Hermione a glass of cider. “He’s been simmering all night.”
Hermione sighed. “Has he read the article?”
“Of course he has. Everyone has.”
At that moment, George’s booming voice cut through the din: “Ladies and gents — and Weasley-adjacents — raise a glass! To good health, decent wine, and the miracle that I, George Weasley, have finally found someone willing to put up with me!”
There was laughter and cheering. George grinned and threw an arm around Angelina, who blushed and rolled her eyes.
“Matched by the Ministry!” he announced proudly. “Guess the old compatibility spell really works sometimes!”
The room applauded. Fred’s absence still hung heavy in the air, but for the first time in years, George’s smile looked genuine. Hermione felt her throat tighten.
She caught Draco’s expression — quiet, reserved, but touched. He raised his glass too. Theo leaned closer to murmur, “That’s… actually rather lovely.”
“It is,” Hermione said softly.
But peace didn’t last long.
Ron had made his way over, his eyes already a bit too bright from the spirits. “So,” he said, not looking directly at her, “you’re the talk of the Prophet again, eh, Hermione? You never could stay out of headlines.”
“Ron—” Ginny warned.
Hermione straightened her shoulders. “It wasn’t my choice to be written about.”
“Wasn’t your choice?” He laughed bitterly. “Seems like a lot of your life choices keep making the front page.” His gaze flicked to Theo and then to Draco, standing slightly behind her. “Guess this one’s no different.”
Draco’s hand twitched, but he said nothing. Theo’s jaw flexed.
“Ron,” Cho said softly, her voice calm but firm, “enough.”
He opened his mouth again, but she reached for his hand — just a touch, steady and grounding. “You promised,” she murmured.
The words seemed to deflate him. He took a long breath and looked away. “Right,” he muttered. “Sorry.”
Hermione exhaled slowly. “It’s all right.”
An awkward silence lingered for a heartbeat before Luna, radiant and unbothered, floated into the space. “I think it’s rather nice,” she said serenely. “Most people never get to love more than one person deeply. You’ll be terribly efficient about it.”
Neville choked on his drink, and laughter rippled through the room. The tension broke, fragile but real.
Even Ron cracked a reluctant smile. “Merlin, Luna, only you…”
The rest of the evening smoothed out after that. They exchanged gifts — small things, thoughtful ones. Theo gave Arthur a Muggle toolkit he’d charmed not to react to magic. Hermione caught the moment Arthur’s eyes went wide in delight.
Draco, hesitant at first, gave a slim box to Ginny. Inside was a silver Snitch charm for a bracelet — delicate, engraved with the date of her first professional Quidditch win. “For luck,” he said awkwardly.
Ginny blinked, clearly taken aback but touched. “Thank you, Draco. That’s… really kind.”
“It’s practical,” he muttered, ears faintly pink.
Hermione knelt by the tree, pulling out packages one by one and handing them to their rightful owners. It felt almost like old times — only this time, Theo and Draco were part of the circle, looking slightly out of place but trying their best.
Never having enough Quidditch things, Ginny squealed when she opened Theo’s gift: a delicate crystal charm in the shape of a quaffle, meant to glow brighter the faster she flew. “You made this yourself?”
Theo nodded modestly. “It’s a focus charm, not an ornament. It responds to motion and adrenaline — thought it might suit a professional Chaser.”
Harry laughed. “That’s brilliant, mate.”
Across the room, Hermione opened a slim box from Harry. Inside was a vintage silver quill with intricate filigree work and a little lion curled around its handle. “It belonged to my mother’s tutor,” he said quietly. “I thought you’d put it to better use than I ever could.”
Hermione’s eyes softened. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
Neville, red-faced but smiling, handed Hermione a little potted plant with tiny golden berries. “Magical mistletoe. Harmless, I promise. I’ve tested it.”
Hermione laughed. “Thank you, Neville. I’ll keep it well away from certain doorways.”
By the time all the gifts under the tree had been exchanged, the fire had burned low, and half the group had migrated to the sofas, clutching cocoa or wine.
“There’s actually one more gift to open,” she said dreamily, her wide eyes glimmering in the firelight.
Everyone turned toward her.
Neville was embarassed. “Luna, I thought we were exchanging at home tomorrow… I didn’t bring yours.”
“Oh no,” she said, smiling as if the secret had been dancing on the edge of her tongue all evening. “This one’s mine to give. And it’s for you.”
Neville looked nervous. “Er… should I close my eyes?”
She shook her head, utterly calm. “No need. You’ll want to see this one.”
The room had gone still — every conversation fading as people leaned forward. Hermione felt Theo shift beside her, even Draco paused mid-sip of his wine.
Luna reached out and took Neville’s hand, placing it gently on her stomach. “I’m giving you a baby.”
The words landed in the air like a spark catching fire.
Neville’s mouth opened — and then closed again. His eyes went comically wide. “A— a what?”
“A baby,” Luna repeated matter-of-factly, as if she’d just announced she’d misplaced a quill. “Ours. I found out last week. I was going to tell you after the holidays, but it didn’t seem right to keep such a lovely secret during gift-giving.”
The room erupted.
Ginny gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth before breaking into delighted laughter. “Luna! You’re pregnant?”
Luna nodded serenely. “Quite.”
Neville still looked like he’d been hit by a Stunning Spell, though the corners of his mouth were beginning to twitch upward. “You’re— we’re— a baby? Now? Already?”
Hermione couldn’t help it — she burst out laughing, tears stinging her eyes. “Congratulations, you two!”
Molly Weasley beamed and immediately began fussing. “Oh, my dears, that’s wonderful! You must let me send over some baby jumpers — oh, Arthur, did you hear that?! I need to get knitting right away!”
Arthur looked equally misty-eyed. “I did, love. Wonderful news.”
Theo gave a low chuckle. “Congratulations, mate,” he said, raising his glass.
Draco, for once, didn’t seem to know what to do with his face — but after a moment, he gave a small, genuine nod. “That’s… good news,” he said carefully, though his lips quirked. “Unexpected, but good.”
Neville finally found his voice, still half-laughing, half-tearing up. “Luna, you—you might have given me a bit of warning!”
“Oh, I did,” Luna said serenely. “I just don’t think you realized it. I’ve been craving sage tea and starlight for days — I thought that was rather obvious.”
The whole room burst into laughter again — the kind that left everyone grinning and wiping at their eyes.
Neville turned to her, still stunned, and kissed her forehead. “Best Christmas present I’ve ever been given,” he said softly.
Luna smiled like she’d known he’d say that all along.
Hermione leaned back, watching her friends — Ginny and Harry laughing together near the fire, George and Angelina bickering over biscuits, Neville whispering something that made Luna beam, Theo talking politely with Arthur about magical medicine, and even Draco, quietly sipping brandy as Molly fussed over him about eating more mince pie.
By the time dessert arrived, even Ron was calmer — sitting beside Cho, who had somehow coaxed him into helping her serve treacle tart.
The snow outside fell softly, blanketing London in quiet white.
As the clock struck midnight, Harry raised his glass. “To family — the ones we’re born with, the ones we find, and the ones we never expected.”
Hermione felt Theo’s hand brush hers beneath the table. On her other side, Draco looked down, his expression unreadable but thoughtful.
“To family,” she whispered.
Glasses clinked. Firelight flickered. And for one quiet, fragile moment, it felt like the world outside — all its laws, all its noise — didn’t exist.
The fire crackled as Molly Weasley bustled in from the kitchen, her arms full of brightly wrapped parcels. “Now then,” she said, cheeks pink from warmth and happiness, “no one leaves my house on Christmas Eve without a jumper!”
A chorus of good-natured groans and laughter rose around the room. Ginny and George exchanged fond looks; it was tradition — one as old as the war itself.
Molly made her way straight toward Hermione first, pressing a soft package into her hands. “For my clever girl,” she said, eyes shining.
Hermione unfolded a deep plum-colored sweater with a golden H knitted into the front. “Oh, Mrs. Weasley— it’s beautiful,” she said, hugging her tightly. “Thank you.”
Next, Molly turned toward Theo, who looked both honored and slightly bewildered. “And this one’s for you, dear. I had to guess on the size — you’re broader than you look in the Prophet photos!”
Theo flushed faintly as he accepted the green jumper with a silver T stitched on. “It’s perfect,” he said honestly, voice low but sincere. “I’ve never had one of these before. No ones ever made me clothes before!”
Molly’s eyes softened. “Well, now you do. You’re family here, love.”
Draco, standing just behind him, looked half amused, half terrified as Molly held out one final package. “And I didn’t forget you, dear boy.”
He hesitated, then took it. Inside was a pale grey sweater with a subtle D embroidered in navy blue.
Everyone waited for his reaction.
Draco cleared his throat, turning the jumper over in his hands. “It’s… very soft,” he managed finally, which drew laughter from half the room.
Hermione hid a smile behind her glass.
Molly patted his arm fondly. “Cashmere-blend. You Malfoys do like your finery, don’t you?”
For a moment, Draco looked almost flustered — then something genuine flickered in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Truly.”
“Well then,” Molly declared, clapping her hands after handing out the rest, “everyone try them on! I need a photograph for the family album!”
And so, under twinkling fairy lights and laughter, even Draco Malfoy — reluctant, awkward, and a little pink-eared — slipped into a Weasley jumper, standing shoulder to shoulder with Hermione and Theo for the picture.
It was the first Christmas photo in years where everyone looked just a little more whole.
Notes:
I want a weasley sweater so bad.
What do you all think yours would look like?
Chapter 59: A Very Merry Christmas
Chapter Text
The first soft blush of dawn filtered through the frost-glazed windows of Nott Manor, turning the snow outside into a field of silver. Inside, all was quiet — the kind of deep, fragile stillness that only Christmas morning ever seemed to hold.
Hermione stired. She’d fallen asleep the night before in the sitting room, curled under a wool blanket near the tree they’d chosen from the forest. The faint scent of pine and cinnamon hung in the air. The fire had burned low but still glowed faintly, casting long shadows over the glittering ornaments.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. Then she smiled.
There, sitting cross-legged on the carpet in front of the tree, were Theo and Draco — both already awake, both clearly up to something.
Theo had his hair half-dry, sticking out at odd angles, and wore the jumper Molly had made him. Draco, by contrast, looked unfairly perfect for this hour — wrapped in a dark silk robe, hair falling loose around his face, expression carefully blank as though trying not to look too pleased with himself.
They both looked up when she sat up.
“Merry Christmas,” Theo said softly, his smile warm and easy.
“Merry Christmas,” Draco echoed, voice lower, almost careful.
Hermione blinked at them. “You two are whispering. That’s suspicious.”
Theo shot Draco a grin. “Told you she’d catch on.”
“Subtlety’s never been your strength,” Draco murmured.
Hermione laughed, drawing her blanket tighter. “What are you two plotting this early in the morning?”
Theo reached behind him and produced a large, wiggling bundle wrapped in red fabric. “Plotting? Us? Never.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Just open it before it claws its way out.”
Hermione froze. The bundle gave a soft, unmistakable mew.
“Oh—” she breathed, as Theo gently set the squirming thing into her lap.
A tiny, fluffy black kitten blinked up at her with wide copper eyes. Its fur shimmered faintly in the light — that telltale sign of Kneazle heritage.
“It’s half-Kneazle,” Theo said quickly, watching her face. “Like Crookshanks. We thought—well, you might miss having someone furry around again.”
“She has a ridiculous name,” Draco added dryly, though there was something almost fond in his tone. “Theo named her Pudding.”
Hermione burst out laughing, tears springing to her eyes. “Pudding?”
Theo shrugged. “It’s festive.”
The kitten immediately butted her little head into Hermione’s palm and began purring. Hermione stroked her soft fur, swallowing hard. “She’s perfect. I—thank you. Both of you.”
For a long moment, the three of them sat quietly in front of the tree, the little creature curling into Hermione’s lap as snowflakes drifted outside the windows. It felt… real. Home.
Then Theo exchanged another look with Draco — one of those loaded, wordless ones that always made Hermione’s stomach flutter.
“There’s… another thing,” Draco said after a moment, his tone shifting.
Hermione looked up. “Another present?”
Theo nodded, reaching beneath the tree. This time, the box was small. Very small.
Her heart started to pound.
“Before you open it,” Theo said softly, “you should know we decided this together.”
Draco’s expression was unreadable — except for his eyes, which gleamed faintly with nerves. “And we agreed it’s not an obligation. It’s… an offering. We can get something else if you don’t like it. Something new.”
Hermione frowned, hands trembling slightly as she unwrapped the velvet box.
Inside was a ring — old, exquisite, and impossibly elegant. The diamond was oval, framed by curling platinum leaves.
Theo spoke first. “It was a Nott family heirloom. The ring belonged to the first Nott daughter who married a Malfoy heir. It’s been kept for generations.”
Draco’s voice was quieter. “We thought it was fitting. The two names bound once before — and perhaps again, now, in a way none of them ever could have imagined.”
Hermione’s breath caught. “Are you—are you asking me—”
Theo reached out and took her hand. “To choose us.”
Draco nodded, something raw flickering in his usually controlled features. “It’s not about the law. It’s about wanting you. Both of us. Properly. Even with the law, we want you to get an engagement.”
For a long, suspended moment, Hermione couldn’t speak. Her throat ached with emotion.
Finally she whispered, “You two are impossible.”
Theo smiled gently. “That’s not a no.”
Her breath caught.
“The Ministry may have forced us into a situation,” Theo said quietly, “but you are not a mandate to us. You’re a choice we’re making to try with, together, all of us. You’ve always been a choice.”
Draco swallowed hard, his composure slipping just a fraction. “We don’t want you to feel cornered by what’s happened. We want you to know— we both treasure you already. And we really think with time and effort we can all make this work together into something magical.”
Theo’s hand found hers, tentative but steady. “We want to build this together. Not because of a law. Because we want you.”
Hermione stared at the ring for a long moment, the world narrowing to the sound of the fire and her own heartbeat. Her throat ached.
She could see it—her life with them if they let this keep growing. The laughter in the kitchen, the scent of pine and coffee, the kitten batting at Theo’s shoelaces, Draco’s quiet sarcasm echoing through the halls. She could see belonging to them both, and them to her in the distant future if enough effort was put into cultivating what was starting to develop..
Tears welled in her eyes.
Theo started to pull back. “You don’t have to—”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Draco blinked. “What?”
Hermione looked up at them both, cheeks flushed, tears streaking her smile. “Yes. Of course yes. To both of you.”
They both leaned in, each pressing a kiss to one of her hands, like a silent vow. Theo slid the ring onto her finger, it shimmered in the candlight.
The air between them hummed — warm and fragile and utterly charged.
After a few quiet moments, Hermione sniffed and smiled shakily. “Well,” she said, wiping her cheeks, “you’ve set the bar rather high for my gifts.”
“Good,” Draco teased. “I expect something impressive.”
Hermione laughed and reached beneath the tree. She handed Theo a rectangular package and Draco a smaller one.
“No fair… his is bigger.” Draco playfully teased, winking at her.
Theo opened his first — inside was a framed photograph of the three of them taken months ago at Pansy’s vineyard wedding. The photo moved, looping endlessly on the moment they’d been laughing under the fairy lights. “So we never forget how it started,” she said softly.
Theo swallowed hard. “It’s perfect.”
Draco unwrapped his to find a sleek black leather-bound book embossed with the Malfoy crest — and beneath it, a note written in Hermione’s tidy script: For starting over. For rewriting the story together.
He looked at it for a long time, his expression caught somewhere between gratitude and disbelief. “You… you truly are impossible,” he said finally, voice low.
The kitten batted at ribbon scraps, purring on Hermione’s lap as she leaned into Theo’s shoulder, Draco sitting beside her, their hands occasionally brushing as the three of them watched the snow drift down.
There were still wounds between them, still uncertainty about the future, still many wound to heal. But in that quiet, candlelit morning — wrapped in the smell of pine and firelight— they began, slowly and sincerely, to feel like in time they could become a real family.
That afternoon, the manor kitchen had never smelled so good. Cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger filled the air, warm and bright against the cold tapping of sleet on the windows. Hermione stood at the counter with her sleeves rolled up, pressing the icing bag with laser-like focus.
“His buttons are crooked,” Theo teased from her left, leaning just close enough that she could feel his breath on her neck, and she shivered. “Perfectionist Granger, defeated by a biscuit.”
She shot him a mock glare. “He’s not crooked—he’s charmingly asymmetrical.”
“Like Draco,” Theo said.
“Excuse me?” Draco looked up from his own tray of gingerbread men, one brow arched. He was, predictably, creating immaculate soldiers in perfect rows, each with identically piped cuffs and cravats.
“You’re meticulous,” Hermione said, grinning. “Yours look like they’re about to apply for a Ministry position.”
“They’d be more competent than half the current staff,” Draco murmured, but a faint smile tugged at his mouth.
The three of them worked in a rhythm that felt oddly domestic: Theo humming some Muggle tune Hermione had taught him, Draco methodically adding details, Hermione sneaking extra sprinkles onto Theo’s creations when he wasn’t looking. Every so often, their hands brushed reaching for the same bowl of silver dragees.
“Stop that,” Draco said when Hermione flicked a bit of icing onto his sleeve.
“Make me.”
Theo laughed—low, rich, unguarded. “You two are going to start a food fight in a manor that’s been cursed since the 1500s. I’m fairly certain that’s bad luck.”
Hermione smirked. “Maybe it needs a bit of chaos.”
A small dot of icing landed on her cheek; she gasped and turned to find Draco holding the bag, his expression infuriatingly calm.
“Balance restored,” he said.
Theo choked back a laugh. “Oh, that’s dangerous.”
Hermione wiped the icing from her cheek, eyes narrowing. “Truce, or I start throwing flour.”
Draco inclined his head, conceding, though the corner of his mouth curved upward. Theo, meanwhile, reached past her to set another tray on the cooling rack; his arm brushed her waist, steady but gentle.
For a moment, none of them spoke. The air thickened with warmth—not from the oven, but from the nearness of them all: laughter fading into quiet, hands moving in careful sync, the soft crackle of the hearth in the corner.
Draco cleared his throat first. “We make a decent team,” he said lightly, though his gaze lingered on Hermione longer than he meant it to.
Theo nodded, voice low. “Feels… right, doesn’t it?”
Hermione didn’t trust herself to answer. She only smiled, adding the final button to her gingerbread man, pretending her hands weren’t trembling slightly.
By the time dusk began to spill lavender light across the snow-dusted fields of Nott Manor, the warmth from the fireplaces had filled the halls with that quiet hum of contentment only Christmas could bring. The great dining room had been transformed — garlands of evergreen and white roses framed the tall windows, golden candles floated above the table, and in the corner stood the same pine tree Hermione, Draco, and Theo had decorated together earlier that week. It glowed gently, its ornaments catching every flicker of the fire.
Hermione was just finishing arranging the table when the soft crackle of the floo filled the air. Out stepped Narcissa Malfoy, wrapped in silver velvet and fur, her poise so refined that even the air seemed to straighten around her.
“Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione said quickly, smoothing her dress — a deep burgundy gown Theo had helped her pick out that morning for dinner.
Narcissa’s eyes softened. “Hermione, my dear. Please, call me Narcissa. After all, we’re about to be family now, aren’t we?”
Hermione flushed, glancing instinctively toward Draco, who had moved to greet his mother with a brief, almost boyish smile. He kissed her cheek and murmured, “You look well, Mother.”
“And you,” she said gently, though her eyes flicked over him in that way only mothers managed — scanning for unspoken hurts. “I’m very glad to see you out of that dreadful manor and here instead. It… suits you better.”
Theo stepped forward politely, offering her his hand. “It’s a pleasure to have you, Lady Malfoy.”
“Thank you, Lord Nott,” Narcissa said, accepting it with graceful ease. “I must admit, I wasn’t certain what to expect from an invitation to Christmas dinner at a home that houses all three of you, but… it’s surprisingly tasteful.”
Draco muttered something about of course it is, earning a small smirk from Hermione.
They moved to the dining table, where the elves had prepared an elegant but cozy meal — roasted pheasant, buttered root vegetables, and plum pudding with brandied cream. Conversation was polite at first: the weather, Theo’s healer rotation, Hermione’s Charms studies. Narcissa complimented the decor and even asked after their new kitten, who was curled up like a shadowy puffball in front of the fire.
But when the plates were cleared and dessert was served, she set down her fork with a faint clink and regarded them with that penetrating, aristocratic calm.
“So,” she said smoothly, “I understand congratulations are in order.”
Hermione smiled. “You—know?”
Narcissa’s lips curved. “My dear, you have a gorgeous ring on your hand, that wasn’t there when we had tea,”.”
Theo nodded, his expression careful. “We’re engaged. Officially.”
Draco added quietly, “It’s… complicated. But we’re finding our footing.”
Narcissa leaned back, studying the three of them. “Yes,” she said finally, “I imagine it would be. Though, if I may—complication often accompanies the rarest forms of magic.”
Hermione frowned. “You mean…?”
“I mean triad bonds,” Narcissa said, voice low and thoughtful. “They are not merely Ministry fabrications. They are ancient magic. Older than any written marriage contract. Three souls bound not by convenience, but by cosmic balance — intellect, heart, and will. When such bonds occur naturally, it’s because the magic of the world deems it so.”
Draco stared at her. “You believe that?”
“I’ve studied it,” Narcissa replied simply. “The Black family records are extensive — and not all dark, despite what people think. True triads share energy. Emotions flow differently between them. When aligned, they amplify each other’s power tenfold — in wandwork, in thought, even in healing. But when they’re in conflict, the imbalance can be… volatile.”
Theo glanced at Hermione, brow furrowed. “You mean our magic could… destabilize?”
“Only if you resist it,” Narcissa said softly. “Only if you deny what’s already forming between you.” Her gaze flicked to her son, lingering with quiet affection. “Draco has always needed those who challenge him, not those who worship him. You, Hermione, are precisely that.”
Hermione swallowed hard. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t,” Narcissa said, smiling faintly. “Just live honestly. The magic will follow your truth.”
The room fell quiet for a long time, the only sound the crackle of the fire and the faint tinkling of crystal from the tree. Then Theo cleared his throat. “We, ah, have something for you,” he said.
Narcissa looked mildly surprised as he handed her a long, narrow box wrapped in silver ribbon. Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a delicate quill with a pearl handle — enchanted to write perfectly, no matter how aged or brittle the parchment.
“For your research,” Hermione said softly. “Draco said you’ve been working on cataloging old Black family records. I thought it might help.”
Narcissa’s composure faltered for a heartbeat — a flicker of something warm and aching crossing her face. “How thoughtful of you,” she murmured, her voice gentler than before. “Thank you.”
Draco smiled faintly. “Now you can record every scandal you uncover about our ancestors.”
She gave him a pointed look. “Yours will be the longest chapter, I suspect, no thanks to these two.”
They laughed, and the tension finally began to ease.
When Narcissa insisted on giving her own gifts, she drew three small parcels from her elegant silver bag.
She handed Draco a ring — thin, black gold inset with a single white diamond. “This belonged to your grandfather,” she said softly. “He would want you to have it now.”
For Theo, she produced a thin, leather-bound grimoire embossed with the crest of the ancient Greengrass line. “There are old records in here about triadic healing. The theory is obscure, but… I imagine it will appeal to your mind.”
Theo looked genuinely touched. “Thank you, Lady Malfoy. That’s—remarkably generous.”
Finally, she handed Hermione a simple velvet pouch. When Hermione opened it, a pendant fell into her palm — a teardrop of clear crystal bound in silver wire, thrumming faintly with ancient magic.
“It’s called the Aeternum Prism,” Narcissa explained. “An heirloom of the Blacks. It’s said to strengthen emotional bonds between those who wear it. I think you’ll find it useful.”
Hermione’s eyes shimmered. “It’s beautiful. I—thank you.”
Narcissa inclined her head. “You are welcome, my dear. It’s time that power served love, not fear.”
Theo poured more wine, and they lingered by the fire long after dinner, the air soft with unspoken things. Narcissa told a few rare stories of her youth—of dancing at Yule Balls in gowns so heavy she could barely breathe, of Lucius trying to impress her with dueling spells and nearly setting his own hair on fire. Draco groaned through it all, to Hermione’s delight.
At one point, Hermione excused herself and returned with two small boxes of her own — more gifts for the men she was intwined with, “I thought you might like to open things throughout the day to draw out the fun.”
For Theo, she had enchanted a pair of silver cufflinks shaped like phoenix wings. “For your healer’s robes,” she said shyly. “So you remember to rise above whatever the day brings.”
He turned them over in his hands, his eyes bright. “They’re perfect, Hermione.”
For Draco, she presented a framed copy of an old Hogwarts photo she’d found in the archives — the Slytherin common room, filled with students, a younger Draco at the center looking unguarded for once. She had charmed the photo so that in the background, faint but visible, Theo sat behind him at a desk, his younger self glancing up every so often.
Draco stared at it for a long moment, something unreadable tightening his jaw. “You found this?”
Hermione smiled softly. “You looked at him even then.”
He exhaled shakily. “Merlin, you’re insufferable.”
“Admit it,” Theo said, smirking, “she’s right.”
Draco gave them both a look of mock offense — but his eyes softened as he leaned over and brushed his lips against Hermione’s temple. “Thank you,” he murmured.
The night lingered beautifully. Narcissa left just before midnight, pressing a gentle kiss to Draco’s cheek and telling Hermione she was “pleased beyond words” that her son finally had someone to challenge him.
When the Floo flared green and she was gone, the three of them remained before the fire, their glasses half-full, the kitten sprawled across Draco’s lap.
Theo reached for Hermione’s hand, twining their fingers together. Draco covered both their hands with his own.
The snow outside fell in thick, silent sheets, blanketing the world in silver.
Hermione exhaled, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think this was the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”
Theo smiled against the firelight. “You mean the engagement?”
She laughed softly. “That helps.”
Draco, his thumb brushing lightly against her knuckles, said in a voice quieter than either of them had ever heard from him, “Let’s make sure next year is even better.”
Later, the fires had burned low, the elves were tucked away in bed, and the only light left came from the tall windows overlooking the snow-swept lawns.
Hermione and Draco sat side by side on the velvet sofa in the informal parlor, the tree’s reflection shimmering faintly in the glass panes before them. Theo had gone to bed an hour earlier, claiming exhaustion from the long day, leaving behind half a cup of cocoa and a soft goodnight that lingered in the air like warmth.
Now, the world outside was silent — the kind of quiet that felt holy.
Draco spoke first, his voice soft, almost hesitant.
“You know,” he said, watching the snow drift lazily past the window, “I can’t remember the last time Christmas didn’t feel like a performance.”
Hermione turned to look at him, her hand cupped around her mug. “A performance?”
He nodded faintly, eyes still on the snow. “At the Manor, it was always showpieces and politics. The right wine, the right smile, the right words to the right people. Never joy. Never… peace.”
Hermione’s chest tightened. “And tonight?”
He glanced at her then, and something unguarded flickered in his expression — a boyish vulnerability she rarely saw.
“Tonight felt real,” he said quietly. “Warm. Like I was allowed to breathe for once. So… thank you, Hermione. For giving me one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had.”
The words settled between them, delicate as snowflakes.
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. She looked at him — really looked. His pale hair caught the glow from the firelight, his posture still precise but softer now, his usual defenses dimmed. There was a gentleness in his eyes she hadn’t known she’d been waiting to see.
Her pulse quickened.
“There’s—” she began, and then stopped, fingers curling around the edge of the sofa cushion. “There’s one last gift I didn’t give you yet.”
Draco tilted his head, teasing and curious all at once. “A book?”
She smiled faintly. “Not quite.”
He opened his mouth to reply — and she leaned in.
It wasn’t planned before this moment. It wasn’t careful. Just a brief, trembling impulse that carried her forward until her lips brushed his. Soft. Barely there. But enough.
Draco went completely still. His breath caught, sharp and quiet, and when she pulled back, his eyes were wide — pupils blown, expression unreadable except for the faintest tremor in his jaw.
“Goodnight, Draco,” she whispered, her voice shaking slightly.
For a heartbeat, it looked like he might say something — might reach for her, might ruin the fragile perfection of the moment — but instead he only nodded once, wordless, like a man afraid to move.
Hermione rose slowly, her heart pounding so loudly it filled her ears. She turned toward the door, her hand brushing her lips as she left the room.
They still burned — warm from something that felt both terrifying and inevitable.
Behind her, Draco sat staring at the snow until long after it stopped falling.
After leaving Draco, Hermione hesitated outside Theo’s door, still in her dress, her hand hovering just above the wood. She could hear the faint scratch of his quill — he was still awake, of course. Probably journaling, or reading one of the healer texts he always took to bed.
She knocked softly.
There was a brief pause, and then his voice — gentle, a little surprised.
“Come in.”
Theo was sitting up against the headboard when she entered, a stack of parchment spread beside him and a mug of tea on his nightstand. His dark hair was tousled from running his hands through it, and his sweater hung loosely off one shoulder, giving him an almost boyish look.
He blinked when he saw her, setting the quill aside immediately.
“You all right?”
Hermione nodded, though she looked tired — emotionally worn, eyes soft with something that looked like both peace and uncertainty.
“I didn’t want to be alone tonight,” she admitted. “Would it be all right if I stayed in here?”
Theo’s expression softened. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t press. He just gestured to the empty space beside him.
“Of course. You never have to ask.”
Hermione smiled faintly and climbed under the covers. The room smelled like tea and parchment and that faint trace of the mint soap he occasionally favored. For a long while, neither of them spoke — just the sound of their quiet breathing, the snow falling outside.
Eventually, she murmured into the dim light,
“Everything feels so… fragile, doesn’t it? Like if we breathe wrong, the balance will break.”
Theo exhaled softly, turning his head toward her on the pillow. “It does. But maybe that’s how all real things start — a little unsteady before they find their footing.”
Hermione looked at him, her eyes reflecting the glow of the firelight. “You and Draco have been… talking, haven’t you?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Nothing physical. We’re sticking to what we promised — that this stays honest, deliberate. But we’ve… talked about what went wrong before. About Hogwarts. About how young and stupid we both were.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “You really loved him, didn’t you?”
Theo didn’t look away. “I did. Still do, in a different kind of way. But what we have now — you and me, and him — it’s different. More grounded. There’s room for all of it this time to actually grow with time and goof faith, to be successful, I think.”
Hermione sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “I hope so. I want this to work without us hexing one another or my heart breaking, Theo. I really do.”
He reached out and took her hand under the blanket, threading his fingers through hers. “Then it will. You’re not alone in trying anymore.”
For a long while, they just lay there, listening to the snow tapping softly against the windows. The warmth between them wasn’t heavy or confusing — it was the kind of closeness that came from shared burdens, mutual care, the quiet understanding of two people who’d already carried too much of the world.
When Hermione’s breathing started to slow, Theo leaned over slightly and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead — a familiar gesture that still made her chest tighten.
“Sleep, Hermione,” he whispered. “You’re safe here.”
Her hand tightened briefly around his. “Goodnight, Theo.”
Outside, the snow kept falling, silent and unending — the world remade in white, as the two of them drifted into sleep side by side, the distance between them finally starting to close in the smallest of amounts.
Notes:
What's your favorite part of their day? Let me know if the comments.
Chapter 60: Good Tidings We Bring
Chapter Text
The smell of coffee and toasted bread filled the kitchen when Hermione wandered in the next morning, having slept in longer than Theo. Pale winter sunlight streamed through the mullioned windows, catching the drifting dust in the air. She was still in the oversized jumper Theo had lent her last night — navy blue, sleeves too long, the fabric soft from years of wear.
Theo was already at the table, hair slightly damp from a shower, flipping absently through the Daily Prophet without reading a word of it. Draco stood near the stove, impeccably dressed as always, stirring something in a pot that smelled suspiciously like cocoa.
Hermione hesitated in the doorway.
“Morning,” she said softly.
Theo glanced up, offering a small, easy smile. “Morning.”
Draco’s spoon stilled mid-stir. He turned slightly, pale eyes flicking over her — taking in the borrowed jumper, the faint flush to her cheeks, the sleep-creased hair she hadn’t bothered to brush yet.
His voice came out quieter than usual. “You didn’t sleep in your room.”
Hermione blinked, throat tightening. “No,” she said after a moment. “I didn’t.”
The silence that followed wasn’t angry — just heavy. The air in the kitchen felt suddenly very still, like the manor itself was holding its breath.
Theo set down the paper and leaned back in his chair, calm but attentive. “She stayed with me,” he said simply. “Nothing happened.”
Draco’s jaw flexed, clearly upset she had kissed him then evidently gone straight to Theo. “I didn’t say something did.”
Theo nodded, understanding perfectly what he wasn’t saying. “But you thought it.”
Draco turned, setting the spoon down with more force than necessary. “I’m trying not to,” he admitted. “We promised each other honesty. I’m… processing it.”
Hermione crossed her arms, moving closer to the table. “It wasn’t about you, Draco. I just needed—comfort. Familiar comfort.”
“I know,” he said, still not looking at her. “You don’t have to explain. I’m just—” he gestured vaguely, searching for words—“learning how to share you both, and it’s harder than I thought it would be. Single child syndrome I guess…”
Theo gave a faint, humorless chuckle. “At least you said it out loud. That’s something.”
Draco finally sat down across from them, his poise softening a little. “How did we end up here? All of us. This complicated, impossible—”
Hermione finished for him quietly. “Because we didn’t give up when it was presented to us. Because we decided to really try.”
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Theo reached across the table, placing a hand over Draco’s wrist — careful, hesitant, but deliberate. “You’re not wrong to feel jealous,” he said. “It’s messy. We’re human.”
Draco didn’t pull away. His expression flickered — relief, guilt, something else Hermione couldn’t quite name.
She sat between them, folding her hands in her lap. “We promised we’d talk about things instead of letting them fester. So… we’re doing that. I actually think this is really good.”
Theo nodded slowly. “For what it’s worth,” he said to Draco, “I’m not thrilled by it either. The jealousy of sharing, I mean. I’ve spent years learning not to compete with you, and now it’s—”
“Built into the arrangement,” Draco finished for him, his tone dry but not unkind.
Theo gave a crooked smile. “Exactly.”
Something eased in the air between them — the honesty breaking the tension like the first crack in ice.
Draco exhaled, glancing back at Hermione. “And you? How do you feel about all this?”
Hermione looked between them — the two men who had once been her rivals, who had hurt and healed her already in such different ways, now trying to make something fragile work because of tangled feelings. She swallowed hard.
“Terrified,” she said softly. “But… hopeful. Because I trust you both. Because I think we’re building something that might actually last if we keep being this honest. It’ll take a lot of time, but it’s worth it I think.”
Draco’s expression softened. Theo gave her a look so full of quiet affection it almost hurt to meet it.
Draco cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, with mock stiffness, “if we’re being honest… you look better in his jumper than he ever did in mine.”
Theo groaned. “You had to ruin the moment.”
Hermione laughed, the sound cutting through the tension like sunlight breaking through cloud.
Draco’s lips curved — small, genuine. “Someone had to.”
Theo stood, reaching for three mugs from the counter. “Hot chocolate? I made it too strong, but I’m not apologizing for that.”
“Only if you pass the toast,” Hermione said.
He did, brushing her fingers lightly as their hands met. Draco poured the cocoa into their cups, the steam curling between them like something alive.
They drank in silence for a few minutes, the quiet no longer heavy — just full.
Finally, Theo set down his mug and said, almost to himself, “This is the first time I’ve had breakfast with both of you without feeling like I’m balancing a spell that might explode.”
Draco smirked faintly. “Give it time.”
Hermione smiled. “We’ll figure it out. All of it.”
Snow blanketed the estate like a winter painting come to life. By noon the sky was a bright, clean gray, the kind that made the air smell sharp and fresh. The house-elves had filled the many hearths, and the scent of roast chicken, winter root veggies, and cinnamon-spiced wine drifted lazily through the corridors.
Hermione was arranging a tray of biscuits when the familiar whoosh of the floo sounded from the parlor.
“Incoming,” Theo called from the sitting room, half amused, half resigned to the chaos he knew was coming.
A moment later Pansy stepped out, radiant in a winter-white cloak trimmed with fur, Blaise right behind her balancing two wrapped parcels and a bottle of red wine.
“Merry belated Christmas, darlings!” Pansy sang, sweeping Hermione into a hug. “I can’t believe we didn’t see you on the day itself. I would’ve come sooner, but my husband decided I needed to rest after playing hostess to half of Milan.”
“Half of Milan?” Theo teased, taking the wine. “That explains the sleepless look.”
Blaise only grinned. “She invited the Italian Minister’s niece and an entire string quartet. I’m still recovering.”
The laughter that followed eased the lingering heaviness in the room from easlier. Draco appeared from the hallway a few moments later, immaculate as ever but softer around the edges—something in the way he greeted them, a genuine warmth in his voice that hadn’t existed months ago.
“Pansy,” he said with a slight bow of his head. “You look indecently happy.”
“Marriage suits me, darling,” she replied, kissing his cheek. “And you—well, you look like you’re trying to behave. I’ll call that progress.”
Theo cleared his throat, hiding a smile. “Lunch is ready.”
They gathered in the sunroom, where enchanted holly twined along the windows and candles floated lazily overhead. Plates of roasted vegetables, Yorkshire pudding, and a magnificent chicken pot pie filled the table.
Conversation came easily—bits of gossip about former classmates, the upcoming Wizengamot session in the spring, and Blaise’s latest vineyard project. Hermione found herself laughing more than she had in days. It felt almost normal.
When the meal was finished, Pansy clapped her hands.
“Gifts!” she announced. “We didn’t get to exchange ours on the holiday itself, so I demand it now.”
Blaise rolled his eyes fondly and passed around neatly wrapped boxes.
Hermione opened theirs first—a delicate silver quill that shimmered with enchantment, it would paraphrase anything she wrote with it at the end of documents.. “Oh, it’s lovely!” she exclaimed. “Thank you!”
Theo’s gift from them was a set of fine-carved stethoscopes from the Italian magical healers’ guild, etched with runes for diagnostic clarity. His eyes lit up.
“These are nearly impossible to find these days,” he said quietly, touched. “Thank you both.”
Draco received an antique silver bookmark engraved with his initials and the Malfoy crest twined with the Nott sigil. He turned it over in his hand, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
“Clever,” he murmured. “Combining both houses. Very symbolic.”
“Exactly,” Blaise said. “I thought you’d appreciate the subtlety.”
Hermione, meanwhile, gave Blaise and Pansy a set of personalized charm key rings—each charm a tiny memory bottle that glittered with a captured moment from their wedding. Pansy actually teared up when she saw it.
“You sentimental menace,” she whispered, hugging her tightly. “You’ll ruin my eyeliner.”
After lunch, they cleared the table and settled around the fire with a deck of Christmas Exploding Snap cards—snowflake patterned, charmed to emit festive bursts of snowmen shaped glitter instead of smoke.
Theo dealt the cards with exaggerated precision. “I warn you, I’m ruthless.”
“We’ve all heard that before,” Draco said dryly.
The first few rounds were filled with laughter and good-natured teasing. Pansy cheated blatantly, Draco pretended not to notice, and Blaise pretended not to care. Hermione laughed so hard at one point she spilled cocoa down her sleeve, and Theo cleaned it with a flick of his wand, shaking his head affectionately.
Every now and then, Hermione would catch Draco watching her—nothing overt, just a quiet observation across the flickering firelight. She felt it each time like static on her skin. Theo noticed once, his expression unreadable, and then he simply smiled faintly and reshuffled the deck.
The game ended when one of Pansy’s cards detonated in a shower of unexpected red and green sparks that set Blaise’s sleeve momentarily aflame. They all burst into laughter as Theo doused it with his wand, grinning.
“That’s the last time we let you handle enchanted holly cards,” Draco said, still chuckling.
“It was festive!” Pansy protested. “And no one even died.”
“A triumph, then,” Draco murmured, amused. When the laughter faded, they lingered near the hearth, the afternoon light soft and golden. Pansy leaned against Blaise’s shoulder, half asleep from too much wine. Theo stretched out on the rug, an open tin of biscuits beside him. Hermione sat curled in the armchair, legs tucked beneath her, smiling faintly as the conversation drifted toward nothing of consequence.
It felt like a reprieve — fragile, fleeting, but real.
Draco caught her gaze from across the fire. There was gratitude there, quiet and unspoken, for the peace of the moment—for her.
Theo’s voice broke the silence at last. “Same time next year?”
“Merlin willing,” Pansy said sleepily.
“And without pyrotechnics,” Blaise added.
Hermione laughed, leaning back in her chair. For the first time in weeks, she felt something close to ease—like maybe the future wasn’t just duty and headlines, but something warm and possible.
Outside, snow began to fall again, soft and endless, as the firelight flickered over their small, mismatched family.
By the time the Floo flared green and Pansy and Blaise disappeared in a swirl of winter cloaks, the house had quieted again. The echo of their laughter still seemed to hum faintly through the air, but now it was only the three of them — the faint tick of the clock, the soft hiss of snow brushing against the windows.
Hermione and Theo stood side by side in the kitchen, washing the dishes by hand even though magic would’ve done it faster. It felt grounding — the clink of porcelain, the scent of soap and pine from the enchanted tree in the next room. Draco sat at the table with a glass of firewhisky, watching them with that sharp, unreadable gaze of his that always carried too much weight.
“It was good to see them,” Hermione said quietly, rinsing a plate. “It felt normal for a few hours.”
Theo handed her a towel. “Whatever that means anymore.”
Draco’s lips twitched. “For us, normal is a relative term.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “True. But it was nice.”
They finished tidying the kitchen, and then drifted into the parlor. The fire had burned low, casting a honey-gold light across the velvet furniture. Theo slumped down onto the sofa with a sigh, his long frame stretching out across the cushions. Hermione curled at one end, tucking her legs beneath her, and Draco remained standing for a long moment before joining between them, sitting just close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him.
For a while, they said nothing. The kind of silence that had weight but not discomfort.
Finally, Draco broke it.
“The Ministry Gala is next week.”
Theo made a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Of course it is. The one where every politician and journalist in Britain will be circling like vultures.”
Hermione rubbed her temple. “I was invited months ago as part of the Golden Trio. I thought about not going this year. After… everything.”
Draco turned his glass slowly in his hand, the amber catching the firelight. “They’ll expect you. You and Potter, at least. But if you go, you won’t go alone.”
Theo frowned slightly. “You think it’s wise for the three of us to show up together that publicly?”
Draco looked up, meeting his eyes. “I think it’s inevitable. Better to face it on our own terms than have Skeeter or the Prophet twist the story with half-truths when we’re out at The Leaky.”
Hermione considered that, her brows knitting. “They’ll write about us anyway.”
“Exactly,” Draco said. “So let’s give them something worth writing about. Something dignified.”
Theo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re saying we control the narrative by playing along?”
“Not playing,” Draco said quietly. “Owning it.”
Hermione looked between them — Theo’s wary intelligence, Draco’s cool determination. Her heart ached at the sight. “If we go,” she said slowly, “we’ll have to be prepared for whispers, questions… people watching every move we make.”
Draco nodded once. “We’ve survived worse than gossip.”
Theo’s eyes softened on her. “What do you want, Hermione?”
She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to hide. Not anymore. If we’re really doing this—if we’re going to try to build something real—then I want to stop pretending it’s something shameful to hide in the manor.”
Draco’s voice was quiet. “Then we’ll go.”
The decision hung in the air between them, heavy and electric.
Theo leaned back, stretching an arm along the back of the sofa. “Merlin help the poor photographer assigned to us.”
Hermione laughed, a low, warm sound that eased the tension in the room. “I can already hear the headlines. Golden Girl’s Scandalous Trio Shines at Ministry Gala.”
Draco smirked faintly. “We’ll make sure the pictures are flattering at least.”
“I’m wearing green,” Theo said matter-of-factly.
“You always wear green,” Hermione teased.
“Because it suits me,” he replied, and Draco made a soft noise of amusement.
Hermione shot him a look. “And what about you, Draco? Planning to outshine the Minister?”
His gaze flickered to her lips for half a second before he replied, voice smooth. “I’d settle for keeping up with you.”
The air shifted — warmer, heavier. The fire crackled softly, and the only other sound was the whisper of wind outside. Theo’s eyes moved from Draco to Hermione and back again, as if he could feel the current between them as much as she could.
She looked away, pretending to fuss with the blanket on the arm of the couch. “We should probably rehears polite smiles before the Gala,” she murmured.
Theo chuckled lowly. “You’re assuming I can fake politeness that long.”
“You can,” Draco said dryly. “You managed seven years at Hogwarts in Binns class.”
Theo gave him a mock glare, and for a moment, the tension broke again into soft laughter.
As the fire burned lowr, the room seemed to draw them closer together — shoulders brushing, legs nearly touching. It wasn’t planned, just gravity. Hermione leaned back against Draco’s arm, feeling the quiet rise and fall of his breathing beside her. Theo’s knee grazed hers as he shifted slightly, but neither of them pulled away.
The warmth was intoxicating.
Draco’s voice came softer now, the sharpness stripped away. “You know, when I was younger, I thought holidays like this were about status — grand dinners, perfect decorations, expensive gifts. Now… I think it’s about this.”
Hermione turned to him. “What’s this?”
He hesitated, searching for words. “Quiet. People you trust. Something that feels like home.”
Theo’s voice was low. “I think we could all use more of that.”
No one spoke after that. They just sat — the three of them watching the fire burn down to embers, the snow falling silver against the windows. The air was heavy with what wasn’t being said — affection, want, and a growing sense of something more dangerous than either.
Theo shifted first, his head resting lightly against the back of the sofa. Hermione leaned sideways until her shoulder brushed his chest, and after a moment, Draco exhaled softly and leaned back as well into her, close enough that their sleeves touched.
No declarations. No promises. Just shared exhaustion and something achingly tender.
Outside, the manor was silent under the snow. Inside, the firelight flickered over three figures tangled in shadows and warmth, drifting slowly toward sleep — their edges blurred, their walls softening, the future hovering uncertain and luminous just beyond the night.
Notes:
What should hermione wear to the gala?
Chapter 61: Birth of a Dragon
Notes:
I wasn't exactly sure in the timeline when to have Draco be able to do this... but now felt right.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The winter light crept into the manor slowly, pale and soft through the frost-laced windows. The smell of fresh coffee and buttered toast filled the kitchen, wrapping around the stillness of the morning like a blanket.
Hermione sat at the long oak table in another one of Theo’s oversized sweaters, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, hair still tousled from sleep. She was pretending to read the Prophet, but her eyes kept drifting over the top of the paper — to where Theo stood at the stove, sleeves rolled, wand stirring eggs in a pan while he poured himself a second cup of coffee. He looked casual sexy.
Across from her, Draco sat in the same seat he always took, posture perfect even in casual clothes, absently buttering toast he didn’t actually seem interested in eating. The fire in the corner snapped and glowed gold against the silver of hi blonde hair.
Theo looked almost domestic, which shouldn’t have been so disarming — but it was. He caught Hermione staring, and his mouth curved just slightly with a knowing look. Damn man knew what he did to her insides just with looks like that.
“You want the first cup or the second?”
“Whichever you’re not having,” she said, smiling faintly.
He slid the mug across the counter and came to join them. The table was warm with little signs of habit now — Hermione’s notebook open to half-written lists, Draco’s half-read paper, Theo’s empty teacup rings across the wood. It looked, in a strange way, like a real home.
For a while, they just ate. The silence was peaceful, but it pulsed faintly with awareness — the kind that had been growing between the three of them for weeks.
Hermione broke it first, closing her notebook with a soft snap. “I’m writing to your mother this morning,” she said, glancing at Draco. “About… wedding planning.”
Draco’s hand stilled mid-motion, the butter knife hovering over his plate. “Already?”
Hermione sighed. “We have about six weeks, Draco. If we’re going to do this, it needs to start being real. And Narcissa seems to know far more about these things than I do.”
Theo leaned back, his expression unreadable. “Do you really want her to plan it?”
Hermione nodded slowly. “I want her to oversee it. I’ll help with the details, of course, but she has the experience — and the name. It might make things easier with the press, too.”
Draco’s lips curved faintly at that. “You trust her that much already?”
Hermione met his eyes. “I do. She’s been nothing but kind to me. And the woman is spent most of her life throwing the most sought after parties.” Then, her gaze softened. “And she loves you.”
Something flickered in his expression — quick, fragile, and gone.
Theo set his fork down, studying them both. “You’ve really thought this through.”
“I have to,” Hermione said quietly. “Because if we don’t take charge of this, the Ministry will. And I refuse to let them turn this into some kind of spectacle. If we’re only doing this once, I want a nice wedding, not a forced Ministry charade in their lobby.”
Draco’s voice came softer now. “You said you wanted to talk to us about the ceremony itself?”
Hermione nodded, pulling her quill and parchment closer. “Yes. I want it to reflect all of us — not just tradition, not just spectacle. So… tell me what matters to you. What would you want if you had the choice?”
Theo was quiet for a moment, his eyes distant. “Something outdoors,” he said finally. “I grew up with the Nott estate as my only constant. It’s where I learned to fall for you. I want that to be part of the day.”
Hermione smiled softly, writing as he spoke. “Outdoors. Good.”
Draco leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the table. “Winter suits us,” he said. “Not that we really have a choice with the Ministry timeline. It’s honest. Cold, but clear. A reminder that beauty doesn’t have to be warm.”
Theo smirked faintly. “That’s the most Draco thing I’ve ever heard.”
Hermione laughed under her breath. “So an outdoor winter ceremony, then. We could charm the space for warmth, maybe have lanterns in the snow?”
Draco nodded, thoughtful. “If we host it on your grounds, it will be private enough to keep the press away. And your ballroom can handle the reception.”
Theo glanced at her. “Do you want to use the manor for the wedding, Hermione?”
She hesitated, looking between them. “I think… yes. It’s ours, all of ours. And if we’re doing this, I want it to be somewhere that feels like our home.”
Draco’s gaze softened in that way he sometimes had when she least expected it. “Then that settles it.”
Hermione tapped the parchment with her quill. “Now for the date. We’ll need to file the final paperwork soon.”
Theo thought for a moment. “Something symbolic might help with the optics. Early February still counts as under the deadline…”
Draco’s voice came quieter. “February tenth.”
Hermione looked up. “Why that day?”
Draco’s jaw flexed. “It was the day I was forced before the Dark Lord for the first time. It would be… closing a circle.”
Theo’s eyes flicked to him, a faint understanding passing unspoken. Hermione reached across the table and rested her hand lightly on Draco’s wrist. “Are you sure you want that?”
He nodded. “It would help me make peace with it, I think. Start something new. To reclaim it as mine. Reclaim it with happy memories for the future.”
Theo smiled slightly. “Then February tenth it is.”
Hermione scribbled it down, the ink soaking into the parchment. “February tenth. Nott grounds for the ceremony, the ballroom for the reception.”
They all sat quietly for a moment, the reality of it settling like snow — soft, inevitable, and strangely calm.
Theo finally rose, checking the time. “I need to get to St. Mungo’s. Double shift today.”
Hermione stood too, moving around the table as he reached for his coat. She brushed her fingers against his hand — small, unspoken contact. “Be safe,” she murmured.
He smiled faintly. “Always.”
Draco stood as well, watching the exchange — something complicated in his eyes. When Theo was gone in a swirl of green flame, the house fell silent again.
Hermione turned back toward the window. Outside, the snow was still falling in lazy, perfect spirals. “I should finish that letter to your mother,” she said softly.
Draco leaned against the table, arms folded. “She’ll be thrilled to help. She’ll already have half the seating chart planned by the time you owl her.”
Hermione smiled, her quill scratching across the parchment. “I expect nothing less.”
She didn’t look up when he came to stand beside her — close enough that she could feel the heat from his body through the wool of her sweater. He wasn’t touching her, not quite, but the space between them seemed charged nonetheless.
Draco’s voice came low, quiet enough that only she could hear it. “You’re handling this better than I would have, if our positions were reversed.”
Hermione turned slightly toward him, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not sure I am.”
He smiled — faint, sad, and achingly human. “Then you’re doing an excellent job pretending.”
Their eyes met for a heartbeat too long before she looked away, cheeks warm. “I have work to do,” she said softly, though her voice lacked conviction.
He inclined his head slightly, the faintest trace of amusement ghosting his lips. “So do I. But somehow, I think this will stay on my mind more than it should.”
She exhaled slowly, steadying herself before returning to her parchment. “I’ll let you know when she replies.”
“Do,” he murmured.
When he left the room, she realized her pulse was racing, the smell of coffee, minty breathe, and pine still clinging to the air — the morning light catching her quill as it trembled slightly in her hand.
And as she wrote February 10th again in her notes, she thought — not without a shiver — that it suddenly didn’t feel so far away and implications of the timelines it would set in motion regarding moving their relationship forward physically.
Later in midday, the world outside was white and silent, the kind of snow that fell so thickly it muffled sound. Inside the manor, a fire burned low in the hearth, casting golden light over the rug where Hermione knelt, wand in hand. Her silvery otter Patronus darted and slid gleefully through the drifting snow just outside the open French doors, leaving shimmering trails behind in it’s wake.
Draco stood beside her, hands in his pockets, half-smiling in spite of himself. “It shouldn’t be possible for spelllight to look mischievous,” he murmured, “and yet yours manages it.”
Hermione glanced up, smiling. “It’s meant to. It’s a reflection of who you are at your best.”
His expression darkened just slightly. “Then that explains why I’ve never managed one.”
The playful air faded. She rose to stand beside him, close enough to feel the heat from his sleeve. “You’ve never cast one. Theo told me.”
He shook his head. “Not once. I’ve tried—more than I care to admit. But it never comes. The charm requires a certain kind of… purity, I suppose. And I’ve never had that.”
Hermione’s gaze softened. “That’s not true. You’ve changed, Draco.”
He hesitated, then tugged his sleeve higher. The gesture was hesitant, almost painful. Beneath the pale skin of his forearm, the Dark Mark was barely visible now—like a shadow of a shadow. But it was there. She sucked in a breath.
“I think this is why,” he said quietly. “It’s faded, but it’s never gone. Some stains don’t wash out, no matter how much time passes.”
Hermione’s breath caught. She wanted to reach for his arm but stopped herself. “Maybe it’s not a stain. Maybe it’s a reminder—of how far you’ve come from the person who took it.”
He huffed a dry, self-deprecating laugh. “You make it sound noble.”
“I make it sound human,” she said softly.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The fire crackled; snow pressed against the windows like down. Then Hermione took a step closer. “I’ve taught a lot of people the Patronus Charm. You could learn it too. If you let yourself.”
Draco looked at her, his expression caught somewhere between hope and disbelief. “You really think I could?”
“I do. But you have to let yourself feel something rea, something light, something good and happy, that fills your soull.”
He swallowed, eyes flicking down briefly before he nodded. “All right, Professor Granger. One lesson.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Start simple. Expecto Patronum.”
He lifted his wand copying her movements and words, and silvery mist sputtered, thin and formless. His jaw tightened.
“Don’t force it,” she said. “It isn’t about control; it’s about trust, believing in the warmth of the memory you pick.”
He tried again. Another wisp.
Frustration flickered through his voice with sadness. “Maybe you were wrong about me after all.”
She stepped closer—close enough that her hand could have brushed his sleeve if either of them moved an inch. “I wasn’t wrong. You’re just protecting yourself from your own memory. You need one strong enough to cut through the noise.”
He glanced at her, eyes storm-grey and uncertain. “And if I don’t have one?”
“You do.” Her voice was quiet but certain. “Everyone does. Think hard about it. Sort through memories from your whole life. Focus on the feel of what you pick. Then take a deep breath and try again.”
Draco closed his eyes. For a few heartbeats, nothing happened. Then he took a slow breath, shoulders straightening, and raised his wand one last time.
“Expecto Patronum.”
Light exploded from the tip—silver opaque and brilliant, twisting, coalescing into a shape that filled the room with a low, radiant roar. A dragon unfurled before them, scales gleaming like full cycle moonlight, wings stretching wide before it circled gracefully and vanished through the open French doors, out into the snow.
Hermione gasped, hand flying to her mouth in awe. “Draco… that’s incredible!”
He stared after it, stunned. For a second he looked almost boyish—lit with wonder, not pride. “A Hungarian Horntail,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Of course it would be.”
She laughed, eyes bright. “Of course, your namesake basically. Strong and impossible to ignore.”
He turned toward her, still a little breathless. “You have no idea how that felt.”
“Then tell me,” she said softly.
He hesitated, the warmth from the fire painting his skin in amber light. “It wasn’t a grand memory. Just… something real and light.” His gaze drifted down before he met her eyes again. “A moment where I wasn’t afraid to hope.”
Hermione tilted her head, smiling a little. “Then it was perfect. What was it that worked?”
He exhaled, almost laughing, a little shaky. “You’ll think me ridiculous if I tell you.”
“I won’t.”
He hesitated again, the silence stretching between them until it hummed. “It was that night… when you kissed me goodnight on Christmas. And… another time a long time ago, when someone I cared about once told me he saw good in me not just dark. Theo. I’d forgotten what that felt like when he said it.”
Hermione’s eyes softened and glassy. “You deserve to remember it.”
They stood there a long moment, the firelight between them, snow glowing pale through the window. Neither moved closer, but neither stepped back. The air was threaded with something new—an understanding too fragile to name yet.
Hermione finally smiled, voice quiet. “I told you you could do it.”
Draco’s answer came low and a little unsteady. “You’re dangerous when you’re right, Granger.”
She laughed softly, the sound breaking the tension just enough for them both to breathe again.
Outside, his Patronus still wheeled in the sky with an ottter, both bright and wild against the darkening snow.
In late afternoon, the bell above the door chimed softly as Hermione stepped inside the tea shop. The air was warm and sweet, full of the scent of rose hips and orange peel. Snow melted off her cloak as she unbuttoned it, hanging it by the door.
Narcissa Malfoy was already there, seated by the window where the soft winter light turned her pale hair into spun silver. She stood as Hermione approached, her expression softening into something almost motherly.
“Miss Granger—” she began, but Hermione shook her head gently.
“Hermione, please. We’re family now… or soon will be.”
Narcissa’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “Then you must call me Narcissa.”
They sat together, the clink of china filling the small silence that followed. A server brought tea — blackcurrant for Hermione, Earl Grey for Narcissa — and when they were alone again, Narcissa’s composure seemed to soften.
“When I received your owl this morning,” she said, “I was touched. Truly. I had not expected you to trust me with something so personal.”
Hermione stirred her tea, eyes on the swirling dark liquid. “I don’t think I’ve ever done anything this important before… not like this. Not personally emotional. Or requiring such fancy preparations. And I’m a bit out of my depth, frankly. I know how to fight for freedom and research charms, not plan a ceremony that’s supposed to stand for… well, everything this one has to stand for.”
Narcissa’s expression warmed. “Then you were wise to ask. You are marrying not just my son but my family’s name, and Theo’s too, and — if I may say so — a great deal of history. It would please me greatly to help you make it beautiful.”
Hermione looked up at her. “That’s exactly why I wanted you. You understand all the old ways — and what they mean. But I don’t want this to be another pure-blood pageant. I want it to be honest. Something that feels like us. A blend of muggle and pure-blood traditions”
Narcissa tilted her head, studying her. “That may be the first time anyone marrying into an old house has said such a thing to me.” Her eyes softened. “And I think you may be right. The world needs something honest. You all need to stay true to yourselvs.”
They talked then — slowly at first, but with growing warmth. Hermione showed her a sketch she’d made of the Nott estate’s snowy gardens, describing the open-air ceremony Theo had imagined. Narcissa nodded approvingly, already envisioning it.
“Lanterns along the path,” she murmured. “White lily blossoms charmed to bloom against the snow. A string quartet hidden beneath a warming charm. It could be exquisite.”
Hermione smiled. “That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say.”
The conversation turned practical — invitations, colors, the reception menu — but under it all ran a thread of quiet emotion. Narcissa paused once, tracing the rim of her cup.
“You must know, Hermione,” she said softly, “that just a few years ago, I never thought my son would live to marry anyone. And espically not someone that he seemed to care for more than the paper of the betrothal was worth. After the war… there were so many debts, so much grief. I lost faith in our family ever finding peace, especially when Astoria passed.” She hesitated, eyes bright with memory. “You’ve given him something I thought impossible: a chance to be happy again, maybe even be in love.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “I don’t know if I’ve done that yet. But I want to.”
“Then you already have,” Narcissa said simply.
They sat in silence for a moment, the winter light catching the steam that curled between them.
Finally, Narcissa straightened, her tone turning brisk again. “Now, I must ask — have you thought about what you’ll wear?”
Hermione shook her head, smiling a little. “Not yet. I thought you might have ideas.”
“Of course I do.” A flicker of delight passed across Narcissa’s face, the gleam of a woman who had once been the finest hostess in all of wizarding society. “A winter gown should shimmer, not shine — silk over velvet, with runic stitching for warmth. And perhaps, just perhaps, a touch of silver to tie the three houses together.”
Hermione blinked, surprised. “That sounds… perfect.”
“Good. Because I intend to make certain that when you walk down that aisle, even the Prophet will run out of cruel words.”
Hermione laughed softly, the sound caught between relief and gratitude. “You really don’t have to go to all that trouble.”
“Oh, my dear,” Narcissa said, taking her hand gently, “after the life my family has led, helping you is no trouble at all. It is healing.”
For the first time that day, Hermione felt her eyes sting. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome.” Narcissa’s hand lingered on hers, firm but kind. “Now — I’ll see to the tailors, the florists, and the invitations. You and the boys just need to show up and say yes.”
Hermione laughed again, the weight in her chest easing just a little. “I can manage that part I hope.”
As they left the tea shop together, the cold air bit at Hermione’s cheeks, but she felt lighter. Narcissa looped her arm through hers as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“You know,” Narcissa said softly, “I think this wedding may surprise us all. Not for its scandal, but for its grace, the pose your all showing by trying so hard to make this difficult situation work out.”
Hermione smiled. “I hope so. I really do.”
They parted at the edge of the snowy street, the potential of something almost like promises settling between them — fragile, but real.
Notes:
Of course it's a bloody dragon =P
Chapter 62: Melting the Ice
Chapter Text
The manor was quiet when Theo returned home from St. Mungo’s. The snow had stopped, leaving a pale shimmer of frost over the lawns. Hermione was setting the table in the smaller dining room — candles lit, soup steaming in bowls — when the green flare of the Floo filled the hearth.
He looked exhausted, hair mussed from the long shift, the scent of magical antiseptic clinging faintly to his cloak. But when he saw her, his shoulders eased.
“You didn’t have to wait for me.”
“Of course I did,” Hermione said, smiling. “You’ve been on your feet since dawn.”
Before she could say more, another voice came from the doorway, teasing.
“I was beginning to think you’d never get home, Healer Nott.”
Draco leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, a rare lightness in his eyes. Hermione noticed it instantly — a quiet energy that hadn’t been there that morning.
Theo arched a brow. “You’re in a good mood.”
“You could say that.” Draco’s tone was almost shy. “I finally managed it. My Patronus.”
Theo froze mid-motion, his coat half off. “You’re joking.”
“Not even a little.” Draco’s mouth curved. “Hermione helped me earlier. You should’ve seen it — a full-bodied Horntail. I nearly dropped my wand in shock.”
Theo’s eyes lit with pure pride. He crossed the room in two strides, catching Draco’s shoulder in both hands. “Merlin, that’s incredible! You did it, Draco — a full corporeal Patronus after all these years?”
Draco’s usual composure wavered; he looked genuinely moved. “It seems I just needed the right teacher and right memories.”
Hermione’s heart swelled at the sight of them — Theo’s grin, Draco’s almost disbelieving relief. There was warmth in the room charged with pride.
“Sit,” she said softly. “You’re both starving.”
They ate together by candlelight, conversation easy for the first time in what felt like forever. Draco described the dragon’s wingspan; Theo teased that it suited his ego. Hermione laughed, listening, feeling something unfamiliar settle over her — comfort, maybe, or belonging.
When the meal was done, they drifted toward the fire in the parlor, each with a glass of wine. Theo sank into the couch, boots stretched toward the hearth, while Draco stood nearby, turning his glass between long fingers. The silence that fell wasn’t awkward; it was heavy, charged.
Theo’s voice broke it first, low and thoughtful. “You know, I used to picture you casting one as a serpent. I never would’ve guessed a dragon.”
Draco smiled faintly, eyes meeting his. “I suppose even my soul has a flair for dramatics.”
Something unspoken moved between them then — recognition, shared history, the echo of old affection. Hermione saw it, and the sight struck her with a strange mix of ache and awe. They’d both been trying so hard to behave, to hold the boundaries they’d promised her. To work on her rust with them.
She set down her glass carefully. “You should know,” she said, “I see it too — what’s still between you.”
Both of them looked toward her, startled but silent, sharing nervous glances with each other.
“And it doesn’t frighten me anymore,” she continued. “I was very hurt before, but… I’m not anymore. Not really. What hurt most was that I didn’t know the truth. That it felt like you wen behind my back sneakily to have each other.”
Draco’s expression softened; Theo’s went still.
“We promised honesty,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly. “So I’ll start. I see how you look at each other. And I think pretending you don’t care as much as you both do only makes it worse. You don’t need to protect me from it. I;m making piece with us all needing each other as individuals and a triad.”
Theo set his glass aside. “Hermione—”
“No,” she interrupted gently. “Listen. This… whatever we are building here, whatever the Ministry forced us into — it’s still ours to shape. If the two of you need to reconnect, which it’s clear you do, then do it. I don’t want guilt sitting between us forever. Stuck on guilt won’t move any of us forward either, just like dishonesty won’t.”
Draco looked down at the floor, jaw tight. “You’d really be all right with that?”
“I have to trust you both and hope you value that,” she said simply. “That’s the only way this will ever work.”
For a moment, none of them moved. Then Theo rose slowly from the couch. He looked from Hermione to Draco, she gave him a smirk and nodded — and something in his face shifted, an old tenderness resurfacing.
His eyes locked on Draco with sparks, raising an eyebrow, questioning him.
“You never needed my permission,” Draco said softly, “but I’m grateful for yours”, he noded towards Hermione.
Theo’s breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. The firelight made his eyes molten.
Theo stepped closer, until the space between them was barely a breath. “I’m proud of you,” he said — voice rough, earnest. “For the Patronus. For fighting through it.”
Draco’s answering smile was small, unsteady. “You always believed I could.”
Theo’s hand came up — not quite a caress, but close enough that Hermione felt the air shift. Her own heart beat wild with the anticipation. The moment stretched, suspended between restraint and something older, deeper. And then, finally, Theo leaned in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to Draco’s closed mouth.
It wasn’t exactly passionate, but it was intimate — an apology, a recognition, a spark reignited.
Hermione sat still, heart thundering. The sight of them — tw people learning to forgive each other — filled her with warmth that felt dangerously close to longing. It was sexy to see them embrace their long standing longing, but it was also theptic in some ways to see healing start to take root for them.
Theo drew back first, eyes flicking toward her as if to make sure she was still with them. She flashed him a faint smile and a wink.
“You’re both impossible,” she whispered.
Draco’s voice was quiet, steady. “Maybe. But you’re the reason it’s possible at all.”
They stayed there by the fire for a long time afterward — no one speaking, the only sound the crackle of wood and the slow breathing of three people who had begun, at last, to trust one another again.
Two hours later the last of the wine sat forgotten on the table beside them, the candles guttering in their sconces. Draco, Theo, and Hermione were seated together on the wide velvet couch — close enough that their knees brushed now and then, but no one pulled away anymore.
It felt fragile, this very tentative understanding, but real.
Theo leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring into the flames. “You know,” he said after a while, “for all the mess the Ministry’s made of our lives, they’ve at least given us a reason to slow down and relax. I haven’t… I don’t think I’ve actually breathed so much my whole life.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “You don’t stop often enough to breathe, full stop.”
Draco made a small noise of agreement, half amusemnt, half fatigue. “He never did. Even at school, he’d disappear into the Hospital Wing or the library for hours, pretending not to need sleep.”
Theo glanced at him, an almost shy smile crossing his face. “I seem to recall someone breaking into the restricted section to ‘borrow’ a potion text for me.”
Draco smirked. “And someone else nearly getting us both expelled for it.”
Hermione’s laughter broke the tension, warm and genuine. “You two were impossible even back then.”
“We stil are,” Theo murmured.
For a moment, the fire popped and the silence that followed was companionable, golden. Then Theo shifted slightly and reached into his pocket. “Actually,” he said, his voice softening, “I have something for you, Hermione.”
She blinked in surprise. “For me?”
He nodded, holding out his palm. Nestled there was a tiny dragon charm, no bigger than a knut — silver, but shimmering faintly with runes etched along its wings. “It’s for your bracelet,” he said. “I thought it should have one for him too now finally.” He glanced toward Draco, whose brows rose, startled.
Hermione’s throat tightened. “Theo… it’s beautiful.”
“I charmed it while you guys were washing dishes,” Theo said quietly. “It’s not much, but—”
“It’s perfect.” She unclasped her bracelet, the one already heavy with sm her closest friends, and let Theo attach the dragon between her otter and fox charms in the space that had been empty for months. When it clicked into place, the little creature’s wings fluttered once, sending a ripple of warmth up her arm.
Draco watched the exchange, his usual detachment gone replaced with open softness. “You didn’t have to include me in that,” he said softly.
Theo shook his head. “You’re part of this now. It wouldn’t feel right if you weren’t.”
Hermione looked between them, emotion caught somewhere in her chest. “That’s exactly what I want this to be,” she said — her voice unsteady but clear. “No pieces. No halves. Just… all of us.”
Theo’s hand found hers; Draco’s gaze met hers over the flicker of the fire. There was something unspoken in both their eyes — not spoken, but the beginning of something that could become both.
“I’ve been thinking,” Draco said after a long pause. “About what you said earlier — about letting things happen when they feel right. Maybe that’s the only way this ever works.”
Theo nodded. “We can’t build a life out of deadlines and Ministry mandates. I don’t want any of this to feel forced. We will comply, but let’s not schedule it to feel like it’s forced deadlines.”
“Then we won’t,” Hermione said. “We’ll stop looking at what we’re supposed to do, and just… live the days as they come.”
Draco leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “That may be the most Gryffindor thing you’ve ever said.”
Hermione grinned. “You’ll live.”
Theo laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “For the record, I don’t want to rush any of this. We’ll figure out how to be together — in every sense — when it feels right. No sooner, no later. In the steps that make sense in the moments.”
Draco’s agreement came quietly. “And without shame. If this is what the world insists we be, we’ll do it on our terms. If I’m to share a life — and a bond — with the two of you, I want it to be because we chose it, not because we were cornered into it.”
Hermione felt warmth flood her chest. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted too. I want us to be able to be free with our affection alone and together, to each other privately, but also in front of each other too.”
She raised an eyebrow at them, questioning if they understood. Both boys eyes widen at what they thought the was implying. She smiled, nodding with a smile that they understood he rmenaing.
The three of them fell into a comfortable silence then, each lost in thought, yet aware of the others’ nearness. The firelight danced across Draco’s pale hair and glinted on the dragon charm now resting against Hermione’s wrist.
When she shifted, both men instinctively adjusted to make room for her between them. It wasn’t planned. It just happened — a quiet gravity pulling them together until her head rested lightly on Theo’s shoulder, and Draco’s sleeve brushed hers. No one spoke, but the air between them hummed with shared heartbeat warmth — the first real peace they’d had in months.
Theo sighed, voice low. “Maybe this is what it’s supposed to be like. Just… this. Maybe this is triad magic forming?”
Draco’s reply was a whisper. “If so, it’s enough.”
Hermione smiled without opening her eyes. “For now.”
They stayed that way long after the fire had burned to embers — not as a couple and a third, not as a Ministry statistic, but as three people sitting shoulder to shoulder, learning how to belong to one another.
When they finally drifted to sleep on the couch, the dragon charm on Hermione’s bracelet glowed faintly — silver and alive — a promise that this was only the beginning.
Notes:
Everyone had opinions originally about Hermione asking them to stop being physical originally.
So, Im curious what my readers all now think of her loosening it up?
Chapter 63: Falling Forward Again
Chapter Text
The first light of morning spilled through the tall windows, soft and gold. The fire had gone out sometime in the night, leaving the air cool, but the three of them had barely noticed.
Hermione woke first. She was still curled between Theo and Draco, the three of them tangled in a comfortable heap of blankets and limbs on the parlor couch. For a brief, suspended moment, she simply watched them sleep — Theo’s hand resting lightly near hers, Draco’s head tipped back against the cushion, every line of tension in his face gone. They looked, she thought, peaceful.
The quiet was broken by the polite but distinct crack of apparition just outside the parlor. Before she could sit up fully, the doors swung open.
Narcissa Malfoy stood framed in the doorway, elegant as ever in a winter cloak the color of frost.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Hermione scrambled upright, cheeks flushed. “Mrs—Narcissa! I didn’t know you were coming this morning.”
Theo blinked awake with a groggy noise, running a hand through his hair. Draco groaned softly and sat up straighter. “Mother,” he said, trying for composure and failing.
But Narcissa’s expression was not one of scandal or disapproval. Instead, she took in the sight — her son and his two partners blinking sleepily on the couch — and something like quiet satisfaction crossed her face.
“Well,” she said lightly, “it seems the three of you are finding equilibrium.”
Theo opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure what to say. Hermione managed a faint, awkward laugh. “We must have fallen asleep talking.”
“I imagine you did.” Narcissa’s eyes softened. “And I’m rather glad of it. Peace is a good foundation for any union.”
She moved into the room with graceful confidence, setting down a small leather folio she had brought. “I came because we have decisions to make — the sort of details that are small in the moment but live forever in memory. It’s less than six weeks now, after all.”
The three of them straightened a little, trying to look more like an engaged triad and less like three people who’d accidentally spent the night on a sofa drooling on the cushions. Narcissa, ever the composed matriarch, poured herself a cup of tea from the sideboard before turning toward them.
“First things first,” she said briskly. “The groomsmen. Draco, Theo — have you given it thought?”
Theo exchanged a glance with Draco, who said dryly, “There was only ever one choice. Blaise, obviously.”
Narcissa smiled faintly. “An excellent one. Reliable, handsome, and he won’t get drunk before the ceremony — well, not too drunk.”
Theo chuckled. “We’ll take that as a win.”
“Now, the bridesmaids.” Narcissa’s gaze turned to Hermione.
“Ginny and Pansy,” Hermione said without hesitation. “They’ve both been such constants through everything — it wouldn’t feel right without them.”
“Good.” Narcissa made a note, the quill gliding across parchment with efficient precision. “And who, dear, will walk you down the aisle? It’s traditional, of course, but tradition can be… adapted.”
Hermione hesitated sad at the thought of her missing father, then smiled. “I’d like Harry to do it. He’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother.”
Draco’s eyes flicked toward her, surprised but approving. “That feels right.”
Theo nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Lovely.” Narcissa’s tone was gentle now. “And the ring bearer?”
“Teddy,” Hermione said immediately, her smile brightening. “He’ll be thrilled. And it’ll mean a lot to Harry and Tonks’ family. You know, your sister is raising him since the war.”
“Perfect,” Narcissa murmured. “A new generation carrying the rings of three old houses.”
For a moment, there was a warm hush in the room. The sunlight had risen higher now, touching the dragon charm on Hermione’s bracelet, making it glint.
“Now,” Narcissa continued, “the guest list. This must be handled carefully. Too large, and you’ll invite gossip, and it won’t feel intimate. Too small, and it becomes political., people get offended they didn’t get invited”
Hermione exchanged a look with Theo and Draco. “We only want people we actually care about,” she said. “Friends, family. No reporters, no Ministry functionaries there to gossip.”
Draco leaned forward, his tone thoughtful but laced with dry humor. “Then we’ll keep it intimate — Blaise, Pansy, Harry and Ginny, Luna, Neville, Ron and Cho…” He hesitated, smirking faintly. “Mother, of course. And the rest of the Weasleys, if they can manage to be civil for an afternoon.”
Theo added, “Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey should be there. Hagrid too.”
Hermione’s voice softened. “And a few of my colleagues from the Charms program. Some of your healer friends too, Theo. I want it to feel… like everyone who’s helped us get here.”
Narcissa nodded approvingly, making elegant notes. “Very sensible. And of course, we’ll ensure proper seating arrangements. The Weasleys can sit on one whole side of the aisle, and everyone else on the other, for balance.”
Theo snorted quietly, earning himself a look of wry amusement from her.
Draco leaned back, expression thoughtful. “We should add one more name, though.”
“Oh?” Narcissa looked up.
“Minister Shacklebolt.”
Hermione blinked a bit put-out. “Kingsley?”
Draco’s smirk deepened. “Yes. He signed the law that started this, didn’t he? Inviting him to the wedding would be the most polite tongue-in-check rebellion imaginable.”
Theo laughed under his breath. “A proper pure-blood protest. I like it.”
Hermione gave him an incredulous look that turned into reluctant amusement. “You two are insufferable. But fine — invite him. Maybe it’ll remind him that we’re still people, not numbers in a Ministry ledger.”
“Excellent,” Narcissa said, clearly pleased with the mixture of defiance and dignity. “Now — attire, flowers, music—”
She kept them there for over an hour, asking questions, sharing small opinions, weaving together the beginnings of something elegant and grounded. Every so often, Hermione would catch the older witch watching her and the boys with a subtle fondness, as if she were quietly proud of what her son and his partners had managed to build out of chaos.
When they’d finally finished, Narcissa closed her folio with a decisive click.
“I’ll leave you three to rest. You look like you haven’t slept much since last night.”
Draco flushed faintly. “We fell asleep down here, that’s all.”
Narcissa’s smile was enigmatic. “Of course you did. But do remember, my dears…” She turned toward the door, pausing only long enough to meet both men’s eyes. “A lady of Hermione’s caliber deserves to be cherished properly, see that you both make her feel it.”
Hermione’s cheeks flamed scarlet, but Draco bowed his head slightly in respect. “Yes, Mother.”
Theo’s voice was softer. “We will.”
“Good.” Narcissa’s smile was almost maternal now. “Then I’ll expect your confirmation on the floral arrangements by tomorrow. Enjoy the day together — you’ve earned it.”
She swept out as gracefully as she’d entered, leaving behind the faint scent of jasmine and the echo of her words.
For a long moment, none of them spoke. Then Hermione let out a shaky laugh. “I think your mother just told you both to mind your manners with me. Treat me like the proper Lady of both your houses.”
Draco exhaled, smiling faintly. “She’s not wrong. We should respect and honor your wishes.”
Theo leaned back against the couch, his hand brushing hers, agreeing. “No. She’s really not.”
The afternoon was clear and brigh for winter, the kind of brittle winter sunlight that made the cobblestones of Diagon Alley glimmer as if dusted with glass. For the first time, the trio had decided to face the world together — to stop hiding behind wards and manor friend dinners, and simply own that they were special – a triad.
Hermione had been the first to step through the floo at the Leaky Cauldron, brushing ash from her cloak. Theo followed, then Draco, his blond hair gleaming even in the dim light of the pub. There had been a moment’s pause between them, a silent check-in: are we really doing this? Then they’d walked out into the crowd together.
The sound hit them like a wave — chatter, vendors calling their wares, the faint whoosh of brooms overhead. It was only a matter of minutes before people began to notice. Heads turned. Conversations slowed. A ripple of whispers followed them down the street.
Hermione felt her pulse leap, but Theo’s hand brushed hers — a light, grounding touch. “They’ll stare anyway,” he murmured. “Might as well give them something worth staring at.”
Draco’s voice, calm but laced with irony: “We could charge them admission. It might pay for the honeymoon.”
Hermione’s laugh, quiet but genuine, broke the tension. “Very funny.”
They walked together toward Quality Quidditch Supplies, where the new Nimbus model 4001 had just been released. Inside, the scent of polish and parchment filled the air, and the shop buzzed with excited chatter. Theo and Draco moved instinctively toward the display, falling into easy conversation about charm stabilization and breaking enchantments. Hermione lingred a few steps behind, watching them — the way their heads leaned close, the warmth in their voices. It struck her how naturally they fit together in moments like this.
She didn’t notice the first photographer until the flash went off.
Draco turned instantly, jaw tightening, but Theo caught his wrist before he could do anything. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “That’s what they want.”
Hermione, blinking away the afterimage, found her voice. “They’re just doing their job. Let’s give them a picture they can’t twist.”
Draco looked at her, then at Theo. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for both their hands — one in each of his. The gesture was small, but when the next flash came, the three of them were standing close, calm, their fingers intertwined.
The effect was electric. The crowd inside the shop went still, murmuring, but not unkindly. Even the clerk behind the counter stared for a moment before smiling awkwardly and returning to his work.
Theo squeezed Hermione’s hand. “You all right?”
She nodded. “Better than I thought I’d be considering.”
They spent nearly an hour in the shop, Theo testing the broom’s balance charm while Draco haggled for a set of limited-edition goggles. Hermione found herself laughing again — really laughing — when Theo’s test flight nearly clipped one of the ceiling lanterns and Draco shouted something about graceful landings being optional only for Gryffindors.
When they finally left, the street outside was thick with reporters. Quills hovered over parchment, cameras glinted, and voices clamored for comment.
“Miss Granger! Mr. Malfoy! Healer Nott! Is it true the wedding date’s been set?”
“How does it feel being the Ministry’s first officially recognized triad match in a century?”
“Who’s leading the ceremony — Ministry or private officiant?”
Theo kept his expression neutral; Draco’s smile was the picture of pure, weaponized politeness. Hermione, heart thudding, lifted her chin and said clearly, “We’ll share details when we’re ready. Until then, we’re just enjoying the day.”
Draco added smoothly, “And trying not to bankrupt Quality Quidditch Supplies.”
That earned a ripple of laughter. The tension eased slightly. The three of them began to walk again — slowly, purposefully, the crowd parting around them like the tide.
As they passed Flourish and Blotts, Hermione caught sight of their reflection in the shop window — Draco on her right, Theo on her left, their hands linked. They looked… steady. Unapologetic. For a fleeting moment, she felt something close to pride.
Theo leaned in slightly, voice low enough only she could hear. “You’re handling this better than I am.”
“Hardly,” she whispered back. “I’m shaking.”
Draco’s voice came from her other side, soft but sure. “Then we’ll make sure they don’t see it.”
They reached Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor and ducked inside to escape the press, ordering three fudge sundaes they barely touched. Outside, flashes continued through the glass, but the noise seemed far away now.
Draco sat back in his chair, studying the other two. “You realize,” he said quietly, “that whatever happens from here, this was the moment it changed. We stopped hiding from them.”
Theo nodded. “And I don’t regret it.”
Hermione met both their eyes. “Neither do I.”
Outside, a fresh swirl of snow began to fall over Diagon Alley. People would talk, of course — they always did. Tomorrow’s headlines would be loud, opinionated, and half-wrong for sure. But for now, the three of them sat together, warm in the lamplight, sharing the same small table and a sense of something fragile but powerful: belonging.
When they finally left, Theo slipped his arm lightly around her shoulders. Draco walked close beside them, his gloved hand brushing hers as they moved through the snow. Every touch was careful, deliberate — as though all three were learning a new language made entirely of restraint and possibility.
By the time they reached the floo station, the cameras had grown distant and the noise had faded to murmurs. Theo turned to them both and said quietly, “I think we did all right.”
Draco’s mouth twitched into a faint, proud smile. “More than all right. We gave them something they’ll never be able to twist hopefully.”
Hermione smiled too, feeling warmth bloom deep in her chest. “Us.”
And with that, the three of them stepped into the green fire together, vanishing into the whirling glow — no longer fragments of old houses or names whispered in scandal, but a single, defiant constellation moving toward their shared future.
That evening, after everyone wished each other goodnight, Hermione had slipped into Theo’s room again. They had read silently together for awhile on the bed, just happy for the company.
After an hour, Theo had put his book down, turning toward her with, that heated look in his eyes. Their gaze was intense, searching each other, Hermione eventually made a desion, with a nod of unsaid permission, and Theo grinned.
Hermione's heart pounded like a war drum inside her skull and chest as she lay back on Theo's bed, the silk sheets cool against her heated skin. It had been a month of self-imposed celibacy, a mutual agreement to focus on rebuilding the emotional walls that had crumbled too quickly in the heat of Draco and Theo’s passion.
But now, with the clock striking midnight, those walls of distrust were nothing but dust. Theo rolled, and hovered over her, his dark eyes gleaming with a hunger that mirrored her own, his breath warm against her neck as he whispered, "Finally, Hermione. I've been counting the seconds for this again."
She arched into his solid chest above her instinctively, her body a live wire after weeks of denial. Her fingers tangled in his messy hair, pulling him closer as their lips met in a fierce, desperate kiss. But Theo pulled back just enough to tease, his lips brushing hers. "No rushing this, love. I've waited too long to savor you." His voice was low, gravelly, laced with that Slytherin smirk she both hated and adored all at once.
He trailed kisses down her jaw, her throat, nipping at her collarbone until she whimpered, her hips bucking up against the empty air.
“Have you been taking care of yourself all this time, darling?”, he inquired.
She shook her head side to side softly, “Not at all Theo.” His eyes just about popped out of his head, and his breath hitched.
“Oh Hermione, your poor little body must have been so wrought-up. Im going to let all that tension finally release. Don’t worry…. I’m going to take care of you so good, like you deserve, as the Lady of my house.”, his smirk as he said it, already had her core fiery hot with desire.
Theo's hands were everywhere suddenly—sliding under her shirt to cup her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they hardened into peaks. He peeled the fabric away slowly, exposing her to the dim light of the room, his gaze devouring her like she was a forbidden spell.
"Merlin, Hermione, look at you. So fucking beautiful, all flushed and getting needy for me." He lowered his head, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. She gasped, her back bowing off the bed, but he held her down with one firm hand on her hip, hard enough to hold her in place, but light enough not to bruise her.
"Please, Theo," she begged, her voice breathy and broken already. It had been too long; every touch felt amplified, like fire racing through her veins. He chuckled against her skin, the vibration sending shivers straight to her leaking core.
"Patience, darling. I'm going to make this last. Going to remind you exactly what you've been missing."
He continued his descent, kissing a path down her stomach, dipping his tongue into her navel as his fingers hooked into the waistband of both her pants and her panties in one go. He dragged them down her legs inch by torturous inch, exposing her glistening folds to the cool air.
Hermione's thighs trembled, spreading wider without him even asking, her body betraying her desperation. Theo settled between her legs, his broad shoulders pushing them apart further, his breath hot against her most intimate place. "Fuck, Hermione, you're soaked already. Did you miss me touching you like this? Miss my mouth on this pretty little … pussy?"
It was the first time she’d heard him use that dirty word, and it did things to her she wouldn’t have guessed, arousal flooding her.
"Yes," she moaned, her hands fisting the sheets. "God, yes, Theo. I missed you so much. So many nights alone, I thought about this—about you."
He groaned in approval, his tongue darting out for a slow, deliberate lick along her slit, from bottom to top, ending with a swirl around her clit.
Hermione cried out, her hips jerking up, but Theo pinned her down with one arm across her waist. "That's my girl. Tell me how much you missed it. How much you ached for me while we were apart."
"I—I couldn't stop thinking about you some nights," she confessed, her words tumbling out between gasps as he licked her again, slower this time, savoring her sweet musky taste. "Fantasized about your tongue... your fingers... waking up wet and throbbing, so empty, always empty inside, but I couldn't touch myself because I knew it would never feel the same as you any way."
Theo's eyes locked onto hers from between her thighs, dark and intense. "Good girl for waiting. Now, let me make it worth it." He parted her folds with his fingers, exposing her fully, and leaned in to suck her clit into his mouth.
The sensation was electric—his lips sealing around the swollen nub, tongue flicking rhythmically as he hummed against her. Hermione's world narrowed to that point of contact, pleasure building like a storm.
But he wasn't done. With his free hand, he traced her entrance, circling the slick opening very slow, teasingly. "So tight, Hermione. Sweet Salazar, you're always so damn tight. Remember how you clenched around my finger so hard the first time you felt something inside the first time? Tonight, it's all about you. Going to stretch you just a little with one finger—see if you can take it after all this time going without."
She nodded frantically, her breath coming in short pants. "Please... I need it. Need you inside me."
Theo pressed the tip of his index finger against her void, pushing in slowly, inch by inch. She was indeed incredibly tight, her walls fluttering and gripping him immediately, like a velvety vice.
He cursed under his breath, his own arousal evident in the tightness of his pants but ignored it—this was for her tonight. "Darling, feel that? How amazingly tight you are wrapped around my finger. Like you were made to be a goodess. Missed this so much, feeling you squeeze me like this."
Hermione whimpered, her hips rocking to take him deeper. He curled his finger inside her, stroking that sensitive spot on her inner wall while his mouth returned to her clit, sucking and licking in tandem.
The dual assault was overwhelming; pleasure coiled tight in her belly, building with every thrust of his finger, every swirl of his tongue. "Theo... oh fuck, yes... right there... I dreamed about this so many nights."
He pumped his finger slowly at first, drawing out the sensation, then faster, matching the rhythm of his tongue. "That's it, love. Let me hear you. Tell me how good it feels, how much you needed my finger fucking this beautiful pussy."
His words were surprisingly filthy, but so sexy, vibrating against her clit, pushing her higher. She was dripping now, her arousal coating his hand, the wet sounds of his finger moving in and out filling the room.
"It feels... incredible," she gasped, her fingers digging into his scalp. "So full.... needed to be filled so bad… so long. You're driving me crazy, Theo. Don't stop—please don't stop."
He didn't. He redoubled his efforts, his tongue lavishing her clit relentlessly while his finger curled and thrust, hitting that perfect angle over and over. "You're so wet for me, Hermione. So responsive. I can feel you getting closer—your walls are pulsing around my finger. Come on, darling, let go."
The pressure built to a breaking point, her body tensing like a over drawn bowstring. Stars danced behind her eyelids as the orgasm crashed over her—hard, intense, shattering. She screamed his name, her thighs clamping around his hand, her inner muscles clenching rhythmically around his finger as waves of ecstasy rolled through her.
Theo didn't let up, riding it out with her, his mouth and finger coaxing every last tremor out of her until she was boneless, gasping for air.
Only then did he ease back, gently withdrawing his finger and pressing a soft kiss to her inner thigh. He crawled up her body, gathering her into his arms, his lips brushing her forehead. "You were magnificent, Hermione. So beautiful when you come undone like that. I;m so lucky to have someone so gorgeous in every way."
His voice had softened, losing the dirty edge, replaced by raw affection. "I treasure you, you know that? Every part of you—your mind, your body, your heart. This last month was hell, but it made us all a little stronger I think.”
She melted into him, her body still humming with aftershocks, a contented smile on her lips. "I treasure you too, Theo.” They feel asleep curled together.
Notes:
Well... they had to start being together again at some point...
Chapter 64: When Your Ready
Notes:
Now that Theo and Hermione are back on track, how will Draco take it?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sunlight slanted through the frosted windows of Nott Manor, laying long amber streaks across the floor. The manor was quiet — the kind of silence that followed a night that had changed something.
Hermione came down the stairs beside Theo, her curls still mussed, her cardigan thrown loosely over one of his shirts. They weren’t touching, but the air between them was warm and charged, full of small, unspoken things.
The scent of tea reached them before they entered the kitchen.
Draco was already there. He stood by the counter in a white t-shirt, his hair uncharacteristically unkempt, steam curling from the mug in his hand. When he turned, his pale eyes flicked from Theo to Hermione — one sweeping glance that saw everything at once.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.
“Morning,” Theo said carefully, too steady, like he was trying not to show how raw the night had left him.
Draco took a sip of coffee, leaning against the counter. “Morning,” he replied, his voice smooth but edged. “You’re up early.”
Hermione’s heart jumped. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Evidently.” His tone was neutral, but the corner of his mouth quirked just slightly — not a smirk, not yet. Just knowledge.
Theo cleared his throat, heading for the kettle. “I have class this morning.”
Hermione busied herself with the bread tin, her fingers trembling just slightly as she sliced. “Would you like toast?” she asked, voice softer than usual.
“I’ve already eaten,” Draco said. Then, after a pause, “You two seem… lighter this morning.”
Theo met his gaze, unflinching. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”
Draco’s expression flickered — something like amusement, something like envy. “No,” he murmured. “Not bad at all.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward; it was thick. It hummed like the air before lightning.
Theo handed Hermione her tea, brushing his fingers over hers in a fleeting touch that sent a spark up her arm. She felt Draco watching, his attention sharp and silent, and something inside her twisted — not guilt at all, but awareness, and empathy.
Theo drained his cup and looked at the clock. “I need to head to the hospital. Long rotation today.”
Hermione nodded. “We’ll be here when you get back.”
He leaned in just a little, close enough for her to smell the faint trace of mint on his breath, and murmured, “Don’t let the manor burn down without me.”
She smiled, small and shaky. “No promises.”
Draco’s eyes followed the exchange, his jaw tight, but when Theo clapped a hand on his shoulder, and a brief kiss on his temple before apparating, Draco only half-smiled at the contact.
The crack of Theo’s departure left the air impossibly still.
For a moment, neither Hermione nor Draco spoke. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, the faintest hiss of snow melting off boots near the door.
Then Draco said, very quietly, “You look happy.”
Hermione turned toward him, unsure whether it was a question or a judgment. “I am,” she said finally, and meant it.
He studied her for a long time — eyes cool, thoughtful, maybe a little wistful. “Good,” he said. Then, after a beat, “It suits you.” He sounded genuine.
Their gazes held — too long, too steady — until she had to look away.
When she did, she caught his reflection in the window glass: his posture too composed, his knuckles white around the coffee mug.
By 11am Nott Manor library was warm, full of the smell of parchment, cobwebs, and the faint lingering hint of Theo’s cologne from mornings spent studying there.
Hermione had tried to read. She’d sat on the sofa, wrapped in a wool blanket, one of her Charms textbooks open on her lap — but every few lines her eyes drifted to the window, or the crackling fire, or the door she knew Draco would eventually come through.
When he did, she didn’t notice at first.
“Your tea’s gone cold.”
His voice broke the silence gently, but it still startled her.
He stood just inside the doorway, his sleeves rolled to his forearms, faded Dark Mark on display, hair a little mussed as though he’d been pacing his study hands in his hair. The faintest smudge of ink stained the side of his thumb — something about the imperfection made him look far too human, far too reachable.
Hermione straightened. “Oh. I didn’t realize— I thought you were still with your mother’s solicitor.”
“I was.” He crossed the room slowly, every step deliberate. “It was dull. I’d rather be here.”
He poured himself a drink from the sideboard, the amber liquid catching the firelight. When he turned back toward her, there was something in his eyes that wasn’t just curiosity — it was knowing.
He sank into the chair opposite her, elbows on his knees, gaze unwavering.
“I know it happened, you know,” he said simply.
Her breath caught. “Know what?”
“About last night.”
He didn’t say it cruelly, or accusingly. It was soft — matter-of-fact, but charged all the same.
Hermione’s fingers closed around the spine of her book. “Theo told you?”
“No,” he said. “He didn’t have to.” He leaned back, his voice low. “You came into breakfast glowing, Hermione. I’d have to be blind not to notice.”
Her face flushed; she looked down at her hands. “I see.”
Draco tilted his head, watching her. “I’m not upset.”
She looked up sharply.
“Truly,” he said, voice gentler now. “I’m not angry at all I swear. You and Theo… you had a foundation before all this madness began. It makes sense you’d fall back into old comforts.”
“Still,” she murmured, “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“You haven’t. Truly.”
He stood, came to the other side of the coffee table, and stopped a respectful few feet away. The firelight flickered across his face, catching in his eyes.
“I’ll admit,” he said quietly, “I’m jealous. But not in the way you think.”
Hermione swallowed. “Then how?”
“Because he got to see a side of you again that I’m still waiting to earn.”
The confession hung in the air like static.
“I want…” Draco hesitated — a rare, unguarded moment. “I want you to trust me enough someday that I can hold you the way he does. Touch you like I know he has. Make you feel like I know he has. That you’ll let me in without wondering if I’ll hurt you, or ruin all of us. I know what my name has meant to you in the past. I know what I’ve been. But I mean to prove I can be better than all of that.”
He stepped closer, slow enough for her to pull away if she wanted to. She didn’t.
Her pulse thudded in her throat. “That’s… a very Slytherin sort of promise.”
He smiled faintly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
They were standing close enough now that she could see the faint silver thread of a scar just below his collar, the one she hadn’t noticed before.
“I’m not afraid of you, Draco,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.
He searched her eyes, something uncertain flickering behind his usual control. “Then what are you afraid of?”
“That I’ll start to want something more than I should have so early,” she said softly.
“You can have what you choose,” he said, tone low and deliberate. “That’s what makes you different from all of us who were raised to believe we couldn’t make our own choices every day.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “You make everything sound so simple.”
“It isn’t,” he said, eyes darkening. “But it could be… if we let it.”
The silence between them deepened — not empty, but alive.
He reached out then, slow enough to see if she would flinch, and brushed a loose curl from her temple, his fingertips barely grazing her skin. She didn’t move away.
For a heartbeat, she swore the world went still.
“Draco—”
“Don’t worry,” he said softly, though his voice shook faintly. “I won’t cross any lines until you do. I just needed you to know where I stand.”
Her breath came shallowly. “And where’s that?”
He smiled — sad, sincere, devastating. “Right here. Waiting until you’re ready to stand here with me too.”
Hermione couldn’t speak. She could only take two steps toward him as she looked at him — the boy she’d once feared, the man she now couldn’t quite look away from.
Draco stepped closer, his silver eyes locked on hers, intense and unreadable. “Granger,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl, but with a vulnerability that made her breath catch. “You’re driving me mad, you know that?” His hand hovered near her cheek, as if afraid to touch her, afraid of what crossing that line might mean.
Hermione’s lips parted, her pulse hammering in her throat. “You’re not exactly easy to be around either, Malfoy.” Her words were meant to be sharp, but they came out soft, trembling with the weight of what they both knew was coming. She didn’t move away, didn’t want to. She nodded to him, meeting his eyes with loinging, allowing this to happen. Her body leaned toward him instinctively, drawn by the heat radiating from him, the faint scent of pine, mint, and something distinctly Draco.
He closed the distance, slow and deliberate, giving her every chance to pull back. She didn’t. His hand finally made contact, fingers grazing her jaw, feather-light but electric, sending a shiver down her spine. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his breath warm against her lips, so close now she could feel the faint brush of it.
His eyes searched hers, raw and unguarded, a storm of want and fear and something deeper she couldn’t name.
“I don’t want you to,” she admitted, her voice barely audible, but it was enough. It broke whatever restraint he’d been clinging to.
Draco’s lips met hers, gentle but searng, a slow pres that felt like a spark igniting kindling. It wasn’t a frantic kiss, not the clash of mouths she’d half-expected from the fire that always seemed to burn between them sparking. Instead, it was deliberate, lingering, his lips soft and warm, moving against hers with a tenderness that stole her breath.
His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, anchoring her as her knees weakened, her hands rising to rest against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. She could feel his heartbeat, fast and unsteady, mirroring her own.
The kiss deepened just a fraction, his lips parting slightly to capture hers more fully, a hint of his tongue brushing against her lower lip, teasing but not demanding. It sent a jolt of heat through her, pooling low in her belly, her skin tingling with the promise of more.
Ever nerve in her body was alive, hyperaware of the way his fingers slid into her hair, cradling the back of her head, of the faint stubble on his jaw grazing her chin. It was intimate, overwhelming, and yet so achingly gentle, like he was savoring every second of this first, fragile connection.
Hermione felt herself melt into him, her body pressing closer, the space between them vanishing. There was a quiet intensity to it, a current of desire laced with something more—something emotional, raw, like they were baring their souls in this single, perfect moment.
She could taste the faint mint of his breath, feel the warmth of his lips as they moved with hers, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing her.
But then, abruptly, Draco pulled back. His lips left hers with a soft, reluctant sound, and she swayed slightly, dazed, her eyes fluttering open to find him staring at her.
His pupils were blown wide, his chest rising and falling unevenly, but his expression was a mix of awe and torment.
He let his hand fall back to his side, then stepped away, his composure returning like a cloak being drawn back around him.
But when he turned for the door, his voice was low and rough.
“You deserve to be treated gently,” he said. “And I will — when you let me in. Just let me know what’s right for you when you’re ready.”
Then he left her standing there by the fire, the scent of his cologne still lingering, her pulse racing, and the ache of something unnamed tightening deep in her chest.
The world outside was dark when the owl came. Its wings brushed frost off the windowpane as it landed, a folded issue of the Daily Prophet clutched tight in its talons.
Theo, just returned home, sat at the head of the long table, hair tousled, healer’s robe thrown over his chair. Draco was across from him, every inch the poised aristocrat except for the way his coffee cup sat untouched, his gaze dark falling to Hermione’s lips often.
The owl dropped the paper right in front of them with a soft thud.
They all stared at it.
“Do we…?” Hermione began.
Theo sighed. “We might as well.”
Draco unfolded it carefully. The headline blazed across the top in Rita Skeeter’s trademark emerald-ink flourish.
-----------------------------------------------
THE GOLDEN GIRL AND HER TWO GENTLEMEN: LOVE, LAW, AND LUXURY IN DIAGON ALLEY
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
Yesterday, Diagon Alley bore witness to a most bewitching spectacle — none other than Hermione Granger, war heroine and former Ministry reformist, strolling arm-in-arm with not one, but two of wizarding Britain’s most elusive bachelors: Healer-to-be Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy.
Eyewitnesses describe the trio as “surprisingly at ease” while perusing the new Nimbus broom models — though this journalist couldn’t help but note the rather intimate hand-holding that followed. One might wonder if such affection was truly for love… or for show.
Sources within the Ministry have confirmed that Miss Granger’s controversial triad bond remains the first officially sanctioned under the new Marriage Law, raising questions about just how far our once-beloved heroine has drifted from her Muggle roots.
And while the public might applaud her courage, others whisper of ambition — that Miss Granger has used her newfound status to entwine herself with two pure-blood families of ancient fortune and influence. (After all, one can hardly imagine a Nott-Malfoy union without substantial “negotiations” behind the scenes.)
When approached for comment, none of the three offered any explanation — though witnesses report Mr. Malfoy’s “possessive” demeanor and Mr. Nott’s “protective” stance, both of which have left the public divided. Is this the evolution of wizarding love — or the unraveling of propriety?
One thing is certain: when the wedding bells ring soon, it won’t just be champagne flowing — it will be gossip, power, and maybe even a touch of scandal.
Rita Skeeter can be reached by owl at her usual postbox for exclusive updates on the upcoming triad nuptials.
--------------------------------------
The silence afterward was deafening.
Hermione read it twice, each sentence burning hotter. Her hands trembled as she set the paper down. “She makes it sound like—like I’ve traded everything I’ve ever stood for just to—” She broke off, shaking her head. “I can’t believe after everything—after the war—people still let her print things like this.”
Theo reached across the table, his jaw tight. “She’s a parasite. She’s feeding off the fact that people still love tearing down anyone who survived better than they did.” He flicked his wand, and the paper burst into flame. The ash curled in the air like black feathers.
Draco watched it burn, his face angry. “She’s good at what she does,” he said finally, his voice low. “She finds the softest spot and drives the knife there. My family’s been her favorite subject for years. Though, it seems shes not a fan of yours either Hermione.”
Hermione swallowed hard. “How do you live with it?”
Draco met her eyes. “You don’t. You endure it until you decide to stop giving her the satisfaction.”
Theo pushed back his chair, pacing to the window. “We could sue her. Or at least send a formal complaint to the Prophet’s board.”
Draco snorted softly. “You think they’d risk alienating the readership that pays their rent? She sells copies. People goggle this type of stuff up. They’ll print twice as many tomorrow.”
Hermione’s throat felt tight. “She called me ambitious, like it was a bad thing. Like wanting to build a life that’s mine—ours—is something shameful.”
Theo turned back to her. “You don’t owe anyone an apology for being happy.”
Draco added, “Or for being complicated.” His eyes once again darting to her mouth. She blushed. Theo noticed.
Hermione looked between them — one man standing in sunlight, the other half-shadowed, both of them watching her with expressions that tangled grief and fierce protectiveness. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to keep enduring this every week.”
Theo crossed to her, crouching beside her chair. “You don’t have to endure it alone. That’s the whole point of us.”
Draco rose too, moving closer but stopping just shy of touching her. His voice was low, careful. “They can say whatever they like. But when we walk into that gala on New Year’s Eve, they’ll see the truth. You, us, all of it.”
Hermione exhaled shakily. “You really think they’ll see that?”
Draco’s mouth curved faintly. “They’ll see that we don’t bend to their gossip.”
Theo reached up, brushing a stray curl from her face. His fingertips lingered for just a heartbeat too long, sending a quiet jolt through the room. “Let them talk,” he said softly. “We’ll write the next story ourselves.”
The fire popped behind them, scattering sparks. Hermione looked at both of them — two people she never could have imagined being friends with let alone lovers, now standing there like twin anchors against the storm.
She reached for each of their hands, the motion instinctive. The tension between them all hummed — not only severely romantically charged, but protective, electric, alive too.
Outside, the snow had started again, quiet and relentless. The world could gossip all it wanted. Inside Nott Manor, the three of them stood together, the ashes of the Prophet still drifting faintly in the air — a silent promise that they’d face whatever came next side by side.
Notes:
I had to toss Draco a bone.
What did you think of their first real kiss?
Chapter 65: Small Truths
Notes:
They're really trying to be open with each other.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
A thin column of steam rose from Hermione’s teacup, curling toward the ceiling before disappearing. Across from her, Theo sat with his elbows on the table, still in his healer’s uniform, hair slightly tousled from sleep.
Draco had already left for a meeting. His absence was a ghost in the manor, the quiet echo of boots through marble halls hours earlier.
Hermione hadn’t eaten much. She stirred her tea without drinking, eyes tracing the pattern of the wood grain between them.
“Theo,” she began finally, voice soft but firm, “I need to tell you something.”
He set down his fork, sensing the weight in her tone. “Go on.”
She took a long breath. “Yesterday, in the library… Draco and I kissed.”
Theo didn’t flinch. His eyes searched hers—steady, calm, a faint sadness behind the understanding.
“I figured something had shifted,” he said quietly. “He seemed… lighter last night.”
Hermione looked down, cheeks coloring. “It wasn’t planned. We were talking, and it just… happened. It was gentle, but—” she hesitated, the words catching in her throat—“there’s no denying there’s something there. We’re for sure compatible. There was chemistry. It’s confusing. It’s terrifying.”
Theo leaned back, studying her carefully. “You’re scared of what it means.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Because with you, it’s been safe for so long. I know how to read you, I know where I stand. And our history, while not great, wasn’t actually terrible. We weren’t forgiving bad things, we were just meeting without a background of war. But with him… it’s like standing near fire. I know I’ll get burned if I’m careless.”
Theo gave a small, rueful smile. “He’s not who he used to be, Hermione. Not anymore. He’s spent years trying to learn how to be someone better. If you keep opening your heart to him, I think you’ll see that.”
She met his gaze—warm brown meeting clear blue. “You really think so?”
“I know so,” he said simply. “He’s been trying to earn that trust from you since the moment he was matched to us. You saw it too—you wouldn’t have let him kiss you otherwise.”
Hermione exhaled shakily, her hand resting on the table. Theo reached across, fingers brushing hers in reassurance.
“I told myself,” she murmured, “that I’d never give him the chance to hurt me again after all that vile things he did. But he’s so different now, and I can’t ignore that.”
“You shouldn’t,” Theo said. “You don’t owe anyone forgiveness—but if you can give him a little faith, it might heal both of you.”
She nodded, eyes glistening. For a while, the only sound was the quiet ticking of the clock.
Then, hesitantly, she asked, “Can I ask you something personal?”
“Always. The three of us can’t hide anything form one another right?”
“When I told you… you could be physical with him again,” she said slowly, “have you two—?”
Theo hesitated, then nodded once. “We have. It wasn’t about replacing anything or hiding it. It was… reconnecting something old that never really stopped existing.”
Hermione absorbed that, her heart tightening—not in jealousy, but in recognition of what they were all trying to build together.That Theo and Draco were healing each other too. Not just her.
“I’m glad,” she said finally, her voice steady. “Truly. If we’re going to make this work, we can’t just build around me. It has to be all of us—each connection, each trust.”
Theo’s eyes softened. “Exactly. It’s not competition, Hermione. It’s weaving a life out of three people who care about each other, who want to have a really bright future together. Every thread makes it stronger.”
She smiled faintly, squeezing his hand. “You sound like you’ve thought about this a lot.”
“I have,” he admitted. “Because I’m falling in love with you, and I still care deeply for him. And I want this—us—to have a chance.”
Her breath caught at the tenderness in his tone.
They sat there like that for a while, holding hands across the table, surrounded by the quiet domesticity of morning. The tension in the air wasn’t gone, but it had changed shape—less sharp, more like warmth lingering beneath the skin.
Theo finally stood, rounding the table to press a kiss to her hair. “I have to go. Long day ahead.”
She looked up at him, eyes full of something fragile but certain. “Be careful.”
“I always am,” he said, but his voice was softer now. “You’ll be all right today?”
She nodded. “I think so. I’ll be reading by the fire when you get home.”
He smiled at that—her favorite corner of the manor, her quiet way of grounding herself. “Good. Maybe we’ll both be ready to talk more then.”
As he left, Hermione watched the snow starting again beyond the window, the flakes falling slow and steady, like everything in her life was in motion but learning how to land gently.
Hermione flooed into the kitchen at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, brushing ash from her sleeves and stepping out onto the familiar stone floor. The air was cozy — the faint scent of treacle tart and something distinctly Weasley lingered, along with the low hum of a wireless playing softly in the background.
Ginny turned from the counter, her hair pulled into a loose braid, flour on her cheek.
“’Bout time you got here,” she said with a grin. “I was about to send a search party.”
Hermione smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. “You’d have had to get through the Nott Manor wards first. I think Theo’s made them extra fussy after the last Prophet article.”
From the sitting room came Harry’s voice. “If it keeps Skeeter out, I’m all for it.”
He appeared a moment later, still in his Auror uniform, his glasses sliding down his nose, an affectionate smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, ’Mione.”
Hermione didn’t realize how much she’d missed the simple normalcy of that greeting until her eyes stung. She hugged him tightly, the scent of smoke and tea clinging to his robes.
“Hi, Harry.”
Ginny slid three mugs of tea onto the table and motioned for them to sit. “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, spill. How are you really?”
Hermione hesitated, fingers wrapping around the warm mug. “I’m… managing,” she said carefully. “There’s a lot to sort through with—everything.”
Harry nodded knowingly but didn’t push. “That’s understandable. You’ve had half the wizarding world speculating about you for months.”
Ginny gave him a look. “She said managing, not ‘explain every headline ever,’ love.”
He raised his hands in surrender, laughing softly.
Hermione smiled gratefully at both of them. “It’s just… complicated. But things between me, Theo, and—well—everyone… we’re working through it. Day by day.”
Ginny’s eyes softened. “You seem calmer than last time I saw you. Happier, even.”
Hermione shrugged, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks. “It’s… steadier now. We’re finding a rhythm.”
Harry looked relieved. “That’s good. You deserve steady.”
They talked for a while about more ordinary things — Ginny’s latest Quidditch match, the endless forms Harry had to fill out as Head Auror, how Kreacher had developed a bizarre attachment to Crookshanks’s old cat bed.
Then Ginny turned to Hermione with that sharp, compassionate intuition that had always been one of her gifts. “So, how’s the wedding planning?”
Hermione exhaled, the tension in her shoulders tightening. “It’s… coming together. Narcissa’s taken over most of it, which is oddly comforting and mildly terrifying.”
Harry snorted. “She’ll have the whole thing run like a diplomatic summit.”
Ginny nudged him, but she was smiling. “It’ll be beautiful, you know. You’ll look like something out of one of those fairy-tale storybooks Mum used to read us.”
Hermione laughed faintly, but her voice wavered when she said, “It’s just… strange. Thinking about standing there, in a dress, and realizing my parents won’t be there to see it.”
The room went quiet.
Hermione’s gaze drifted to the window, where snow was starting to fall in lazy spirals. “My dad should be the one walking me down the aisle,” she said softly. “He should be there, holding my arm, pretending not to cry.”
Her voice caught, and she pressed her lips together hard.
Harry reached across the table, covering her hand with his own. “They’d be proud of you, Hermione. Wherever they are, whatever they remember — they’d still be proud.”
Ginny’s eyes were glossy. “You’ve built a life they’d have loved to see. You’ve never stopped fighting for what’s right, even when it costs you peace.”
Hermione blinked back tears, squeezing their hands. “That means more than you know.”
After a moment, she looked at Harry, her expression tender but uncertain. “Actually… there’s something I wanted to ask you.”
Harry sat straighter, instinctively serious. “Anything.”
She swallowed. “I’d like you to walk me down the aisle.”
For a second, he didn’t react — just stared, eyes widening behind his glasses. Then his mouth curved into a small, shaky smile. “You mean that?”
She nodded. “You’re my family, Harry. You always have been. You’re my brother in every way that matters. I can’t imagine anyone else doing it.”
Ginny was already wiping at her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. “Merlin’s beard, you two are going to make me cry all over this table.”
Harry’s voice cracked as he said, “It’d be an honor, ’Mione.”
She laughed softly, the tears spilling over now, and reached across the table to hug him, hard and long. For a moment, they were back at Hogwarts — three children against the world, clutching onto each other because it was the only thing that made sense.
When they pulled apart, Ginny sniffed and said, “Right, now that we’ve made this a Weepy Wednesday, can we please eat something before I dissolve entirely?”
Hermione laughed wetly. “You haven’t changed.”
“No,” Ginny said, standing to fetch scones. “But that’s why you love me.”
Harry chuckled, his arm draping around Hermione’s shoulders as Ginny set the plate down. “You know,” he said quietly, “I always thought if anyone could make sense of something as impossible as love under a Ministry mandate, it’d be you.”
Hermione smiled at him, eyes full of old affection and new strength. “I don’t know if I’m making sense of it, but I’m trying. That’s all any of us can do.”
Ginny sat back down, stealing a scone. “And that’s exactly why everything will be fine. Because if there’s one thing Hermione Granger does better than anyone else—it’s figuring out the impossible.”
They clinked their teacups together — three old friends in a kitchen that had once been a war room, laughing through the ache in their hearts, the weight of all they’d lost and all they’d somehow managed to keep.
The manor was hushed when Hermione stepped out of the Floo. The air still smelled faintly of cinnamon and pine from the holiday greenery she and Draco had hung the week before. Somewhere far off, the wind moaned against the old stone.
Theo’s coat wasn’t on the rack. The absence told her what she already knew — he was on duty late again. She brushed a bit of soot from her sleeve, set her bag down, and turned toward the parlor.
Light flickered from the doorway. Draco was there alone, lounging on the sofa with a book half-open beside him. The fire gilded the edge of his profile, the sharp cut of his jaw softened by the warmth of the room.
He looked up when she entered. “You’re home.”
“I am,” she said, smiling a little. “And apparently you’re keeping the fire alive for both of us.”
“Old habits. I hate a dark room.”
Hermione crossed to the hearth, holding her hands out to the flame. “It’s freezing out. Grimmauld was lovely, but that old house still feels haunted in the walls somehow evn with all the redorcating.”
Draco closed the book, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “How was your visit?”
She sank onto the other end of the sofa, tucking one leg beneath her. “Good. We had tea, and I told Harry and Ginny about the wedding. I asked Harry to walk me down the aisle.”
Draco’s expression softened. “That’s fitting.”
“It felt right,” she admitted. “But it hurt too — saying out loud that my dad won’t be there.”
For a moment, the only sound was the fire crackling. Then Draco said quietly, “You know… he’d have been proud. Even if he doesn’t remember you anymore, I’d wager he’d still feel it somehow.”
Her eyes met his, grateful and stung all at once. “You really think so?”
“I do.” His voice was steady, but something gentle had threaded itself through it. “You’re not easy to forget, Granger.”
The words made her breath hitch. She looked down, watching her fingers twist in her lap before she spoke again.
“Harry how you and Theo were getting on,” she said. “I said he hadn’t seen either of you together lately enough to know. So I’ll ask myself — how are you two?”
Draco gave a humorless little laugh. “Learning how to breathe in the same space again without tripping over what used to be between us.”
She tilted her head. “That sounds complicated.”
“It is.” His eyes found the fire instead of her face. “I care about him. I always will. But I think we’re both trying not to let old ghosts steer the new ship, if that makes sense. Build a healthier relationship this time… so it lasts.”
“It does,” she said softly. “And I think you’re doing better than you realize.”
Draco turned back to her. “You really believe that?”
Hermione nodded. “I see it. The way you speak to him now, to me — it’s calmer, more honest. I think you’re both learning that loving someone doesn’t always mean holding on the same way you used to.”
For a long moment, they just looked at each other — not with the awkwardness of old rivals, but the quiet understanding of people who had seen too much and were still choosing to reach for something good.
Then she smiled faintly. “And you, Draco Malfoy… have turned out to be rather kind.”
He laughed under his breath, the sound low and a little disbelieving. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”
“That reputation is already in tatters,” she teased.
Their smiles lingered too long. The air shifted — one of those delicate, irreversible turns.
He was still watching her when he said, “You look different tonight. Happier. Like something’s been lifted.”
“Maybe it has,” she said. “Maybe talking about my parents reminded me that it’s all right to let other people fill the spaces they left.”
The words trembled in the air between them. Her heart thudded.
Slowly, she reached for him — the barest touch of her fingers against the back of his hand. He didn’t move away. His gaze locked with hers, and the distance between them began to collapse in heartbeats, not steps.
“Draco…” she whispered, the sound of his name a question and an answer at once.
He drew in a quiet breath, as though steadying himself, but she was already leaning forward, guided more by instinct than thought.
When their lips met, it wasn’t desperate; it was careful, reverent. The kind of kiss that holds its breath halfway through because it knows the moment itself is fragile.
Her hand found his cheek, his skin warm beneath her palm. For a heartbeat the world narrowed to the flicker of firelight, the faint rasp of his breath, the dizzying recognition of connection.
When she finally pulled back, her heart was racing. His eyes were still closed, as though he hadn’t quite dared to move yet.
“That,” he said hoarsely, “was entirely your doing.”
She smiled — shy, a little breathless. “I know.”
He opened his eyes, and the look there — wonder, restraint, something perilously close to affection — made her chest ache.
“I should let you rest,” she murmured, half-rising from the sofa.
He caught her wrist gently, not to stop her, only to anchor the moment. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For trusting me enough to do that.”
Hermione’s lips curved in something soft and certain. “I think I’m finally learning to.”
She left him there by the fire, still holding the ghost of her touch, while she slipped upstairs — her pulse thrumming, her heart caught between fear and something that felt like hope.
And for a long time after she was gone, Draco Malfoy sat in the firelight, staring at the place she’d been, wondering when exactly he’d started to believe he might be worthy of the warmth she’d given him.
Notes:
Getting closer to the gala!
Chapter 66: Your Glowing
Chapter Text
Pansy’s parlor smelled like expensive perfume and champagne.
A sunbeam filtered through the tall sitting-room windows, glinting off bottles of nail polish lined up like potions on a marble table. Four elves bustled quietly about, each armed with files, buffers, and an array of enchanted manicure charms.
Hermione was seated on one of Pansy’s velvet chairs, a silk robe wrapped around her, while Ginny lounged across from her with her feet propped on a cushion, grinning.
Luna sat cross-legged on the floor in a cloud of pale blue tulle, watching one of the elves paint tiny silver constellations onto her nails.
“Honestly, Pans,” Ginny said, eyeing her friend’s glossy emerald nails, “you live like you’re permanently five minutes away from a fashion shoot.”
“That’s because I am,” Pansy replied smoothly, inspecting her manicure with satisfaction. “I own a beauty empire, Ginevra. Appearances matter.”
Luna looked up dreamily. “Appearances are important, but so are frequencies. Sometimes people glow brighter when they’re loved, even if they don’t see it yet.”
Hermione hid a smile behind her teacup. “That’s… quite poetic, Luna.”
“It’s also accurate,” Luna said serenely. “You’ve been glowing lately, Hermione.”
Pansy snorted. “Glowing? I’d say simmering. She’s got that slow-burn look about her. All the best witches do when something — or someones — has them blushing in places polite society doesn’t talk about.”
Ginny cackled, nearly spilling her tea. “Oh Merlin, Pansy.”
Hermione turned crimson. “Can we not?”
“Oh, please.” Pansy waved a hand dismissively. “You’re engaged — to two of the most eligible men in wizarding Britain. You don’t get to be shy about it. I’d be printing it on business cards if it were me.”
Luna tilted her head, expression thoughtful. “She doesn’t need business cards. Everyone already feels it.”
Ginny leaned forward, curious. “Feels what, Luna?”
“The energy,” Luna said, voice soft but sure. “They’re bound, all three of them. But it’s not done yet. There’s a piece that still needs to be learned — something Draco hasn’t said, or maybe something Hermione hasn’t forgiven. Maybe they haven’t all been together yet….”
The room went quiet for a beat. Pansy rolled her eyes fondly. “Luna Lovegood: ruiner of perfectly good spa gossip since 1994.”
Hermione laughed, shaking her head. “No, it’s fine. She’s probably right, honestly. We’re still… figuring things out. It’s complicated.”
Ginny gave her a warm, teasing smile. “Complicated, but good?”
Hermione hesitated, then nodded. “Good. Better than I expected truthfully when we got the letter. They’re both trying so hard to make it work — to make me feel safe. It’s… nice, actually. Having that kind of patience.”
Pansy softened, setting down her tea. “That’s because they care about you, darling. Theo’s always been the quiet steady type, and Draco… well.” Her tone gentled. “He’s learning how to be a better man. You’ve seen that too.”
“I have,” Hermione said quietly. “Sometimes I forget how far we’ve all come since Hogwarts.”
Ginny snorted. “We were disasters back then. Look at us now — adults. Sort of.”
Luna smiled serenely. “Adults who still believe in love. That’s rarer than it sounds.”
One of the elves appeared with a tray of champagne flutes and delicate pastries. Ginny took a glass, holding it up. “To surviving the Ministry Gala tomorrow. May we not trip, spill, or punch any reporters.”
“Or hex Skeeter,” Pansy added.
Hermione clinked her glass against theirs. “I make no promises.”
They laughed, the tension breaking. For a while, the conversation drifted to lighter things — Pansy’s plans for expanding her beauty line to France (“Paris is dying for a proper potion-based skincare revolution”), Ginny’s upcoming Quidditch matches (“Our Seeker keeps sleeping with the Bludger coach; it’s chaos”), and Luna’s musings on fertility magic.
“I think I’ll deliver under a full moon,” Luna said matter-of-factly. “Neville’s planting moonflowers in the garden so the energy feels right.”
Ginny nearly choked on her drink. “You’ve already planned the garden?”
“It’s important,” Luna said serenely. “Magic listens when you ask kindly.”
Hermione smiled softly. “You’ll be an incredible mother, Luna.”
Luna beamed. “And you’ll be too, one day. Though perhaps sooner than you would have originally liked.”
Hermione blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, don’t start her on that,” Pansy groaned. “She’s been predicting everyone’s pregnancies lately. She told one of my assistants she’d get morning sickness before New Year’s, and now the poor girl’s too terrified to eat breakfast.”
“I only tell people what I see,” Luna said with a small shrug, looking entirely unbothered. “And what I see for you, Hermione, is happiness — messy, inconvenient happiness, but it will be the making of you.”
Hermione couldn’t find her voice for a moment, emotion catching her off guard. “That’s… kind of perfect, actually.”
Ginny nudged her knee. “You all right?”
Hermione nodded. “Just grateful. To have all of you here. I didn’t realize how much I needed this — normal girl talk, laughing, not thinking about laws or politics or… anything heavy.”
Pansy smiled, eyes soft. “That’s what friends are for. To remind you that you’re more than what the world demands of you.”
Luna held out her freshly painted hands, the silver constellations glimmering faintly. “And to make sure your nails are lovely while you remember it.”
They all burst into laughter again, the sound warm and light, filling the room with something that felt like peace.
When the laughter faded, Hermione looked around at them — Ginny, fierce and loyal; Pansy, sharp and protective; Luna, radiant and untamed — and realized how lucky she was to have found family in so many unexpected places.
Whatever the Gala brought, whatever the world said about them — she’d walk into it surrounded by people who truly loved her.
When Hermione stepped out of the floo that night, the manor was wrapped in silence. The moon hung low outside the tall windows, its light spilling in silver ribbons across the marble floor. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the faint hum of the wards, steady as a heartbeat — the kind of sound she’d grown used to, a quiet reassurance that she was home.
She slipped off her cloak, rubbing warmth into her fingers. The scent of sandalwood and old parchment drifted faintly from down the hall — Theo’s room.
The light under his door glowed soft gold, and when she saw it cracked open, she hesitated only a moment before pushing it wider.
Theo was propped against the headboard, a book in one hand, his hair still damp from a shower. Next to him, Draco sat cross-legged with a journal open on his lap, half of his shirt buttons undone, pants low on his hips. Both looked up at her at the same time.
For a heartbeat, she just stood there — caught in the domestic simplicity of it, the warmth of lamplight against their faces, the faint scent of candle smoke and soap.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Theo asked gently.
She shook her head, voice quiet. “I just got back from Pansy’s. I didn’t realize it was this late.”
“You look tired,” Draco said, his tone neutral but not cold. There was something unreadable in his expression, something softer than before.
Hermione took in the sight of the rumpled blankets and the two books, the familiar way their bodies seemed relaxed in each other’s company, the scattered clothing thrown around the room form being in a hurry, and her chest tightened — not from jealousy exactly, but from the sharp ache of wanting to belong there too.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she murmured. “If you want me to leave you two alone—”
Theo set his book aside immediately. “Don’t go.”
Draco’s gaze flicked up, calm but steady. “You’re not interrupting anything now. We were just reading.”
Hermione hesitated a second longer, then crossed to the bed, curling her legs beneath her as she sat beside Theo. The mattress dipped, and for a moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the soft rustle of the pages when Draco closed his journal and set it aside.
Theo reached over, his fingers brushing her wrist lightly. “How was it? The girls’ night?”
“Good,” she said. “We talked too much and drank too much champagne. Luna’s still being… Luna.”
That made Draco smirk faintly. “She told me once that Nargles were to blame for my inability to sleep after the war. I’m still not convinced she was wrong.”
Hermione laughed quietly, the sound easing the tightness in the air. “She told me today I’m glowing. Which could mean happiness or an impending magical crisis — I haven’t decided.”
Theo’s hand slid more firmly over hers. “Happiness sounds right to me.”
She met his eyes, warmth blooming in her chest, and then looked toward Draco, who was watching them both with an expression that hovered somewhere between fond and wistful.
“Tomorrow’s the Gala,” he said after a beat. “We’ll be the evening’s main entertainment whether we like it or not.”
“I know,” Hermione sighed, leaning her head back against the headboard. “Rita Skeeter will probably have our table staked out before we even arrive.”
Theo hummed. “At least Pansy’s promised to hex anyone who comes too close with a Quick-Growing Wart curse.”
Draco’s lips curved. “A noble cause.”
They all laughed quietly. The laughter faded into something softer — an ease that felt rare these days. Draco leaned back, stretching his long legs out, and Hermione felt the brush of his knee against hers. It wasn’t deliberate, but it sent a flutter through her stomach anyway.
Theo reached to dim the lamp with a flick of his wand, leaving the room bathed in gentle amber light. “We should sleep. Tomorrow will be exhausting.”
Hermione hesitated, glancing between them. “Do you want me to go back to my room?”
Theo shook his head immediately. “Stay.”
Draco looked at her, his voice low but sure. “If you want to of course.”
Something inside her loosened. She slipped beneath the blanket, lying between them. Theo’s arm came around her automatically, the way it always had, protective and sure. Draco hesitated only a second before shifting closer too, not touching yet, but close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him.
For a long while, none of them spoke. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and the winter wind sighed against the windows.
Hermione turned her face toward Theo’s shoulder. “Do you ever think,” she murmured, “that maybe the only reason we survived all of that — the war, the aftermath, everything — was to learn how to live properly happy after it?”
Theo’s fingers brushed her arm. “Maybe. Maybe that’s the whole point — to learn it, even if it’s messy.”
Draco’s voice joined them, quiet and rough. “Then we’re already halfway there.”
A silence fell again — not heavy this time, but full of quiet understanding.
Theo shifted just enough to pull her closer. “Sleep,” he whispered.
Hermione’s eyelids fluttered, the warmth between them cocooning her in something that felt achingly safe. She felt Draco settle behind her then, his hand hovering for a breath before resting lightly on the blanket near hers — not quite touching, but enough to make her feel surrounded, held.
As the fire dimmed to embers, the three of them drifted off together — tangled in shared warmth and fragile peace — the world outside forgotten for one more night before everything changed again.
Notes:
How painful will this gala be?
Curious what you all envision Hermione wearing to it...? share!
Chapter 67: A New Year
Notes:
The gala is here! Can they pull of a good press rebranding together as planned?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The atrium of the Ministry glittered like a snow globe shaken to brilliance—charmed chandeliers scattering star-shards of light, musicians tucked beneath a garlanded balcony, and a thousand whispering voices rolling in polished waves. At the top of the marble stairs, three figures appeared together and the sound changed; it sharpened, lifted, a collective intake of breath.
Hermione stood between them, the line of her spine tall, chin lifted. She wore deep forest green silk that caught the light like moss after rain—long sleeves, a sweep of bare collarbone, and a narrow band of silver runes stitched at the waist. Her bracelet—fox, otter, dragon—glinted with each heartbeat.
On her right, Draco was winter incarnate: tailored black with a silver-stitched lapel, a pocket square the exact green of her gown, a slim signet ring catching candlelight. On her left, Theo wore charcoal black cut close to the shoulder, silver cufflinks in the shape of tiny leaves, an emerald silk tie he’d pretended to hate and then never took off after she’d chosen it.
Green. Silver. Black. Deliberate.
The first camera flashed. Then another. The marble steps lit up like lightning in a summer storm.
“Ms. Granger! Mr. Malfoy! Healer Nott—over here!”
“Are you confirming a February ceremony?”
“Is it true Kingsley Shacklebolt himself—?”
“Who designed your dress?”
“Is the triad—?”
They didn’t stop for questions. They didn’t hurry either. They moved as one, a quiet, practiced cadence: Draco’s palm steady at the small of Hermione’s back, Theo’s fingers anchoring her hand, Hermione’s calm cutting a corridor through the tide. The press would have their photographs; what they would not have—tonight—was the narrative.
Closer to the ballroom doors, the sound reshaped itself into music: a low-thrum waltz threaded with cello. The floor beyond was a mirror of polished black wood, ringed in winter roses and lanterns that breathed warm light.
Through the crush, familiar faces rose—Pansy in dark satin with a smile like a secret; Blaise, amused and appraising; Ginny blazing in sleek green, Harry at her side, both of them quietly proud. Professor McGonagall inclined her head once; Hagrid’s handkerchief was already out. Kingsley stood near a column, watching with the composed interest of a man who could hear every whisper and still choose silence.
“Ready?” Theo murmured, close to Hermione’s ear.
She exhaled and found both men’s eyes in turn. “Let’s dance.”
They stepped onto the floor as the orchestra swelled. Theo led first—his hand at her waist warm through silk, his other hand enclosing hers with the kind of steadiness that steadied the rest of her.
Their first turn was unshowy, elegant, their bodies finding the old conversation they’d always had: here, I know you; here, you can lean.
When the music curved, they shifted partners as if the quartet had written the moment into the staff. Draco’s hand found hers, then her waist—not hesitant, not claiming, simply present.
He led differently than Theo: tighter turns, razor-precise footwork that felt like energy held on the verge of something brighter. Up close, the pale silver in his tie picked up the green of her gown until both hues seemed made for the other.
He held her with a care that read as restraint until she felt the shape beneath it: reverence.
“You’re calm,” Draco said, his breath barely disturbing the space between them.
She smiled with her mouth and eyes both. “I have good partners.”
Something flickered in his expression—humor, gratitude, something warmer. “We have a good girl to lead,” he murmured back.
They moved through a halo of camera flashes. For once, Hermione didn’t feel flayed by attention. The colors had been their first statement; this was the second. She let her hand slide a fraction more securely into Draco’s, and felt him answer with the smallest increase of pressure—a promise that could be read by no one but her.
At the edge of the floor, the triad re-formed, a seamless little constellation: Theo’s knuckles brushing Draco’s sleeve as he reclaimed Hermione’s hand; Draco stepping in half a pace to keep their line unbroken; Hermione’s fingers resting briefly against Theo’s wrist as if to say still here.
They were becoming fluent in a new language—glances, heat, control—each of them learning when to step forward and when to guard the space between.
A quicker number followed, something that sent laughter skimming over the floor. Pansy swept past with Blaise, calling, “Try not to incinerate the press with longing, darlings! At least wait until after dessert!” Hermione nearly snorted; Draco’s mouth twitched; Theo’s eyes gleamed.
Between dances there were pauses—small islands where the crowd came near enough to be polite. McGonagall said, dryly fond, “Miss Granger,” then, softer, “Hermione,” and nodded once at each man. “You look well.” Hermione felt her throat tighten in the way that only happened when someone who’d watched you grow believed, unequivocally, that you still were.
Kingsley reached them later, his height turning the ring of whispers briefly into a tide caught behind a seawall. “You look strong,” he said—no preamble, no press smile. “All three of you.” Hermione met his gaze, saw the cost of leadership there, and inclined her head.
“We intend to be.” He gave the smallest nod and stepped away, and even Rita, circling like a jeweled wasp, thought better of trying to sting through that moment.
The quartet slid into a darker waltz—strings like smoke, the rhythm closer. Theo claimed her again, but this time his touch said listen. He led her through a line that brought them near a column where the light fell in a spill of gold and shadow.
“Look at me,” he said, too quietly for anyone else. She did. What she saw there—pride, desire honed into something gentle, the bone-deep certainty he saved only for her… and maybe Draco—burned through the last of her nerves.
He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t need to.
When Draco took her next, the music seemed to tighten further, the room contracting until there was only the line of his shoulder and the fine tremor that ran through her when his palm settled at the precise small of her back.
“Still calm?” he asked, and this time she let her fingers curve at his shoulder in something that wasn’t an answer so much as an agreement. “Yes,” she said playfully. “But I won’t be if you keep looking at me like that.”
“Noted,” he said, tone dry. He didn’t look away.
Around them, the ballroom turned, a wheel of color and light. Every so often they stepped together again as three—no choreography, no announced figure in the dance, just the quiet ingenuity of people intent on being near.
Theo’s hand passing Hermione’s to Draco’s; Draco’s palm steadying Theo’s shoulder as the floor compressed; Hermione’s touch finding each of them in turn like a benediction.
A murmur rippled along the edge of the press corps—less the sharp gossip of what are they doing? and more the reluctant pivot toward this is what they’re doing. In the face of it, their poise did a kind of magic no law could compel: it normalized the sight of them. The scandal sapped; the story breathed.
They took a break at last beneath a cascade of winter roses. Harry and Ginny reached them there. “You’re knocking them flat,” Ginny said, eyes bright. “It’s almost indecent how good you look together.”
Harry squeezed Hermione’s hand and, to Draco’s mild surprise and Theo’s quiet not-surprise, squeezed each of theirs too. “Proud of you,” he said simply. Hermione swallowed hard and let herself believe him.
The orchestra had just slipped into another soft waltz when Hermione spotted them near the refreshment table—Ron and Cho, side by side, each looking slightly out of place in the swirl of colors.
Cho smiled first, her poise as graceful as ever. “Hermione! It’s been ages.”
Hermione’s answering smile was warm, genuine. “It really has. You look wonderful, Cho. Congratulations again on your match.”
Cho inclined her head, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Thank you. We were surprised, but... it’s been kind, actually. Unexpectedly kind.” She glanced up at Ron with a small, fond look. “He’s a good man.”
Ron shifted a little, his formal Ministry robes a deep maroon that made him look broader, older somehow. “Hermione.” His voice carried the same familiar cadence, but the easy humor she remembered was missing. “You look… well.”
Theo, standing at her right, inclined his head politely. “Weas—Ron. Good to see you.”
Draco, beside her, offered a faint, civil smile. “Mr. Weasley.”
Ron nodded once, polite to the point of stiffness. “Malfoy. Nott.”
The air between them was fine crystal—balanced, brittle, reflecting everything and revealing nothing.
Hermione tried to fill the silence. “How’s work at the Ministry, I heard you went back after helping George? Still with Magical Law Enforcement?”
“Yeah,” Ron said. “Paperwork mostly. Cho’s been helping with the reconstruction files—her department’s coordinating with ours.”
“That sounds like you’re doing good work,” Hermione said softly. “Important work.”
He gave a quick shrug. “We’re all doing what we can.” His gaze flicked briefly to the green silk of her dress, to Theo’s steady presence at her side, and finally to Draco, who met the look without flinching. “Looks like you’re… managing all right too.”
Hermione’s smile faltered for just a heartbeat. “I am. We’re… figuring things out.”
Cho’s eyes were kind. “It’s brave, what you’re doing,” she said. “Complicated, but brave. People forget how many kinds of affection there are.”
Hermione felt her throat tighten, the gratitude almost painful. “Thank you,” she said. “That means a lot.”
The pause that followed was full of all the things none of them quite knew how to say—the history of laughter, arguments, friendship forged in war and reshaped by time.
Ron looked down at his drink, then back up, managing a small, careful smile. “Anyway. Congratulations, I suppose. On… everything. I hope… you’re really happy.”
She nodded, her own voice quiet. “Thanks, Ron. Really.”
Cho touched his arm lightly. “We should let them enjoy the evening.”
Ron nodded again. “Yeah. Take care, Hermione.”
When they turned away, Hermione stood still for a moment, the music humming around her like a memory half-heard. She felt Theo’s hand ghost against the small of her back, steady but unobtrusive. Draco didn’t say anything, only watched the couple disappear into the crowd with a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
“That was… cordial,” Theo said softly.
Hermione nodded, though her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yes. That’s what we are now, I suppose. Cordial.”
Draco’s voice was quiet, measured. “He still respects you I think. It’s in the way he couldn’t quite meet your eyes.”
She gave a soft, sad laugh. “We used to be best friends.”
Theo touched her hand gently, grounding her. “Maybe you still will be again, in a different way. Sometimes friendship just changes shape.”
Hermione looked between them—their quiet understanding, the warmth that had slowly built between the three of them—and exhaled, the ache easing into something gentler. “Maybe it does,” she whispered.
“Another waltz,” Draco said after a while—half question, half invitation.
Hermione set her glass down and glanced between them. “One with the two of you first,” she said to Theo, “then you,” to Draco, “and then we’ll leave them one image they can’t unsee.” Her smile went fox-sharp then, the war strategist in satin. “On our terms.”
So they did: Theo and Hermione, gliding in a line that cut cleanly through the murmurs; Draco and Hermione, a more sinuous sweep that left a hush behind it. And then—when the quartet drifted into a closing phrase—they formed a small axis together in the center of the floor.
No kiss. No theatrics. Just three hands finding one another—hers in Theo’s, Theo’s touching Draco’s shoulder, Draco’s palm settling, unmistakably, at the curve of Hermione’s back as they turned once, twice, in a figure that was simply beautiful.
The cameras flashed, but it felt less like intrusion and more like record.
When the music ended, they stood still for a breath, the room’s applause washing over them in warm, surprised waves. Pansy’s cheer pierced the air; Hagrid whooped; Luna lifted her glass and, without moving her lips, somehow sent Hermione the bright, impossible certainty of this will hold.
They exited the floor together, the heat of dance still in their lungs, the scent of winter roses following like a blessing.
In the corridor beyond the arches, the noise dulled, and the space between them tightened as if it knew they needed a pocket of quiet.
“You were magnificent,” Theo said, almost reverent.
“So were you,” Hermione answered, and felt the truth of it settle in her bones.
Draco’s eyes were darker than the tuxedo black. “We can go back in,” he said, meaning we can do this all night, meaning we can stand the world, meaning we are this now, and all of it read as one thing.
“Five minutes,” Hermione said, voice soft. “Then we go back and finish the story.”
In those five minutes, nothing happened that a camera could sell: no kisses, no declarations. Only the brush of shoulders. Only the way Theo’s thumb circled once at the base of her wrist like a promise to steady. Only the line of Draco’s body angling a fraction closer, enough to block a draft and—perhaps—anything colder than they allowed.
When they returned to the ballroom, the dance welcomed them like a tide and they let it carry them—confident, affectionate, unhurried—until the chandeliers dimmed and the quartet folded their bows.
The countdown echoed through the gilded hall, the last seconds of the old year falling like glitter through light. The ballroom had dimmed for midnight — the chandeliers lowered to a soft, candle-like glow, leaving only the shimmer of starlight from the charmed glass ceiling above. Snow drifted lazily against the wards, each flake catching the reflection of gold and silver fireworks that waited to erupt.
Hermione stood between Theo and Draco near the edge of the dance floor. Around them, laughter rose, champagne glasses clinked, and someone had conjured a floating banner counting down the seconds in elegant, glowing script.
Ten.
Theo’s hand brushed hers — not by accident, but not fully intentional either. His thumb lingered at the inside of her wrist, grounding her heartbeat.
Nine.
Draco was on her other side, his posture perfect, mask of composure barely hiding the quiet tension in his jaw. His cuff brushed her sleeve when he adjusted the glass in his hand, the smallest spark of contact that felt deliberate.
Eight. Seven.
Hermione exhaled slowly, glancing between them — the warmth of Theo’s steadiness, the intensity of Draco’s gaze.
Six.
“I hate countdowns,” Theo murmured, voice low enough that only she could hear. “They make me aware of every heartbeat.”
Five.
Hermione smiled faintly. “Maybe that’s the point.”
Four.
Draco’s voice joined theirs, quiet, rough-edged. “Then make them count.”
Three. Two. One.
Fireworks exploded through the charmed ceiling, bathing the room in bursts of emerald, silver, and gold. Shouts of “Happy New Year!” rippled through the air as the music swelled.
Theo turned to her first. There was no question, no hesitation — just the shared breath of a promise kept. His hand came to her cheek, his kiss soft, reverent, not about hunger but belonging. When he pulled back, his eyes were warm, steady, almost glowing.
Before the air between them could cool, Draco moved closer. His touch was different — precise, lingering, his thumb tracing just below her lip as if memorizing her before daring to lean in. His kiss was feather-light but certain, tasting of champagne and something sharper. When he drew back, there was a storm behind his calm.
Hermione’s heart stuttered, but instead of stepping away, she reached — one hand for Theo, one for Draco. She drew them both in, until all three of them stood together, framed by the falling light.
It wasn’t a kiss of claim or heat — it was something slower, deliberate. Her hands rested against each of their chests, feeling two steady heartbeats and her own between them. Theo bent, brushing his lips to her temple as Draco’s touched her cheek in the same breath, and for one fragile, perfect instant, the three of them met halfway — a soft, shared touch, their foreheads resting together.
The fireworks outside cracked open the sky, green and silver streaks tumbling over the enchanted glass. Someone cheered nearby. The crowd was laughing, toasting, spinning in the music.
But here, in this small circle of quiet light, time seemed to stop.
Theo’s voice was the first to break it, rough but tender. “Happy New Year, Hermione.”
Draco added, softly, “To beginnings.”
Hermione smiled, eyes bright. “To all of us.”
They didn’t need to say anything more. The moment was enough — three hands intertwined, the world finally turning in their favor as the first seconds of the new year unfolded around them, slow and sure as the dawn that waited just beyond the glass ceiling.
Later, when they left beneath a last cascade of flashbulbs, they were still arranged in that same deliberate order: green, silver, black. Inside the Floo’s emerald flare, Hermione caught each of their eyes and saw it mirrored back—heat, yes, but also something steadier, more dangerous in its endurance.
Not scandal. Not spectacle. A beginning.
Notes:
what do you think of this scene?
Favorite part?
Anything you didn't ;like?I did want Ron to not be hateful anymore. I have a few directions I can take him going forward, but I'm undecided honestly.
Chapter 68: Forward Together
Notes:
Fair warning... this is ... alot of smut.
The three of them have been putting in the hard work to grow together, there's still a lot to do, but they're committed to keep trying.
They had such a good week, then amazing night at the gala.
Hermione does really want this for them to move forward, and they're happy to do so.But seriously, get a fan before you read this. It's pretty fire I think...
Turn back now if you didn't notice the explicit warning on the story.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Whispers had followed them all night—curious eyes on the Golden Girl flanked by two reformed Slytherins, Theo Nott with his easy charm and Draco Malfoy with his sharp-edged poise. But now, in the quiet intimacy of their home, the pretense fell away.
Hermione's heart raced as she turned to them in the foyer, her emerald gown shimmering under the soft lights. All night she had been feeling on cloud nine, so happy with how far they’de come since the letter. all together and with each other. The honesty, the affection, the truths spoken.
The last week of sexual tension in the air, combined with this perfect night together had led her to a decision after careful consideration. It wasn’t perfect yet, they all still had a lot fo work to do with each other, and together, but she did trust both of them. They would keep building it all together, hard as it was.
"Come to my room," she said, her voice steady but laced with invitation. Theo's dark eyes lit up with a knowing smile, while Draco's gaze darkened, his lips curving into that trademark surprised smirk. They followed her without a word, the air thickening with anticipation.
In her bedroom, bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights she'd charmed along the walls, Hermione faced them. Theo stepped forward first, his fingers brushing her arm, sending a shiver through her. "You looked stunning tonight, Hermione," he murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips.
It was gentle at first, a lingering brush that deepened as she sighed into him, her hands rising to his chest.
Draco watched for a moment, his breath quickening, before he moved behind her, his hands settling on her waist. "Our little lioness, stealing the show all night," he whispered against her ear, his lips grazing the shell. Hermione turned her head, and Draco captured her mouth next, his kiss firmer, more insistent, but still slow, savoring.
They shared her like that for what felt like an eternity and her heart soared hugher—Theo kissing her deeply while Draco nipped at her neck, then switching, Draco's tongue teasing hers as Theo's hands roamed her back.
Between them, they kissed each other too: Theo tilting his head to meet Draco's lips over her shoulder, a heated, possessive press that made Hermione's knees weaken. The sight of their mouths moving together, tongues flickering, sent a bolt of heat straight to her core. "Godric, you two are beautiful," she breathed, her voice husky.
Hands began to wander. Theo's fingers found the zipper of her gown, tugging it down inch by inch, exposing the bare skin of her back. Draco helped, his palms sliding the fabric off her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet in a whisper of silk.
She stood there in her lace lingerie that Pansy had gifted her, insisting she wear it tonight “Just in case, love”, black and sheer, her nipples already peaking against the fabric from the cool air and their gazes.
"Hermione," Draco groaned, his eyes raking over her. Theo's hands cupped her breasts through the lace, thumbs circling lazily, while Draco knelt to slide her heels off, his lips pressing kisses to her calves as he rose.
They stripped each other next, unbuttoning shirts with deliberate slowness. Hermione's fingers trembled as she undid Theo's tie, pulling it free and tossing it aside, then working on Draco's buttons, revealing the pale, toned expanse of his chest.
Theo shrugged off his shirt, his lean muscles flexing, and Draco followed, his skin warm under her touch. But when her hands dipped to their belts, Theo caught her wrist gently.
"Not yet, darling. First it’s about you." Draco nodded, his eyes gleaming. "Let us take care of you, Granger." The use of her surname surprised her, but it sent an unexpected thrill through her—possessive, teasing, like a reminder of their history turned intimate.
They guided her to the bed, her back sinking into the soft duvet as they loomed over her. Theo unclasped her bra, sliding it away to reveal her breasts, full and flushed.
Draco hooked his fingers into her panties, dragging them down her legs with agonizing slowness, exposing her completely. She lay naked before them, vulnrable and aching, while they remained in their trousers, the outlines of their arousals evident but untouched.
"You're exquisite," Theo whispered, his voice reverent. Draco's hand trailed up her thigh. "So perfect for us."
Before going further, Theo paused, his hand on her hip. "Hermione, darling—are you sure? We want this, but only if you do."
Draco's eyes met hers, intense. "Consent is everything. Tell us what you want."
She nodded, her breath coming in shallow pants. "Yes. Gods, yes. But... no sex tonight. Just... touch me. Make me feel good." They both smiled, relief and shared hunger mingling.
"As you wish, Hemrione." Draco murmured.
Their hands descended then, sensual and unhurried. Theo's fingers traced patterns over her stomach, dipping lower to skim her inner thighs, while Draco's palms cupped her breasts, squeezing gently, his thumbs rolling her nipples into hard peaks.
Hermione arched into their touches, a soft moan escaping her lips.
"You feel so good under our hands," Theo said, his voice low and loving.
"We've dreamed about this, talked about it—sharing you, caring for you like this."
Draco in an emotionally fueled wave leaned down to kiss her collarbone. "You're ours, Hermione. And we're yours. Let us show you how much we treasure you."
As their caresses grew bolder, Hermione felt herself growing wet, her arousal slicking her thighs. Theo's hand brushed her mound, fingers parting her folds gently, finding her already dripping.
"Look at you, so ready for us," he breathed. Draco's mouth found hers again, kissing her deeply as his free hand joined Theo's, teasing her entrance without penetrating.
They kissed each other over her body too—Draco's lips meeting Theo's in a brief, heated clash above her breasts, their tongues tangling before returning to her skin. The sight made her core pulse throb.
Theo shifted lower, settling between her legs, his breath hot against her core.
"May I taste you, love?" he asked, eyes locked on hers. She nodded frantically.
"Please." As Theo's tongue flicked out, lapping at her clit in slow, deliberate strokes, Draco captured her mouth, swallowing her gasps. His kiss was lingering, passionate, his hand in her hair.
Between kisses, he murmured dirty words against her lips. "Fuck, Granger, bet you taste like heaven—Theo's lucky to be down there. Bet you're clenching already, aren't you? So eager for us."
The surname again—Granger—hit her like a spark. She should have found it odd, a throwback to their schoolyard taunts, but gods, it was sexy, the way he growled it, possessive and filthy.
It made her wetter, her hips bucking into Theo's mouth. Theo groaned against her, the vibration sending shocks through her. His tongue circled her clit, sucking gently, then laving her folds.
"You're so sweet, Hermione," he said between licks.
"I love how you respond to us."
As she grew slicker, Theo teased her entrance with a finger, circling before pressing in slowly. She was incredibly tight—after the buildup of the night, her walls gripped him like a vice, fluttering around the intrusion.
"Gods, you're always so tight," he murmured, pumping gently.
"So perfect, wrapping around me like this." Hermione whimpered, the fullness exquisite combined with his tongue on her clit. Draco broke the kiss to watch, his eyes dark.
"Come for us, Granger. Let Theo feel you come undone."
The pleasure built steadily, coiling tight in her belly. Theo's finger curled inside her, stroking that sensitive spot, while his mouth worked her relentlessly.
Draco's hands romed her body, pinching her nipples, whispering, "That's it, Granger—give in to it. You're so fucking hot like this." With a cry, she shattered, her orgasm crashing over her in waves, her inner muscles pulsing around Theo's finger, her body arching off the bed.
Theo eased her through it, then crawled back up, his lips glistening as he kissed her deeply. She tasted herself on him, tangy and intimate, moaning into his mouth.
Draco watched, his hand sliding down to replace Theo's.
"My turn," he said with a wicked sexy grin. His finger traced her slit, then pushed in slowly, feeling her tightness too.
"Fuck, Theo—you're right. She's so tight and hot. Like a velvet glove So lovely." He pumped gently at first, his thumb circling her clit.
Hermione gasped, still sensitive from her release. Draco's eyes met hers, filthy intent in them.
"You like that, Granger? Feeling me inside you? Bet you want more—want to feel fuller, don't you? Stretched just a bit more."
She nodded nervous, biting her lip, the dirty talk making her throb though. But Theo hesitated, his hand on Draco's arm.
"She's too tight, Draco. It'll hurt her—we don't want to push. Let’s make sure this firs time together is nothing but good."
Draco's gaze softened, but his voice stayed low and coaxing.
"She can take it, can't you, Granger? It'll feel so good once you've got it fully sunk inside—two fingers fully filling you up, leaving no empty void to feel hollow, making you ache in the best way. We'll go slow, love. Tell us if it's too much."
Hermione's breath hitched, desire overriding initial caution. "Yes... I want it. Please."
It took time—Draco worked her patiently, his first finger thrusting steadily while he teased her entrance with the second. She was slick, but so tight, her body resisting at first.
"Relax for me, Granger," he murmured, kissing her thigh.
"Breathe—let me in."
Theo helped, his mouth on her breasts, sucking a nipple gently, whispering loving words.
"You're doing so well, Hermione. We enjoy you like this— letting us open you up so well."
Inch by inch, Draco eased the second finger in, the stretch burnig slightly, making her wince. It was uncomfortable at first, a fullness bordering on too much, but as he held still, letting her adjust, the discomfort melted into pleasure.
"There you go," Draco praised. "See, Theo, I knew she could. Taking it so well. Salzar, you're gripping me like you never want to let go."
Once fully seated, he began to move, slow thrusts at first, scissoring gently to stretch her. Hermione moaned, the sensation overwhelming—full, intense, sparking nerves she didn't know she had.
"Gods, yes," she gasped.
Draco's pace quickened as she relaxed, finger-fucking her harder now, his fingers curling to hit that spot deep inside. The wet sounds filled the room, her arousal coating his hand. Theo lavished her breasts, pinching and rolling her nipples eroticaly, his free hand stroking her hair.
"You're beautiful, darling," he said. "Coming apart for us—let it build so you can break."
Draco's dirty talk ramped up as he felt her getting closer, his voice rough.
"Feel that, Granger? Two fingers fucking your tight little pussy—stretching you just right. You're so wet, dripping all over me. Want me to go harder? Make you scream?"
She nodded wildly, hips bucking wildly now to meet his thrusts. He obliged, pumping fast and deep, his thumb pressing her clit in circles. The pressure built rapidly, a tidal wave of ecstasy. Theo sucked harder on her breast, his teeth grazing, and it tipped her over.
She came very hard, her body convulsing, walls clenching rhythmically around Draco's fingers in a vice-like grip.
Stars exploded behind her eyes, her cries echoing as pleasure ripped through her, leaving her trembling and spent. Draco eased her down, withdrawing slowly, while Theo held her close.
They both kissed her—soft, tender presses—whispering how much they adored her, how perfect she was. In the afterglow, wrapped in their arms, Hermione felt completely at ease with them.
Hermione lay sprawled across the bed, her body heavy with the languid afterglow of two shattering orgasms, her skin still flushed and glistening with a fine sheen of sweat.
She watched through half-lidded eyes as Theo and Draco shifted beside her, their attention turning to each other with a familiarity that made her pulse quicken anew, even in her exhaustion. It was mesmerizing—the way they moved, like a dance they'd perfected long before she entered their world.
Her breath came in soft, shallow pants as she propped herself up on her elbows, not wanting to miss a single moment. Gods, they were beautiful together, and the thought of witnessing this intimacy sent a fresh wave of warmth pooling between her thighs, despite her sated state.
Theo reached for Draco first, his fingers deftly unbuckling the blond's belt with a practiced ease, the leather whisperig through the loops. Draco's trousers hung low on his hips already, tented from the arousal he'd ignored while focusing on her.
"I've got you," Theo murmured, his voice low and affectionate, as he tugged the zipper down slowly, deliberately teasing. Draco's eyes darkened, locking onto Theo's with that intense, silver gaze, a small smirk playing on his lips.
He returned the favor, his long fingers popping the button on Theo's pants, sliding them down over the sexy brunet's lean hips. They kicked the garments aside in unison, leaving them both in just their boxers, the fabric strained obscenely over their erections.
Hermione bit her lip, her gaze drifting lower as they hooked their thumbs into each other's waistbands. Theo pulled Draco's boxers down first, freeing him with a gentle tug.
Draco's cock sprang free, long and proud—8.5 inches she’d guess, of smooth, veined length, average in girth but curving slightly upward in a way that promised deep, satisfying penetration some day.
It bobbed heavily, the tip already glistening with pre-cum, flushed a deep pink against his pale skin. Hermione's mouth watered at the sight sursing herself; it was elegant, almost aristocratic, just like him.
Draco didn't hesitate, stripping Theo's boxers away next. Theo's cock was a stark contrast—at least 7 inches long with extreme girth, hick as her wrist, the shaft ridged with veins that pulsed visibly.
At the head, an apadravya piercing glinted under the fairy lights, a silver barbell running vertically through the glans, adding an edge of danger and sexy allure that made Hermione's core clench involuntarily.
It was intimidating, powerful, and she could only imagine how painful it would feel stretching her one day.
Theo groaned softly as the cool air hit him, his length twitching in anticipation.
They knelt facing each other on the bed, close enough that their thighs brushed, their bodies angled slightly toward Hermione so she had a perfect view.
Theo's hand wrapped around Draco's length first, his grip firm but knowing—thumb and forefinger encircling the base where he knew Draco was most sensitive, squeezing just enough to draw a hiss from the blonde's thin lips.
"Like that?" Theo whispered, his other hand cupping Draco's balls, rolling them gently in his palm. It was clear they'd done this before many times; Theo's movements were intuitive, stroking up the full length in a slow, twisting motion that made Draco's hips buck forward.
"Fuck Theo, yes," Draco breathed, his voice rough with need.
He mirrored the action, his elegant fingers enclosing Theo's girthy cock, not able to wrap fully around, starting with a loose grip to accommodate the thickness. He knew exactly how to handle it—pumping from root to tip with a slight squeeze at the head, his thumb brushing over the piercing in a way that made Theo shudder and curse under his breath.
"You always get so hard for me… for us," Draco murmured, his free hand trailing up Theo's chest to pinch a nipple, twisting it just the way Theo liked, eliciting a deep groan.
Hermione watched, transfixed never having ever seen anything like this before, evn in her dreams, her tiredness forgotten as heat built low in her belly again.
The way they touched each other was erotic poetry—hands gliding with familiarity, strokes varying in speed and pressure like they were reading each other's minds. Theo leaned in, capturing Draco's mouth in a deep, sloppy kiss, their tongues tangling as their hands worked faster.
Pre-cum slicked their movements, the wet sounds filling the room, mingling with their heavy breaths and soft moans. Draco's long fingers twisted around Theo's piercing on every upstroke, tugging lightly to send sparks of pleasure-pain through him, while Theo focused on Draco's tip, circling the sensitive slit with his thumb, spreading the bead of fluid there.
"You're close already," Theo teased against Draco's lips, his hand speeding up, the muscles in his forearm flexing with each pump. Draco nodded, his head falling back slightly, exposing the column of his throat.
"Your fault—watching you with her... sweet Merlin." His own hand matched the rhythm, gripping Theo's thickness tighter, stroking in long, firm pulls that made the piercing glint with every motion.
Hermione could see the way Theo's cock throbbed in Draco's grasp, the girth making his knuckles whiten from the effort, but Draco knew the sweet spot—focusing pressure along the underside where a prominent vein ran.
She shifted slightly, her hand drifting between her legs almost unconsciously, rubbing slow circles over her still-sensitive clit as she drank in the sight.
They were so in sync, bodies leaning into each other, foreheads pressing together as their paces quickened. Theo's free hand gripped Draco's hip, pulling him closer, while Draco's tangled in Theo's hair, tugging sharply—a move that made Theo growl and stroke harder.
"Come for me," Draco whispered, his voice filthy and commanding. "Let her see how you fall apart so pretty."
Theo shattered first, his body tensing as he spilled over Draco's hand in thick ropes, the piercing catching the starlight as his cock pulsed. He moaned Draco's name, low and broken, his strokes on Draco faltering but not stopping.
Draco followed seconds later, his long length jerking in Theo's grip, cum spilling hot and white across Theo's fingers and thigh. They rode it out together, hands slowing to gentle caresses, milking every last drop until they were both spent, chests heaving.
Hermione's own fingers stilled without fullfillment, a soft whimper escaping her as she watched them come down, kissing lazily now, cleaning each other with tender touches. They turned to her then, eyes soft and sated, pulling her into their embrace.
"Enjoy the show, love?" Theo asked with a wink, and she could only nod, pulling them both close for a kiss.
Hermione lay nestled between Theo and Draco, her body humming with the afterglow of their shared intensity, though a tender ache pulsed between her thighs from the stretch of Draco’s two fingers and the vigorous way he’d worked her.
She shifted slightly, wincing at the faint soreness, and both men noticed immediately. Theo’s brow furrowed with concern, his hand resting gently on her hip.
“You alright, darling?” he asked, his voice soft and laced with care.
“A bit tender,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing emabrrassed despite the intimacy they’d just shared. “It was… intense.”
Draco sat up, his expression shifting to one of quiet determination.
“I’ve got something for that,” he said, sliding off the bed with a grace that belied the late hour. He disappeared into the bathroom, returning moments later with a small jar of pale, shimmering cream—his own creation, brewed with meticulous care, known for its soothing properties.
“This’ll help,” he murmured, handing it to Theo with a nod.
“You apply it. She trusts your touch more. Plus you’re a trained healer.”
Theo took the jar, his fingers brushing Draco’s in a moment of silent understanding. He scooched closer to Hermione, his demeanor gentle and non-sexual, focused entirely on her comfort.
“Alright, darling, just relax for me,” he said, dipping his fingers into the cool cream. He parted her thighs with the utmost care, his touch feather-light as he applied the cream to her outer folds, soothing the sensitive skin around her entrance.
Hermione sighed, the cooling sensation easing the tenderness instantly. With careful precision, Theo slid just the tip of his finger inside her, no deeper than an inch, spreading the cream gently to alleviate the internal soreness. His movements were clinical yet tender, his eyes checking her face for any sign of discomfort.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much,” she breathed, her body relaxing fully into the mattress. “Thank you.”
Draco settled back on the bed, stretching out beside her, his hand finding hers and squeezing gently.
“We’re figuring this out, aren’t we?” he said, his voice softer than usual, almost vulnerable.
“This… us. Tonight felt right. More than I expected it to. It went so much better tha I imagined it could.”, Hermione shared.
Theo nodded, wiping his hands clean before lying down on her other side, his arm draping across her waist.
“It’s still really new, but it’s going good,” he said, a smile in his voice.
“I love how we’re building this together—learning each other, caring for each other. I want more nights like this.”
Hermione’s heart swelled, the warmth of their words wrapping around her like a blanket.
“I do too,” she whispered, turning her head to kiss Theo’s cheek, then Draco’s.
“I love how safe I feel with you both right now, after that, how… cherished. This is worth every moment of figuring it out.”
They tangled together, limbs entwined, the bed a cocoon of warmth and trust. As their breathing slowed, synchronized in the quiet, they drifted into sleep, Hermione’s tenderness forgotten in the glow of their budding triad, hearts full and futures intertwined.
Notes:
Well... how was that?
Chapter 69: Can You Feel The Love
Chapter Text
Soft winter light filtered through the gauzy curtains of the Nott Manor bedroom, softening the edges of everything it touched. The snow outside reflected the morning sun, casting the room in a quiet glow that felt almost unreal.
Hermione woke first. The world was silent but for the faint crackle of the embers in the hearth. She was warm—wrapped in two strong arms, one across her waist, another draped loosely over her shoulder. For a moment she stayed still, letting the rhythm of two different heartbeats ease the dazed calm that followed the night before.
Theo stirred behind her, his breath brushing the nape of her neck.
“You’re awake,” he murmured, voice low and rough with sleep.
“Mmm,” Hermione managed, a small smile curving her lips. “Barely.”
On her other side, Draco shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. His normally immaculate hair was a tousled mess of silver-gold, and for once, his expression held nothing guarded—only something open, searching.
“You’re all right?” he asked quietly. “Truly?”
Hermione turned enough to see both of them. “I’m more than all right.” Her voice trembled on the edge of laughter and something softer.
“I just… didn’t expect to feel that good honestly.”
Theo let out a long exhale, pressing his forehead to her shoulder.
“Good,” he said. “That’s… that’s good. I was half afraid I’d wake up and find you gone.”
She twisted in his arms just enough to face him. “I promised I’d stop running from things that mattered, remember?”
Draco gave a dry, affectionate sound. “For the record, that’s the most Gryffindor thing anyone’s ever said in my bed.”
Theo smirked. “Technically it’s Hermione’s bed.”
Draco arched an eyebrow. “Semantics, Nott.”
Hermione laughed then—small, genuine, breaking the last of the tension lingering in the room. She reached out, tracing idle circles along Theo’s wrist before glancing to Draco.
“And you?” she asked. “You’re… good with everything? With us?”
For a moment he didn’t answer. His gaze flicked between them, thoughtful, the way he always was when emotion hit too close.
Then he said, simply, “I am. It’s strange, yes, but not wrong. Nothing about last night felt wrong.”
His hand brushed her cheek, almost reverent. “I’ve done a lot of things in my life that left me feeling empty or regret. This wasn’t one of them at all.”
Theo hummed in agreement, eyes soft. “Same. It felt… like the three of us fit, somehow. Not perfect, not easy, but right.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “It did, didn’t it?”
They lay in silence for a few beats, the only sound the quiet winter morning. Theo’s fingers found hers, Draco’s hand resting lightly over both of theirs.
Hermione finally spoke, her voice gentle. “I know we said we’d take things slow. And that’s was still true. But I’m not afraid any more of us not having chemistry together anymore, or it being award in front of one another as a triad.”
Draco gave a small, approving nod. “Nor am I. We should move slow, not overwhelm you. Let our emotional bonds keep growing without rushing this aspect. But, I’m looking forward to where it takes us as we explore.”
Theo kissed her hair, murmuring, “We’ve already done the hard part—choosing this together. The physicality is just going to be the icing on the cake I think if we bake it with right ingredients.”
She smiled between them, a soft ache in her chest that wasn’t pain but wonder. “Then maybe this is what it’s supposed to feel like. The morning after everything changes, but the world feels… better for it.”
They stayed there a while longer, tangled in warmth and quiet conversation, sharing light jokes and confessions that needed no defenses. And when they finally rose—long after the tea had gone cold and the snow outside had melted into diamond frost on the windowsill—they did so with the quiet confidence of people who knew they were on the path to something rare, fragile, and worth protecting.
An hour later the smell of cinnamon and coffee filled the sunlit breakfast room at Nott Manor. Snow drifted outside the tall windows, swirling against the pale morning sky, while the enchanted fire hummed softly in the grate.
Theo sat at the end of the table, hair still a bit mussed, reading through a folder from the hospital. Draco was across from him, sharp even at this early hour, though his shirt was open at the throat and his sleeves rolled up — a rare sight of ease with his dark mark on full display. Hermione entered last, barefoot, curls loose around her shoulders, wearing one of Theo’s sweaters that hung to her knees.
She poured herself tea before sitting between them. There was an unspoken quiet — the kind that happens after something beautiful, when the air itself still remembers it.
Theo caught her eye first and teased. “Sleep all right?”
Hermione returned the look, cheeks pink. “Better than I have in years.”
Draco lifted his cup in mock salute. “A ringing endorsement for shared blankets, apparently.”
She laughed, and the sound loosened something in all of them. For once, the morning felt perfectly, impossibly normal.
Then, with a soft whoosh of feathers, the morning owl swooped through the open window, scattering a few snowflakes onto the tablecloth. It dropped the rolled copy of The Daily Prophet neatly onto Draco’s plate of scrambled eggs before fluttering off again.
He arched an eyebrow. “Let’s see if we were successful in another venture last night… too.”
Theo leaned forward. “I’ll wager it’s going to be full coverage about the gala. They never could resist a headline involving you, Hermione.”
Draco unrolled the paper and froze mid-motion. “Oh. Well…. That’s…”
Hermione frowned. “What?”
He turned it so they both could see. The entire front page shimmered with a moving photograph: the three of them, caught mid-dance under the sparkling chandeliers. The photo showed Draco leading first, Theo’s hand at Hermione’s waist, and Hermione between them — laughing, her eyes bright, her gown flowing like liquid. The image radiated warmth, elegance, and connection; even the enchanted snowflakes falling in the picture seemed to orbit them softly, as if acknowledging their gravity.
Beneath it, in bold enchanted ink, read:
“Love in Balance: The Golden Trio’s Hermione Granger and Her Historic Triad Capture Hearts at Ministry Gala”
By Celestina Crowe, Senior Society Correspondent
For once, the Ministry Gala’s brightest story wasn’t the politics — it was the love story that captivated the entire ballroom.
Hermione Granger, war heroine and pioneering Charms scholar, attended last night’s New Year’s Gala with her officially recognized partners, Healer-in-training Theodore Nott and former Hogwarts Head Boy Draco Malfoy. The trio, registered under the recent Compatibility Decree, appeared for the first time in a formal public event as a bonded triad — and their quiet elegance may just have reshaped how wizarding Britain views love itself.
The group arrived in coordinated hues of silver, green, and black — a nod, some say, to unity across old house divides. Witnesses reported the three sharing laughter and affectionate glances throughout the night, their ease together silencing even the sharpest of skeptics.
“It wasn’t scandalous,” one Ministry staffer admitted. “It was… touching. They looked happy.”
While controversy over the decree continues, public sentiment appears to be shifting. A poll this morning from The Wizarding Times reports that 68% of readers found the triad’s appearance “inspiring.” Even more surprisingly, several Wizengamot members privately remarked that perhaps love — in any form — is the kind of unity the post-war world needs most.
Whatever the politics, one thing is certain: last night, Hermione Granger reminded us all why she has always been a force for change — not through defiance alone, but through grace.
Accompanying photograph courtesy of Prophet photographer Eamon Twigg. Caption: “Nott, Granger, and Malfoy share a midnight waltz — balance, harmony, and hope.”
For a moment, none of them spoke. The only sound was the soft clink of china and the faint crackle of the fire.
Then Theo leaned back in his chair, letting out a low, incredulous laugh. “Did we just get positive press from the Prophet?”
Hermione blinked at the page. “I… think so?”
Draco tilted his head, reading the lines again. “They called me elegant. And didn’t even use ‘former Death Eater’ once. Merlin’s beard, are we sure this isn’t satire?”
Theo grinned. “No, I checked — this is the Society section, not the Quibbler.”
Hermione laughed softly, still staring at the moving photograph. In the enchanted image, she saw not scandal or tension, but them — all the complexity and affection that had somehow found its balance. “I don’t believe it,” she whispered. “They actually… got it right.”
Draco’s voice softened. “For once, they saw what was really there.”
Theo nodded, his tone warm. “Maybe it’s because you looked radiant. You made everyone see what we already knew — that this isn’t wrong. It’s real.”
Hermione’s eyes stung suddenly, but this time from relief, not pain. “After everything — the letters, the gossip, the stares — to read something like this…” She trailed off, shaking her head with a watery laugh. “It feels like I can finally breathe again. And maybe go out in public again.”
Draco reached across the table, brushing his fingers against hers, his usual reserve gentled. “You deserve that, Hermione.”
Theo covered her other hand, his thumb tracing over her knuckles. “We all do. But mostly you.”
The three of them sat there for a long moment, the paper spread open before them like a small miracle. Sunlight spilled across the headline, catching the ink and making it shimmer faintly gold.
Finally, Hermione smiled — a real, luminous smile that reached her eyes. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
Draco arched an eyebrow. “That the Prophet has miraculously developed taste?”
She laughed. “That, and… maybe the world’s starting to see us the way we see ourselves.”
Theo raised his coffee cup in a toast. “To being seen — finally.”
Draco clinked his cup against Theo’s. “To the three of us.”
Hermione lifted hers, voice soft but steady. “To the world — in balance.”
They drank to it together, the sound of their laughter mingling with the gentle hiss of snow melting on the windowpane — the beginning of something whole, something right, and finally, something theirs.
The afternoon light was dim, filtered through a sky that promised snow by evening. The grounds of Nott Manor stretched wide and quiet around them, each tree glittering faintly with frost under the warming charms that shimmered in the air like faint, invisible silk.
Hermione and Theo walked side by side down the familiar path toward the orchard. The air smelled of winter apples and pine; the ground crunched softly beneath their boots. It was the same place he had brought her for her birthday picnic, when everything between them had felt so new — fragile, delicate, blooming. Now, the orchard felt sacred, as though the trees themselves remembered.
Theo’s hand brushed hers once, then again, until finally he took it, fingers sliding through hers in a sure, easy motion. His glove was warm against her bare skin.
“Do you remember that day?” he asked quietly, his breath misting faintly in the cold. “Your birthday? You had crumbs on your lips from the cake and tried to argue that chocolate isn’t technically a breakfast food.”
Hermione smiled, eyes soft. “I remember you pretending not to notice when I dropped my fork.”
He laughed under his breath. “I noticed everything.”
They reached the wooden bench near the center of the orchard — the one he had charmed to stay dry even through frost. It sat beneath the same gnarled tree that had offered them shade in the summer, its bare branches now crystalline with ice.
Theo gestured for her to sit first, then joined her. For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence between them wasn’t awkward; it was heavy with everything unsaid, with the echo of months of shared glances and quiet mornings and the feeling that something inevitable was unfolding.
Hermione turned toward him, her breath visible in the cool air. “You’re quiet,” she said softly.
He looked at her for a long moment before answering, his expression unguarded in a way it rarely was. “I’ve been thinking,” he said finally, “about how everything changed so fast. About how lucky I was that you ever walked into my life in the first place.”
She tilted her head, studying him. “Theo…”
He reached for her hand again, holding it in both of his. “I know the world hasn’t made it easy for us. And I know being with me came with chaos neither of us asked for. But, Hermione—” He paused, his throat working as he searched for words that didn’t sound too rehearsed or too raw. “Every time I think about what my life was before you, it feels… smaller and empty. I feel smaller. You make everything feel worth something. You make me want to be worth something.”
Her breath hitched, and she started to speak, but he shook his head slightly, eyes glinting. “Let me finish, love. Please.”
She nodded, heart pounding.
“I’m not saying this because of what the Ministry expects or because of any bloody decree. I’m saying it because I can’t keep pretending I haven’t known it for a while now.” His thumb brushed over her knuckles, slow and steady. “I love you, Hermione Granger. I love you in ways that scare me — in ways I don’t think I’ll ever stop. You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know.”
For a heartbeat, the orchard held its breath.
Then Hermione smiled — wide, tearful, radiant. “Oh, you silly Slytherin,” she whispered, leaning closer. “Do you really think I wouldn’t love you too?”
Theo froze for half a second, like he didn’t quite believe her. “You—?”
She laughed softly, wiping at a tear before it could fall. “Of course I love you. How could I not? You’ve been my best friend, my home, my constant. You’re patient and infuriating and wonderful.” Her hand slid to his cheek. “And I love you.”
The sound Theo made then wasn’t quite a laugh — it was something quieter, something pulled from his chest like a secret being released. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear that,” he murmured.
He leaned forward, hesitating just long enough for her to close the space between them. The kiss was soft at first, then deeper, warmer — tasting faintly of winter air and relief and all the words they hadn’t said until now. His hand slid to the back of her neck, her fingers curling in his hair, the world narrowing to the sound of their breaths and the thrum of shared heartbeat.
When they finally broke apart, Hermione stayed close, forehead resting against his. “You do realize,” she whispered, “that you’ve just made it impossible for me to ever win an argument again.”
Theo chuckled quietly, voice rough. “Oh, I intend to keep trying anyway. I’d hate to make life too easy for you.”
She smiled against his lips. “You already have.”
The wind rustled the frost-tipped branches above them, sending a soft shimmer of ice through the air like tiny stars. And there, in the quiet heart of the orchard where everything between them had begun, love — real and solid and beautifully imperfect — took root.
By the time Hermione and Theo returned to the manor, the early winter sunset had dipped low, staining the snow outside in shades of violet and gold. The halls were quiet except for the soft crackle of fires burning in every hearth. They’d walked back hand in hand, neither saying much — both wrapped in the quiet certainty of what had just happened between them.
The warmth of the manor hit them as they stepped inside, the scent of cinnamon and old parchment drifting faintly from the library. Hermione still felt the hum beneath her skin — that fluttering, glowing thing that wasn’t nerves anymore but peace.
Draco was in the parlor, sitting near the fire with a book open in his lap. He looked up when they entered, his eyes moving between them with the keen perceptiveness that always seemed to strip away pretense. The way their hands brushed as they walked in, the faint smile Hermione couldn’t hide — he noticed it all instantly.
“Ah,” he said dryly, closing his book. “So that’s what that look means.”
Theo blinked. “What look?”
Draco gestured lazily toward the two of them. “The one where people return from walks in orchards looking like they’ve discovered a new form of magic.”
Hermione blushed, but she didn’t deny it. “It was… a good walk,” she said softly, exchanging a glance with Theo.
Theo smiled at her before turning back to Draco. “You could say that.”
Draco leaned back in his chair, smirking faintly, though there was something softer under the humor. “Go on, then. I’m almost afraid to ask.”
Hermione hesitated only a moment before she crossed the room and sat across from him. Theo stayed beside her, his hand finding hers again as if it belonged there. “We didn’t plan for it to happen today,” she began, “but… it did. We told each other how we feel.”
Draco’s brows lifted slightly. “And how is that?”
Theo’s tone was calm, sure. “I love her.”
Draco’s expression flickered — a quiet, visible pulse of emotion before he masked it again with a faint, almost wistful smile. “Well. That’s… rather momentous.”
Hermione squeezed Theo’s hand, her own voice low but full. “And I love him too.”
Draco’s eyes softened, the faintest hint of envy glimmering there like candlelight behind glass. He looked between them for a long moment before saying, “I’m pleased for you both. Truly.” His voice had a steadiness that didn’t quite hide the ache beneath it. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little jealous, though. But, I expected this soon.”
Theo tilted his head, studying him with quiet understanding. “It’s not something that just happened overnight,” he said gently. “It’s been building since summer — through every moment, every argument, every cup of tea and walk through the orchard. Love takes time… and effort. We’ve had months of that.”
Draco nodded slowly. “And I’m still finding my footing in all of this.” He gave a faint, rueful smile. “It’s strange — I’ve spent half my life learning how not to feel too deeply. Now here I am, trying to learn how to do the opposite.”
Hermione rose from her seat, walking around to stand near him. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? Learning together.” Her voice was soft, coaxing, full of something tender. “You don’t have to rush it. None of us do.”
Draco looked up at her then, really looked — and for a moment the carefully maintained composure slipped. “I hope I can build that with you both someday,” he admitted quietly. “Something real. Something that lasts.”
Theo leaned forward slightly, voice warm. “You already are starting to. You just don’t see it yet.”
Draco blinked, caught off guard. “Am I?”
Theo nodded. “You’ve started to let us in. That’s the hardest part. Everything else will come if we keep choosing each other. Every day.”
Hermione smiled between them, the firelight dancing in her eyes. “He’s right. You’ve already changed so much since last summer, Draco. You’ve let yourself be known. That’s what love is born from — not grand gestures, just being seen.”
For a long while, none of them spoke. The fire popped softly, the snow outside whispering against the windows. Then Draco exhaled, long and slow, a small smile pulling at his mouth. “You two make a rather formidable pair, you know. It’s intimidating.”
Theo laughed under his breath. “Good. We’ll keep you on your toes.”
Draco’s gaze softened again. “You already do.”
Hermione reached out then, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder — the first time she’d touched him that day. “You’ll get there,” she said quietly. “With both of us. In your own way, in your own time.”
For once, Draco didn’t deflect or make a joke. He only covered her hand with his, meeting her eyes. “Thank you. For believing I can.”
Theo watched them, the quiet affection between all three growing thicker in the air — not lust, not even longing, but belonging. He smiled, tired and happy and full of something that felt like home.
The fire burned low, and the night stretched softly around them. It wasn’t perfect — not yet. But it was honest, and for now, that was everything.
Notes:
Things are going so well... too bad it can't stay like that. Trouble will be brewing soon!
What do you think their first fight is going to be about as a triad?
Chapter 70: While The Books Watched
Notes:
The daily grind has Theo and Hermione missing each other, they need to make up for that.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The manor’s library had a kind of hush that only came after dark.
Outside, the snow pressed against the high windows, dimming the world beyond into a silver blur. Inside, only two lamps glowed—their soft amber light pooling over scattered books, parchment, and the faint curl of steam from untouched mugs of tea.
Hermione sat cross-legged at the end of the long table, a quill balanced against her lip as she re-read the same paragraph for the third time. Theo was beside her, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, ink smudged on his wrist. Every so often he’d glance sideways, and she could feel it—the weight of his eyes tracing her face before darting back to his notes.
It had been days since they’d really seen each other. Her long day hours at the Charms institute, his night rotations at St. Mungo’s. They’d exchanged hurried kisses in hallways, sleepy good-mornings before he left, whispered I-miss-you’s in passing. But not this: not quiet, not togetherness.
She exhaled, pushing her notes away. “I can’t think,” she said finally.
Theo set his quill down, teasing. “That’s a first.”
She gave him a look that was meant to be scolding, but her mouth curved despite herself. “You’re insufferable.”
He leaned back in his chair, eyes amused, but his voice softer now. “You’ve just forgotten how to breathe when I’m around. Too much pent of sexual fury I think.”
Hermione froze—half because of the words, half because of the way he said them: low, playful, but edged with truth.
“Perhaps,” she murmured, standing to gather her papers. “Or maybe you’re just distracting.”
Theo rose too, slow, deliberate. He was taller than she remembered when she’d been sitting, the space between them suddenly too small. “I’ve missed distracting you,” he said quietly.
Their hands brushed as they both reached for the same stack of parchment. She felt it like a spark—sharp, then spreading warm. The room seemed to narrow to the sound of their breathing, the flutter of candlelight over shelves of books that had witnessed centuries of secrets.
She met his eyes, meaning to say something light, but whatever it was died on her tongue. His gaze held hers—steady, dark, tender—and her heartbeat tripped over itself.
“Theo…” she whispered, unsure whether it was warning or invitation.
He stepped closer. “Hermione.”
That was all. Her name, said like a promise.
She didn’t back away. He reached up, brushing a curl from her cheek, fingertips grazing her jaw. She felt the air leave her lungs as if the touch had stolen it.
“You’re tired,” he said, though the way his thumb lingered at the corner of her mouth said otherwise. “You should rest.”
“I can’t,” she breathed. “Not when you’re looking at me like that.”
Something flickered in his eyes—affection, restraint, desire—and for a long moment he fought it. Then his control softened, and he leaned down, just enough that their foreheads touched.
The world went still.
When he finally kissed her, it was careful at first—testing, reacquainting, remembering. But the separation of the last week poured into it quickly: days of missing each other, of wanting, of every unspoken thought that didn’t fit into notes left besides tea cups or hurried touches passing in the halloway.
Her hands found the edge of his shirt; his fingers slid to the back of her neck, drawing her closer. The kiss deepened, then slowed again, like they were both afraid to shatter the fragile peace of the moment.
Theo broke away first, breathing unevenly, eyes half-lidded but gentle. “Merlin, I missed you.”
Hermione smiled, her lips still tingling. “I noticed.” She dove back in for another.
The kiss deepened, turning urgent, and Hermione felt the hard length of him pressing against her hip through his trousers. A thrill shot through her—bold, uncharacteristic for her, but with Theo, she felt safe, alive, daring.
She broke the kiss, her breath ragged, and glanced around the empty library. "We're alone, Draco’s out," she whispered, her hand sliding down his chest, over the ridges of his abs, to the buckle of his belt. "Let me... let me touch you."
Theo's eyes darkened, his pupils blowing wide with desire. "Hermione... merlin, yes. But only if you're sure." His voice was rough, but his touch was gentle as he guided her hand lower, pressing her palm against the growing bulge. She nodded enthusiastically, her core aching at the feel of him—hot and hard beneath the fabric.
With trembling fingers, she unbuckled his belt, the metallic clink echoing softly in the quiet space. She tugged his zipper down, slipping her hand inside his boxers to free him. Gods, he was impressively intimidating, so very thick and heavy in her grasp, the shaft veined and pulsing.
At the tip, his apadravya piercing glinted in the moonlight, the silver barbell adding an exotic, forbidden edge that made her mouth water and her thighs clench for reasons unknown. Pre-cum beaded at the slit, slicking her fingers as she wrapped her hand around him—or tried to; her fingers didn’t meet each other around his meaty thickness.
"Fuck, love," Theo groaned, his head falling back against the bookshelf, eyes half-lidded as he watched her. "Your hand feels so good. Stroke me—slow at first. Let me feel every inch of your hand gliding."
Hermione obliged, her grip firm but tentative, sliding her hand up and down his length in long, deliberate strokes. The skin was velvet-soft over steel, hot and throbbing under her touch.
She twisted her wrist slightly on the upstroke, her thumb brushing over the piercing, tugging it gently. Theo hissed, his hips jerking forward. "Yes, just like that. Gods, Hermione, you're a natural. You learned all this just from watching Draco do it? Look at you—my clever witch."
She pumped him faster, her other hand cupping his balls, rolling them gently in her palm. They were heavy, drawn tight against his body, and he moaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through her.
Pre-cum leaked steadily now, coating her fingers, making her strokes slick and obscene. The wet sounds filled the library, mingling with Theo's ragged breaths and her own soft whimpers.
She was soaked, her panties damp against her folds, but this was about him tonight—watching him unravel under her touch.
"Tighter, darling," he rasped, his hand covering hers to guide the pressure. "Squeeze me—fuck, yes. Feel how thick I am? Imagine this stretching you one day, making you feel so good, then I’d cum, filling you up even more."
His dirty words sent a jolt straight to her clit, and she rubbed her thighs together for friction, her strokes turning more confident, faster. She focused on the head, circling the piercing with her thumb, flicking it lightly, drawing out beads of pre-cum that she smeared down his shaft.
Theo's control frayed, his muscles tensing, abs flexing as he thrust into her fist. "Hermione... I'm close. Don't stop—make me come. Want to see it all over your pretty little hand." His voice was wrecked, affectionate and filthy lost in his desire, his free hand tangling in her curls, pulling her in for a messy kiss.
She twisted her wrist on every downstroke, milking him relentlessly, her grip slick and unyielding around his girth. Theo shattered with a guttural groan, his cock pulsing in her hand as thick ropes of cum spilled over her fingers, hot and sticky, splattering her wrist and the floor. He came hard, body shuddering, whispering her name like a prayer.
As he came down, panting, he pulled her close, kissing her forehead. "You're incredible, love," he murmured, cleaning them both with a quick charm. But the spark in his eyes promised more—much more— for another day.
Hours later, the fire had burned low and the snow had stopped. The library smelled of old paper, tea, and something warmer—something like them. And though nothing more passed between them than whispered words and the press of their hands, the room itself had absorbed their longing and promised to keep it safe until they were ready for more.
Notes:
Hermione's always been a fast learner =P
Chapter 71: Help Yourself
Notes:
Draco is going to help them all out, in ways Theo has been too nervous to.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The dining room of Nott Manor glowed with candlelight and laughter — the kind of easy, domestic warmth none of them would have believed possible a year ago. A winter storm had rolled in just before sunset, painting the windows in swirling white. Inside, everything was gold: the polished table, the flicker of the fire, the blush of the wine in their glasses.
Blaise had insisted on bringing a crate of his newest vintage — Villa Zabini Rosso Wintere — and he poured generously. “If you two intend to scandalize the entire country at galas,” he said lightly, “you may as well do it over a proper bottle.”
Pansy, elegant in black silk and diamonds, leaned her chin on one hand and looked far too pleased with herself. “Exactly. If the Prophet wants to paint a picture of forbidden passion, the least you can do is live up to it.”
Hermione groaned, setting down her fork. “Pansy—”
“Oh, don’t Pansy me,” her friend interrupted, waving her fork. “You’ve been positively glowing for weeks. The whole wizarding world is dying to know whether that’s happiness, magic, or…” her eyes glinted mischievously, “…something more physical.”
Draco choked on his wine. “Merlin’s sake, Pansy.”
Blaise sighed. “Love, you promised to behave for at least one course.”
“I am behaving,” she said sweetly. “I’m asking perfectly reasonable questions of my closest friends.”
Hermione felt her cheeks heat. “We’re not a gossip column.”
“No,” Pansy said, tilting her head, “but you are a legend. You and Theo and Draco — the Ministry’s favorite miracle match. Tell me you at least realize the symbolism: the Golden Girl and the reformed Slytherins, healing the post-war divide through—”
“Dinner,” Blaise cut in firmly. “They’re healing the divide through dinner.”
Laughter rippled around the table, easing the tension a little. Hermione tried to focus on her plate, but Pansy’s gaze stayed sharp, affectionate, relentless.
“You’re happy, though?” Pansy asked softly, all the teasing gone from her voice.
Hermione looked up, meeting her friend’s eyes. The question landed deeper than she expected. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “Yes, I am.”
Pansy smiled, then tilted her head. “With Theo, or—”
Hermione drew a breath, steadying herself. “With them,” she said finally. “But… Theo and I—” her eyes flicked toward Draco, who was watching her carefully “—we’ve told each other we love one another.”
The words hung in the air like candle smoke. Blaise’s eyebrows rose; Draco’s glass paused halfway to his lips. Pansy’s mouth curved into something that was both smug and tender.
“Oh, I knew it,” she breathed. “You always looked at him like he’d hung the stars.”
Hermione laughed weakly. “You’re impossible.”
Pansy wasn’t done. “And what does that mean,” she pressed, “for you and Draco? Or for Theo and Draco? If one part of the triangle is in love, the other corners can’t stay straight forever.”
“Pansy,” Blaise warned, but she waved him off.
Draco set down his glass with deliberate calm. “It means,” he said, voice measured, “that love doesn’t have to be a competition.”
Hermione glanced at him — grateful and a little startled. He met her gaze, eyes cool silver in the firelight. “They love each other,” he said simply. “I’m glad of it. It gives me something to aspire to.”
For a moment, the table went quiet. Even Pansy softened.
“That,” Blaise murmured, topping off everyone’s wine, “might be the most mature thing any of us have ever heard Draco Malfoy say.”
Draco’s mouth twitched. “Don’t make a habit of it.”
Pansy smiled slyly. “So you’re all still… finding your rhythm.”
Hermione nodded, grateful for the shift in tone. “Exactly. It’s… complicated, but it feels right. We’re learning how to be honest — with each other, with ourselves. It’s not about who’s first or second or who has more of anything. It’s about balance and harmony.”
Theo’s absence pressed faintly between them — his warmth missing from the conversation — but the thought of him steadied her. She looked across at Draco, who gave her a small, knowing smile, one that said we’re all learning together.
Blaise raised his glass. “Then here’s to balance,” he said. “And to impossible stories somehow turning out all right.”
They all drank. Even Pansy looked a little misty-eyed.
As the evening wore on, the teasing returned — gentler now, cushioned with affection. Blaise and Pansy bickered fondly over dessert; Draco relaxed enough to laugh. When the clock in the hall struck eleven and the fire had burned low, Pansy rose, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s cheek.
“You know,” she murmured, “for all my meddling, I am proud of you. You deserve a love that doesn’t fit into anyone else’s idea of normal.”
Hermione smiled, touched. “That’s exactly what I’ve found.”
When the Zabinis finally left through the floo, Hermione and Draco lingered by the fire a moment longer. The manor felt very quiet again, but the warmth of laughter still lingered.
Draco looked toward the door where Pansy had vanished and shook his head with a faint smile. “She’s never going to stop prying.”
“Probably not,” Hermione agreed.
He poured the last of the wine into her glass and handed it to her. “Still,” he said softly, “she’s not wrong. What you and Theo have — it gives the rest of us something to build toward.”
Hermione’s pulse jumped, but she only smiled, raising the glass in silent acknowledgment. The firelight flickered between them, golden and unhurried, and for a long moment they just stood there — two corners of something fragile but growing stronger every day.
Theo was running late from his shift at the hospital—something about a last-minute curse-breaking consultation—so Draco had taken Hermione's hand after dessert, leading her upstairs with a casual, "Come on, Granger. Let's wait for him in comfort."
She'd followed without protest, her fingers interlaced with his, a quiet contentment settling over her after a long day.
They kicked off their shoes and settled onto his massive four-poster bed, the silk sheets cool against their skin. Draco pulled her into his arms, her back against his chest as they spooned lazily, his chin resting on her shoulder. His hand traced idle patterns on her arm, not demanding, just present.
"So, tell me about your classes," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her. "You've been buried in those Charms of Arithmancy texts all week. Going well?"
Hermione smiled, twisting slightly to glance at him. "Better than expected, actually. Professor Pilor's been pushing us on advanced rune integrations—it's challenging, but I'm top of the class again. Feels good to be back in academia after everything."
She nestled deeper into him, her body relaxing as his arm draped over her waist. They talked like that for what felt like hours, though it was probably only twenty minutes—her animated descriptions of theorems, his dry wit interjecting with questions that showed he was genuinely listening. It was easy, intimate, the kind of conversation that made her feel seen beyond the war hero facade.
But as the words slowed, the atmosphere shifted. Draco's hand slid from her arm to her hip, his fingers splaying possessively, pulling her closer until her ass pressed against his growing hardness.
Hermione's breath hitched, a spark igniting low in her belly. She turned in his arms, facing him now, her eyes meeting his stormy gray ones. "Draco..." she whispered, and that was all it took. He captured her lips in a kiss that started slow but built like a storm—passionate, hard, his mouth claiming hers with a hunger that made her toes curl.
His tongue swept in, tangling with hers in a fierce dance, teeth nipping at her lower lip as he rolled her onto her back, hovering over her without breaking contact. Hermione moaned into his mouth, her hands fisting his shirt, pulling him down until his weight pinned her deliciously to the mattress.
The kiss was messy, urgent—lips bruising, breaths mingling in hot gasps. Draco's hand cupped her breast through her blouse, squeezing firmly, his thumb circling her nipple until it hardened under the fabric.
She arched into him, her legs parting instinctively to cradle his hips, feeling the rigid length of him grind against her core. It was heated, raw, their bodies moving in sync as if they'd been starved for this connection.
Finally, they broke apart, both panting, foreheads pressed together. Hermione's lips were swollen, tingling from the intensity. "Gods, Draco," she gasped, a small smile curving her mouth.
"I love how you treat me like I'm not made of glass. Physically, I mean. You're not afraid to... to be rough, to let me feel it all."
Draco chuckled softly, brushing a curl from her face, his expression a mix of affection and lingering heat.
"Why would I? You're strong, Hemrione. Always have been. I know you can handle it—and you will tell me if you can't." He rolled to his side, pulling her with him so they faced each other, legs entwined.
She traced his jaw with her fingers, thoughtful. "Theo's different. I love him, and he knows my body so well. But, he's always so concerned, so wary of hurting me. Like the night at the gala—he almost stopped you from... well, you know. It's sweet, but sometimes I wish he'd just... go for it more."
Draco's eyes softened, but there was a shadow there, a depth born from their shared past. "It's not that he doesn't want to, Hermione. Consent means everything to us—both of us. We've seen... things. With the Death Eaters, back then. Awful, violating shit that no one should witness, let alone be part of. It fucked us up, made us swear we'd never assume, never take without knowing it's wanted. Every touch, every step—we need to hear it from you. It's not just about protecting you; it's about respecting you."
She nodded, her heart aching for the boys they'd been. "I get that. I do. And I appreciate it more than you know. But with Theo... it's more than that, isn't it? Your not as careful. He's extra careful with me."
Draco sighed, his hand stroking her back in soothing circles. "Yeah. You're tight, love— incredibly so—and inexperienced. Things could hurt if we're not slow, if you're not properly prepared physically. Arousal helps, but it's about more than just that. Stretching, relaxing... we don't want to cause you pain, even accidentally."
He paused, his gaze intense. "And long-term, Theo's worried about himself. He's thick—extremely so. With that piercing... it could be too much if you're not ready. He doesn't want to make it uncomfortable for you, or gods forbid, turn you off the idea altogether."
Hermione felt a flush creep up her neck, but she didn't look away. "I've... noticed. But Draco, you've been with virgins before, right? Am I really that different?"
He nodded, his thumb brushing her cheek. "A few, yeah. And it's true—you're particularly tight. It's not a bad thing; it's fucking hot as fyedefire, actually. Makes everything feel intense for all of us. But it means we have to be more patient. All three of us can work on it—preparing you, building up slowly—so someday you can take Theo inside with nothing but pleasure. Stretching exercises, more play like the gala night... we'll get there."
She bit her lip, curiosity and a spark of arousal stirring. "What... what could help? Besides what we've been doing?"
Draco's eyes darkened slightly, but his tone stayed gentle. "One thing that might— if you want to—is self-pleasuring. Masturbating. Theo said you don’t really like to do that. But, it helps you get to know your body, learn what feels good, and over time, it can make things easier, more relaxed down there. No pressure, though it’s your body, only you get to decide how to touch it."
Hermione hesitated, her cheeks burning. "I've... never really done that. Alone, I mean. It feels weird, like I don't know what to do. And I've never wanted to enough to try."
He smiled, reassuring, his hand squeezing hers. "That's okay. A lot of people feel that way at first. But if you want, I can help teach you. Guide you through it. No expectations—just you exploring, with me here if you want that."
She searched his face, seeing only sincerity and that underlying heat that made her core clench. "Okay. Yeah... I'd like that."
Draco kissed her forehead, then shifted them so she was propped against the pillows, him sitting beside her. He helped her shimmy out of her skirt and panties, leaving her blouse on for comfort, her lower half exposed but not giving additional vulnerability.
"Alright, love. Start slow. Touch yourself wherever feels good—your thighs, your stomach. Get comfortable."
Hermione's hand trembled as she trailed her fingers over her inner thigh, the skin sensitive. Draco watched, his voice low and encouraging. "That's it. Now, higher—brush over your mound. Feel how soft you are." She did, a soft gasp escaping as hr fingers grazed her folds, already slightly damp from their earlier makeout session.
"Good girl," he murmred, his tone turning sexy, and dirty in that way that made her core throb. "Spread your legs a bt more for me, Hermione. Let me see that pretty pussy. Now, part your lips—feel how wet you're getting? That's all for you, love. Circle your clit gently—yeah, like that. Slow circles, feel that spark?"
She nodded, her breath quickening as she found the swollen nub, rubbing tentatively. It felt good—electric, building warmth. "Draco... it tingles."
"Fuck, yeah it does," he growled softly, his eyes locked on her hand. "You're so responsive. See how much wetter your getting? Keep going—dip a finger lower, tease your entrance. Feel how tight you are? But don't push in yet. Just play there, get nice and slick."
Hermione moaned, her finger circling her opening, gathering wetness and spreading it up to her clit. The sensation was new with her own hand, intimate, her hips shifting restlessly.
Draco leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. "Look at you, Granger—touching yourself like a naughty little witch. Does it feel good? Tell me."
"Yes," she whimpered, her strokes speeding up, rubbing her clit in firmer circles. "So good... but I want more."
"Greedy, aren't you?" he teased, his voice husky. "Slide a finger inside now—slowly. Feel yourself clench around it. Fuck, imagine that's my cock or Theo’s someday, stretching you just right."
She pushed in, gasping at the tightness, her walls fluttering. It was fuller than she expected having smaller fingers than the boys, but pleasurable, especially as she curled her finger experimentally.
"That's my girl," Draco praised, his hand resting on her thigh, not touching her directly but grounding her. "Pump it in and out—add another if you can. Get yourself off, love. Rub that clit harder—yeah, fuck yourself with those fingers. You're dripping—so wet and tight. Come for me."
The dirty words pushed her higher, her brain singing, her hand moving faster—two fingers now in, a bit easier to insert herself because of their much smaller size that the boys, thrusting shallowly while her thumb worked her clit relentlessly. Pleasure coiled tight, her body tensing. "Draco... oh gods, I'm—"
"Come, Hermione," he commanded softly, sexy and commanding. "Let go—show me how you fall apart. Let your pussy pulse."
She shattered with a cry, her inner muscles pulsing around her fingers, waves of ecstasy crashing through her. It was intense, different—empowering. As she came down, panting, Draco pulled her into his arms, kissing her temple.
"Beautiful. You did so well." They cuddled like that, falling asleep together.
Notes:
I'm finalizing the wedding chapter. Anyone have thoughts on the type of dress Hermione should buy?
Chapter 72: Say Sorry
Notes:
Again, this is the reason this fic is explicit rated =P
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Snow pressed against the tall windows again—silent, endless—and Hermione sat at the parlor table, quill scratching over parchment as she reread the owl from Viktor.
It was simple, polite:
In London for a week, would love to catch up, dinner at the Leaky?
A friend, nothing more. A familiar voice from another life.
She’d written back yes, without thinking twice.
Now, hours later, the fire crackled low and uneasy. Theo was reading on the couch, half-asleep after his rotation. Draco stood near the fireplace, sleeves rolled, glass of brandy in hand, his eyes occasionally flicking toward her as if measuring a storm he already felt coming.
When she finally said, “I’ll be at the Leaky tomorrow evening, Viktor’s in town,” the quiet shattered.
Draco’s glass hit the table harder than necessary. “You’re having dinner with him? Alone?”
Hermione looked up, startled. “Yes, Draco. He’s an old friend.”
His voice was deceptively calm. “An old boyfriend, wasn’t he?”
Theo’s book closed softly. “Draco—”
But Draco didn’t stop. “Do you think that’s appropriate, Hermione? You—out to dinner with the man you dated—without either of us?”
Her heartbeat quickened. “It’s not a date,” she said carefully. “It’s dinner between friends. You and Theo both have female friends.”
“That’s different.”
“How exactly?” Her tone sharpened. “Because you were the one in the Prophet last month having lunch with Daphne Greengrass, and I didn’t hex you for it! Because I knew she’s wasn’t a threat and just needed to talk about memories of her sister! And because I trust you not to be an idiot… but maybe the idiot part was wrong!”
Draco flinched, but his jaw set. “You didn’t have to watch the entire wizarding press dissect your every move either. We’re already under a microscope, Hermione—every glance, every rumor—and now you want to stroll through Diagon Alley with the man who once kissed you?”
Theo rose quietly from the couch. “All right,” he said, voice low, steadying. “Let’s all breathe before this turns into—”
Hermione stood too. “You don’t get to decide who I speak to, Draco. I’ve lived through a war. I’ve faced worse than jealous whispers.”
“That’s not the point!” His voice cracked like a whip. “You think I care what they say? I care what it looks like. I care that it’s him.”
Theo stepped between them, palms lifted. “Draco—mate—she’s not doing anything wrong. She’s allowed to have friends. Your being a bit over protective.”
Draco turned on him, incredulous. “And you’re fine with this? You, of all people, don’t see a problem?”
Theo met his gaze evenly with confidence. “I trust her.”
The words hung there—quiet, absolute.
Draco’s shoulders stiffened. His anger wasn’t cold anymore; it burned. “That’s noble,” he bit out, “but maybe a little naive.”
Hermione’s eyes flashed. “You don’t trust me?”
He hesitated, and that pause hurt worse than an answer.
Theo sighed. “Draco—this isn’t about trust. It’s about fear. You get possessive when you’re scared and care about someone. We both know that.”
Draco’s voice dropped, low and frayed. “I nearly lost everything once. Fuck, I did loss some things! Forgive me if I don’t like the idea of losing what little I’ve built back and one of only two things keeping me sane in this world.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “Then you need to learn the difference between caring for someone and owning them.”
The air felt charged, crackling between the three of them. Draco’s eyes—storm-grey and raw—met hers. For a heartbeat, there was something like apology there. But pride won first.
He turned sharply away. “I can’t do this tonight.”
“Draco—” Theo started, but he was already moving toward the floo.
“Don’t,” Draco snapped, the sound more wounded than cruel. He grabbed his cloak, voice hoarse. “I’ll be at the manor. Maybe a night away will keep me from saying something I can’t take back.”
The flames swallowed him before either of them could stop him.
The silence afterward was deafening. The clock ticked. The fire hissed. Hermione pressed her hands to her eyes, trying to steady her breathing.
Theo crossed to her slowly, kneeling beside the chair. “Hey,” he said softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Her voice was small, brittle. “Then why does it feel like I did?”
“Because you care,” he said simply. “And because he does too—too much, sometimes. That’s his curse.”
Hermione woke late, the winter light thin and gray across the duvet.
The other half of the bed was cold. Theo’s side — empty.
For a moment she just lay there, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts heavy and unfocused. The echo of last night’s argument still rang in her chest: Draco’s sharp tone, her own raised voice, Theo’s quiet attempts to mend what was unraveling between them.
She drew a deep breath, then another, forcing her heartbeat to slow. The manor was quiet; even the owls were still. She slipped out of bed, wrapping a robe around herself, and padded down the hall.
The fire in the parlor had burned to embers. On the table, the empty decanter from last night gleamed faintly in the pale light.
She was halfway to the kitchen when the sound of the floo startled her. Emerald light flared — and out stepped Theo first, brushing soot from his sleeve, followed by Draco, looking pale and drawn but sober.
Hermione froze.
Theo met her eyes first — calm, reassuring — the same way he looked at skittish patients before an injection. “Morning,” he said quietly. “We brought coffee.”
Draco’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Peace offering,” he said, holding up a paper bag from the bakery in town. “They were Theo’s idea.”
Hermione crossed her arms, not trusting her voice yet. “You left.”
“I know.” Draco’s tone was low. “I shouldn’t have.”
Theo gestured toward the sitting area. “Let’s all sit before anyone starts shouting again, yeah?”
They sat — Draco in the armchair nearest the fire, Hermione on the sofa, Theo between them like the human version of a truce flag. For a while, no one spoke. Only the soft hiss of the logs filled the room.
Finally Theo said, “Draco came back because he doesn’t want this hanging over us. Right?”
Draco nodded once, staring into his coffee. “Right.”
Hermione waited, guarded. “Then say what you need to.”
He exhaled, shoulders slumping. “You’re right,” he said finally. “I was jealous. Not because I think you’d do anything wrong, but because the idea of someone else looking at you the way I do—” He broke off, shaking his head. “It makes me… irrational.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
“I know.” His voice was quiet, roughened by exhaustion. “But when you said Viktor wanted dinner, it wasn’t logic I heard. It was… every old fear I’ve got stitched under my skin.”
Theo leaned back, watching the two of them carefully. “Say it plain,” he said gently. “You’re scared.”
Draco gave a humorless laugh. “Terrified. Of losing her. Of not deserving either of you. Pick a fear.”
Hermione felt the anger in her drain away, leaving something tender and raw. “Draco…” she started, but he held up a hand.
“Let me finish,” he said. “I do trust you. I just don’t always trust the world around us. It’s hard to remember you chose this — us — when I still think about how easily everything else in my life fell apart.”
Theo reached for the pot and poured more coffee for all of them, the motion giving them something steady to focus on. “You’re both hurting for the same reason,” he said. “Because you love and you’re scared to lose it. That’s all jealousy ever is.”
Hermione nodded slowly, eyes on the rim of her cup. “Maybe,” she said softly. “But if we’re going to make this work, we can’t let fear dictate our choices. I need to be able to have friends, Draco. To live my life outside of us.”
Draco met her gaze at last. “I know. And you should go see him.”
The words hung there, fragile but real.
Theo smiled faintly. “So… we call this truce number one?”
Draco exhaled a shaky breath. “Truce.”
Hermione hesitated, then reached across the coffee table. Draco took her hand without resistance, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. The contact was tentative but warm, and for the first time since the argument, the air felt lighter.
“I’ll go,” she said quietly. “To dinner with Viktor. But I’ll come home right after.”
Draco’s lips curved, tired but genuine. “Go,” he said. “Be brilliant. Just… send an owl if you’re going to be later tham 10pm so I don’t worry myself sick someone kidnapped you.”
Theo stood, clapping a hand on Draco’s shoulder before leaning down to kiss Hermione’s hair. “Look at us,” he murmured, half teasing. “Functioning adults.”
She laughed a little through the remnants of her tears. “Barely.”
Draco looked at Theo then, something unspoken passing between them — gratitude, apology, affection, maybe all of it. “You’re good at this,” he said quietly. “Keeping the peace.”
Theo shrugged. “Someone has to make sure the house doesn’t explode.”
Hermione squeezed Draco’s hand once more before letting go. “Thank you,” she whispered to both of them.
Draco shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
The tension that had haunted the manor for twenty-four hours finally broke, replaced by the quieter weight of understanding. Outside, the snow was beginning to melt, the light shifting toward gold.
Theo poured them each another cup, passing them around like a ritual of healing. “All right then,” he said with a tired grin. “To better mornings.”
They clinked their cups together — porcelain instead of champagne, but somehow more honest — and for the first time since the fight, the triad felt steady again. Imperfect, still learning, but whole.
Later that evening when Hermione came home from meeting Krum, neither man brought it up. They both trusted her to tell them if anything was out of the ordinary. When she came through the floo, instead they rushed her to Theo’s room with promises of fun and pleasure.
When the door to Theo's bedroom clicked shut behind them, the sound barely audible over the heavy breaths and soft laughter that filled the air. Hermione's heart raced as Theo pulled her close, his lips crashing against hers in a fierce, claiming kiss, while Draco pressed in from behind, his hands already roaming her sides, grinding his hardening cock against her ass.
"Merlin, I've wanted this all night," Theo growled against her mouth, his fingers deftly unbuttoning her blouse, exposing the lace bra beneath. Hermione moaned, her hands fumbling with his shirt, yanking it open to reveal the lean, toned planes of his chest. Draco wasn't idle—his mouth latched onto her neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, as he tugged at Theo's belt with one hand and Hermione's skirt zipper with the other.
Clothes flew in a frenzy: Hermione's blouse hit the floor, followed by Theo's shirt; Draco shrugged off his own, his pale skin flushed with arousal. Passion overtook them like a wildfire—hands everywhere, lips bruising, bodies pressing in a tangle of need.
Hermione's skirt pooled at her feet, leaving her in matching lace panties and bra, her nipples straining against the fabric. Theo groaned, palming her breasts roughly as he kicked off his trousers, his thick cock already tenting his boxers.
Draco stripped down to his own boxers, his large length curving upward, hard and leaking at the tip through his boxers. They turned on each other then—Theo yanking Draco's boxers down, freeing that long, veined shaft, while Draco returned the favor, exposing Theo's girthy beast, the apadravya piercing glinting menacingly.
Hermione's breath caught at the sight, her core throbbing aready as she slipped out of her bra, her full breasts bouncing free. The men devoured her with their eyes, but she wasn't done—hooking her thumbs into her panties, she shimmied them down, kicking them aside to stand naked before them, her folds already glistening with arousal.
"Fuckin Merlin, look at you both," Draco rasped, his voice thick with lust as he pulled Hermione in for a sloppy kiss, his tongue fucking her mouth while Theo pressed against her back, his thick cock nestling between her ass cheeks.
They were a whirlwind—kissing, groping, stripping the last barriers until all three were bare, skin slick with sweat, cocks throbbing, Hermione's pussy dripping down her thighs. Theo's hands squeezed her ass, spreading her cheeks as he ground against her, while Draco's fingers dipped between her legs, teasing her clit in a quick rub that made her whimper.
In a surge of dominance, Draco lightly pushed Hermione onto the bed, her body bouncing softly on the silk sheets. She landed on her back, legs splayed, her breasts heaving as she looked up at them with wide, hungry eyes.
Draco smirked, his gaze flicking to Theo, who stood there stroking his massive girth slowly, the piercing catching the light. "Well, Granger," Draco drawled, climbing onto the bed beside her, his hand trailing up her thigh. "Don't you think we should thank Theo properly? For playing peacekeeper earlier—keeping the family from imploding so we could make it through this?”"
Hermione nodded eagerly, her pulse thundering as she eyed Theo's cock, thick and rather intimidating. "Yes... he deserves it. We both do, for him."
Draco's eyes darkened with filthy intent, his hand wrapping around Theo's base, giving it a slow pump that made the brunet hiss. "Good girl. As a thank you, I'm going to suck him off—swallow that fat cock until he explodes down my throat. And it'll give you some visual aid for your thank you."
He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "You should show Theo that new skill you learned. Let him watch you fuck yourself with those pretty fingers while I deepthroat him."
Theo's brow furrowed in confusion, his cock twitching in Draco's grip as he stepped closer to the bed. "New skill? What are you two on about?"
Hermione flushed, but the heat in her core overrode any shyness. She spread her legs wider, her hand drifting down to her mound, fingers teasing her slick folds. "Draco... he taught me how to get myself off. One night, when you were late. I wanted to learn, and... gods, Theo, I want to show you."
Theo's eyes widened, then heated with raw excitement, his thick shaft pulsing as pre-cum beaded at the tip, catching on his piercing. "Hermione... you don't need to do that for me. Fuck, love, that's—"
"I want to," she interrupted, her voice breathy and insistent. "I want you to see me come undone like this. Please... watch me."
Theo groaned losing his mind, his resistance crumbling. "Salazar, yes. I'm excited— so fucking excited to see you touch that tight little pussy." He knelt on the bed beside her, his hand cupping her breast, thumb rolling her nipple as Draco positioned himself between Theo's legs, on his knees at the edge of the bed.
It happened simultaneously, the room filling with the wet, obscene sounds of their pleasure. Draco wasted no time—his mouth descended on Theo's cock, lips stretching comically wide around the extreme girth.
"Fuck, Theo, you're so thick," Draco mumbled around the head, his tongue flicking the piercing, tugging it lightly to send shocks of pleasure-pain through Theo. He sucked the tip first, hollowing his cheeks, tasting the salty pre-cum before sliding down, taking inch after thick inch into his throat.
Theo's hips bucked, his hand tangling in Draco's blond hair, guiding him deeper.
"That's it, suck me like the bad boy you were today," Theo growled, his voice wrecked.
Draco hummed in approval, the vibration making Theo's balls tighten, as he bobbed his head, throat relaxing to deepthroat him fully—nose buried in Theo's pubes, gagging slightly but clearly loving it.
At the same time, Hermione's fingers delved into her folds, parting her lips to expose her swollen clit.
"Watch me, Theo," she moaned, circling the nub slowly at first, her hips lifting off the bed.
"See how wet I am? Draco taught me this—how to rub my clit just right, make myself drip."
Her other hand joined, a finger teasing her entrance, pushing in shallowly. She was still so tight, her walls clenching around the digit as she pumped it in and out, adding a second with a pained shuddering gasp.
"Fuck, it feels so good... imagining it's you stretching me."
Theo's eyes darted between them, his breath ragged as Draco worked him relentlessly—sucking hard, one hand stroking the base he couldn't fit, the other fondling Theo's heavy balls, rolling them and tugging.
"Gods, Hermione... you're so fucking sexy like that - show me how you come."
His words spurred her on; she thrust her fingers deeper, curling them to hit that spot inside Draco had tauht her to find, her thumb mashing her clit in frantic circles.
Wet squelching sounds echoed from her cunt, her arousal coating her hand, dripping ont the sheets. "Yes, like that—stretch yourself for me, love. One day you'll take all of us."
Draco pulled off briefly, strings of saliva connecting his lips to Theo's cock, his voice hoarse and filthy.
"Look at her, Theo—she's gushing for you. Time it with me; I'm gonna make you explode."
He dove back down, sucking voraciously, his head bobbing faster, throat convulsing around Theo's thickness. He knew Theo's body like his own—knew the tells: the way his thighs tensed, his balls drawing up.
Draco timed his sucks, deep and relentless, one finger pressing behind Theo's balls to massage his prostate externally, pushing him toward the edge.
Hermione was close too, her body arching, breasts bouncing as she fucked herself harder.
"Theo... Draco... I'm gonna come. Watch me squirt all over my hand." Her moans turned to cries, her fingers plunging deep as her short fingers could, clit throbbing under her thumb.
Theo's control snapped. "I’m—coming!" he roared, his cock swelling in Draco's mouth as he erupted, thick ropes of cum flooding Draco's throat. Draco swallowed greedily, milking every drop, humming around him to prolong the orgasm.
At that exact moment, Draco's timing perfect, Hermione shattered—her pussy clenching rhythmically around her fingers, a gush of wetness soaking her hand and the sheets. "Yes! Oh gods, Theo!" she screamed, her body convulsing in ecstasy, waves crashing through her.
They collapsed in a heap, Draco wiping his mouth with a satisfied smirk, pulling them all together. "Best thank you ever," Theo panted, kissing them both soundly as they tangled in the afterglow, bodies spent but hearts full.
Draco pulled back from the messy, cum-slicked kiss he'd shared with Theo, his lips curving into a wicked, satisfied grin as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Hermione lay sprawled beside them, her body still trembling from her self-induced orgasm, her fingers glistening with her own release, pussy flushed and clit swollen.
Theo collapsed onto the bed next to her, pulling her into his side, his thick cock softening but still impressive against his thigh. The room smelled of sex—musk and salt and the faint floral of Hermione's arousal— and the air hummed with their collective afterglow.
But Draco wasn't close to done; his eyes gleamed with that possessive fire as he crawled over them both, settling on Hermione's other side.
"Now," Draco drawled, his voice low and filthy, his hand trailing possessively down her stomach to cup her mound gently, not pressing, just claiming. "It's time for us to apologize to you, Granger."
He leaned in, nipping at her earlobe, making her shiver. "Theo—for not stopping me from storming out of the Manor like a bloody idiot in the first place. And me—for being such a possessive jerk about the whole thing. We owe you, Hermione. Big time."
Theo nodded catching onto Draco’s plan, his dark eyes soft but heated as he kissed her shoulder. "He's right. We fucked up—let our egos get in the way. Let us make it up to you."
Hermione laughed breathlessly, her body still buzzing, but she shifted under their touches, a mix of exhaustion and lingering desire. "You don't have to—"
"Oh, but we do," Draco interrupted, his fingers teasing the seam of her folds lightly, drawing a gasp from her. "And we're going to give you an orgasm each. One from Theo, one from me. Slow or fast, however we want—but all for you."
She bit her lip, glancing between them, her cheeks flushing deeper. "But... I already had one. From... from touching myself."
Draco's smirk widened, predatory and sexy, his thumb brushing her clit just enough to make her hips twitch.
"That's not enough, Hermione. Not nearly. You're getting two more—whether you think you can handle it or not. We're going to wreck you in the best way. I know you can take it. You’ll thank us after."
Theo chuckled, his hand cupping her breast, squeezing gently. "First one's mine, love. Lie back—let me taste you properly."
Hermione nodded, her breath hitching as Theo shifted down the bed, his broad shoulders pushing her thighs apart. He settled between her legs, his breath hot against her oversensitive folds, but he was gentle at first—kissing her inner thighs, nipping the soft skin there until she squirmed.
"You're so beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice reverent but laced with hunger. "All spread out for us, still dripping from coming on your own fingers. Fuck, Hermione, I could eat you for hours. You taste like a dessert."
He dove in without warning, his tongue flat and broad as he licked a slow, deliberate stripe from her entrance to her clit, savoring her taste. No fingers this time—just his mouth, devouring her with expert precision.
Hermione cried out, her hands fisting the sheets, her body arching as his lips sealed around her clit, sucking gently at first, then harder, his tongue flicking rhythmically.
"Theo... oh gods," she moaned, her hips bucking into his face. He held her down with gentle hands on her thighs, spreading her wider, his tongue lapping at her folds, dipping just to tease her entrance without penetrating.
"That's it, love," Theo groaned against her, the vibration sending shocks through her core.
"Let me hear you. Taste so fucking good—sweet and tangy, all for me." He swirled his tongue around her clit, alternating between sucks and licks, building her up steadily.
Draco watched from beside her, his cock hardening again as he stroked her hair, whispering encouragements.
"Look at him, Granger—devouring your pussy like it's his last meal. You're going to come on his tongue, aren't you?"
The pleasure coiled tight, her earlier orgasm making her even more sensitive. Theo redoubled his efforts, his tongue lashing her clit relentlessly, humming against her as he sucked the swollen nub into his mouth.
Hermione's world narrowed to that point—wet, hot suction driving her mad.
"Theo—I'm... fuck, I'm coming!" she screamed, her body convulsing, thighs clamping around his head as waves of ecstasy ripped through her, her pussy pulsing against his mouth. He lapped her through it, drinking her down until she was whimpering, oversensitive and boneless.
Theo crawled back up, his chin glistening, kissing her deeply so she could taste herself on his lips. "Perfect, love. So fucking perfect."
But Draco was already moving, his eyes dark with intent as he took Theo's place between her legs. Hermione panted, shaking her head weakly. "Draco... I can't. I'm so wrought out—I can't possibly have another orgasm. It's too much."
Draco's gaze locked on hers, sexy and commanding, his fingers tracing her slick entrance teasingly.
"Oh, you can, Granger. And you will. I can coax it out of you. Your body's made for this—made for us. You're going to come again, hard and wet all over my fingers. Let it happen—give in to me." His voice was a velvet growl, persuasive and filthy, and she felt herself relax under it, nodding shakily. "Good girl."
He started slow, knowing her tightness all too well. One finger first, circling her entrance before pushing in gently, her walls gripping him like a vice despite her arousal and previous pleasure.
"Fuck, feel that? So tight, Granger—even after two orgasms, you're clenching around me like you never want to let go."
He pumped slowly, curling to stroke her inner walls, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing in lazy circles. Hermione whimpered, her hips rocking instinctively, the fullness reigniting sparks she thought were spent.
Draco's dirty talk flowed like poison honey, his voice rough and intimate.
"Gods, imagine this is my cock sliding into you—long and deep, stretching this tight little pussy just right. Or Theo's—fuck, his girth would split you open, wouldn't it? That thick monster filling you up, the piercing rubbing every spot inside."
He added pressure, thrusting his finger deeper, faster, feeling her flutter around him.
"You're so wet, dripping down my hand. One day, you'll beg for our cocks—want us to fuck you raw, pump you full of cum. You want that, don't you? Our seed spilling out of this perfect cunt, marking you as ours."
Hermione moaned, her head thrashing, the words painting vivid pictures that made her throb. "Yes... gods, yes. I want to be so full, of each of you!"
"Not yet, though," Draco teased, easing a second finger alongside the first. She was still incredibly tight—the stretch made her wince at first, a burn that bordered on discomfort—but he went slow, scissoring gently, letting her adjust.
"Breathe, love. Take it—feel how you grip me? So snug, like you were made for us. Relax... there you go."
Inch by inch, he worked them in fully, her arousal easing the way until he was buried to the knuckles.
Once she was panting, adjusted, he ramped up—finger-fucking her harder now, his thrusts deep and relentless, curling to hit her G-spot with every plunge. The wet, squelching sounds were obscene, filling the room as her pussy clenched around him.
"That's it, Granger—take my fingers like a good lady of the manor. Pretend it's Theo pounding into you, his fat cock stretching you wide. Or me—sliding in deep, hitting that spot over and over until you scream. Fuck Merlin, you're soaking me—gonna come so hard, aren't you? Want our cum filling you up someday? Dripping out of this tight hole, making a mess?"
Theo watched from beside her, his hand stroking her breast, pinching her nipple as he praised her. "You're doing so well, love—taking it like a champ. Look at you, clenching around his fingers. So beautiful, Hermione. Come for us—let go."
The combination was overwhelming—Draco's hard, punishing thrusts, his filthy words, Theo's encouragement.
Pleasure built to a fever pitch, her body tensing like a bowstring. "Draco—I can't—oh fuck!"
She shattered, her orgasm crashing over her violently, walls spasming in a vice grip around his fingers, a gush of wetness soaking his hand and the sheets. She screamed both their names, body convulsing as waves of bliss tore through her, leaving her wrecked and trembling.
Draco eased her down, withdrawing slowly, pressing soft kisses to her thighs.
"Magnificent," he murmured. But he noticed her wince slightly at the tenderness—the hard fingering and multiple orgasms had left her sore.
"Hold on, love." He slipped off the bed, retrieving the small jar of soothing cream from the bathroom, the one he'd brewed himself. Returning, he knelt between her legs again, his touch now gentle, non-sexual.
"This'll help—no pain in the morning."
With careful fingers, he applied the cool cream to her outer folds, massaging it in softly to ease the sensitivity. Then, dipping just the tip inside—no more than an inch—he spread it along her entrance, soothing the internal ache. Hermione sighed in relief, the cooling sensation melting away the discomfort. "Thank you," she whispered, pulling him close.
They tangled together then—Hermione in the middle, Theo and Draco on either side, limbs entwined, bodies warm and sated. Soft kisses were exchanged, murmurs of love and promises for tomorrow, until sleep claimed them in the quiet of the room.
Notes:
Theo is such a good triad member, balancing them out as a peacekeeper.
Chapter 73: Safe Spaces
Notes:
As they're starting to do more with Hermione this conversation really needed to happen.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The morning sun filtered through the heavy curtains of Theo's bedroom, casting a warm, golden haze over the tangled sheets and the three bodies entwined beneath them.
Hermione stirred first, her curly hair a wild halo against the pillow, her body deliciously sore in all the right places from the night's indulgences. She blinked awake, feeling the solid warmth of Theo on her left—his arm draped possessively over her waist, his breath steady and deep against her neck—and Draco on her right, his long limbs sprawled lazily, one leg hooked over hers.
The air still carried the faint musk of their passion, a reminder of the filthy, ecstatic hours they'd spent exploring each other. She shifted slightly, wincing at the small lingering tenderness between her thighs, but it was a good ache, one that made her smile as memories flooded back: her fingers buried in herself while Draco devoured Theo's cock, then the apologies in the form of mind-blowing orgasms from each of them.
Theo mumbled something incoherent, his eyes fluttering open as he felt her move.
"Morning, love," he rasped, his voice gravelly from sleep and the previous night's moans. He pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder, his hand sliding up to cup her breast gently, thumb brushing her nipple in a lazy, affectionate caress. Draco stirred next, his silver eyes cracking open with that trademark smirk already in place.
"Mmm, Granger," he drawled teasingly, but there was no heat in it yet—just playful morning affection. He leaned in to kiss her lips, slow and lingering, before pulling back to nuzzle her neck.
Hermione laughed softly, swatting at Draco's arm. "Not Granger first thing in the morning, Malfoy. Save that for... other times." But even as she said it, a flush crept up her cheeks, remembering how the surname had ignited something primal in her the night before.
They lay like that for a few lazy minutes, basking in the quiet intimacy—hands roaming idly over skin, soft kisses exchanged between all three. Theo's fingers traced patterns on her hip, while Draco's hand rested on her thigh, his touch light but possessive.
Eventually, Theo propped himself up on one elbow, his dark hair tousled, eyes sparkling with a mix of awe and lingering hunger as he looked down at her.
"Last night... gods, Hermione. I can't stop thinking about it. You getting yourself off like that—right in front of us, fingers deep in yourself while Draco sucked me off. It was... blown away doesn't even cover it. I've never seen anything so fucking hot."
Hermione bit her lip, a shy smile tugging at her mouth as she met his gaze.
"Yeah? It felt... liberating. Draco taught me, you know—showed me how to explore myself. I don't really know what I like yet, because of my inexperience. I've never... done much of anything before you two. But with you both, it's different. I enjoy exploring stuff—trying new things, feeling what makes my body respond. It's like I'm discovering a whole new side of myself."
Draco chuckled, his hand squeezing her thigh gently. "You're a quick study, love. And watching you last night? Priceless. Theo's right—it was incredible."
He shifted closer, his body pressing against hers, the heat of his semi-hard cock brushing her hip innocently enough.
Theo nodded, his expression turning thoughtful as he kissed her forehead. "I'm glad you're enjoying it. We want this to be good for you—always. No pressure, just... us figuring it out together."
Hermione hesitated, then plunged ahead, her voice soft but honest. "Speaking of figuring things out... I don't like it when you call me Granger normally anymore, Draco. It reminds me too much of the old days, the animosity. But last night—and other times when it's... sexual? It surprisingly turns me on. A lot. Like, it flips some switch in me, makes everything feel dirtier, more intense."
Draco's smirk deepened, sly and knowing as he traced a finger along her collarbone. "Oh, I know, Granger." He emphasized the surname with a low, teasing growl, watching her shiver. "That's why I've been doing it. Saw how you reacted the first time—your pupils dilated, your breath hitched. Figured it was a kink worth exploiting. But only in the heat of the moment, yeah? Boundaries matter."
She nodded, relieved he understood. "Exactly. And about dirty talk in general... I love hearing it from you both. It surprised me at first—I thought I'd hate it, being all prim and proper. But gods, when you say those filthy things, it sends me over the edge. Like last night, Draco, with all that talk about... about filling me up."
Theo's hand stilled on her hip, his eyes darkening with interest. "Yeah, let's talk about that. Dirty talk's powerful—gets us all riled up in the moment. But we need to check boundaries. What we say when we're lost in it... it might sound hot as hell right then, but it's okay if in reality, you wouldn't want it. Fantasy versus fact, you know? We don't want to cross lines outside the bedroom."
Draco agreed, his tone serious now despite the casual cuddle. "Spot on. Like, last night, I was going on about pumping you full of our cum, marking you inside. It was filthy, and fuck, it turned me on saying it—watching you react. But if that's not something you'd actually want, we dial it back. No judgment."
Hermione's face burned scarlet, her embarrassment flooding her as she buried her face in Theo's chest for a moment.
"Gods, this is mortifying to talk about out loud."
She peeked up at them, seeing only patience and affection in their eyes. Theo stroked her hair soothingly.
"Hey, no need to be embarrassed, love. Everyone has kinks—or fantasies that get them going. It's normal. We're all figuring this out together, remember? Safe space."
Draco nodded, kissing her temple.
"Exactly. Spill it—what do you really feel about that? The idea of us coming inside you, filling you up?"
She took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper at first, but gaining strength as she spoke.
"I... I don't know if I have that kink, exactly. Like, in reality, with all the practicalities—pregnancy risks, mess—it might not be my thing. But hearing you talk about it? About filling me with your cocks or your come? It turns me on a lot. More than I expected. It's like... the possessiveness, the rawness of it. Makes me feel wanted, claimed. In the moment, it's electric."
Theo smiled, relieved and aroused by her honesty, his cock twitching against her thigh.
"That's fair. We can keep it in the dirty talk if that's where it stays hot for you. No pressure to make it real unless you want to explore it safely someday—with charms or whatever."
Draco hummed in agreement, his hand sliding lower to rest on her ass, squeezing gently.
"Good to know. And speaking of things that sound hot but need caution... let's talk about Theo's dick all together."
He shot Theo a wink, lightening the mood, but his expression turned earnest.
"You're so tight, Hermione—deliciously so. And Theo here is... well, extremely thick. That piercing doesn't help with the intimidation factor. The idea of him splitting you open? Fuck, it sounds hot in fantasy—stretching you to your limits, making you scream in pleasure. But we never want to actually hurt you. Ever."
Theo nodded solemnly, his fingers intertwining with hers.
"He's right. It might take a lot of time before you're ready—if you ever are. We'll work up to it slowly: more fingering, toys maybe, lots of lube and patience. But don't be disappointed if it needs a big amount of buildup. Your safety and pleasure come first. The fantasy can stay just that if reality doesn't match. There are obviously other very pleasurable ways for the two of us to engage with each other. It doesn’t have to be me inside you like that. If it’s not working. We have tons of options."
Hermione squeezed his hand, her heart swelling at their care.
"I get it. And yeah, the idea does sound hot—the fullness, the challenge of it. But I trust you both not to push. We'll take our time trying to work towards it."
Draco cleared his throat, a rare vulnerability creeping into his voice as he shared something personal.
"Look, to put it in perspective... the first time I took Theo in the ass? Back in our Hogwarts days, sneaking around like idiots. It hurt really bad. We were young, inexperienced—thought lube and enthusiasm would be enough. But his girth... fuck, it was too much too soon. We had to stop halfway through; I was in tears, bleeding a bit. Ended up lying to Madam Pomfrey about a 'Quidditch injury' just to get potions for the pain and healing. Took me weeks to try again, and even then, we went slow as hell and it took many tries of working up to it for it to actually go in."
Theo winced at the memory, pulling Draco in for a quick kiss over Hermione's shoulder.
"Yeah, not our finest hour. But we learned. And that's why we're so careful with you, love. No repeats of that disaster."
Hermione's eyes widened, a mix of sympathy and arousal at the image—young Draco and Theo, fumbling but passionate.
"I'm sorry that happened. But... thank you for sharing. It makes me feel less... alone in my inexperience. I know you both just want to take care of me and make sure everything feels good."
She turned to kiss Draco, then Theo, the conversation weaving them closer emotionally, even as the undercurrent of desire simmered.
They talked for what felt like hours more, the morning stretching lazily—discussing other boundaries, sharing laughs about awkward past encounters, and reaffirming their commitment to open communication.
Hands wandered innocently at first, turning teasing: Theo's fingers dipping between her thighs to trace her folds without penetrating, Draco's mouth latching onto her nipple for a playful suck.
But they kept it light, saving the heat for later when she’d fully reconvered from last night, content in the glow of their growing bond.
Eventually, hunger for breakfast pulled them from bed, but the promises lingered—more exploration, more trust, more of everything that made their triad burn bright.
Notes:
Should be interesting for them to help her figure out what she likes and doesn't.
Chapter 74: Preparing The Bride
Chapter Text
The snow in Diagon Alley had started falling before they even stepped out of the floo, thick flakes whirling through the narrow streets and settling on the shoulders of cloaked shoppers. The dressmaker’s shop sat tucked between a wand repair stall and a tea emporium, its windows glowing gold and frosted at the edges. Inside, rows of gowns shimmered faintly under fairy lights — white, ivory, champagne, silk, lace — like bottled moonlight.
Hermione had been nervous all morning.
Two fiancés.
One ceremony.
Three lives stitched together by something larger than tradition could quite hold.
But when Ginny looped an arm through hers and Pansy marched ahead with her usual confidence, barking cheerful orders to the shop assistant, she couldn’t help but laugh. “This is ridiculous,” Hermione said softly. “You two are more excited than I am.”
“Correction,” Pansy said, tugging off her gloves with flair. “We’re appropriately excited. You only get married once—well, in your case, twice at once, so really we should be doubly thrilled.”
Ginny grinned. “Besides, we’re your bridesmaids. It’s our sacred duty to cry over lace and terrorize the seamstress.”
The assistant, a patient-looking witch named Madam Celestina, brought them glasses of spiced cider and ushered Hermione toward the fitting rooms. “We’ve pulled a few styles to start, dear,” she said warmly. “Modern, classic, even a few enchanted pieces that shimmer like frost.”
Hermione’s stomach fluttered. “All right,” she murmured, slipping behind the curtain.
The first gown was beautiful — delicate lace sleeves and a flowing skirt — but when she stepped out, Pansy wrinkled her nose. “You look like you’re about to marry a ghost.”
Ginny elbowed her. “It’s elegant!”
“It’s tragic,” Pansy countered. “She needs something with presence. Hermione’s marrying a Nott and a Malfoy. She can’t look like she’s haunting the ballroom.”
Hermione laughed, turning to the mirror. The gown was indeed pretty, but it didn’t feel right. “Too much lace,” she agreed. “And I think I’d like something that moves.”
The second gown shimmered faintly under the lights — a silver-threaded satin that hugged her waist and trailed like starlight. Ginny gasped. “Now that’s gorgeous.”
Pansy tilted her head. “Better, but maybe too sleek. You need something that says powerful and romantic, not I’m here to duel in couture.”
They went through half a dozen more:
– One with pearl buttons down the back (Ginny adored it, but it just wasn’t Hermione).
– One with an enchanted tulle skirt that sparkled like snowfall (Pansy called it “too fairy godmother”).
– One that changed color with her mood until Ginny nearly choked laughing when it turned an anxious shade of lavender.
By the time Hermione stepped out in gown number seven — a high-necked Victorian cut that made her look like she’d time-traveled from a portrait — they were all giggling helplessly.
“All right,” Ginny said, wiping a tear. “You might be the smartest witch of our age, but dress shopping clearly isn’t your strength.”
Hermione threw a cushion at her. “You try doing this while marrying two men with very different aesthetics!”
At that, even Madam Celestine chuckled discreetly.
The bell above the door chimed — and in drifted Luna Lovegood, snow caught in her pale hair like glitter. “Oh, good,” she said dreamily. “I thought I might find you here. The dirigible plums outside are particularly auspicious for wedding choices today.”
Pansy blinked. “Of course they are.”
Luna smiled serenely, gliding between the racks. “You’ve tried the wrong ones first,” she said, her fingers trailing lightly over the fabrics. “Sometimes the right gown hides because it’s shy.”
Ginny leaned toward Hermione. “Translation?”
“Let her work her magic,” Hermione whispered back.
Luna stopped near the back of the shop, tilting her head. Half-hidden behind a row of elaborate robes was a simple gown: ivory silk with off-the-shoulder sleeves and a flowing skirt that seemed to glow softly, as if moonlight had soaked into every thread. She pulled it free, examining it like a secret. “This one,” she said with quiet certainty. “This is yours.”
Madam Celestine’s eyes widened. “Oh! That one’s a private commission that was never collected last year. Heard they broke up a week before the wedding over something to do with a bachelor party featuring a troll in drag and a lap dance. Poor girl went back to her family in America right after she found out. Never cam eby to pay for it! I’d forgotten it was even there.”
Luna turned, eyes bright. “It was waiting.”
Hermione felt her pulse skip. She took the dress from Luna’s hands and slipped behind the curtain. The fabric was cool against her skin, soft as breath. When she stepped out again, the shop went silent.
The gown fit as if it had known her all along — the neckline elegant without being showy, the bodice structured but light, the skirt moving around her like water. It shimmered faintly when she turned, catching the light in ripples.
Ginny’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Hermione…”
Pansy blinked rapidly, which was as close as she ever came to tears. “Bloody hell,” she whispered. “You look… perfect.”
Hermione turned to the mirror — and for the first time, she saw it too.
Not just the dress, but herself — not the girl who’d fought wars or written laws or spent years carrying everyone else’s expectations. Just Hermione, standing on the threshold of something extraordinary, choosing joy after all the grief.
Her throat tightened. “It’s really me, isn’t it?”
Luna smiled, soft and knowing. “Of course. The dress chose you the moment you walked in.”
Hermione laughed through a tear. “You make it sound like wandlore.”
“Everything magical is about connection,” Luna said serenely. “Even love. Even silk.”
Pansy was suddenly beside her, fussing with the train to hide that she was sniffling. “I swear if you make me ruin my eyeliner—”
Ginny laughed, hugging Hermione from behind. “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride in Britain.”
“To two of them who don’t deserve you,” Pansy added with a smirk, and all three of them burst into tears and laughter at once.
Hermione turned back to the mirror, watching her reflection blur through tears, and thought of Theo’s smile, Draco’s steady gaze, the way her friends had held her through everything that came before this moment.
She wasn’t afraid anymore.
“I think,” she whispered, voice trembling but sure, “I’ve found my dress.”
After getting her dress and parting ways, Hermione hurried off to meet Narcissa, running nearly late because of the long time spent at the shop. The tea room Narcissa Malfoy favored that day was small, discreet, and flooded with soft winter light. Its windows overlooked a narrow cobbled lane, where frost still glittered on the eaves and the scent of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts drifted faintly in from the street vendors below.
Hermione arrived a few minutes early having run the whole way there, wrapped in her cream wool cloak, the memory of the wedding gown still haunting her — the weightless silk, the shimmer of moonlight in the mirror, her friends’ teary smiles. She’d spent the morning replaying it all in her mind, trying to let the joy settle somewhere solid inside her chest.
The hostess, recognizing her immediately, led her to a corner table already set for two. Silver teapot, delicate china cups, a plate of almond biscuits that sparkled faintly with sugar dust. Narcissa Malfoy was not yet there, which gave Hermione a few moments to collect herself — to remind her pulse that she was not, in fact, about to sit for an interview with the Daily Prophet again.
She’d just unfolded her napkin when Narcissa swept in — elegant in slate-gray robes, her pale hair perfectly coiffed, the faintest glimmer of silver jewelry at her throat.
“My dear Hermione,” she said warmly, extending both hands. “I hope you didn’t wait long.”
“Not at all, Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione said, rising to greet her. “It’s lovely to see you.”
“Oh, please — call me Narcissa. We’re nearly family now.”
The older witch’s smile was graceful but sharp in that way all Malfoys seemed to share: polite, but aware of every nuance. She sat, smoothing her robes, and nodded for the tea to be poured.
“I must tell you,” Narcissa began, once the server had left, “every time I see you, I think how different you are from the young woman I first glimpsed in the plateform all those years ago. You’ve become… radiant.”
Hermione flushed lightly, unsure how to respond. “Thank you. I suppose time and experience do that to us all.”
“Perhaps,” Narcissa mused, stirring her tea. “Or perhaps some people are simply forged by what they’ve survived.” She looked up then, eyes a clear, cool blue. “And you, my dear, have survived quite a lot.”
Hermione gave a modest smile. “So has your son.”
That drew a genuine expression from Narcissa — soft and fleeting, like sunlight breaking through cloud. “Yes,” she said quietly. “He has.”
They sipped in companionable silence for a moment before Narcissa reached for her handbag and produced a small notebook bound in green leather. “I thought it might be useful,” she said. “A few final notes before the ceremony — guest confirmations, the final seating chart, and the menu options from the caterer. I know you said you’d prefer a winter theme?”
“Yes,” Hermione said, relaxing into familiar logistics. “Something warm and elegant. Theo suggested silver and pine green. Draco agreed — though I think he just liked the idea of green being predominant.”
Narcissa’s eyes gleamed. “Of course he did.”
They spent the next half hour poring over the details: floral charms for the tables, the arrangement of the enchanted candles, which piece of music should play as the trio walked into the ceremony together. Narcissa’s handwriting was impeccable, her organizational precision enviable.
But beneath the pleasant rhythm of planning, Hermione felt the subtle current of something else — curiosity cloaked in courtesy. Narcissa’s questions were never blunt, but they were gently probing, like a seamstress checking the strength of a hidden stitch.
“And the living arrangements,” she asked delicately, pouring more tea. “How are you all settling in at the manor? I imagine it’s quite… an adjustment.”
Hermione stirred her cup to buy a moment. “We’re managing well, I think. Everyone’s still learning how to… balance.”
Narcissa’s expression softened. “I imagine that requires an extraordinary amount of grace.”
“It does,” Hermione admitted. “But they’re both trying. We all are.”
A faint smile curved Narcissa’s lips. “Theo is such a steady young man. I remember meeting him when they were at school — always polite, observant, a bit shy for a Slytherin. I confess, I never imagined I’d someday share a grandchild with the Nott family.”
Hermione nearly choked on her tea. “Oh! We’re not— we haven’t— I mean, children aren’t—”
Narcissa chuckled lightly, waving a manicured hand. “Forgive me, dear. I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just that one can’t help but imagine. The law does require it. Draco was always meant to be a father, I think. He was very protective even as a boy.”
Hermione smiled faintly, recovering. “Protective, yes. Perhaps a little too much sometimes.”
“Ah,” Narcissa said knowingly. “The Malfoy flaw — loving fiercely, but never quietly.”
Hermione’s laugh was genuine. “That’s an apt description.”
There was a pause, gentler now. The air between them felt warmer, the edges of scrutiny softened by something that felt almost like affection. Narcissa leaned forward slightly, her tone lower.
“You must know,” she said, “that I’m very fond of you. Not just because you’ve brought peace to my son, though that alone would earn you my eternal gratitude. But because you’ve stood beside him — and Theo — in a way few others could. You’ve shown the kind of loyalty and courage I once thought only existed in stories.”
Hermione blinked back sudden tears. “That means more than I can say.”
“I don’t doubt it’s been… unconventional,” Narcissa went on, her voice gentle. “And I don’t pretend to understand all the intricacies of a triad bond. But I do know what it is to love beyond propriety. Lucius and I—” She stopped herself, the memory flickering in her eyes. “Well. The world has never been kind to complicated loves.”
Hermione nodded, her throat tight. “No, it hasn’t. But I think we’re learning to define our own kind of right.”
Narcissa’s smile deepened — wistful, approving. “Then you’re far wiser than most.”
The conversation turned practical again — transportation charms, the Minister’s attendance, ensuring Narcissa’s arrival time didn’t overlap with the photographers. But every so often, Narcissa’s gaze lingered, as if trying to see through the careful calm Hermione wore.
Finally, as they stood to leave, Narcissa reached out and took her hand — a rare gesture for her. Her grip was surprisingly warm, almost maternal.
“My dear Hermione,” she said softly. “I want you to know that I am truly happy for my son. And for you. Whatever the world may whisper, you are already family to me. But after the tenth of February… I shall be proud to call you my daughter.”
Hermione’s composure nearly cracked. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice thick. “That means so much.”
“Then we understand each other,” Narcissa said, her poise returning, though her eyes shone faintly. “Now, remmeber — enjoy what remains of your engagement. You’ve earned your joy, all of you.”
When they stepped out of the tea shop, the afternoon sun was already sliding toward the horizon, throwing long golden streaks across Diagon Alley. The air was crisp, and the light danced over the cobblestones like magic made visible.
Narcissa tucked her hand lightly through Hermione’s arm. “If you have a moment before you go,” she said in her unhurried, elegant tone, “there’s something I’d like to show you. It won’t take long.”
Hermione blinked, surprised. “Of course. Is everything all right?”
“Oh, perfectly,” Narcissa said, her lips curving faintly. “I just realized that there’s one last wedding detail we haven’t discussed — and it’s a matter of family tradition.”
Before Hermione could ask, Narcissa steered them gracefully toward the marble steps of Gringotts. The goblins at the door bowed with wary respect as she approached — few witches in Britain commanded that kind of quiet authority anymore.
Inside, the bank gleamed in its usual severe way: vaulted ceilings, marble floors, chandeliers dripping with enchanted light. The scent of old coins and magic filled the air. Narcissa went straight to the nearest teller, her tone cool but polite.
“Lady Malfoy,” the goblin greeted with a bow. “How may we assist you today?”
“I’ll need access to Vault Seven,” Narcissa said. “Family heirlooms.”
“Of course.” He snapped his claw, and a younger goblin scurried away to fetch a cart.
Hermione hesitated as they were led down the long underground tunnels, the cart rattling and clattering on the rails. She remembered her first Gringotts vault visit with Harry all those years ago — the wild wind in her hair, the dizzying speed, the sense of being hurled through history. But this time, it was quieter. Slower. A kind of reverence hung over the journey.
Narcissa didn’t speak until the cart slowed before an enormous iron door embossed with the Malfoy crest — a serpent curled through a crown, surrounded by a ring of Latin script. “Vault Seven,” the goblin announced, pressing his hand against the runes. The door unfolded with a deep metallic groan.
The inside glowed faintly gold. Piles of galleons glittered like fallen sunlight, but what caught Hermione’s attention were the chests stacked against the far wall — lacquered wood, mother-of-pearl, carved silver. Narcissa stepped forward, her heels making no sound on the stone.
“This,” she said softly, “is the heart of our family’s legacy. Gold is common. Power fades. But beauty — that endures.”
Hermione followed her through the vault, eyes wide. The air smelled faintly of metal and old perfume. Narcissa stopped before a long, velvet-lined case and unlatched it with a small key she produced from her sleeve.
Inside were tiaras — a dozen, maybe more — each one unique.
Delicate spider-web filigree. Heavy circlets of emerald and platinum. Tiny pearls strung in constellations. A crown shaped like frost.
Narcissa’s gaze softened. “Every Malfoy bride since 1735 has worn one of these on her wedding day. My own was the emerald circlet, though I’ll admit I nearly chose the moonstone band instead. Draco’s grandmother wore diamonds from the Black family vault. But today—” she turned to Hermione with a small smile “—I thought you might choose for yourself.”
Hermione froze, momentarily overwhelmed. “Mrs—Narcissa, I—this is far too generous. I couldn’t—”
“My dear, you must,” Narcissa said, her tone gentle but firm. “You are marrying my son. You will be Lady Malfoy as much as I once was. It is your right, and your place. Besides,” she added with a glint of humor, “I can think of no one I would rather see wearing one of these again. And someday you’ll pass it on to your daughter or daughter-in-law.”
Hermione swallowed hard and looked down at the glittering array. They were dazzling — too much so, almost. She wasn’t sure she could imagine herself in any of them.
Her hand hovered over one with sapphires so dark they looked nearly black — but no, too cold. Another, all diamonds, felt too showy. Then, almost hidden at the end of the case, she noticed a smaller piece.
It wasn’t the grandest, nor the brightest.
But it was beautiful.
A circlet of woven silver and gold vines, twined together like two threads joining. At its center, a single teardrop-shaped crystal shimmered with iridescence — not diamond, not pearl, something in between.
Hermione reached out instinctively. “This one,” she whispered. “What stone is this?”
Narcissa stepped closer, her expression shifting — a softness in her features Hermione had rarely seen. “Ah. That one hasn’t been worn in generations.”
“Why?”
“It belonged to Drusilla Malfoy,” Narcissa said. “She married a Nott.”
Hermione froze, the connection dawning on her. “A Nott?”
Narcissa nodded slowly. “Yes. Their families were close once, before the old wars and politics soured everything. The crystal is called starfire quartz — said to carry both moonlight and sunlight inside it. The records claim the Malfoy who gave it to her said it represented two bloodlines joining in balance. Light and shadow. Wisdom and strength.”
Hermione traced a finger over the delicate vines, the faint shimmer glinting beneath her touch. “It’s… perfect,” she breathed.
Narcissa smiled faintly. “I thought you might say that.”
She helped Hermione lift the tiara from its stand, her movements careful and reverent. The metal was cool, almost alive with old magic. Narcissa stepped behind her and, without asking, placed it gently on Hermione’s head.
In the reflected glow of the vault’s enchanted light, Hermione saw her reflection in a polished shield: her curls falling around her shoulders, the tiara catching the light in threads of gold and silver. For a moment, she didn’t look like the girl who’d fought for freedom or the woman balancing two lives — she looked like a piece of history reborn.
Narcissa’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder. “You wear it beautifully,” she said, her voice soft. “It suits you — not because of what it is, but because of who you are. You’ve managed what centuries of politics could not. You’ve united two legacies that nearly killed themselves out.
Hermione’s eyes stung. “It’s strange,” she murmured. “I used to think everything about your world — about pureblood tradition — was built to keep people like me out. But now…”
“Now you’re shaping it into something new,” Narcissa finished for her. “Something better.”
Hermione turned, smiling through tears. “Thank you. For trusting me with this.”
“My dear,” Narcissa said softly, brushing a stray curl from Hermione’s cheek, “you’ve earned far more than my trust. You’ve given my son back his hope — and in truth, that is the only inheritance I ever wished to see restored.”
They left the vault together, the tiara carefully boxed in silk. Narcissa signed the enchanted slip to transfer temporary possession of the heirloom to Hermione until after the wedding when it would come back to the vault, she’d be a Malfoy and be able to access all the family vaults then, her elegant handwriting shimmering across the parchment.
As they rode the cart back toward the surface, the wind whipping at their hair, Hermione looked over and saw that Narcissa was smiling — a real, unguarded smile, the kind reserved for family.
And in that moment, Hermione realized something she hadn’t expected:
for all the history between them, for all the ghosts of old names and old wars, Narcissa Malfoy had truly accepted her.
When they stepped back into the pale afternoon light, Narcissa touched her arm once more. “That tiara,” she said softly, “was always waiting for the right witch to wear it again.”
Hermione smiled. “Then I’ll do my best to be worthy of it.”
“You already are,” Narcissa said simply. “And come the tenth of February, the world will see it too.”
Notes:
what do you think about will happen when the boys see her in that gown?
Chapter 75: Teach Me
Chapter Text
It was a clear late January afternoon — that sharp kind of cold where the sunlight almost glittered, refracting off every frost-tipped awning and cobblestone like a spell. The snow from the morning had melted just enough to leave puddles that reflected the elegant shopfronts of wizarding London. Hermione’s breath fogged slightly as she stepped out of the floo at the restaurant Draco had picked.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Perhaps something quaint and quiet — the sort of tucked-away café she might have chosen herself. But of course, Draco had chosen L’Aube Café du Sorcière, the most exclusive magical bistro in the city.
White marble exterior. Gold-lettered signage. Discreet privacy wards that glittered faintly around the door. The kind of place people went to be seen not by everyone, but by the right everyone.
Draco was waiting by the entrance in a tailored charcoal coat, pale hair gleaming against the collar. Charming. Handsome. He smiled when he saw her appear — that small, rare smile that reached his eyes now, something that hadn’t existed a year ago. He stepped forward, brushing a snowflake from her scarf.
“You’re right on time,” he said softly. “Shall we?”
Hermione smiled back, a little nervously. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble. It’s just lunch.”
He offered his arm, the gentlemanly gesture oddly natural for him. “You deserve more than just lunch. Your about to be a Lady of two Lords.”
Inside, the restaurant was all golden warmth and quiet elegance. Floating candles bobbed above each table, casting a soft glow over crystal goblets and enchanted floral arrangements that pulsed gently with color. A soft string quartet played near the fireplace.
Draco guided her to a corner table by the window, where enchanted glass kept out the cold but let in the winter light. Their menus hovered between them, pages turning at a touch of his finger.
Hermione smiled over hers. “This place must cost a fortune.”
“Perks of old money,” Draco said dryly. “At least it’s finally being used for something worthwhile.”
She arched a brow. “Feeding me champagne and truffle risotto?”
“Feeding you anything,” he said quietly, “feels worthwhile if you enjoy it. You’re a smart woman Hermione, your marrying into some of the deepest vaults on the continent. We… and you, can do whatever we want. Theo and I talked about it, we want you to have unrestricted access to both our family vaults once we all marry. No Lady allowance, just full access to both family accounts. Your not one to spend frivolously, but we don’t want you to feel like your being kept on any sort of leash.”
That silenced her. She looked down at her menu, cheeks warming. The tension between them was different now — not the painful uncertainty of before, but something fragile and alive, waiting to deepen.
When the waiter glided away, leaving them with steaming bowls of bisque and wine that glowed faintly gold, Draco leaned back slightly in his chair. “I wanted to talk,” he said, his tone serious but not heavy. “Without Theo. Not because I don’t want him there, but because I want to know where we are — you and I… and not alone in my bedroom either.”
Hermione hesitated, spoon halfway to her mouth. “All right,” she said carefully. “What do you want to know?”
He exhaled, eyes flicking to the window where snowflakes were catching in the sunlight. “I suppose I want to know what you want from me. From this.”
His hand gestured vaguely between them. “I know I was the outsider in the beginning. You and Theo had something real before I ever came into it, and I don’t want to… intrude.”
“You’re not intruding,” she said immediately. “You’re part of this now, Draco. You know that.”
He gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “Do I? Because sometimes I still feel like the cursed artifact someone accidentally brought home from a war zone. Beautiful, maybe, but dangerous to touch. Clearly, we have… some capabilities… but emotionally, I’m not sure where I stand exactly. Somewhere between friends with benefits and a housemate?”
“That’s not true,” Hermione said softly. “I trust you. I see you as my partner. You’ve earned that. And you’ve been… good for us. For me. For Theo, too.”
He studied her face, searching for the lie, but found none. “I’ve tried,” he said, his voice low. “Merlin knows I’ve tried. And I like getting to know you. But it’s hard not to feel like I’m waiting for you to realize you don’t need me after all. Theo is your safe person, he fills you emotionally. I can see that.”
She reached across the table and took his hand — the gesture small but grounding. “That’s not going to happen. What we’re building is complicated, yes, but it’s real. And it’s not about need, Draco. It’s about choice. I choose both of you. You fill different types of needs. I think that’s ok, we’re all bringing something different to the traid, but the parts fit together so nicely so far.”
His throat worked. “You mean that?”
“I do,” she said simply. “And I think you’re brave for letting yourself be part of something this messy. I know how much control means to you.”
He smiled faintly, eyes softening. “You’re not wrong. I like my world neat. Predictable. You and Theo…” He gave a quiet laugh. “You ruin that entirely.”
“Good,” she teased lightly, squeezing his hand. “It was getting boring.”
They laughed together then, the air easing, the kind of laughter that healed old tension. The waiter returned with their entrees, and for a while, they simply talked.
About the wedding. About Narcissa’s delight over the tiara. About Theo’s absurd night shifts lately. About how Draco still couldn’t make toast without setting off the kitchen’s smoke wards half the time if the elves didn’t help.
By dessert — chocolate mousse charmed to sparkle like starlight — the conversation had turned softer, more personal again. Hermione asked about his childhood winters, and Draco surprised her by talking about the gardens at the Manor, how his mother used to enchant the snow into dancing figures for him.
“She’s… very proud of you, you know,” Hermione said. “She told me as much.”
He went still. “She said that?”
Hermione nodded. “Over tea. She told me you were meant to be a father someday.”
Draco’s expression flickered — something wistful, something that might’ve been fear. “She would say that. She’s always wanted a proper legacy to replace what we lost.”
Hermione touched his wrist gently. “You’ve already replaced it. You’re building something better now. Not just with your name — with who you are.”
For a long time, he said nothing. Then, quietly, “You make me want to believe that.”
They finished the meal in a silence that wasn’t awkward at all — a warm quiet that spoke of understanding. When they rose to leave, Draco helped her with her cloak, fingers lingering briefly on her shoulders. Her skin burned. She looked up at him, the moment stretching, the air between them crackling faintly with the energy of things unspoken.
“Thank you for lunch,” she murmured.
He smiled crookedly. “Thank you for being seen with me.”
They stepped outside — and immediately, the world shattered.
Flashbulbs. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds. Reporters spilling from behind the shopfronts, cameras hovering midair, quills scratching furiously. A babble of voices —
“Hermione! Over here!”
“Miss Granger, are you and Lord Malfoy the true couple?”
“Is it true Nott isn’t attending the wedding?”
“Are the triad bonds collapsing already?”
Hermione flinched at the sudden onslaught. The bright white of the cameras was blinding, disorienting after the quiet candlelight of lunch. Draco reacted instinctively, stepping in front of her, one hand raised sharply.
“Back off!” he barked, voice cold and commanding. “You’re blocking the entrance!”
The press didn’t budge. One witch shoved a camera nearly into Hermione’s face. “Smile for Witch Weekly, love! Tell us, is it true you’re expecting?”
“Excuse me?” Hermione snapped, fury cutting through her shock. “Absolutely not!”
But the questions came like spells hurled in a duel.
“Is Draco the father?”
“Has Nott moved out?”
“Was today a private affair—or a date?”
“Does Theo know you’re here?”
Draco’s jaw was tight, his face pale with controlled anger.
“Come on,” he said quietly, slipping his arm around her and guiding her forward through the chaos. The crowd surged closer, and for a brief, sickening moment Hermione thought they’d be trapped. But Draco muttered something low under his breath — a privacy charm so powerful the air itself seemed to hum. The noise around them dulled instantly to a faint buzz.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice gentler now, hand still steady on her back.
“I’m fine,” Hermione lied. “Just—just furious.”
His lips twisted. “Welcome to my world for the last decade.”
They pushed through the remaining photographers until they reached the edge of the wards, where the noise faded completely. Hermione’s hands were trembling as she adjusted her cloak.
Draco looked at her then — really looked — and the tension between them shifted from anger to something more fragile.
He exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry. I should’ve realized they’d come after us.”
“You couldn’t have known it would be that bad,” she said, shaking her head. “They’re relentless.”
He studied her, eyes dark with worry and something else — something warm and unguarded.
“You handled it better than I ever would’ve if I were you.”
Hermione gave a humorless laugh. “Years of practice. The Prophet’s been trying to ruin my life since I was fifteen.”
Draco smiled faintly. “Then they’ll fail again. They always do.”
For a moment, they just stood there in the cold, close enough that their breath mingled in the air between them. There was tension in it — the kind that hummed just beneath the skin.
“Draco…” she began softly. “Thank you for standing up for me.”
He tilted his head, lips curving slightly. “You really think I’d let them corner you? They’re lucky I didn’t hex their cameras into dust.”
Hermione smiled despite herself. “You’re not as cold as you pretend.”
“No,” he murmured. “Not with you. Your mine… ours.”
Something in her chest fluttered. For a heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her right there on the street, cameras be damned — and maybe, a part of her wanted him to. But instead, he reached out and brushed a stray curl behind her ear, his touch lingering just a second too long.
“Let’s go home,” he said quietly. “Before the vultures realize they can’t sell decency as a headline.”
She nodded, letting him lead her toward the apparation point, her hand brushing against his as they walked. The contact was brief, but it was enough — enough to remind her that what they were building, however exposed it might become, was theirs.
Their date—a quiet dinner at a discreet wizarding restaurant tucked away in Diagon Alley—had been perfect before the media showed up, filled with soft laughter, stolen glances, and the kind of easy conversation that made her heart feel full.
Draco’s hand lingered on hers as he led her to the bedroom, his silver eyes glinting with a mix of affection and simmering desire. The room was warm, the four-poster bed draped in deep navy sheets, and the faint scent of cedarwood and parchment clung to the air, grounding yet sensual.
They kicked off their shoes, shedding their outer layers—Hermione’s light jacket, Draco’s tailored cloak—before climbing onto the bed. Draco pulled her into his arms, settling them against the pillows in a lazy, comfortable sprawl.
She nestled into his chest, her head tucked under his chin, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat. His fingers traced slow, soothing patterns along her arm, while hers drifted over his shirt, unbuttoning the top few buttons to slip her hand inside, brushing the smooth, pale skin of his chest.
“Today was nice,” she murmured, tilting her head to meet his gaze, her lips curving into a soft smile.
“More than nice,” Draco replied, his voice low and warm. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a slow, lingering kiss—gentle at first, their mouths moving in a familiar rhythm, tasting of the red wine they’d shared.
The kiss deepened slightly, his tongue brushing hers, teasing but not demanding, as his hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer. Hermione sighed into his mouth, her fingers curling into his shirt, feeling the heat of his body through the fabric.
His other hand cupped her cheek, thumb stroking her jaw, and they traded kisses like that for long minutes—soft, exploratory, punctuated by quiet hums of contentment.
Draco’s hand wandered lower, grazing her hip, then up to her breast, squeezing gently through her dress, his touch light but deliberate. Hermione arched into him, her own hand slipping under his shirt to trace the lean muscles of his abdomen, feeling them tense under her fingers.
The intimacy wasn’t rushed, just a slow burn of affection and desire, their bodies pressed close as they savored the quiet moment. But as Draco nipped her lower lip, a spark of boldness flared in Hermione’s chest, fueled by the memory of the other night—the raw, erotic image of Draco on his knees, taking Theo’s thick cock into his mouth with such skill and hunger.
She pulled back slightly, her breath uneven, cheeks flushed as she met his gaze.
“Draco… I’ve been thinking about the other night. When you… with Theo.” Her voice was soft, a little nervous, but determined.
“The way you pleased him with your mouth. I want to learn how to do that—for both of you. I want to make you feel good like that.”
Draco’s eyes darkened, a mix of surprise and arousal flickering across his face, his cock twitching in his trousers at the thought.
“Merlin, Hermione,” he murmured, his voice rough with want but laced with care.
“You don’t have to, you know. Neither of us except that of you. But if you want to learn… gods, I’d love to teach you.” He brushed a curl from her face, his thumb lingering on her lips.
“You sure? It’s intense, but I’ll guide you through it—step by step.”
She nodded, her pulse racing with a mix of nerves and excitement. “I’m sure. I trust you.”
Draco’s smirk was equal parts tender and wicked as he shifted, sitting up against the headboard and pulling her between his legs, her back to his chest for a moment as he kissed her neck.
“Alright, love. Let’s start with me, yeah? Get you comfortable.”
He guided her to turn, kneeling between his thighs as he unbuckled his belt with deliberate slowness, the clink of the metal making her core clench. He slid his trousers and boxers down just enough to free his cock—, long and smooth, average in girth but beautifully curved, already hard and leaking pre-cum at the tip from her request alone.
“Start slow,” he instructed, his voice low and filthy.
“Just touch me first—get a feel for it.”
Hermione’s hand trembled slightly as she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, marveling at the heat, the velvety skin over steel. She stroked tentatively, watching his face for cues. Draco groaned softly, his head tipping back.
“Good girl. Grip a bit tighter—yeah, like that. Now, lean in. Kiss the tip, taste me. Use your tongue to explore.”
She obeyed, her lips brushing the head, tasting the salty bead of pre-cum. It was new, intimate, and her nerves melted into curiosity as she swirled her tongue around the tip, flicking along the slit.
Draco hissed, his hand resting lightly in her hair, not pushing, just guiding.
“Fuck, that’s perfect, love. Now, take me in—just the head at first. Suck gently, like you’re savoring a sweet. Keep your lips tight around me.”
Hermione parted her lips, taking the tip into her mouth, her tongue swirling as she sucked softly. The sensation was strange but thrilling—his cock warm and smooth against her tongue, filling her mouth.
She bobbed slightly, testing the depth, her hand stroking the base to cover what she couldn’t fit. Draco’s moans spurred her on, his voice dripping with dirty praise.
“Gods, Granger, look at you—sucking my cock like a naughty little witch. So fucking hot with your lips stretched around me. Take a bit more—breathe through your nose, relax your throat.”
She did, taking him deeper, her lips sliding halfway down his length, her tongue pressing against the underside, tracing a vein. Draco’s hips twitched, but he held back, letting her set the pace.
“That’s it, love. Bob your head—up and down, keep it wet. Use your hand to stroke what you can’t take. Fuck, you’re a natural.”
His fingers tightened in her hair, not forcing, just anchoring her as she found a rhythm, sucking harder, her cheeks hollowing. The wet, sloppy sounds filled the room, mingling with his groans and her soft whimpers, her arousal soaking her panties as she worked him.
“Play with my balls,” he rasped, guiding her free hand to his sac. “Roll them gently—yeah, fuck, just like that.” She massaged them carefully, feeling them tighten under her touch, her mouth working faster now, tongue flicking the sensitive underside of his head on every upstroke. Draco’s breathing grew ragged, his control fraying.
“Hermione—fuck, I’m close. You want me to come in your mouth? Or pull out? Your call, just decide quck.”
She pulled off just enough to murmur, “In my mouth,” before diving back down, sucking with renewed vigor. Draco cursed, his hips bucking slightly as he spilled, hot and thick, coating her tongue.
She swallowed instinctively, the taste salty but not unpleasant, and kept sucking gently until he shuddered, pulling her off with a groan.
“Merlin’s sake, you’re too good at that already,” he panted, pulling her up for a deep, grateful kiss.
They collapsed back onto the pillows, Draco tucking himself away but keeping her close, his arms wrapping around her as they caught their breath.
“You did amazing,” he murmured, kissing her forehead.
“But with Theo, it’ll be different—his cock’s a lot to handle. That girth? It’ll stretch your mouth wide, and the apadravya piercing adds a whole new layer. You’ll need to go slower, use more spit to slick him up—focus on the head at first, play with the piercing with your tongue. It drives him wild, but it can be intense, so take breaks if your jaw aches. Always take a muscle relaxation potion after going down on him, your jaw will thank you. Don’t try to deepthroat him right away; he’s too thick for that without practice.”
Hermione nodded, absorbing the advice, her body still humming from the experience and the thought of pleasing Theo the same way.
“Got it. I’ll be careful. I want to make him feel as good as you just did.”
Draco’s expression softened, his hand cupping her cheek as he looked at her with something deeper than lust—something raw and vulnerable.
“Hermione… I really like you. Not just like this, but as a person, a partner. You’re brilliant, fierce, kind—everything I didn’t know I needed until you came into our lives. I hope we keep getting closer, emotionally, not just physically. I want this—us, the three of us—to keep growing, deeper with time.”
She smiled, her heart swelling as she leaned in to kiss him softly, her hand resting over his heart.
“I feel the same, Draco. I want that too—more than you know.” They curled up together, trading gentle kisses and quiet murmurs, the promise of their triad’s future warming the room as they drifted into a contented, post-date haze, waiting for Theo to get home for dinner.
Notes:
Draco: the sexual driver of the triad.
Chapter 76: Burn It
Notes:
At this rate the media is going to get them into hot-water!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
By the time Hermione returned home from her day at the Charms Institute, the sun had already disappeared behind the snow-laden trees that lined the manor’s long drive. The air smelled faintly of pine and the promise of woodsmoke, and as she stepped through the great front doors, she could hear the soft hum of laughter from the dining room.
Theo had just flooed in himself — still in his healer’s uniform, hair mussed from exhaustion, dark circles under his eyes from all the long shifts lately— and the sight of Draco, of all people, bustling around the dining table in shirtsleeves and a dark green apron made Hermione pause at the threshold in astonishment.
He was setting out silverware with precise care, as if arranging an altar, while an enchanted soup tureen hovered beside him. When he noticed her, his mouth quirked in that dry, self-deprecating way that had become almost endearing.
“Before you say anything,” he said, “no, I didn’t cook. But I did supervise. Which, given my history with open flames, is arguably more heroic.”
Theo chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m honestly impressed, mate. It smells incredible. Did the elves bribe you into this?”
“No,” Draco said loftily. “I simply thought it was time I contributed something more substantial than my stunning personality.”
Hermione smiled as she hung up her cloak. “Well, it’s a very welcome surprise.”
“Good,” Draco said, offering her a glass of wine. “Because we have guests arriving any minute, and I thought it might be nice to give Potter a heart attack by proving that I’m not entirely irredeemable.”
Theo smirked. “You’re feeding him, not dueling him. That’s progress.”
As if summoned by the comment, the floo flared emerald, and Harry and Ginny stepped through in a whirl of winter air and laughter. Ginny’s cheeks were flushed from the cold, her red hair piled messily atop her head; Harry had that familiar, slightly frazzled look of a man perpetually uncertain how to handle social occasions involving former enemies.
“Smells amazing,” Ginny said immediately, smiling at Draco as she unbuttoned her cloak. “Did you make this?”
“I supervised,” Draco said evenly, pulling out a chair for her. “And I’m counting that as a personal triumph.”
Harry blinked. “You what?”
“Supervised,” Hermione repeated, hiding a grin as she took her seat. “It’s progress, Harry. Don’t ruin it.”
Theo clapped Draco on the shoulder. “He’s gone domestic. Next thing you know, he’ll be baking biscuits.”
Draco arched a brow. “Let’s not be absurd.”
The meal began easily — surprisingly so. The roasted pheasant, root vegetables, and wine-glazed pears were exquisite, and conversation flowed better than Hermione could have hoped. Ginny was in rare form, teasing Draco about his culinary supervision and telling stories from the Holyhead Harpies’ training sessions. Theo, relaxed by the wine, told a funny story from the hospital involving a trainee who accidentally transfigured a patient’s hair into daisies.
Even Harry was loosening up, his usual guardedness toward Draco thawing bit by bit.
“So,” Harry said eventually, setting down his glass, “Kingsley’s formally asked me to take the Black family Wizengamot seat. I signed the acceptance parchment this morning.”
Draco’s expression brightened — genuinely brightened. “I heard,” he said, his tone almost proud. “About bloody time, too. You should’ve claimed it months ago. That seat’s gone neglected since my cousin’s death.”
“Not exactly a legacy I wanted to inherit,” Harry admitted. “But I suppose someone’s got to make use of it.”
“Precisely,” Draco said, his eyes gleaming faintly. “And between your seat, mine, Theo’s claim to the Nott vote, and Longbottom’s inheritance, we’ll have something new — a coalition. The next Wizengamot session starts in late-March. The new generation deserves a voice.”
Theo smirked. “A reform coalition led by a Malfoy and a Potter. That’ll make the historians’ heads spin.”
Ginny lifted her glass. “To spinning heads.”
They all laughed, the clinking of crystal echoing softly through the dining room.
For a while, it felt good — simple, even. The kind of normalcy none of them had truly known before.
Then, just as Draco was charming the dessert tray to hover above the table, an owl swooped through the high windows.
It was a sleek brown one with the unmistakable red-and-gold ribbon of the Daily Prophet tied around its leg. It landed in front of Hermione’s plate with a self-satisfied hoot.
The laughter faded instantly.
Theo frowned. “Not again.”
Draco’s mouth tightened. “I told them to leave us alone.”
Hermione sighed, undoing the ribbon with resigned dread. “Let’s just see what they’ve written this time.”
She unfolded the paper. The headline sprawled across the top in magically bold, animated lettering.
-------------------------------------------------
DAILY PROPHET – SOCIETY EXCLUSIVE
Malfoy’s Mystery Lunch: Trouble in the Golden Trio’s Perfect Triad?
By Rita Skeeter (Senior Correspondent, Society & Scandal Desk)
Yesterday afternoon, Diagon Alley was abuzz when Lord Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy estate and one-third of the Ministry’s most controversial “Triad Marriage,” was spotted at L’Aube Sorcière with none other than Hermione Granger. The pair were seen dining alone for over two hours, sharing intimate conversation and wine.
Our sources describe the couple as “deeply absorbed in one another,” with one witness claiming, “They looked like any other couple in love — not like people sharing with a third partner.”
The absence of Healer-to-be Theodore Nott, Granger’s second partner in the triad, has led many to question whether the foundation of this historic union is beginning to fracture before vows are even exchanged.
Is the Nott heir feeling left out of the spotlight? Or could the brightest witch of her age already be discovering that two Slytherins are one too many?
The pair were later mobbed by reporters, where Malfoy reportedly defended Granger from questioning — behavior that has set tongues wagging about a more romantic attachment than the official story suggests.
An exclusive photograph captured the moment: Malfoy shielding Granger with his arm, her face upturned toward him, the two appearing dangerously close to kissing (see moving image, page 3).
While Ministry sources insist that all is well within the triad, an insider close to the Nott family suggested otherwise: “Theo’s been working late a lot lately — maybe to avoid the tension at home.”
Granger, long considered a heroine of the Wizarding War, has been no stranger to controversy since the passage of the Marriage Law last autumn. But her latest appearance may just prove that when it comes to love, even the brightest witch can’t outsmart the heart.
Will the first legal triad marriage in modern wizarding Britain collapse before it begins? Stay tuned for our continuing coverage in next week’s issue of “Heirs and Alliances.”
The silence around the table was deafening. The air felt suddenly heavy, filled with the faint crackle of suppressed emotion.
Theo exhaled through his nose, slow and steady. “They really don’t miss a chance to twist a knife, do they?”
Hermione’s fingers clenched the edges of the paper. “We were just having lunch. That’s all. They make it sound like—like an affair.”
Ginny reached across the table, touching her hand gently. “We know what they do, Hermione. They sell gossip, not truth.”
Harry’s jaw was tight. “Rita Skeeter hasn’t changed a bit. You’d think after the war she’d have developed some ethics.”
Draco, who’d been silent until then, rose abruptly and flicked his wand. The newspaper burst into flames, vanishing to ash in an instant.
“They’ll print what they want,” he said coldly, his voice low but shaking faintly. “And people will believe it, because that’s what they do. They’ve always believed the worst of us.”
Theo reached for him, a calming hand on his arm. “Draco. It’s fine. We know the truth. That’s what matters.”
But Draco’s eyes were fixed on Hermione — searching, anxious. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough. “I should’ve known they’d follow us. I thought the wards at the restaurant would hold. I—”
She stood, moving to him, her hand coming to rest gently against his chest. “Hey,” she said softly. “It’s not your fault. You don’t need to protect me from gossip.”
The flames that had devoured the Daily Prophet still left a faint scent of smoke in the air — acrid, bitter, like burnt parchment and pride. Dinner was finished, the dishes cleared by silent elves, but the atmosphere at the table was heavy again.
Draco had retreated into that dangerously quiet space he sometimes slipped into — not angry, exactly, but brittle, his every movement measured and deliberate. Theo sat back in his chair, fingers wrapped around a half-finished glass of wine, eyes darting occasionally toward Hermione as though gauging how close she was to breaking.
Hermione herself was staring at the empty space where the paper had been. The image was still burned into her mind — that moving picture of her and Draco caught mid-step outside the restaurant, his hand on her back, her head tilted up. It had looked intimate. Too intimate. And she hated that the world would use something so small, so fleeting, to define what they were.
Ginny’s voice cut gently through the quiet. “You know, you could file a formal complaint,” she said, glancing between Hermione and Draco. “About the harassment. The ambush.”
Draco snorted softly. “Against Skeeter? That woman’s like a doxy infestation. You can burn down the house, and she still finds a way back in.”
Theo cracked a faint smile. “She’s probably already halfway through the next article.”
“Probably,” Draco muttered darkly.
For a brief moment, it almost felt normal again — that uneasy blend of humor and weariness that had become their way of coping. But then, as if the universe had been waiting for the perfect cruel beat of timing, another owl swooped in through the open window.
This one wasn’t sleek or elegant. It was a Ministry owl — thick-bodied, gray-feathered, and carrying a wax-sealed envelope stamped with the insignia of the Wizengamot Social Compliance Committee.
It landed squarely in front of Hermione.
No one spoke for a few seconds.
Ginny’s brow furrowed. “What’s that about?”
Hermione didn’t answer right away. Her stomach twisted as she broke the seal, the familiar scent of official Ministry parchment hitting her like a memory from darker days — all those summonses, all those rules, all those decisions made for her instead of by her.
She unfolded the letter.
The Ministry of Magic
Wizengamot Department of Social Compliance and Magical Population Oversight
January 19th, 2006
To: Miss Hermione Granger, Healer Apprentice Theodore Nott, and Lord Draco Malfoy
It has come to the Committee’s attention, following recent widespread media coverage, that certain public inconsistencies may exist regarding your registered triad pairing under the Marriage and Population Restoration Act.
In light of this, the Committee formally requests your presence for an interview and evaluation to reaffirm your compatibility results, verify the legitimacy of your relationship, and assess compliance with Ministry expectations for conduct.
You are hereby summoned to appear before the Social Compliance Review Board on February 3rd at 10:00 AM sharp, at the Ministry of Magic, Level 7, Courtroom B.
Failure to appear will be interpreted as a forfeit of your registration and may result in reassignment under Article 4, Section II of the Marriage Law or a snapping of your wands.
Please bring with you:
• A record of cohabitation proof (joint residence documentation)
• Testimony letters from at least two witnesses attesting to the authenticity of your triadic relationship
• A written declaration of intent to proceed with the triad marriage as approved
We remind you that the Committee’s role is purely administrative — and that the Ministry wishes only to maintain the integrity and success of the Marriage Law for the future of magical Britain.
By order of the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt
and Undersecretary for Magical Population Affairs, Octavia Smethwyck
Hermione’s hand trembled slightly as she lowered the parchment.
Theo’s voice was quiet, low, and dangerous. “They’re calling us in for review.”
Draco’s jaw clenched. “Because of that damned article.”
“Because of the law,” Hermione said bitterly. “Because everything we do is a spectacle now. A ‘case study’ for the rest of wizarding Britain.”
Harry frowned, leaning forward slightly. “This isn’t normal procedure, Hermione. They’re trying to cover their arses after Rita’s mess. Kingsley probably didn’t authorize this personally — that’s Smethwyck’s department. She’s been gunning for tighter oversight since the law passed.”
Ginny’s expression hardened. “So this isn’t just about gossip. They’re testing you.”
Theo rubbed a hand over his face. “Fantastic. A Ministry interrogation disguised as a marriage check-in.”
Draco’s voice was flat, deceptively calm. “We’ll go. We’ll play their game.”
Hermione turned to him sharply. “You can’t just—Draco, this isn’t a dinner invitation. They’ll ask invasive questions, they’ll make us justify our relationship like it’s some sort of performance.”
His gray eyes met hers, steady and unyielding. “Then we perform. We tell them what they want to hear, we sign what they want signed, and we walk out of there still free. Let them think what they like.”
Theo reached for her hand, grounding her.
“He’s right, love. We’ll get through it. Together.”
Hermione looked between them — at Draco, whose composure was a brittle mask over anger; at Theo, calm but tight with fatigue and quiet protectiveness. Her throat tightened. “I hate that we even have to justify ourselves. After everything I’ve done for that Ministry…”
“I know,” Draco said softly. “You shouldn’t have to.”
For a long while, no one spoke. The only sound was the faint pop of the fire in the hearth, and the soft clink as Ginny set her teacup down.
Finally, Harry broke the silence. “You’ll need those witness statements,” he said. “I’ll write one.”
Ginny nodded firmly. “Me too. And Luna and Pansy will, if you ask them. You’ll have enough proof to make them choke on their own bureaucracy.”
Hermione gave them both a small, tremulous smile. “Thank you.”
Theo leaned back, his voice quiet but firm. “We’ll go in looking like what we are — three people who are choosing this. Not because the law forces us to. Because we mean it.”
Draco’s eyes flicked to him, something soft breaking through his usual coolness. “Well said, Healer Nott.”
Theo gave a small smirk. “Coming from you, that’s practically affection.”
That managed to draw a faint laugh from everyone, the tension easing just slightly.
Ginny stood, brushing her hands together. “All right, then. You three are going to need to get some sleep and prepare yourselves. Don’t let the Ministry see a crack.”
Harry nodded, slipping his cloak back on. “And Hermione — you’ve faced worse bureaucrats than this. So have I. Don’t forget that.”
Hermione looked between them — her two partners, so different yet so tethered now to her life and to each other — and for the first time that night, something steadier bloomed inside her chest.
Defiance.
“Then we’d better make sure we look perfect for their little inspection,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “If they want a show, we’ll give them one they’ll never forget.”
Draco’s smile, small but dangerous, mirrored her own. “Now that,” he said, “is the Granger I know.”
The tension in his shoulders eased fractionally.
Across the table, Ginny exchanged a knowing look with Theo and Harry. “I think the press will tire of it eventually,” she said. “Especially if you keep living your life and don’t give them fresh material.”
Theo smiled wryly. “So no public duels or scandalous embraces in alleyways, then?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, how dull.”
That broke the tension. Everyone laughed — even Draco, albeit a little tightly.
The mood at the table had lightened again once the tea had been poured and the dishes replaced with treacle tart and sugared cherries. Ginny, always one to break tension before it could root too deeply, leaned her chin on her hand and said with a teasing grin,
“So, when you three are married… what’s the last name situation going to be? I’ve been wondering for weeks.”
Hermione blinked mid-sip of tea. “Oh—well, I hadn’t really thought about—”
Before she could finish, Harry snorted into his drink. “Merlin, please tell me it’s going to be Nott–Malfoy.”
Draco looked up, affronted. “What’s wrong with that?”
Harry was already laughing too hard to answer. “Because it sounds like ‘not a Malfoy!’” He doubled over, wheezing. “You’d be introducing yourselves like, ‘Hello, we’re the Not-Malfoys!’”
Ginny slapped his arm, but she was giggling too. “Harry, stop—you’re going to choke!”
Theo groaned, rubbing a hand over his face but smiling despite himself. “Brilliant. Just brilliant. We’d be a walking pun.”
Draco gave a long-suffering sigh, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “For the record, Potter, you are the only person in this country who would find that amusing.”
“Not-a-Malfoy!” Harry gasped again, wiping tears from his eyes. “Oh, I’m framing your wedding announcement!”
Hermione rolled her eyes, trying not to laugh herself. “All right, before he dies of it—no, we are not using Nott-Malfoy.”
“Thank Merlin,” Theo muttered.
Draco sniffed. “For dignity’s sake, I vote for Malfoy–Granger–Nott. Alphabetically balanced, dignified, properly ordered. With you between us like glue.”
Hermione arched an eyebrow. “Alphabetically balanced, or just conveniently starting with Malfoy?”
He had the decency to smirk. “A happy coincidence.”
Ginny chuckled, raising her glass. “To the future Malfoy–Granger–Notts, then. May your stationery be expensive and your postmen very confused.”
Everyone laughed—yes, even Draco—and for the first time that evening, it was the kind of laughter that healed rather than distracted.
The rest of the meal was quieter, but lighter somehow. The four of them — and then six of them — chatting about Quidditch standings, hospital rotations, and the absurdity of wizarding politics.
When Harry and Ginny eventually flooed home, Hermione stood at the window, watching the snow fall outside the manor. Behind her, Draco and Theo moved around quietly — one clearing plates, the other refilling her tea.
It wasn’t lost on her that even with all the noise outside their doors, inside these walls, they were building something sacred. Something that — slowly, imperfectly — was beginning to feel like home.
And as Draco caught her gaze, just for a heartbeat, and Theo brushed her shoulder in passing, she thought: Let the Prophet say what it wants.
The truth, after all, was right here.
Notes:
Well, the name situation is settled!
What do you all think the ministry will say at this meeting?
Chapter 77: Follow Directions
Notes:
Draco is going to push them all sexually. =P
Again... explicit warnings on this story!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione laughed as she dipped her brush into a pot of gold paint, flicking it playfully at Theo, who was meticulously outlining letters on a large banner – “Floo Amenities”. A streak of metallic shimmer landed on his cheek, making him grin wickedly.
"Oh, it's on, love," he teased, retaliating with a swipe of emerald across her nose. Draco, ever the perfectionist, tried to stay focused on his own elegant sign—"Dance Floor This Way"—but couldn't resist joining in when Hermione turned on him, dabbing cream paint on his pristine white shirt.
"You little minx," he growled, pulling her into a messy hug that transferred paint from her overalls to his trousers. Chaos ensued: brushes became weapons, laughter echoing as they chased each other around the room, ending up a colorful mess—paint in hair, on skin, smeared across clothes like abstract art.
Breathless and giggling, Hermione wiped a streak from Draco's jaw.
"We're filthy. Shower time?" Theo's eyes lit up, his paint-streaked hand sliding to her ass.
"Together? In your luxury monstrosity?" Draco smirked, already peeling off his ruined shirt.
"Lead the way, Granger."
Hermione's bathroom was an indulgence she'd designed herself after moving in—a spacious oasis with marble tiles, multiple shower heads cascading from the ceiling like a tropical rain, and side jets for a full-body massage perfect for getting out after charms class neck cramps.
A built-in bench seat ran along one wall, wide enough for lounging, and the steam already fogged the mirrors as hot water roared to life. They stripped quickly, clothes discarded in a rainbow heap, revealing toned bodies marked with playful paint splotches.
Hermione stepped under the main cascade first, sighing as the warmth rinsed the first layers away. Theo and Draco joined her, the space plenty big for three, water streaming over their skin in rivulets.
They started lovingly, as always—Theo grabbing the shampoo, working it into Hermione's curls with gentle fingers, massaging her scalp until she hummed in contentment.
"You look like a walking canvas," he murmured, rinsing the suds away, his hands trailing down her back to soap her shoulders. Draco took the body wash, lathering it between his palms before smoothing it over Theo's chest, washing away the emerald streaks with firm, affectionate strokes.
"Missed a spot," he teased, his hand dipping lower to Theo's abs, teasing but not yet fully sexual. Hermione turned to them, taking the soap to clean Draco's arms, her touch tender, tracing the faint scars from his past.
"You're both so beautiful," she whispered, and they shared soft kisses under the spray—lips brushing, water mingling with the taste of the each other.
But the intimacy shifted quickly, heat building like the steam around them. As Theo soaped Hermione's breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples until they pebbled, Draco grabbed one of the detachable shower heads, adjusting it to a pulsing jet.
"Let's get you properly clean, Hermione," he purred, directing the stream between her legs while Theo's hands parted her thighs. The warm, rhythmic pressure hit her clit directly, making Hermione gasp, her hands clutching Theo's shoulders.
"Oh gods... that's..." She trailed off into a moan, the sensation electric, amplified by the loving way they held her.
Draco's eyes darkened, handing the shower head to Theo.
"Sit her down—let's make this good." They guided her to the bench seat, the tile warm from the steam, her back against the wall as water continued to cascade around them.
Hermione spread her legs, exposed and aching, her pussy already slick despite the water. Theo knelt before her, the shower head in one hand, directing the pulsing jet back to her clit while his other hand traced her folds. She groaned at the back of her throat.
"You're so responsive," he breathed, leaning in to kiss her inner thigh. The jet massaged her swollen nub relentlessly, building pleasure in waves, but Theo added his fingers—teasing her entrance with one, circling the tight opening.
"Fuck, love, you're still so damn tight,"
Theo groaned, pushing the single finger in slowly, her walls gripping him like a vice. Hermione whimpered, her hips rocking into the dual assault—the water pulsing on her clit, his finger thrusting gently.
He pumped it in and out, curling to stroke her inner walls, but she was dripping now, arousal mixing with the shower's flow.
"Ready for more?" he asked, his voice husky with desire.
She nodded frantically, and he eased the second finger alongside the first, the stretch burning at first—her tightness resisting, making her wince slightly. Theo went slow, scissoring gently, letting her adjust until the discomfort melted into fullness, pleasure spiking as he thrust deeper.
Behind Theo, Draco positioned himself, his long cock hard and slicked with waterproof lube he'd charmed from a nearby shelf.
"Bend forward a bit, Theo—let me take care of you while you take her."
Theo complied, leaning over Hermione, his fingers still working her as Draco pressed against his ass, the tip breaching slowly. Theo groaned, the sound vibrating through Hermione as Draco sank in inch by inch very slowly, giving him time to adjust, filling him with that 8.5-inch length.
"Fuck, Theo, your ass is so tight around my cock—gripping me like you need it. And look at her—our little witch, spread wide, taking your fingers while I fuck you."
Draco's thrusts started slow, building rhythm as he dirty-talked them both at once, his voice echoing off the tiles.
"That's it, Theo—finger that pretty pussy deeper. Feel how she clenches? She's made for us, isn't she? And you—taking my cock like a good boy, letting me pound your ass while you make her squirm."
Theo's pace on Hermione was decent— steady thrusts, his fingers curling to hit her G-spot, the shower head pulsing on her clit—but she hovered befor the edge, pleasure coiling tight without release, her body shaking with frustration.
"Draco... Theo... I can't... it's too much, I can't break," Hermione whimpered, her thighs trembling, eyes locked on them both. Draco's gaze met hers over Theo's shoulder, intense and filthy, his hips snapping harder into Theo, making the brunet grunt and moan deep with each thrust.
"Oh, you can, Granger," Draco growled, holding her stare, his voice dripping with command.
"Look at me while I fuck Theo's tight ass—feel him finger you, pretend it's my cock sliding into that soaking cunt. Gods, you're dripping all over his hand, aren't you? So wet, so needy. Imagine us both filling you—my cum deep in your pussy, Theo's down your throat. Fuck, you'd love that, wouldn't you?"
Hermione moaned louder, the words pushing her higher, but still not near teetering. Draco noticed, his thrusts relentless as he leaned over Theo's back whispering in his ear.
"Theo—she needs more. Finger fuck her harder. Pound that tight little pussy with your fingers—make her scream."
Theo hesitated, his fingers slowing slightly, concern flashing in his eyes. "Draco... she's so tight. I don't want to hurt her. This is enough. She likes it."
Draco's hand gripped Theo's hip, thrusting deep to emphasize his point.
"She can take it—look at her, shaking and begging for it. That's what she needs to finish, mate. Harder—fuck her like you mean it. Trust me, she'll come undone."
Hermione nodded wildly, her voice breathy. "Please, Theo... harder. I’ll be ok… I really need it."
Encouraged by Draco's insistence and Hermione's pleas, Theo relented, his thrusts ramping up—fingers plunging deeper, faster, the second one fully seated now as he finger-fucked her hard, much harder than he'd ever touched her before.
The wet, slapping sounds mixed with the shower's roar, her walls stretching around him in a burning, exquisite grip.
"Fuck, yes—like that," Draco praised, his own pace brutal in Theo's ass.
"Pound her, Theo—make that pussy clench. She's loving it, aren't you, Granger? Taking it rough, just like you crave. Look at you, spread wide for us, your tight little hole gripping his fingers like a vice. Begging to be stretched and fucked until you can't think straight."
Hermione's breaths came in ragged gasps, her body bouncing off the bench as Theo's fingers drove into her with increasing force spurred by Draco’s demands, the pace building from hard to punishing.
But she still hovered, the edge so close yet elusive, her moans turning into desperate whines.
"More... gods, help… can’t… not there.. so full… not enough…need more… help," she panted, her nails digging into Theo's shoulders.
Draco smirked, his voice a low, taunting rumble as he slammed into Theo harder, the impact jolting Theo's hand deeper into Hermione.
"Hear that, Theo? She's not there yet. Give it to her rougher—slam those fingers in like you're trying to break her. She's dripping for it, mate. Look at her pussy—swollen and red, sucking you in. Harder, damn it. Make her feel every inch."
Theo groaned, concern in his eyes, but Hermione nodded vigorously at him.
The command spurring him on; he adjusted his angle, curling his fingers more aggressively against her G-spot with each thrust, his speed picking up until his hand was a blur, pounding her relentlessly. The stretch burned hotter now with the intense pace for her, her tightness protesting but yielding to his two fingers, waves of pleasure-pain radiating through her core.
"Yes, just like that," Draco continued, his eyes locked on Hermione's flushed face, dirty words spilling out to keep her spiraling, graphic and unrelenting.
"Take it, Granger—you love being pounded like this, don't you? Your smart little brain turning to mush while Theo wrecks that perfect pussy. Look at how your lips are parting around his fingers, all puffy and slick, begging for more abuse. Imagine if it was my cock instead—stretching you wider than you can handle, ramming into that tight, dripping hole until you're gaping and raw. You'd beg for it, wouldn't you? Our filthy little witch, craving to be used hard and deep, your clit throbbing under that jet while your cunt gets finger-fucked into oblivion. Fuck, I can see your juices squirting out with every slam—such a messy slut, coating his hand like you can't get enough."
Both Theo and Hermione wer elosing their minds at his filthy words, and the intense stimulation they both were undergoing. Moans from all three mixed in different pitches, echoing in the giant bathroom.
A few minutes stretched on like that, the pounding unyielding—Theo's fingers slamming into her over and over, the pace escalating to a brutal rhythm that had her thighs quaking uncontrollably, her walls fluttering wildly around the intrusion.
The shower head's pulse on her clit amplified everything, turning the intensity into a torturous build, her body slick with sweat and water, every nerve alight. Draco didn't let up on the encouragement or the filthy commentary, his thrusts into Theo syncing with the words, each one designed to paint vivid, obscene pictures in Hermione's mind.
"Don't stop now, Theo—harder, mate, give her everything. She's right there, aren't you, love? That tight cunt of yours is begging to break, clenching and spasming like it's starving for a real cock to ruin it. Feel how he's stretching you open, Granger? Those fingers battering your walls, hitting that spot that makes you leak like a faucet. Gods, I'd love to see you take us both right now—me splitting your pussy wide while Theo chokes you with his dick, cum dripping from every hole. You're our perfect pussy, aren't you? Built to be slammed and filled until you're screaming and sobbing from how good it hurts."
Hermione could barely form words, her head thrown back against the wall, moans echoing louder with each slam of Theo's hand, the graphic onslaught from Draco making her body burn hotter, her arousal flooding out in response.
"Yes... oh gods, yes... don't stop... harder..."
The pounding went on for another minute, relentless, her body adapting to the roughness, the burn transforming into pure ecstasy as the minutes dragged, her climax coiling tighter and tighter under the prolonged assault.
Draco kept pushing, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper laced with even more detail, as he could see she was now teetering at the point of no return.
"That's it, keep taking it—watch how your pussy swallows his fingers, all red and swollen from the pounding. You're so fucking tight, Granger, but look at you gushing, your clit pulsing like it's about to explode. Imagine my cum shooting deep inside you, mixing with your slick, leaking out while Theo keeps wrecking you. You'd come so hard you'd squirt all over us both, wouldn't you?”
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of building torment, Draco leaned closer, his voice a harsh whisper in Theo’s ear.
"She’s right there for us, about to crack. Now, Theo—slam her one more time, as hard as you can. Make her scream for us."
Theo obeyed, driving his fingers in with intense force, and Hermione shattered at last, her orgasm crashing like a tidal wave—body convulsing, walls spasming in a vice around Theo's fingers, a gush of wetness soaking his hand and the bench beneath her.
"Theo! Draco!" she screamed, stars bursting behind her eyes, pleasure ripping through her in intense, endless waves more intense than anything she’d ever felt before, that left her trembling long after the peak.
Theo followed moments later, the dual sensation—Hermione's climax milking his fingers, Draco's cock hitting his prostate hard—pushing him over. He came with a guttural roar of their names, spilling onto the shower floor, his ass clenching forceful around Draco.
Draco eased out gently, his own release hitting as he stroked himself to finish, cum mixing with the water. They caught their breaths, the shower rinsing them clean as they finished washing—soft touches now, shampooing paint from hair, soaping sore spots.
Back in the bedroom, wrapped in towels, Draco fetched the soothing cream. Theo applied it his fingers gentle on her folds, dipping just an inch inside to ease the tenderness from the very rough fingering.
"I'm sorry if I hurt you, love," he murmured, guilt in his eyes.
Hermione pulled him close, kissing him softly with loving eyes.
"Don't be. I really needed it. It was worth it—for how good it felt in the moment. Intense, but... gods, so so good. I don’t know why, but hard really…. does it for me.”"
Draco chuckled with a smirk, flopping onto the bed beside them.
"The irony, though—her being so ridiculously tight, yet her body clearly really, really likes taking a good pounding to the pussy. Our little contradiction."
They laughed, the tension easing into affection as they discarded towels and climbed under the covers—Hermione in the middle, Theo and Draco on either side, limbs tangled.
Soft kisses and murmurs lulled them toward sleep, the last day of January fading into a contented night, their bond stronger in the afterglow.
Notes:
Thoughts on this dynamic that's playing out in the bedroom?
Chapter 78: The First Ministry Meeting
Chapter Text
The Ministry’s Department of Social Compliance occupied the lowest, dullest corner of Level Seven — where the walls hummed faintly with the strain of too many wards layered over too little space. Everything about the corridor looked clinical and stale: pale tiles, enchanted sconces that gave off flickering light, and portraits of long-dead bureaucrats who watched every passerby with suspicion.
Hermione’s heels clicked sharply against the floor as she, Theo, and Draco followed a clerk toward Courtroom B. They walked together, yet the air between them hummed with nerves. Theo’s hand occasionally brushed against hers — a grounding gesture — and Draco’s posture, tall and stiff, carried the quiet weight of someone preparing for a duel rather than an interview.
The clerk stopped at a heavy oak door. “You may enter,” she said tonelessly, then stepped aside.
Inside, the courtroom wasn’t much of a court at all — more of an interrogation chamber disguised in bureaucratic finery. A long marble table stood in the center, facing three Ministry officials seated behind a raised desk. Each had an enchanted quill poised over parchment, and a single glowing globe of magic floated above them, casting light over the trio.
“Ah,” said the woman in the middle, her voice sharp and polished. “The Malfoy–Granger–Nott triad.” She glanced down at her papers, not bothering to hide the slight curl of her lip. “You’re precisely on time. Please, sit.”
Hermione sat between Theo and Draco. The wooden chairs were uncomfortably straight-backed, designed to discourage ease.
“I am Undersecretary Octavia Smethwyck,” the woman continued. “This review is to ensure compliance with the Marriage and Population Restoration Act and to verify the authenticity of your… unique arrangement.” She tapped her quill against the parchment. “For the record, state your full names.”
They did — Hermione first, then Theo, then Draco.
Smethwyck nodded curtly. “And you have brought the required documentation?”
Theo slid a neatly bound folder across the table. “Joint residence certification for Nott Manor, dated and signed by the property ward master. Copies of our triad registration papers. Proof of cohabitation bills and residence wards recognized by the Ministry.”
Hermione added, “As well as testimony letters from Mr. and Mrs. Potter, Mrs. Zabini, and Miss Lovegood, attesting to the authenticity of our relationship.”
Smethwyck flipped through the papers with brisk efficiency. “So thorough,” she said coolly. “One might think you were trying to impress us, Miss Granger.”
Hermione’s jaw tightened, but she kept her tone even. “Merely being compliant, Madam Undersecretary.”
Draco leaned back in his chair slightly, his voice like frost over steel. “Surely you prefer documentation to scandal.”
One of the other officials — a squat wizard with a nervous tic — coughed softly. “There has been considerable public interest in your pairing,” he said, glancing uneasily at Hermione. “Recent press coverage has been… extensive.”
“Yes,” Hermione said, her composure unwavering though her stomach twisted. “We’ve been the subject of relentless media harassment. I’d think the Ministry would take a stronger stance against such invasions of privacy.”
Smethwyck ignored that. “And yet you attended a Ministry-hosted gala last week.”
Draco arched a pale brow. “We were invited by the Minister himself.”
“Indeed,” she said, flipping to another page. “And I understand you’ve announced a wedding date — February tenth?”
Theo inclined his head politely. “Correct. The ceremony will take place on the grounds of Nott Manor. Minister Shacklebolt himself has accepted our invitation.”
That caused a visible stir among the panel. Smethwyck’s quill hesitated. “I see,” she said, her voice thinner now. “A bold guest list.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “We believe in transparency.”
The silence that followed was thick with bureaucratic disapproval. The second official — a balding man who hadn’t spoken yet — cleared his throat. “I must remind you,” he said, “that triadic bonds are extraordinarily rare, and any instability within one can lead to unpredictable magical consequences. We’ve documented magical imbalance phenomena in prior failed unions.”
Theo frowned. “Unstable how?”
Smethwyck steepled her fingers. “Increased volatility in ambient magic. Ward destabilization. Wand misfires. Emotional resonance between bonded members amplifying. Chaos, in short. You would do well to avoid… disrupting your bond.”
Draco’s voice was low and even. “Are you implying we might fail?”
“I’m reminding you,” she said crisply, “that the law requires continued harmony between bonded partners. The Ministry cannot afford social upheaval.”
Hermione’s heart twisted. She hated the way they spoke of it — their relationship — as if it were a weapon that needed defusing. She leaned forward slightly, her tone calm but firm. “We’re aware of the gravity of this bond, Madam Undersecretary. We didn’t choose it lightly.”
Smethwyck’s eyes flicked up, appraising her. For a brief moment, something like respect flashed there — or maybe just calculation. “Good,” she said at last. “Because once you’re married, you will be placed under ongoing review for the first year. You’ll have access to a liaison from the Department of Mysteries who specializes in studying triadic magical mechanics. They’ll… educate you on what to expect.”
Theo’s fingers twitched against Hermione’s under the table — the smallest brush of reassurance. She didn’t look at him, but the contact steadied her.
Draco spoke next, his tone measured but edged with irritation. “And after this… ‘review’?”
Smethwyck sighed as if bored. “After marriage, you’ll simply be expected to maintain compliance benchmarks. Residence, emotional and magical stability, and—” she paused delicately, “—family development expectations in accordance with the Population Restoration mandate.”
Hermione caught the way Theo’s jaw clenched at that phrasing. Family development expectations. What a clean, bloodless way to talk about the most intimate part of people’s lives.
Draco’s lip curled. “How very generous of the Ministry to schedule our happiness.”
Smethwyck ignored him. “Your documentation is in order,” she said, closing the folder with a soft snap. “The Committee sees no reason to revoke your registration. You will receive written confirmation by owl tomorrow. Do you have any further questions?”
Hermione’s voice was quiet but unwavering. “Only this — do you ever tire of treating people like files instead of lives?”
For the first time, Smethwyck’s composure cracked — a flicker of surprise, quickly masked. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of sentiment, Miss Granger. That will be all.”
Draco stood first, spine straight, every inch of his aristocratic upbringing radiating disdain. “Then we’ll be leaving. Minister Shacklebolt will be delighted to know his guests are in such capable hands.”
Theo rose beside him, helping Hermione up. He offered her his arm, and she took it. Together, the three of them left the courtroom, the heavy door closing behind them with a hollow echo that sounded too much like judgment.
The corridor outside was brighter — sterile white light gleaming on the tiles — but the air felt thin. They walked in silence for several steps before Hermione finally exhaled.
“That woman—”
“—was a toad in pearls,” Draco muttered.
Theo huffed a quiet laugh. “I think she’s the first bureaucrat I’ve ever seen who could make a boggart nervous.”
Hermione smiled despite herself, though her voice trembled slightly. “We shouldn’t have to defend our love to anyone.”
Draco slowed, turning toward her, his eyes softer than his tone. “No, we shouldn’t. But we did. And we won.”
Theo’s hand found hers again — warm, certain. “And now we go home.”
Hermione nodded. For all the noise and scrutiny pressing down on them, in that quiet hallway, she felt the faintest pulse of what the official had called harmony. It wasn’t perfection. It was three hearts, uneven but steady, learning to beat together against the whole weight of the world.
The fireplaces at Nott Manor glowed with soft amber light when they returned. It was late afternoon, snow still falling outside in slow, heavy flakes. Hermione let her cloak slide from her shoulders, the weight of the Ministry still clinging to her skin like dust.
Theo took it from her silently, hanging it on the stand beside his own. The manor was warm — too warm — the kind of heat that made her feel every pulse beneath her ribs. Draco crossed to the sideboard, poured three glasses of mulled wine, and handed one to each of them before sitting opposite her on the sofa.
No one spoke for several moments. The crackling of the fire filled the space where words refused to come.
Finally, Hermione said quietly, “I hate that place.”
Theo sat beside her, elbow resting against his knee. “They made you feel small. That’s what bureaucracy does best.”
Draco’s gaze stayed on the fire, the reflection of it burning in his eyes. “They make everyone feel small. Even me. Especially me.”
Hermione turned her glass between her palms. “I thought I’d be used to it by now — the scrutiny, the questions. But it felt different this time. Like they weren’t seeing people at all, just… components of a law.”
Theo reached out, brushed his thumb against her knuckles. “You handled it perfectly, you know. The way you looked at Smethwyck— I swear the temperature dropped five degrees.”
That pulled a small laugh out of her. “You mean when she implied we were unstable?”
Draco’s mouth curved faintly. “I think she meant volatile. She wasn’t wrong.”
The words might have stung if his tone hadn’t been so soft, so oddly fond. Hermione looked up at him, meeting that familiar silver gaze that always seemed to see too much.
“We’re not volatile, Draco.”
“No,” he said, “we’re alive.”
Theo leaned back, exhaling. “She did mention those… benchmarks.”
Hermione nodded slowly. “She did. Cohabitation, stability, consummation, family expectations.” She swallowed. “They make it sound so clinical.”
Draco set down his glass, his voice measured but sincere. “Hermione, listen to me. We aren’t thinking about that part tonight. Or on the wedding night either, for that matter.”
Theo nodded. “He’s right. The Ministry’s expectations aren’t ours. You set the pace, just like we agreed.”
She looked between them — the healer’s steady eyes, the aristocrat’s guarded sincerity — and something inside her eased. “You really mean that?”
Theo’s hand covered hers again, warm and solid. “Of course we do. This isn’t about obligation. It’s about building something that’s real.”
Draco’s expression softened further. “They can set whatever deadlines they like. We’re not performing for them. We’ll cross that threshold when it feels right — not because a bureaucrat’s quill says we should. No scheduling things. We know what has to be done by when… and it will. But we don’t need to write it on the calendar and focus on it. We will meet their deadlines in our own way.”
Hermione’s breath caught; the tension in the air changed. The fireplace’s light flickered across all three of them, painting warmth across pale skin and dark wool. They were close — too close — and yet none of them moved away.
Theo’s thumb was still tracing slow circles over her hand. Draco’s gaze lingered on her face, searching, unspoken questions and reassurances caught somewhere between them. The air felt thick, charged with something tender and unsaid.
Hermione broke the silence, her voice low. “I don’t know what happens next. We have one week until the wedding and it already feels like the world’s watching us breathe.”
Theo leaned in slightly, his tone calm but firm. “Then we stop caring about the world. Just for tonight. No deadlines. No hearings. Just us.”
Draco’s reply was softer still. “We survived them. That’s what matters.”
Hermione smiled faintly, her eyes glistening from the firelight. “You’re both impossible.”
“Accurate,” Draco murmured.
Theo laughed quietly. “But you like us anyway.”
She didn’t answer aloud; instead, she reached across and brushed her fingers against Draco’s wrist — a small, hesitant touch that said everything. He met her hand halfway, his touch light, reverent. Theo’s shoulder brushed hers from the other side, the three of them forming a quiet constellation before the fire.
They stayed that way as the snow deepened outside — three hearts learning again to breathe in rhythm. There was no rush, no decree dictating what came next, only the warmth of the room and the steady hum of connection that promised: we will find our own pace.
Notes:
One week till the wedding, and so much to still do!
Chapter 79: Paris
Notes:
Pansy did say next time would have to be... Paris!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The Portkey deposited them just outside the glittering façade of the Hôtel d’Orée, a boutique hotel tucked along a narrow Parisian street. The night air was crisp and cold, carrying the faint scent of rain and warm bread from the nearby boulangerie. Hermione stumbled slightly as she landed, clutching her travel cloak around her.
“Still hate those bloody things,” Ginny muttered, shaking out her red hair. “Side-along Apparition would’ve been less nauseating.”
Pansy smirked. “And risk ending up in a fountain because your concentration snapped at a pigeon? No thank you, Weasley.”
Hermione laughed softly, the tension that had built in her shoulders over the week loosening a little. “You two are incorrigible.”
“And you,” Pansy said, looping an arm through hers, “need champagne, a dress that doesn’t look like it’s meant for the library, a warming charm, and a night where you forget the Ministry, the Manor, and both your infuriatingly handsome wizards.”
Ginny grinned. “Hear, hear.”
They checked into their adjoining rooms — all soft golden lamps, plush velvet, and windows that opened to balconies overlooking the Seine. Hermione wandered to her own balcony while Pansy and Ginny debated outfits next door.
The Eiffel Tower shimmered in the distance, its lights winking like enchanted fireflies. She drew in a deep breath. Paris smelled different than London — lighter, sweeter, tinged with something wistful.
For the first time in months, she felt anonymous. Not the Hermione Granger, the Triad Bride of Britain, the witch splashed across every gossip column. Just Hermione, standing above the city with the winter wind curling through her curls.
Pansy appeared in her doorway a few minutes later, already transformed: black silk dress, red lipstick, an aura of playful confidence that could make even a Veela nervous.
“You’re not allowed to brood tonight, darling. Let’s go remind France that British witches can still outshine them.”
Ginny followed in a dark green gown that shimmered like dragon scales, her hair pulled into a sleek twist.
“Hermione, if you don’t come out of that room in five minutes, I’m hexing your suitcase open myself.”
Laughing, Hermione gave in. She changed into the midnight-blue dress Pansy had insisted she pack — simple but elegant, with a low back and sleeves of translucent lace. When she stepped out, both women gave approving nods.
“Now that,” Pansy said with satisfaction, “is a woman Paris will remember.”
They dined on the terrace of Le Jardin de la Luna, a wizarding restaurant hidden between two Muggle cafés, its garden enchanted to bloom year-round. Silver fairy lights floated in the air, soft music drifted from unseen instruments, and the Eiffel Tower sparkled through the enchantment that blurred the Muggle world just beyond.
Ginny raised her glass. “To Hermione — for surviving the Ministry, the press, and two Slytherins without hexing either… so far”
Hermione smiled, clinking her glass gently against theirs.
“To both of you — for reminding me what air feels like.”
The champagne was light, the conversation lighter still. They laughed until their ribs hurt — about old Hogwarts days, about the absurdity of Ministry paperwork, about Ginny’s last Quidditch match where a bludger had nearly taken out her broom and Pansy had sworn it was a love curse from an ex-fan.
When the laughter faded, the conversation turned softer. Ginny toyed with her fork, glancing at Hermione.
“You really doing all right? With the wedding so close?”
Hermione hesitated, watching the reflection of the tower shimmer in her glass.
“I think so. It’s… complicated, but good. They’re good to me. It’s just—sometimes I still can’t believe any of this is my life and that this is compelled by the ministry, not a love match.”
Pansy leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand.
“That’s because it’s completely mad. But it’s your kind of mad. You’ve always been drawn to chaos, Granger. You just found two men who can handle it.”
Hermione laughed quietly. “Or create more of it.”
“Same difference,” Ginny said, smirking.
They lingered long after the plates were cleared, watching the tower light up in its midnight sparkle show — the gold lights flickering in waves, the whole city seeming to pause and breathe in time with it. Hermione felt something inside her chest unclench.
After dinner, they strolled along the Seine, arms linked, their laughter echoing through the lamplight. Pansy pointed out couples kissing on bridges; Ginny bought roasted chestnuts from a street vendor. Hermione stopped once to look at the tower again, its top vanishing into the low clouds.
“It’s so much taller than I remembered,” she murmured.
Ginny smiled. “That’s because you’re seeing it now, not studying it.”
They walked back slowly, the cobblestones glistening faintly with frost. Thank Merlin for warming charms. Hermione caught her reflection in a shop window as they passed — her hair loosened by the breeze, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. She barely recognized herself, and for once, she didn’t mind.
When they reached the hotel, Pansy stretched with a satisfied sigh. “Tomorrow, museums and mischief. But tonight—sleep.... or not!”
The hotel room was wrapped in gold light and laughter. Outside, Paris sparkled — the Eiffel Tower’s lights winking distantly through the lace curtains, the hum of the street below softened to a romantic murmur. Inside, the air was scented with honeyed perfume, butter from pastries they’d smuggled up from dinner, and the faint fizz of champagne.
Ginny was sprawled across the bed in her pajamas — bright red with tiny broomsticks on them — her hair a wild halo against the pillow. Pansy sat cross-legged on the plush chair by the window, silk robe slipping off one shoulder, painting her toenails a scandalous emerald green. Hermione, perched on the edge of the bed in borrowed pajamas that smelled faintly of Pansy’s perfume, was giggling at something Ginny had just said.
“Okay, okay,” Ginny said, wiping tears from her eyes, “but really, Hermione — when’s the last time you had a weekend without those two hovering like anxious hippogriffs?”
Hermione took a sip of champagne to hide her blush. “It’s not hovering. They just… care. A lot.”
Pansy smirked, blowing on her nails.
“You mean they’re utterly obsessed with you, Granger. And honestly, who can blame them? Draco practically cursed that reporter the other day for getting within 3 feet of you. If I were either of them, I’d have chained you to the bed by now — metaphorically, of course.”
Ginny cackled. “Speak for yourself, Pans. I’d never survive the Triad arrangement. Too many egos in one room. I can barely handle one Potter.”
“You say that,” Pansy teased, “but I’ve seen the way Harry looks at you. He’s as bad as Theo when Hermione walks into a room. It’s practically illegal.”
Hermione groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “You two are impossible.”
Pansy’s voice softened. “No, love, we’re just jealous. You’ve got two men who’d duel a basilisk for you.”
Hermione peeked through her fingers, cheeks pink. “It’s not… like that. Not exactly. It’s complicated. We’re all still figuring it out.”
Ginny rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand. “But it’s good, yeah? You look—different lately. Lighter.”
Hermione’s expression softened, a small, genuine smile tugging at her lips.
“It’s good. Better than I expected, honestly. Theo’s… constant. Kind in a quiet way that just—wraps around you. And Draco—”
She hesitated, the name coming out softer. “Draco’s—more surprising. He’s trying. Every single day, he’s trying. And when he lets the walls down, it’s…”
“Devastatingly attractive?” Pansy supplied, smirking.
Hermione laughed. “Something like that.”
Ginny took a long sip of champagne. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think he’s really changed. At the Christmas Eve party, he actually made small talk with George. George, Pansy. The same George who once turned his hair neon pink for calling Mum a meddling old bat.”
Pansy laughed so hard she nearly spilled her polish. “That’s character development if I’ve ever heard it.”
Hermione smiled, a faraway look in her eyes. “He’s—different than I thought he’d be. He’s gentle, when he thinks no one’s looking. Still a bit proud, arrogant, a bit sharp around the edges, but… there’s something tender under all that.”
Ginny nodded knowingly. “He’s in love with you.”
The words hung in the air for a moment, soft and simple. Hermione looked down at her glass, swirling the golden bubbles.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so really. But it’s early still, and after everything we’ve all been through… I just want to be sure before I name it.”
Pansy leaned back in the chair, her voice quieter now. “That’s smart. Real love doesn’t rush. But don’t doubt what you already have, Hermione. What you three are building—it’s rare. It’s messy and complicated and beautiful. The kind of thing people spend lifetimes searching for.”
Hermione’s eyes glistened. “You really think so?”
“I know so,” Pansy said simply. “I’ve seen the way Theo looks at you—like he’s found the one steady thing in the world. And Draco—Merlin, he’s glowing lately. You’re healing something in him that no potion could touch.”
Ginny grinned. “And we both know you’re not bad for Theo either. You make him loosen up. Laugh more. Did he really spend an hour charming the tree ornaments to sing Christmas carols because you said you missed Muggle holidays?”
Hermione laughed, warmth flooding her chest. “He did. They still start up whenever someone walks past the sitting room. I can’t bring myself to take the tree down yet. But, it’ll come down before thw wedding.”
“That’s love, right there,” Ginny declared.
“Or insanity,” Pansy said lightly, sipping her champagne.
They all laughed again, the sound easy and ful.
After a while, they kicked off their slippers and climbed into the enormous hotel bed, shoulders pressed together under a pile of blankets. The city lights outside painted their faces gold.
Ginny had her head tilted back, staring at the ceiling.
“You know what’s funny? When we were at Hogwarts, if someone had told me you, Hermione Granger, would end up in a magically bound triad with two Slytherins, I’d have hexed them for spreading ridiculous gossip.”
“Same,” Hermione said through a laugh. “If someone had told me I’d ever be fond of Pansy Parkinson, I’d have assumed they’d been confunded.”
Pansy smirked. “And yet here we are. Paris, champagne, emotional vulnerability. Miracles do happen.”
“Maybe Luna’s right,” Ginny said softly. “Magic always has a plan. We just rarely see it until it’s already tangled us up in it.”
Hermione nodded, the words sinking deep. “That’s what it feels like. Tangled. But in a way that makes sense, somehow.”
Pansy rolled onto her stomach, chin in her hands. “So what’s next for you three? After the wedding, I mean. Babies? A castle? Matching silk pajamas?”
Hermione blushed furiously. “Merlin, Pansy—no! We’re barely surviving the planning as it is. I just want peace. A home. The Ministry already is dictating the rest of it,”
Ginny laughed. “I’m surprised Draco hasn’t insisted on a pet peacock.”
“He tried,” Hermione admitted, deadpan. “I told him absolutely not.”
That sent all three of them into hysterics.
When the laughter finally died down, the room was warm and quiet. Ginny had drifted halfway to sleep, her breathing even. Pansy was staring out at the Eiffel Tower, twirling a strand of her dark hair.
Hermione spoke softly, almost to herself.
“Sometimes I wonder if I deserve it—all of it. After the war, after everything… it feels like I’m not supposed to have something this good.”
Pansy looked over at her, her tone surprisingly gentle. “You do. You’ve earned every piece of peace that comes your way. Don’t let guilt talk you out of happiness.”
Hermione swallowed hard, eyes stinging. “You sound like Theo when you say that.”
Pansy smiled faintly. “Then he’s smarter than I gave him credit for.”
The three women lay there for a while, wrapped in silence and candlelight, until Ginny murmured sleepily, “Hermione?”
“Mm?”
“When you get married,” she said, voice drowsy but sincere, “make sure you let yourself be loved, yeah? Not just needed or mandated. You’ve been needed your whole life by Harry and Ron, by the wizarding world. Let them love you.”
Hermione blinked, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. She reached out and squeezed Ginny’s hand. “I will.”
Pansy turned off the lamp with a flick of her wand, plunging them into the soft darkness.
“Good,” she whispered. “Because for once, Granger, the world isn’t ending. It’s just beginning for you.”
Hermione smiled int the dark, her heart full in that aching, beautiful way that only friendship could bring.
And outside, the Eiffel Tower sparkled on — endless, golden, and alive.
Morning came softly over Paris. Pale light spilled through the gauzy curtains, and the low hum of the city drifted in from the streets below — vendors calling out in French, a bicycle bell chiming, the faint hiss of enchanted espresso machines.
Hermione woke slowly, the warmth of her quilt and the faint scent of lavender filling her senses.
She was halfway through a stretch when she heard the knock. “Granger,” Pansy’s voice drawled through the door, “if you’re not dressed in fifteen minutes, I’m transfiguring your sensible shoes into heels that actually make your calves look sexy.”
Ginny called out with a laugh, “Don’t listen to her! Wear trainers — we’re walking everywhere today!”
Hermione groaned, but she couldn’t stop smiling. “You two are going to be the death of me.”
They started their day at a wizarding café tucked off a side street - Café Amortentia, named for the famous potion. Its owner, an elderly witch with bright silver hair and enormous gold bangles, served their croissants with winking commentary about the “romantic scents” rising from the enchanted steam.
“Smells like rain, parchment, mint, apples, and pine to me,” Hermione mused, inhaling her cup.
Ginny smirked. “Translation: smells like Theo and Draco.”
Pansy lifted her nose theatrically. “And what about you, Weasley?”
“Leather polish, blood, and broom wax,” Ginny replied without hesitation.
They all burst out laughing.
Hermione dabbed her lips with a napkin, cheeks still flushed from laughing. “You two are terrible.”
“Realistic,” Pansy corrected. “Some of us aren’t in denial about who we’re attracted to.”
“Oh, I’m not in denial,” Hermione said dryly, cutting her croissant. “I’m just trying not to blush every time someone mentions it.”
“Failing spectacularly,” Ginny added, and they all dissolved into giggles again.
After breakfast, they took the floo to the magical district — Quartier des Enchantés.
Narrow cobblestone streets curved between ornate buildings, each shopfront shimmering with hidden charms. There were broom boutiques glowing with iridescent flight patterns, patisseries that levitated their pastries to customers, and fashion houses with mannequins that posed on their own.
Pansy dragged them first into a boutique called Belle et Bête, famous for its enchanted gowns. The moment they entered, a rack of dresses came gliding toward them, whispering compliments in lilting French.
Ginny held up a crimson gown that sparkled faintly at the seams. “Do you think I could sneak this into the Ministry Gala next year?”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “If Harry’s heart can handle it.”
“Please,” Pansy said, flipping through hangers. “The Boy Who Lived is the most besotted husband in Britain. You could wear dragonhide and he’d still look at you like you invented sunlight.”
Ginny’s cheeks colored. “He’s sweet.”
“And you,” Pansy said, turning to Hermione, “need something that says Triad Bride but make it dangerous. Something with less lace and more sexy confidence.”
Hermione rolled her eyes but allowed herself to be coaxed into trying on a deep emerald dress that shimmered when she moved. The bodice was fitted, the skirt flowing, enchanted to catch candlelight like starlight.
When she stepped out of the dressing room, Ginny actually gasped. “Merlin, Hermione—Theo and Draco are going to combust.”
Pansy tilted her head, assessing. “It’s perfect. Strong, soft, a little mysterious. Just like you. Keep it.”
They spent the afternoon wandering between magical and Muggle Paris — splitting éclairs in Montmartre, and laughing themselves breathless trying on ridiculous hats at a street market.
They stopped again as the afternoon faded, sitting outside a café near the river. The light had turned golden, that perfect Parisian warmth that made everything glow.
Pansy was stirring her coffee lazily. “You know, I never thought I’d see you like ths, Granger. You’re... softer somehow. Happier.”
Hermione blinked at her. “You mean less insufferable?”
“Exactly,” Pansy said with a smirk. “But in the best way. It suits you.”
Ginny nodded. “You’ve found something real, haven’t you?”
Hermione hesitated, tracing the rim of her cup. “I think have. It’s messy and complicated and nothing like what I expected... but it’s mine. And it’s good.”
Ginny smiled, eyes kind. “Then that’s all that matters.”
Pansy lifted her glass. “To complicated happiness, then.”
Hermione clinked hers softly. “To friendship, and to Paris.”
That evening, they returned to their hotel to freshen up before dinner. Ginny stretched across the bed with a groan. “My feet are going to hex me in my sleep.”
Pansy was already at the vanity, applying lipstick. “Beauty has a price, darling.”
Hermione, sitting by the window brushing her hair, smiled faintly at the sight of the two of them — Ginny’s freckles glowing in the lamplight, Pansy’s elegance sharpened into warmth by the trip.
Pansy caught her staring. “What are you thinking about, Granger?”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Just… that I’m lucky. To have both of you.”
Ginny reached over to squeeze her hand. “We’re the lucky ones, love. You’ve been through hell, and somehow you still glow.”
Pansy nodded, her voice softer than usual. “You’ve built something most witches wouldn’t dare even imagine. It’s… admirable. Infuriating, sometimes, but admirable.”
Hermione felt her throat tighten. “Thank you.”
They spent the rest of the night talking about everything and nothing — about dresses, and Quidditch, and love, and the future. They teased each other, told stories they’d never admit to anyone else, and laughed until their sides ached.
When they finally returned to the hotel after dinner, the city outside was quiet and still.
From her balcony, Hermione could see the Eiffel Tower sparkling again, reflected in the black ribbon of the Seine. She thought of Theo and Draco — probably back at the Manor, surrounded by firelight and brandy and Blaise’s laughter — and her heart ached with fondness.
Pansy appeared beside her, hair undone, a glass of wine in hand. “Thinking about them?”
Hermione smiled softly. “Always.”
“Good,” Pansy said, leaning against the railing. “That’s how you know it’s real. Now stop overthinking it and enjoy the view. You’re in Paris, darling.”
Hermione laughed quietly, the sound mingling with the hum of the city below. “Yes. I am.”
They stood there together in comfortable silence until the lights of the tower dimmed and the stars took their place.
The hotel room was dim and golden, lit by a handful of flickering candles and the soft glow from the city beyond the curtains. The Eiffel Tower glittered in the distance, its lights blinking like the world’s slowest heartbeat.
Hermione sat cross-legged on the bed, wrapped in a robe, her curls spilling loose down her shoulders. A bottle of champagne sweated in a silver bucket on the nightstand, and three half-empty glasses sat beside it.
Ginny was perched at the foot of the bed in soft pajamas, barefoot, her cheeks flushed from laughter. Pansy lay on her stomach across the duvet, chin propped in her hands, her dark hair gleaming.
The air was lazy and warm, filled with the soft hum of women who had laughed themselves tired.
“Well,” Pansy began, swirling her drink like it was a crystal ball, “this has been lovely and all, but we haven’t covered the real topic yet.”
Hermione looked up warily. “Oh no. Pansy—”
“Oh yes,” Pansy said with mock solemnity, pointing at her. “Your wedding night. You’re marrying two men, darling. Two. It’s our duty as your closest friends to make sure you’re not completely unprepared.”
Ginny laughed so hard she nearly spilled her champagne. “Merlin’s beard, Pansy, you’re going to make her combust.”
Hermione pressed her palms to her face. “You already are making me combust. Can we please not—?”
But Ginny leaned in, eyes glinting mischievously. “Oh, come on. You think we’re going to let you walk down the aisle without at least a pep talk?”
“This isn’t a Quidditch match!” Hermione protested weakly.
“Same nerves, different stakes,” Pansy said breezily. “And honestly, it’s adorable how red you’re getting.”
Hermione groaned. “You’re both insufferable.”
“Entirely,” Pansy said, unrepentant. “But we love you, and someone has to remind you that it’s supposed to be wonderful, not terrifying.”
That gave Hermione pause. She lowered her hands slowly.
Pansy’s teasing smile softened. “You’ve spent half your life fighting wars, Hermione. Planning, thinking, protecting everyone else. But this—this is the one thing in your life that’s just for you. The one thing you’re supposed to let happen, not plan.”
Ginny nodded, her voice gentler. “She’s right. You don’t have to control it, or have the right words, or make it perfect. You just… have to let yourself feel safe and wanted.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “It’s not that I’m scared. I’m just—” she trailed off, struggling for the right word, “—overwhelmed. It’s one thing to love them, but to let myself be that open, after everything… it’s hard to imagine.”
Pansy reached out and squeezed her hand. “That’s what makes it worth it. You don’t owe anyone perfection. You just owe yourself the chance to be fully seen.”
Ginny smiled, leaning back against the pillows. “And you picked two men who see you clearer than anyone else ever has. Theo’s gentle enough to wait forever if you asked him to. Draco’s intense enough to make you feel like the only thing that exists when he looks at you. It’s a terrifying combination, honestly.”
Hermione laughed through the tears threatening to spill. “Look guys, this is a non issue. We aren’t there yet. We’ve already talked about it, they’re not expecting sex from me. Ee’re going to wait a bit more, till we all feel ready.”
“Luna would tell you to listen to your heart chakra and just go for it,” Ginny said with a grin. “I’m just saying: you’ve already survived the hardest part — finding people who care for you as you are.”
For a while, the three of them sat quietly, the city glowing beneath them.
Then Pansy, unable to help herself, said softly, “But if I were giving actual advice, I’d say—”
“Pansy!”
“What?” she said innocently, sipping her drink. “—to remember that it’s supposed to be fun. You’ll be nervous, they’ll be nervous, even if what your doing isn’t traditional sex it’s still sexual, and you’ll probably laugh in the middle of it. That’s a good sign.”
Ginny nodded solemnly. “True. If there’s no laughter, you’re doing it wrong.”
Hermione covered her face again, though she was laughing now too, cheeks glowing. “This is mortifying.”
“You’ll thank us later,” Pansy said, raising her glass. “To love that grows. To laughter. And to letting go of fear.”
Ginny raised hers too. “To Hermione — who managed to turn two Slytherins into besotted puddles of devotion.”
Hermione blushed but clinked her glass against theirs. “To both of you,” she said softly. “For reminding me I’m still allowed to have joy.”
They drank, the bubbles fizzing gently in the quiet.
Ginny was the first to drift toward sleep, mumbling something about Harry’s terrible cooking. Pansy snickered.
Pansy lay awake a little longer, tracing lazy shapes on the blanket with her finger.
“Hey, Granger?”
“Mm?” Hermione murmured.
“You’re going to be beautiful,” Pansy said quietly. “On the wedding day. But more than that — you’re going to be loved. And that’s rarer than any magic we ever studied.”
Hermione swallowed hard. “You really are sentimental, you know that?”
Pansy smiled in the dark. “Don’t tell anyone. It would ruin my reputation.”
Hermione laughed softly, then rolled onto her side. “Thank you, Pansy.”
“Always, darling.”
The last thing Hermione heard before she drifted to sleep was the soft hum of Paris outside and Pansy whispering something in French she didn’t quite catch — but she thought she heard the word courage.
And that night, wrapped in friendship and candlelight, Hermione dreamed of home — and of the men that would be waiting when she returned.
Paris was quieter that morning — the kind of peaceful hush that came just before the city fully woke.
Hermione stirred in the wide hotel bed, half-buried in the covers, her hair a wild halo against the pillow. The faint scent of pastries and coffee drifted through the cracked balcony door.
She stretched, smiling sleepily when she heard Pansy humming tunelessly in the adjoining room. Ginny’s voice followed, slightly muffled through the door:
“Pansy, if you try to put glitter on my eyelids again, I will personally Quidditch-hex you into next week.”
“Oh, hush,” Pansy replied smoothly. “It’s just Paris shimmer, not a tattooed on crime scene.”
Hermione laughed softly to herself, sitting up and wrapping a robe around her. She crossed to the small breakfast table just as a faint tapping came at the window.
When she opened it, a mystery owl swooped in gracefully, dropping a letter tied with green and silver ribbon onto her lap.
Her heart jumped.
Theo’s handwriting.
She unfolded the parchment, eyes scanning the words as the morning light spilled across the page:
My Hermione,
Blaise and I have concluded that “Boys’ Night” at the Manor was a success if we define success as surviving the liquor cabinet and keeping Harry Potter from hexing Draco after three Firewhiskeys. (He only almost did — progress, I’d say.)
Draco has been pacing since you left. I’m pretending not to notice, but he’s wearing grooves into the Persian rug. We both miss you. The Manor feels… wrong without you. Quieter, colder.
Enjoy every moment of your trip, please. You deserve joy, and laughter, and too many croissants. I’ll be counting the minutes until you’re back.
Love,
Theo
P.S. Draco refuses to admit it, but I’m fairly certain he’s composing some moody, overly poetic letter in his head right now. Expect something involving metaphors about winter and your hair when you return.
Hermione couldn’t help it — she laughed. Really laughed, head tilted back, her heart swelling with warmth.
Pansy peeked around the corner, still in a silk robe. “What’s got you smiling like that? Did your Slytherins send love notes?”
Ginny emerged behind her, hair damp from a shower, towel draped around her shoulders. “Oh, Merlin, they did, didn’t they?”
Hermione tried — and failed — to look dignified. “It’s just a letter. Theo’s being sweet, that’s all.”
Pansy plucked the parchment from her fingers with lightning reflexes. “Ah-ah-ah, Granger. Friendship code — if you’re grinning like that, it’s our business.”
Ginny leaned over her shoulder as Pansy read, eyes sparkling. “Oh, he’s adorable.”
“I know,” Hermione admitted softly. “And he doesn’t even realize it.”
“‘Counting the moments until you’re back,’” Pansy quoted dramatically, clutching her heart. “If Blaise ever wrote me something like that, I’d marry him twice.”
Hermione reclaimed the letter gently, holding it against her chest. “They really are impossible men. ”
Pansy sighed fondly. “You, Hermione Granger, are living the dream. Two brilliant men, one breathtaking wedding coming up, and a Parisian breakfast waiting downstairs. Let’s go before I start resenting you.”
The three of them went down to the hotel café, the smell of coffee and butter wrapping around them like a spell. Hermione ordered café au lait and an omelett, Ginny went straight for chocolate croissants, and Pansy insisted on champagne “because Paris demands it.”
They chatted lazily, the conversation drifting between serious and silly.
“So,” Ginny said between bites, “how’s the wedding dress coming along? Still perfect?”
Hermione smiled. “Yes, alterations are done!.”
Ginny leaned back. “What about the vows? Have you written them yet?”
Hermione hesitated. “Not yet. I keep trying, but every time I start, I end up thinking about how much has happened since summer. How different everything is now.”
“Different doesn’t mean wrong,” Pansy said, pouring her more champagne.
“You’ve grown into something remarkable, you three. Magic doesn’t make bonds like that unless it’s meant to.”
Hermione smiled faintly, tracing the rim of her glass. “You think so?”
“I know so,” Pansy said firmly. “Besides, it’s not like you’ll need vows. The way those two look at you could power the entire Floo Network.”
Ginny snorted. “Honestly, she’s right. Even Harry said watching you three at the gala made him ‘weirdly emotional.’ Which, coming from him, means a lot.”
Hermione felt heat rise to her cheeks. “We’re just… figuring it out. Slowly.”
“And doing it beautifully,” Pansy added. “I’ve never seen Draco so human. He actually smiles now. And Theo—Merlin, that man has stars in his eyes when he looks at you.”
Ginny reached over, brushing Hermione’s hand. “You deserve all of it.”
Hermione blinked rapidly, her throat tightening. “I don’t know what I did to earn friends like you.”
“Survived 8th year with us,” Pansy teased. “That’s more than enough.”
They all laughed again, loud enough that a waiter smiled at them as he passed.
Later, after breakfast, they wandered through a Muggle bookshop Hermione insisted on visiting. She bought a small leather journal embossed with gold stars — “for wedding notes,” she claimed, though the others suspected it was more for her thoughts.
They stopped for lunch along the river — crepes and espresso — and took one last slow stroll beneath the gray-blue sky. The city glimmered, serene and ancient, as if it were listening.
Standing on the bridge, Hermione looked out over the Seine, her silver bracelet glinting. “I think I’m ready to go home,” she said softly.
Pansy smiled knowingly. “That’s how you know it’s real. Paris feels like a dream, but home is where your heart starts tugging.”
Ginny nudged her. “And you’ve got two hearts waiting.”
Hermione laughed, eyes misty. “I do.”
As they activated the Portkey later that afternoon, she held onto both of them tightly — her friends, her sisters in everything that mattered. The world blurred in color and light, and when they landed on the marble floors of the Manor’s atrium, Hermione swayed slightly, the scent of pine and warmth filling her senses again.
From down the corridor, she heard Theo’s familiar laugh and Draco’s low voice.
And for the first time since she’d left, Hermione’s chest eased.
She was home.
Notes:
Let me know what you think the boys got up to while she was away in the comments!
Chapter 80: Two by Two
Chapter Text
The familiar air of the place felt like home, though it also hummed with something new.
She set her bag down, brushing her curls from her face. “Theo? Draco?” she called softly.
A door clicked down the hall as Pudding heard her call and came prancing over, fluffy tail elegantly waiving. She bent down to pet the soft fur before calling again, “Hello, I’m home!”.
Theo appeared first, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a smudge of ink on his forearm. Behind him came Draco, every inch composed — but Hermione’s chest tightened. There was something different in the air between them.
Their eyes met, and both men smiled — warm, genuine, but weighted with the kind of secret that lives just below the surface.
“You’re home,” Theo said simply, stepping forward.
Hermione smiled curiously. “I am.”
He pulled her into a hug that lingered just a heartbeat too long — comforting, safe, familiar — and when she looked past him, she caught the faintest flicker of Draco’s expression. Not jealousy. Not discomfort. Something content.
When Theo stepped back, Hermione tilted her head. “All right,” she said, hands on her hips. “What’s happened?”
Draco’s brow arched. “You always assume something’s happened.”
“Because it usually has, you two are menaces, espically left together” she countered, half teasing.
Theo laughed softly and rubbed the back of his neck awkardly. “We were going to wait until dinner to tell you. But I think you already sense it.”
“Sense what?”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable — it was dense, tender, full of things unsaid. Then Theo took a small step forward, eyes searching hers.
“We told each other we love each other while you were gone.”
Hermione froze, the words hovering between them like a held breath. She blinked once, twice.
“Oh,” she said finally, her voice small but warm. Then it hit her fully what that meant for them all, and she smiled — soft and real. “Oh.”
Draco’s mouth twitched into a nervous half-smile. “It just… happened, at a moment that felt right. Like we were picking up a conversation we’d started years ago and never finished.”
Theo’s gaze dropped, then rose again. “You remember what I told you about how I’d loved him once — before the war? Back when we were both too damaged to do it properly?”
Hermione nodded, quiet listening intently.
“Well,” he continued, “we found it again. But this time, it’s not born from pain in the shadows of darkness. It’s not… secret or desperate. It’s just—”
“Honest,” Draco finished for him. “And maybe a little overdue.”
Hermione’s eyes stung, not with jealousy but with something deeper — pride, maybe, or relief.
“I’m glad,” she said softly. “Truly. I want you both to have that. It doesn’t take anything from me — it just makes us stronger.”
Theo’s eyes softened with affection. “I was hoping you’d see it that way.”
“Of course I do.” She glanced between them, smiling faintly.
“You’re both stubborn, infuriating men — it’s about time you learned how to love each other properly.”
That broke the tension; Theo laughed, and even Draco’s lips curved into something close to a grin.
They talked for a while — about how the conversation had happened, sitting up late by the fire, the things they’d both said they regretted from their youth, the misunderstandings that had left scars neither of them had known how to heal.
It wasn’t a rekindling of something reckless and youthful; it was the steady warmth of two people who had finally learned how to be gentle with one another when the darkness was gone.
As the light outside dimmed into the amber haze of late afternoon, Hermione excused herself to unpack. But as she moved toward the stairs, Draco caught her wrist lightly avoiding her scar.
“Granger,” he said softly.
She turned, surprised by the touch — and by the look in his eyes. Vulnerable. Earnest.
“Walk with me for a moment?” he asked.
They stepped into the corridor, where the air smelled faintly of pine and old books. The manor was quiet except for the distant ticking of a clock. Draco stood facing her, hands clasped behind his back.
“I wanted to tell you something,” he began, his voice low and careful. “About… us.”
Hermione’s breath caught. She panicked a bit, worried she wouldn’t be able to return his feelings if he loved her too.
He looked away, as though searching for courage among the patterns in the wallpaper.
“I know Theo and I finding our way back to each other might have made you wonder where that leaves you and me. And I don’t want you to doubt for a second that I care for you.”
“I don’t,” she said gently.
He smiled faintly, a flash of warmth softening the sharp lines of his face. “Good. Because while I can’t say I’m in love with you yet… I hope I will be.”
Hermione blinked, heart pounding quietly in her chest.
“I’m learning to be open again,” Draco continued, his voice almost tender now. “And it’s easier with you than I expected. You’re—” He hesitated, then exhaled with a faint laugh. “You’re impossible, and brilliant, and far too forgiving for your own good. But you make me want to try. For the first time in years, I want to try to be more than what I was told to be.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. She stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Draco. For all of us — to keep trying.”
He nodded, the tension in his shoulders softening. “Then we’re on the same page.”
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The air between them buzzed — that familiar slow, magnetic pull that had been building for months. But this time, Draco didn’t close the distance, and neither did she.
Instead, Hermione smiled — small but sure — and reached out to squeeze his hand.
They stood there for a while, hand in hand, the winter light pouring through the windows like spilled gold. And though nothing more was said, Hermione felt it — a shift in the air, a delicate balance slowly righting itself, before she turned away to study in the library..
That night, Theo's bedroom was a haven of understated elegance, the four-poster bed draped in soft, deep green linens that whispered of Slytherin heritage, with a faint scent of pine lingering from the incense he'd burned earlier.
The room glowed with the warm, golden flicker of floating candles, casting intricate shadows across the walls. Hermione and Theo had retreated here after a long evening, Draco off handling some late-night correspondence, leaving them alone in the quiet intimacy of the space.
They lay tangled in the sheets, her head nestled against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around her, fingers tracing lazy patterns over her bare shoulder as they shared soft, lingering kisses.
“I missed you,” he murmured against her lips.
“Imissed you too,” she breathed back.
Their lips moved together in a slow dance, starting as gentle brushes but deepening into something more—tongues teasing, breaths mingling, a quiet heat building between them. Theo pulled back slightly, his stormy blue eyes locking onto hers, brimming with adoration.
"Hermione," he murmured, voice low and warm, "you're everything to me. Your mind, your heart, the way you fight for what's right... I love you more than I can ever say. You're my home."
He kissed her again, slow and deliberate, his tongue sliding against hers in a way that made her melt into him, her fingers threading through his dark hair, pulling him closer.
The heat grew naturally, a slow simmer rather than a blaze, their bodies pressed together in familiar comfort. Theo nuzzled her neck, lips grazing her pulse point, his breath sending shivers down her spine.
"I know Draco pushes you hard—rough, intense, making you beg for it. And I love that you crave it, that it sets you on fire. It’s incredibly sexy. But with you, I don’t always want it to be like that. Sometimes, I just want to cherish you, make you feel loved in every way. Can I take care of you tonight, my way? Slow, gentle, all about you?"
Hermione’s heart swelled, and she cupped his face, smiling softly. "Yes, Theo. I’d love that."
He searched her eyes, his expression earnest. "Do you trust me, love?"
"Completely," she whispered, leaning in for another soft kiss. "Always."
A tender smile curved his lips as he reached for a silk blindfold—black, soft as a whisper, gleaming faintly in the candlelight.
"Then let me make this all about you. Just you, feeling everything." He tied it carefully over her eyes, the world fading to darkness, sharpening her other senses—the rustle of sheets, the warmth of his skin, the steady rhythm of his breathing.
With a quiet spell, soft music filled the air: delicate harp strings woven with the gentle crash of ocean waves, a soothing melody that loosened her muscles in relaxation, her body sinking deeper into the bed.
Theo’s hands began to roam, feather-light and deliberate, starting at her shoulders, kneading away the last traces of tension with slow, firm presses. His fingers trailed down her arms, interlacing with hers briefly before gliding up her sides, lifting her thin nightshirt to expose her skin to the cool air.
"You’re so beautiful, Hermione," he murmured, voice like velvet, thick with reverence.
"Every curve, every inch of you—it drives me wild. I could spend forever just touching you, memorizing you." His hands cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples in slow circles until they hardened, sending sparks of arousal straight to her core.
She sighed, arching slightly, a soft moan escaping as her body warmed, slickness pooling between her thighs.
He moved lower, lips following his hands, kissing a trail down her collarbone, the soft swell of her breasts, the dip of her navel. Each kiss was deliberate, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin, leaving a trail of warmth that made her shiver.
"Let me make you feel incredible, love."
He parted her thighs gently, settling between them, his breath hot against her folds. His tongue traced her outer lips first, slow and exploratory, savoring her taste as she gasped, hands clutching the sheets. He lapped at her clit with unhurried strokes, circling the sensitive bud with the flat of his tongue, building pleasure like a rising tide.
"Gods, you taste so sweet, Hermione—like honey, like aged mead," he murmured, voice vibrating against her.
One hand joined in, a single finger teasing her entrance, circling the tight opening before easing in slowly, her walls gripping him instantly, warm and velvet-soft but snug.
"Fuck, love, you’re so tight—clenching around this," he whispered, a hint of heat in his tender tone.
"But I’m going to go slow, make you feel every second of this."
He thrust the finger gently, curling it to stroke her inner walls, syncing with the languid swirls of his tongue on her clit. Minutes melted away in a haze of sensation—the music weaving around her soft moans, the blindfold heightening every touch, the slick drag of his finger igniting her nerves. Pleasure coiled tight in her belly, her hips rocking subtly into his mouth and hand.
"That’s it, my beautiful girl—let it build in your core. I love how you respond to me, so perfect." His loving words, laced with just enough dirty edge, pushed her higher, and she shattered with a cry, her walls pulsing around his finger, waves of ecstasy rolling through her as he licked her through every tremor, drawing out the bliss.
Theo didn’t stop though, his touches remaining gentle as he kissed her inner thigh, his finger still inside her, moving in slow circles.
"You came so beautifully, love. Gods, I could feel every pulse—your pussy’s so responsive, so mine."
He eased the finger out, then back in, testing her readiness before pressing a second alongside it. The stretch was immediate, a faint burn as her tightness resisted, her walls constricted around the added girth. He went agonizingly slow, twisting gently, letting her arousal coat him.
"Relax for me, Hermione—breathe deep. Feel that second finger sliding in, stretching you just a bit more? You’re doing so well, taking it so perfectly."
She whimpered, the sensation intense but enjoyable, the fullness making her gasp. Once fully seated, he pumped them slowly, his tongue returning to her clit in soft, teasing licks.
"Mmm, you’re gripping me so tight—your cunt’s like a glove, warm and wet, pulling me deeper. It feels so good, doesn’t it? Let me make you come again, my sweet Hemrione."
The build was even slower this time, his thrusts measured, curling perfectly against her G-spot while his mouth worked gentle magic, the music and blindfold cocooning her in a world of sensation.
"You’re everything to me, Hermione—my brilliant, sexy witch. I love how wet you get, dripping down my fingers like you can’t get enough."
Her moans grew louder, the dual fingers filling her more completely, the stretch now pure pleasure, and she climaxed again, harder this time, her body arching as spasms rippled through her, soaking his hand with a soft gush.
As she trembled in the afterglow, Theo kissed her clit softly, his fingers still moving lazily inside her.
"That was perfect, my love. You feel so incredible around me—every pulse, every shiver."
He paused, his voice dropping to a tender whisper.
"I want to try more, if you’re ready. I’ll be so gentle, I promise—it’ll feel amazing once it’s in, stretch you in a way that’ll make you implode. Trust me to take care of you?"
"Yes, Theo... I trust you. I want it, let’s try," she breathed, still hazy from her orgasm, her body pliant under his touch.
He hummed softly, stroking her thigh with his free hand.
"Good girl. Let me get you more relaxed, so turned on."
He spent long minutes rebuilding her arousal—kissing her folds, sucking gently on her clit, his two fingers thrusting slowly until she was writhing again, slick and aching, her breaths coming in needy pants.
"You’re ready, love—dripping, your pussy pulsing like it’s begging for more."
Carefully, he positioned the third finger at her entrance, pressing the tip against her slick, resistant opening. The tightness was fierce—her walls clamped down instantly, the stretch far more intense than before, a sharp burn that made her tense and gasp out loudly.
"Shh, easy, my love—breathe deep for me. Feel just the tip? It’s going to hurt a little because you’re so incredibly tight. This is more than you’ve ever taken, but I’m here, going so slow, making it good. I’m going to make it feel aright."
He twisted the third finger gently, barely breaching after several minutes, her body fighting every millimeter with a resistance that bordered on painful for her. The burn radiated through her core, a deep, searing ache that made her thighs quiver and her breath hitch in a soft sob.
"Theo... it’s so much—too tight," she whimpered, but her hips shifted slightly, chasing the promise of fullness beneath the pain. Theo soothed her with kisses along her inner thighs, his voice a steady, loving murmur.
"I’ve got you, Hermione—focus on my voice, on how much I love you. Your pussy’s squeezing so hard, like it’s trying to keep me out, but you’re getting wetter, aren’t you? You want it so bad right? . Gods, it’s beautiful—your lips stretching thin around me.”
Minutes dragged on in exquisite torment—her tightness unrelenting, each tiny advance met with a fresh wave of burning stretch that made her wince, a few tears soaking into the blindfold.
Theo paused often, thrusting the first two fingers gently to keep her aroused, his tongue flicking her clit in feather-light touches to dull the pain.
"You’re doing so well, my brave girl—feel that? Another bit sliding in, your walls yielding just for me. It hurts, I know, but it’s turning into something else, isn’t it? That deep ache blending with pleasure, your body learning to love the stretch."
He coaxed her through it, his words a mix of tender and teasingly dirty.
"Fuck, love, your cunt’s gripping like a vice, but it’s so hot—dripping down my hand, making a mess because you want this so bad. Imagine how full you’ll feel soon, stuffed with three fingers."
More time passed, the widest part of his knuckle hovering at her entrance, the burn peaking into a white-hot fire that made her sob softly, her body trembling.
"Almost there, Hermione—breathe out, push back a little. Your pussy’s fighting so hard, but it’s opening up to me, isn’t it? Stretching wider than ever. You’re my perfect love, taking this for me—gods, you’re incredible."
With a final, careful twist, the third finger placed fully, buried alongside the others, her walls convulsing wildly around the unprecedented fullness, the burn lingering like a deep, throbbing pulse that promised soreness later, but was currently shifting into an overwhelming, euphoric pressure that had her gasping, every nerve alight with sensation.
"There, my beautiful girl—all three fingers deep inside you, filling you completely," Theo praised, holding still for long moments to let her adjust, his voice thick with awe.
"You’re so tight it’s unreal, clenching so hard it’s like your pussy’s trying to break me. Feel how full you are? Every inch of you stretched, pulsing with heat."
He began to move his hand, shallow thrusts at first, each one deliberate, curling gently against her G-spot to coax pleasure from the soreness. His tongue returned to her clit, lapping softly, building her back up with a tenderness that made her heart ache as much as her body.
"I’m going to make you come again, love—slow and perfect, letting you feel every stroke. You’re mine, Hermione—my brilliant, sexy witch, so beautiful."
The buildup was achingly slow, minutes stretching on as he worked her with care, his fingers thrusting in a steady, sensual rhythm, each curl hitting her G-spot with precision. The fullness was overwhelming—her walls stretched thin, raw from the effort of accommodating him, every movement sending a mix of sharp pleasure and lingering ache through her core.
Her clit throbbed under his tongue, hypersensitive from her previous orgasms, and the blindfold amplified every sensation—the slick drag of his fingers, the wet sounds of her arousal, the warmth of his breath against her skin.
"Gods, you’re perfect," Theo murmured, his voice a blend of devotion and heat. "Feel how your pussy’s gripping me, so tight it’s like you’re pulling me deeper? Every thrust’s hitting that spot, making you quiver—fuck, you’re dripping everywhere, soaking the sheets. I love you so much, Hermione—love watching you fall apart for me, stuffed full and trembling."
Her moans grew louder, her body participating by rocking into his hand, the stretch now a delicious fullness that made her feel utterly claimed, every nerve singing. Theo kept his pace steady but deliberate, fingers plunging deeper with each thrust, curling to massage her inner walls in a way that sent sparks shooting through her.
"That’s it, love—let it build. Your cunt’s so responsive, pulsing around me like it’s begging for release. You’re so full, aren’t you? Stretched wider than ever, but it feels so good, doesn’t it?" She moaned piercingly.
He flicked his tongue faster on her clit, a gentle counterpoint to the intense fullness, drawing out the pleasure until her body was taut, trembling on the edge, her breaths ragged sobs of need.
"Come for me now, Hermione—let go, let me feel you break," he whispered, voice thick with love and hunger. He curled his fingers one last time, pressing hard against her G-spot while sucking her clit softly, and she shattered, her orgasm crashing through her like a tidal wave.
Her walls clamped down in a vice around his three fingers, spasming wildly, a hot flood of wetness gushing over his hand and soaking the sheets beneath her.
"Theo!" she screamed, her body convulsing, pleasure ripping through her in intense, rolling waves that left her trembling, breathless, and spent, the fullness amplifying every pulse until she was dizzy with it.
Theo eased his fingers out slowly, careful not to overwhelm her sensitive walls, then untied the blindfold with tender hands, his eyes soft and brimming with love as he gazed at her flushed face.
"You were incredible, love—so beautiful, so strong," he murmured, pulling her into his arms, their bodies slotting together perfectly. He peppered her face with gentle kisses, stroking her hair as she caught her breath, her body still humming from the intensity.
Hermione blinked against the candlelight, a shocked laugh bubbling up as she nestled into his chest.
"I can’t believe I took three fingers, Theo. Gods, that was... more full than I’ve ever felt. Intense, but... so perfect."
He chuckled softly, holding her tighter, his lips brushing her forehead.
"You’re extraordinary, Hermione. You did it because you’re you—brave, beautiful, mine."
Hermione lay sprawled across the sheets, her body flushed and trembling from the intense orgasm Theo had just drawn from her with three fingers, her walls still pulsing faintly with aftershocks.
The blindfold was off, her eyes adjusting to the candlelight, wide with a mix of awe and vulnerability as she processed the overwhelming stretch she’d just endured. Theo, his eyes brimming with love, hovered over her, his touch now shifting from sensual to nurturing, his focus entirely on her comfort and care.
He leaned down first, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering as he murmured, "You were so incredible, Hermione—my brave, beautiful love. I’m so proud of you."
His voice was a warm, soothing balm, grounding her as her breathing slowed, her heart still racing from the intensity. He shifted to lie beside her, gently pulling her into his arms, her head resting against his chest where she could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat.
One hand stroked her hair, fingers threading through her curls with slow, deliberate care, untangling any knots with a tenderness that made her sigh.
"I’ve got you," he whispered, his other hand tracing lazy circles on her back, the touch light but reassuring, anchoring her in the moment.
Theo reached for the soft throw blanket draped at the foot of the bed, pulling it over her to ward off the slight chill now that her body was cooling. He tucked it around her shoulders, ensuring she was cocooned in warmth, his movements unhurried and attentive.
"You’re so perfect to me," he said softly, kissing the crown of her head. "The way you trusted me, opened up like that, trusted me to make the pain into pleasure—it means everything."
He shifted slightly, propping himself on one elbow to look at her, his free hand cupping her cheek, thumb brushing over her flushed skin. Her eyes were still glassy with post-orgasmic haze, and he smiled, a mix of adoration and quiet pride.
"How do you feel, love? Any soreness?"
Hermione exhaled shakily, nestling closer, her voice soft but honest. "Rather sore... it was so much, Theo. But good—so good. I can’t believe I took three fingers." A small laugh escaped her, tinged with disbelief, and he chuckled, pressing another kiss to her temple.
"I know, my brilliant witch. You were amazing." His tone was warm, but he was already scanning her for a reading on thediscomfort, his hand sliding down to rest gently on her hip, avoiding her sensitive core for now.
"Let’s make sure you’re okay, yeah? I want you feeling as good later as you did in the moment."
He reached for a small vial of soothing balm on the nightstand—a slightly different variation of the traditional magical concoction infused with chamomile and aloe, one Dracoo himself had recently brewed. He uncapped it, warming a small amount between his fingers, the faint herbal scent mixing with the sandalwood in the air.
"May I?" he asked, his voice gentle but carrying that same caring authority that had guided her through the intensity earlier. She nodded, trusting him implicitly, and he shifted the blanket aside just enough to access her lower body.
His fingers, now coated with the cool balm, brushed lightly over her outer folds, not delving inside but soothing the stretched, sensitive skin around her entrance. The touch was feather-light, almost reverent, and she sighed in relief as the balm’s magic eased the faint burn left from the stretch almost immediately.
"There we go," he murmured, his voice low and comforting.
"Just a little to take the edge off, but remind you what we did. My perfect Hermione, letting me take care of you."
He pulled the blanket back over her, tucking it around her hips before lying down fully, pulling her close so her back pressed against his chest, his arm draped protectively over her waist. His fingers interlaced with hers, squeezing gently, and he nuzzled into her hair, breathing in her scent.
"I love you so much, Hermione," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for letting me do that—for trusting me to take you there."
She squeezed his hand back, her voice quiet but steady. "I love you too."
He smiled, kissing her shoulder, his lips lingering as he spoke against her skin. He reached for a glass of water he’d set on the nightstand earlier, holding it to her lips with a gentle nudge.
"Drink a little for me, yeah? You worked hard tonight." She sipped gratefully, the cool liquid soothing her parched throat, and he set the glass down before pulling her back into his embrace, his body a warm, solid anchor behind her.
They lay like that for long minutes, the silence between them comfortable, filled only with the soft rhythm of their breathing and the occasional flicker of the candles. Theo’s touch never strayed into anything demanding, his focus entirely on her comfort, ensuring she felt safe and cherished. He pulled the duvet higher, cocooning them both, and pressed a final kiss to the nape of her neck.
"Rest now, my love," he whispered, his voice a lullaby. "I’ve got you."
Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed, her body sinking into his warmth, the soreness now a faint, pleasant hum beneath the balm’s soothing magic.
Notes:
So, at this point Theo is the middle of the emotions of the triad... the only one loved and in love with both heading into the wedding.
How do we feel about that?
Chapter 81: Before The Walk
Chapter Text
The manor was quieter than it had ever been. The ballroom downstairs had already been transformed — white flowers and pale green garlands hung from the ceiling for the recpetion, and the faint scent of evergreen still lingered in the air. Upstairs, the candles had been dimmed, the halls hushed.
Hermione stood with Theo and Draco in the informal parlor, the three of them gathered close before the fire. A soft snow was falling beyond the tall windows, the flakes swirling against the glass. The world outside felt suspended — as if all time had stopped to let them breathe before everything changed.
Theo was the first to break the silence. “I can’t believe tomorrow’s actually happening,” he said quietly, his voice filled with that thoughtful awe she knew so well. “After everything — Hogwarts, the war, the chaos of the last year — I don’t think I ever imagined something like a wedding could come after it.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “It doesn’t feel real yet,” she admitted. “I keep waiting to wake up back in the Hogwarts library surrounded by parchment and realize I’ve dreamed the last year.”
Draco leaned against the mantel, his expression softer than she had ever seen it. “You didn’t,” he said, with the faintest trace of a smile.
“This is real. Tomorrow is real.”
Theo reached for her hand, his thumb tracing small, nervous circles against her skin. Draco’s gaze followed the gesture, not with jealousy this time, but quiet understanding.
“I think we’re all a little scared,” Hermione said after a while. “Not of the ceremony — but of what comes next. Marriage isn’t just vows and rings. It’s… a promise to keep choosing each other, even when it’s difficult.”
Theo nodded. “And it will be difficult sometimes,” he said. “But I think that’s why this works. We’ve all seen each other at our worst already during thw war— there’s nothing left to hide.”
Draco gave a low, thoughtful hum. “There was a time I didn’t believe people could change,” he said. “That whatever we were at seventeen was carved into us forever. But I look at the two of you and…” He shook his head slightly, a small, genuine smile pulling at his mouth. “You proved me wrong.”
Hermione felt tears prick at the back of her eyes. “You proved yourself wrong too, Draco.”
For a moment, none of them spoke. The fire popped softly, the shadows shifting across their faces. Then Theo said, “I’ve been thinking about the vows. Not the official ones, the ones we’ll say to each other privately afterward. And I realized mine are simple — I just want to promise that I’ll never stop listening. To both of you.”
Draco looked between them, his usual poise breaking just enough for warmth to shine through. “Mine would be that I’ll never stop trying to deserve this,” he said quietly. “Any of it.”
Hermione squeezed both their hands, her throat tight with emotion. “Then mine is that I’ll never stop believing in us,” she whispered. “Because if we can make it here, to this moment, after everything… we can make it anywhere.”
Theo reached up, brushing a loose curl from her face, his touch light, reverent. Draco’s gaze softened, and after a pause he reached out too, his fingertips brushing her other hand. For a heartbeat the three of them just stood there, linked by touch — a quiet circle of warmth in the flickering firelight.
Theo exhaled slowly. “You know, this is the part where, traditionally, I’m supposed to say it’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony.”
Hermione laughed softly, tears glimmering in her eyes. “You’re probably right.”
Draco’s smile deepened. “So we’ll say goodnight properly, then.”
Theo leaned in first, pressing his forehead lightly against hers, his voice a whisper. “Goodnight, my heart.”
Draco’s turn followed — he bent just enough to brush a chaste kiss to her temple, murmuring, “Until tomorrow, Hemrione”
Hermione closed her eyes, memorizing the warmth of them both, the way their hands lingered in hers, the way the firelight made the whole world seem hopeful.
When she finally stepped back, her voice trembled slightly, but her smile was sure. “Tomorrow,” she echoed.
They watched her go, her figure framed in the soft orange glow, her robe brushing the floor as she disappeared up the staircase toward her room.
Theo exhaled a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Draco crossed his arms loosely, staring into the flames. “She’s remarkable,” he said quietly.
Theo nodded. “We’re lucky,” he murmured.
Draco gave a small, knowing smile. “We’ll spend the rest of our lives proving it and being worthy of her.”
And as the fire burned low, the two men sat in silence — a comfortable, waiting kind of quiet — knowing that when dawn came, the rest of their lives would begin.
The next morning, the snow had stopped sometime before dawn, leaving the world outside the manor glittering in a soft frost that looked almost enchanted. The light was pale and silvery, filtering through the tall windows of the west wing suite where Hermione stood, wrapped in a linen robe, staring at the wedding dress hanging before her.
It was the dress. The one Luna had found tucked behind others — the one that had made her cry in the shop mirror weeks ago. Even now, just looking at it made her throat tighten.
It was made of soft ivory silk that shimmered faintly when it caught the light, with delicate embroidery curling across the bodice in filigree patterns that reminded her of frost on glass. The skirt was full but weightless, layers of gauze and silk that would move like air when she walked. The lace at the neckline was threaded with the faintest silver shimmer.
The veil hung beside it, long and sheer, edged in fine lace — waiting to be placed after the tiara Narcissa had taken her to choose from the Malfoy vaults.
A soft knock came at the door before it opened, and Ginny stepped in, her red hair gleaming in the light, her pale green velvet bridesmaid dress brushing her ankles.
“You’re not even dressed yet!” she teased gently, though her eyes softened when she saw the way Hermione was staring at the gown. “Merlin, it’s beautiful, Mione.”
“It’s almost too beautiful,” Hermione whispered. “I keep thinking I’ll ruin it by breathing near it.”
Pansy swept in behind Ginny, her own green velvet gown catching the light. Her dark hair was pinned back with pearls, and her usual smirk was softened into something almost maternal.
“You could wear a sack and still look perfect,” she said, matter-of-fact. “But that gown is going to make every witch in Britain jealous.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Even you?”
Pansy smirked. “Especially me.”
They laughed, the sound easing some of Hermione’s nerves. For the next hour, the room filled with gentle movement — the murmur of voices, the scent of lavender oil, the rustle of silk. The elves flitted quietly about, helping with the steam charms for the gown and setting out trays of fruit and tea.
Ginny handled Hermione’s hair with steady hands, weaving it into a soft, braided half up-do that framed her face and left curls cascading down her back. Pansy adjusted the sleeves of the gown once Hermione stepped into it, fussing over every detail with the precision of someone who had dreamed of this day for years.
When Hermione finally turned toward the mirror, silence fell over the room.
“Oh, Hermione,” Ginny whispered, her eyes glistening. “You look like—”
“—like yourself,” Pansy finished softly. “Only happier.”
Hermione tried to smile, but tears spilled over instead.
“I just wish my parents were here,” she said, her voice trembling. “My mum would’ve loved this dress. My dad — he’d be awful at pretending not to cry.”
Ginny moved first, wrapping her arms around her. Pansy joined without hesitation, the three women standing together, holding on to one another while Hermione let herself cry — not out of sorrow exactly, but the heavy sweetness of everything she had lost and everything she had somehow found again.
There was a knock, and Narcissa Malfoy’s voice came softly through the door. “May I come in?”
Hermione stepped back, wiping her eyes quickly as Pansy opened the door. Narcissa entered like moonlight, elegant in silver robes, her blonde hair drawn back with understated grace. When she saw Hermione, she paused, a small smile touching her lips.
“You look exquisite,” she said quietly, her voice warm and sincere.
“Thank you,” Hermione murmured, feeling oddly shy.
Narcissa crossed to her, holding a small velvet case in her hands. “I thought I might bring you this myself.” She opened it to reveal the tiara Hermione had chosen weeks ago, gleaming like starlight. “It belonged to the first Malfoy witch to marry a Nott for alliance. It’s old — older than this country’s Ministry — and it carries a blessing for those who wear it. Consider it your something old.”
Hermione’s breath caught. “That’s… it’s perfect.”
Narcissa smiled faintly, her composure trembling fr just a heartbeat as she stepped closer.
“You are about to make my son happier than I ever dared believe possible. And you — all of you — have already brought light back into our family. Thank you.”
With delicate hands, she placed the tiara onto Hermione’s head, securing the veil beneath it. For a moment, their eyes met in the mirror — two women who had once stood on opposite sides of a war, now bound by something far more fragile and profound: love.
When Narcissa left, Ginny gave a little sniff and clapped her hands.
“All right, now it’s my turn before I start crying too. Something borrowed.”
She crouched to open a box by her chair and lifted out a pair of ivory heels.
“These are the shoes I wore when Harry and I got married,” she said, her grin bright but misty-eyed.
“They’re ridiculously lucky, if I do say so myself.”
Hermione laughed, tears returning anew. “You’re all going to ruin my makeup.”
“Good thing it’s charm-proof,” Pansy said briskly, and then handed Hermione a small box of her own. Inside were diamond chandelier earrings that glittered in the soft light.
“Something new,” she said, her voice catching slightly. “You deserve to sparkle, darling.”
Hermione touched one of the earrings gently. “They’re beautiful.”
“Of course they are,” Pansy said with mock offense. “I picked them.”
That earned another laugh, and for a moment, the tension in the room eased into pure joy.
A soft knock interrupted them again — and this time it was Harry. He peeked around the door, his tie crooked, his grin boyish.
“Can I come in, or is it bad luck for honorary brothers too?”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “You can come in, but if you step on her train, I’ll hex you.”
Harry slipped inside, his smile faltering as he took Hermione in fully.
“Wow,” he said simply. “You look… incredible.”
Hermione laughed softly. “You’re biased.”
“Absolutely,” he agreed. Then he held out a small box. “I brought you something blue.”
Inside lay a sapphire bracelet, the stones deep and rich, catching the light like captured stars.
“It belonged to my mum, I found it in my vaults” Harry said quietly.
“I’d like to think she’d like that it’s part of your day.”
Hermione’s throat closed as she reached out to touch it.
“Harry… I can’t—”
“You can,” he interrupted gently, clasping it around her wrist.
“Because I’m walking you down that aisle as your brother, and I know she’d want to be there with us.”
That undid her completely. Hermione leaned into him, crying softly against his shoulder while Ginny and Pansy dabbed at their eyes from across the room.
When she finally pulled back, laughing wetly, she said,
“You’ll ruin your tie.”
“Worth it,” he said, smiling.
They stayed like that a moment longer, then Harry glanced at the clock on the mantel.
“They’re almost ready downstairs. We should move to the waiting room so they don’t accidentally see you too soon.”
Pansy and Ginny each hugged Hermione tightly before they slipped out to take their places.
When the door closed, Hermione turned once more to to the mirror. The tiara caught the morning light. Her hands trembled faintly around her bouquet.
“You’ve got this,” she whispered to herself.
Then she turned and followed Harry down the quiet corridor, her skirts whispering around her ankles.
The small anteroom off the ballroom had been charmed to glow with warm light, the faint sound of the string ensemble drifting in from outside. Hermione and Harry stood side by side, just out of sight of the ceremony doors to outside.
She was quiet, fidgeting with the edge of her bouquet ribbon, heart pounding against her ribs.
Harry looked at her sidelong, a small, knowing smile on his face.
“You nervous?”
“Yes,” she breathed, then shook her head quickly.
“No. Maybe both.”
He laughed under his breath.
“You’ve fought Death Eaters, Hermione. You’ll survive this.”
“I know,” she said softly.
“But this time I want to be perfect. For them. For all of us.”
Harry’s expression softened. “You already are.”
The music shifted — a new melody beginning. Somewhere beyond the doors, Theo and Draco were waiting.
Hermione drew a steadying breath, her hand tightening around Harry’s arm.
“All right,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”
He looked at her and smiled.
“Ready when you are, Mrs. Almost Malfoy-Granger-Nott.”
She laughed through her tears.
And then the doors opened.
Notes:
Ready to head down the aisle?!
Chapter 82: The Wedding
Chapter Text
The grounds of Nott Manor had been transformed overnight into something straight from a fairytale.
The ceremony space sat at the edge of the orchard, where the trees stood like silent witnesses, their bare branches strung with floating silver lanterns.
Enchantment made the snow underfoot soft but never cold; a faint shimmer of warming wards hummed in the air, enough to turn the chill into something bracing and alive.
Rows of wooden benches were draped in dark green velvet, their edges dusted with frost that sparkled in the afternoon light. A carpet of charmed rose petals — white and pale blue — stretched down the center aisle toward a wide arch woven from winter holly, ivy, and silver branches.
Candles floated above the guests, their flames steady against the gentle winter breeze. Each exhale came out in a puff of mist, and the entire scene glowed faintly, as though wrapped in moonlight.
Ginny and Pansy stood together near the front acrossed from Blaise, wrapped in their pale green velvet gowns, soft cloaks fluttering lightly around them. Narcissa sat primly in the first row, her fur-lined silver cloak pristine against the snow. The guests whispered softly, their breath visible, their anticipation palpable.
And at the altar stood Theo and Draco.
Theo’s black robes were trimmed with faint silver embroidery, his hair slightly tousled from the cold, his expression steady but luminous. Draco stood beside him, composed but restless, his breath misting faintly, his silver-blond hair gleaming under the lantern light.
When the first notes of music began — low strings and the faraway sound of bells — everyone rose.
From the manor doors at the top of the snow-dusted garden steps, Hermione appeared on Harry’s arm.
The moment she stepped into view, the air seemed to still.
Her gown shimmered faintly in the pale winter sunlight, and the veil trailed behind her like frost-laced mist. The tiara Narcissa had given her glittered beneath her braid-crowned hair, each sapphire winking like ice caught in candlelight.
Harry leaned closer and murmured, “You’ve got an entire crowd holding their breath for you.”
She smiled faintly, eys fixed ahead on the two men waiting for hr.
The snow beneath her shoes was charmed to crunch softly, her veil fluttering behind as she descended the aisle.
She met Theo’s eyes first — steady, grounding, filled with love — and then Draco’s, gleaming with pride and awe that he didn’t even try to hide.
When she reached them, Harry kissed her temple and whispered, “You’re home now.” He placed her hand in Theo’s, and then in Draco’s, before stepping back beside Ginny.
The officiant, a stately witch from the Department of Magical Traditions, lifted her wand. Her breath misted faintly in the cold as she spoke, her voice carrying over the snow.
“We gather here under open sky and falling snow — a day where the world sleeps, yet magic wakes. Before us stand three souls. Today, by will and by word, they shall be bound — not as halves seeking whole, but as equals, in balance.”
Theo began.
He took Hermione’s gloved hands between his, his own bare and red at the knuckles from the cold. His breath curled in white plumes as he spoke.
“Hermione, you walked into my life and turned the noise into meaning. You’ve taught me gentleness, strength, and the courage to love out loud. You’re my compass — the reason my life feels like a choice, not an accident.
Draco — we were boys together, and then ghosts of ourselves. Finding you again outside of darkness — this time, whole — feels like the world correcting itself. I will never forget what it took to stand here with you both.
I vow to be your home, your calm, your laughter in the dark. To protect what we build together — not out of duty, but out of devotion.”
Hermione was already crying, the tears freezing faintly on her lashes. She pressed one of Theo’s hands to her cheek before turning toward Draco.
Draco’s voice was lower, the faintest tremor beneath his control. The lantern light flickered across his face, making his eyes seem molten silver.
“For most of my life, I thought love was conditional — earned through perfection or pedigree. But you’ve both taught me it isn’t a ledger. It’s grace.
Theo — you were my first real mirror. I saw what I could be in your eyes long before I dared to believe it.
Hermione — you defy every rule that ever made sense to me, and I admire you for it. You challenge me, infuriate me, and somehow still make me better.
I vow to stand beside you both, not just because I must, but because I choose to — every day, for the rest of my life.”
Snow fell gently between them as he finished, a few flakes melting on his collar. Hermione reached up, brushing one from his cheek with shaking fingers.
When she began to speak, her voice was soft but clear, the words rising into the still, enchanted air.
“Theo, Draco — you have each changed me in ways I can’t undo, nor would I ever want to.
Theo — you are the steady heartbeat behind my days, the quiet courage that keeps me tethered.
Draco — you are the fire that keeps me alive, that challenges me, the reminder that redemption and love can share the same breath.
I promise to grow with you both. To fight for our peace, to forgive when it’s hard, and to always remember that magic begins where trust lives.
I choose you, and I will keep choosing you — both of you — through every season that follows this one.”
The officiant nodded, her wand raised.
“Magic bears witness to your words. Let the vows be sealed by light and by choice.”
As she spoke, the air shimmered around them.
A faint hum rippled through the snow, through the air, through their joined hands. Light began to bloom between them — gold at first, then white, until it wrapped around their fingers like silk. The magic swirled up their arms, soft and warm despite the cold, and the guests collectively gasped as it flared bright.
Theo squeezed Hermione’s hand, his eyes wide with wonder. Draco let out a shaky breath, his jaw tight, but there was awe in his expression — reverent, almost disbelieving.
The officiant’s voice rose above the hum.
“By your vows, your words, and your will — you are bound. Let the bond of three be seen and sealed by magic itself.”
The light pulsed once — then settled into them, sinking into their skin.
To their shock, and the surprise of the crowd, on each of their left hands, faint lines began to shimmer, twisting like vines of silver and blue until they formed delicate tattoo-like bands around their ring fingers. The marks glowed briefly before dimming to a soft, permanent shine.
Hermione stared at hers, breath catching. “They’re beautiful.”
Theo looked up at her with the gentlest smile. “So are you.”
Draco let out a small, unsteady laugh. “I suppose there’s no undoing it now. That’s triad magic bound.”
The officiant’s lips curved faintly. “You may seal your bond with a kiss.”
Theo leaned in first, pressing a trembling, tender kiss to Hermione’s lips, his other hand cradling the back of her neck. When he stepped back, Draco’s eyes softened, and he bent slightly to kiss her too — a kiss that was reverent, lingering, and warm enough to melt the winter air.
Then Draco turned to Theo, their foreheads resting together for a heartbeat before they, too, kissed — simple, certain, full of history and forgiveness.
The magic above them flared one last time, casting snowflakes in gold.
The officiant raised her wand high. “I present to you — Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott.”
Applause broke like thunder across the winter garden. The enchanted lanterns flared brighter, and soft white petals began to fall from nowhere, mingling with the snow.
As music swelled — something joyous and soaring — the triad turned toward their friends and family.
Narcissa stood wiping her eyes openly now, the tiara on Hermione’s head glinting like a memory reborn. Ginny was beaming through tears; Pansy was sobbing dramatically against Blaise’s shoulder. Luna waved a wand that shot up golden sparks in the shape of snowmen.
Theo offered Hermione his arm, Draco taking her free hand. For a moment, the three of them stood framed by snow and candlelight, their breath mingling in the cold ai.
Hermione whispered, “Ready?”
Theo smiled softly. “Always.”
Draco smirked faintly. “Lead the way, Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott.”
And together — step for step — they walked down the aisle through the snow, laughter and music following them as white petals and flakes swirled in the wind like blessings.
Overhead, the lanterns flickered and flared, casting halos of gold around them.
The world felt hushed, suspended, perfectly still — three lives bound together, walking out into a winter that would never again feel cold.
The sun had sunk completely by the time the newlyweds and their guests filed back into the manor. Enchanted sconces bathed the grand ballroom in soft golden light, flickering like starlight across the marble floor.
Garlands of evergreen and silver ribbon wound up the crystal pillars, and tiny enchanted snowflakes drifted lazily through the air, melting before they could touch the ground.
The entire room smelled faintly of pine, cinnamon, and something warm — home, perhaps.
A string quartet played near the stage, their music lilting and tender as the guests found their tables. Above the long head table, a crystal chandelier shimmered with white and green light, its glow reflecting on the frosted windows.
Hermione stood between Theo and Draco at the entry to the ballroom, her hand still tucked into each of theirs. The tiara on her head glimmered softly in the light, and she could feel the faint hum of their new bond between her fingers — a shared warmth that seemed to pulse like quiet magic through her veins.
As the doors opened, applause broke out once again.
Pansy’s delighted voice rang over the clapping. “Finally, the newlyweds!”
Hermione laughed, cheeks flushed. Theo squeezed her hand, and Draco gave a subtle, amused bow that made a few guests chuckle.
They walked in together — Theo indeep black, Draco in lighter black and silver, Hermione radiant in her gown — and the crowd seemed to part around them like a wave.
When the music shifted to something slower, the officiant rose once more and announced, “The first dance, for Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott.”
Hermione froze for half a second. The name still felt unreal.
Theo, sensing it, murmured softly at her ear, “Just breathe. You’ve faced worse than a dance floor.”
That earned him a laugh, and he took her hand, guiding her gently to the center of the room. Draco followed close behind, his expression half amusement, half something softer — reverent.
As the music began — slow, melodic, full of strings and the faint shimmer of enchanted bells — Theo placed one hand at her waist, the other still holding hers. Draco joined on her other side, their movements instinctive, like gravity had choreographed them.
Theo’s hand was steady, grounding. Draco’s touch at her back was light, guiding, reverent. The three of them moved as if they’d been doing this forever.
Whispers rippled through the crowd, but they didn’t matter. For a few minutes, it was just them — spinning slowly beneath falling snow and chandeliers, her gown sweeping around their feet like wind.
When the song ended, applause thundered again. Hermione looked up, cheeks flushed, and caught Luna Lovegood watching her with a soft smile and a glass of champagne.
Luna tilted her head. “You know,” she said dreamily, “most people spend their lives trying to find one star to orbit around. But you’ve built a whole constellation instead.”
Draco blinked, trying to process that. Theo murmured under his breath, “That’s very Luna.”
Hermione, however, smiled at her friend and said softly, “Thank you.”
Luna just nodded knowingly.
“Oh, you’re welcome. Just be careful not to burn too brightly too fast — constellations need time to settle in the sky.”
And then she floated away toward Neville, leaving all three of them quietly thoughtful.
Kingsley Shacklebolt was impossible to miss, standing near the champagne fountain like a mountain wrapped in purple silk robes. When the triad approached, he smiled — that deep, calm sort of smile that could disarm even the most cynical Slytherin.
“Minister,” Hermione greeted, bowing her head slightly. “I’m honored you came.”
“The honor’s mine,” he rumbled, shaking Theo’s hand and then Draco’s. “I don’t often get to attend a union that rewrites our own legislation.”
Draco’s mouth quirked. “Then I’m glad we could provide… bureaucratic entertainment.”
Kingsley laughed, the sound booming through the nearby guests.
“Entertainment indeed. But more than that — hope. A reminder that the war’s survivors are still building something lasting. If they can be a magical triad, special and rare, then anything is possible.”
He looked directly at Hermione then. “You’ve always built bridges, Ms. Granger. Even unconventional ones.”
Theo raised his glass slightly. “Here’s to unconventional architecture.”
Kingsley winked. “I’ll drink to that.”
They found Blaise and Pansy holding court near the dessert table. She threw her arms around Hermione the instant she saw her.
“Wife! Oh, I suppose wives now — plural!” she teased. “My, how far we’ve come since you hexed Draco in third year.”
Hermione groaned, laughing. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“Not when it’s the foundation of your marriage, darling.”
Blaise kissed Hermione’s cheek with brotherly warmth.
“You look radiant. The both of you.”
He nodded to Theo. “And you, Nott — if anyone could pull this off, it’d be you.”
Draco snorted softly. “You just like that someone’s finally rivaled your own press coverage.”
Blaise lifted his champagne. “To infamy and happiness. May they coexist gracefully.”
Theo clinked his glass. “I’ll take happiness first. Infamy can wait until tomorrow’s headlines.”
Nearby, Ron looked uncomfortable in his formal robes, standing beside Cho Chang, who was glowing with the calm confidence of someone who had survived worse gossip already.
Hermione approached cautiously, aware of the weight of shared history between them.
“Ron,” she said gently. “Cho. I’m glad you came.”
Ron cleared his throat. “’Course I did. Would’ve been rude not to, yeah?”
His smile was awkward but real.
“You look nice, Hermione. The three of you, actually. Never thought I’d say that about Malfoy, but… there it is.”
Draco gave a slight bow. “High praise, coming from a Weasley.”
Cho elbowed Ron lightly. “He means it. We both wish you well.”
For a fleeting moment, the awkwardness melted. Hermione smiled, tears pricking her eyes.
“That means a lot, truly.”
Ron looked away, muttering something about stuffed mushrooms, but his ears were red — the closest thing to sincerity he could manage.
Soon, Molly Weasley swept through the ballroom like warmth incarnate, her knitting-bag tucked under one arm despite the formality of the occasion. She caught Hermione in a fierce hug that smelled of nutmeg and home.
“Oh, my girl,” she said thickly, “your parents would be so proud of you.”
Hermione blinked hard. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.”
Molly turned to Theo and Draco, who both straightened instinctively as if facing the Headmistress of Domestic Life.
“So these are my new sons-in-law,” she said with a smile that could melt glaciers. “Let me look at you.”
She eyed Theo approvingly. “Good bones — you’ll keep her fed?”
Theo stammered, “Yes, ma’am.”
Then to Draco. “And you, Mr. Malfoy — you’ll remember she’s more stubborn than you?”
Draco’s lips twitched. “I’ve already learned that lesson, Mrs. Weasley.”
“Good.” She pressed a small parcel into Hermione’s hand. “Your own Weasley jumper — with all three initials and aheart. Had to make a new pattern.”
Hermione laughed through tears. “Thank you — it’s perfect.”
Molly patted her cheek. “Welcome to the family, all of you.”
As the evening deepened, the trio found themselves surrounded by laughter — Luna discussing star-maps with Neville, Ginny and Harry sharing champagne with Theo, Pansy threatening to start a conga line.
Hermione stood back for a moment beside Draco, watching it all. The air shimmered with candlelight and snow beyond the tall windows.
“This feels,” Draco murmured, searching for the right word, “impossible.”
Hermione slipped her fingers into his. “So did the war endinf, once.”
He looked down at her, something tender softening his features.
“Then perhaps impossibility suits us.”
Across the room, Theo raised his glass to them — a silent toast. The bond between the three pulsed faintly, a quiet golden shimmer that only they could feel.
Dinner was lavish — roast lamb, winter vegetables, and sugared cranberries, all paired with warm butterbeer and elven wine. Conversation drifted easily; laughter began to fill the room like a melody of its own.
Theo’s hand kept brushing against Hermione’s under the table, a small, reassuring gesture that said everything he didn’t say aloud. Draco, meanwhile, was unusually relaxed, even teasing Blaise about his inability to dance after a decade of private lessons.
When the desserts were cleared away, Pansy rose to her feet, tapping her glass with a spoon.
Her grin was wicked. “Well, seeing as I’ve known all three of them longer than anyone else here, I suppose it’s only right that I make the first toast.”
Theo groaned softly. “Merlin help us.”
“Shush,” Pansy said fondly. “To Hermione, who somehow managed to civilize these two. To Theo, who learned that love isn’t a potion you can brew — and to Draco, who proved that redemption can look very good in formal robes. May you three keep surprising each other, and may none of you ever stop deserving the other two.”
Applause followed, and Hermione laughed through the tears stinging her eyes.
The clinking of silver cutlery against glass rippled through the ballroom, and the room’s hum of conversation gradually quieted.
Hermione glanced up to see Harry standing at the far end of the head table, his champagne raised and a slightly sheepish grin on his face.
Ginny squeezed his arm as if to say, You’ll be brilliant, love, and sat down beside him.
“Right,” Harry began, voice already half-amused. “I’ve been told that as brother of the bride, I’m supposed to keep this short.”
He paused. “But let’s be honest — Hermione’s never let me get away with short anything. Not essays, not explanations, not… well, anything, really.”
Laughter rippled across the tables; Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling through it.
Harry’s grin softened. “When we were kids, Hermione was the one who made sure I survived long enough to have an adulthood. She was always three steps ahead, armed with a plan, a backup plan, and a colour-coded schedule for both. So, it feels right that even now, she’s still teaching us all what it means to be brave — just… in a very different sort of way.”
He turned slightly toward Draco and Theo. “And these two — I’ll admit, if someone had told me back at Hogwarts that Hermione Granger would one day marry not one but two Slytherins, I’d have said they’d confunded her.”
The guests laughed, and even Draco’s mouth twitched into a smirk.
Harry continued, warmth creeping into his tone:
“But then, after everything we’ve lived through, I think we’ve all learned that courage doesn’t always look like facing down dark wizards. Sometimes it looks like opening your heart, even when history tells you not to.”
Hermione felt the sting of tears and reached for Theo’s hand under the table; he squeezed it gently.
Harry raised his glass higher. “Draco — you’ve spent years proving that people can change, that redemption’s not just a word in a history book. I see how you look at Hermione and Theo, and I know you mean it.”
Draco inclined his head slightly, gratitude flickering in his eyes.
“And Theo,” Harry went on, “thank you for giving her peace. You steady her — and believe me, that’s no small task. I should know.”
The laughter came again, soft and affectionate.
Harry turned back to Hermione then. “You’ve always believed in making the world better — now you’ve built your own tiny world that proves it’s possible. You three found something rare: a hamronic partnership. A balance that most people spend their whole lives chasing.”
He swallowed hard, voice catching a little.
“So here’s to balance. To second chances. To love that’s brave enough to look a little different.”
He smiled again, glancing at the enchanted snowflakes drifting lazily above them.
“And to Hermione — someone once told me that happiness could be found in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light. Well… tonight, you are the light.”
A hush fell over the room for a heartbeat, broken only by the faint clinking of snow-globe magic in the chandeliers.
Then came the applause — loud, heartfelt, rising to cheers as everyone lifted their glasses.
Theo leaned toward Hermione, whispering, “I think your brother did alright.”
She wiped a tear with a laugh. “He did perfectly.”
Across the table, Draco raised his glass toward Harry in silent acknowledgement, and Harry returned the gesture with a nod that said old battles forgiven, new futures accepted.
For the first time all night, the triad truly felt it —
not just celebrated, but seen.
Then Ginny stood. “To my best friend — who always finds a way to fix things, even when it’s hearts instead of curses. I don’t think any of us expected this story, but somehow it’s perfect. And if anyone hurts her—” she glanced at the two wizards pointedly “—you’ll have the entire Weasley clan to answer to.”
Laughter erupted again.
Theo lifted his glass. “Noted,” he said.
Draco raised his as well teasingly. “We’ll risk it.”
Hours later, the ballroom was warm with candlelight and music, laughter and dancing. Hermione had danced with nearly everyone — Harry, Neville, Blaise, even Professor McGonagall, who was surprisingly light on her feet.
At one point, she caught Theo watching her from across the room, his expression fond and tired, his eyes tracing her movements as though memorizing the sight.
Draco joined him a moment later, murmuring something that made Theo chuckle. Hermione crossed to them, her gown whispering against the floor.
“Plotting, are we?” she asked.
Theo smiled, reaching for her hand. “Always.”
Draco’s smirk softened into something genuine. “We were debating who gets the first proper dance alone.”
Hermione arched a brow. “Well, that depends. Are you planning to argue about it, or share?”
Theo’s grin deepened. “We’ve been practicing sharing.”
Her laughter mingled with the music as they led her back to the floor. The crowd watched, enchanted again as the three of them moved together, slower this time, closer, the air between them thick with warmth.
As the night drew on and the candles burned low, the snowfall outside thickened. Guests began to trickle away, offering hugs and blessings and tears.
Narcissa kissed Hermione’s cheek softly before departing, whispering, “Welcome home, my dear.”
When the ballroom finally quieted, Hermione stood between her husbands beneath the last floating lantern. The music had faded to a hush as guests departed.
As they turned toward the manor’s staircase, Luna’s voice drifted faintly from across the room:
“Remember — stars burn brightest when they trust the dark to hold them.”
Hermione looked back, meeting Luna’s eyes across the dim light.
“Good night, Luna,” she said softly.
“Good morning, Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott,” Luna replied dreamily. “Your constellation looks lovely tonight.”
Hermione’s breath caught. Then, smiling through the emotion swelling in her chest, she took Theo and Draco’s hands — and together, they climbed the stairs, leaving the golden glow of the ballroom behind, stepping into whatever came next.
Notes:
What did you think of their wedding? Favorite part? Let me know!
Chapter 83: Husband- Wife - Husband
Chapter Text
Hermione stood in the center of the Theo’s room, heart pounding with a mix of exhaustion from the day's festivities and electric anticipation, her wedding dress pooling at her feet after Theo had knelt behind her, his reverent hands unzipping the gown with agonizing slowness, lips brushing her spine with each inch revealed, whispering, "Our wife... gods, I love you more than life itself. We are so luck, Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott."
She stepped out of the fabric, left in a lacy white corset that cinched her waist and pushed up her breasts, sheer enough to tease the dark peaks of her hardened nipples, and matching panties that clung to her hips, the crotch already soaked with her arousal, a dark wet spot betraying her desperate need that had been building all night form their soft touches and heated looks.
Theo and Draco circled her like voltures, still in their tailored tuxedos minus the jackets, shirts unbuttoned to reveal glimpses of toned chests, their eyes—dark with possessive hunger and boundless love.
"Gods, Hermione," Theo murmured, stepping close to cup her face in both hands, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones with feather-light tenderness.
"Our wife. I can't believe it—you're ours forever now. I love you so much—you're my light, both of you are my everything."
He kissed her deeply, slowly, his tongue sliding against hers in a languid dance of devotion, his hands roaming down her back to pull her flush against his hardening length, the heat of him seeping through fabric, grinding subtly as he whispered against her lips, "Your body... so responsive, love. I adore you, every curve, every breath you take for us."
Draco pressed in from behind, his lips finding the sensitive spot below her ear, nipping hard enough to sting before soothing with a filthy lick, his hands sliding around her waist to cup her breasts through the lace, thumbs pinching her nipples viciously until she yelped into Theo's mouth.
"Fuck, Granger—our perfect little wife, trussed up like a virgin bride in this sinful lace, but we know the filthy truth, don't we? That impossibly tight, virgin-grip cunt of yours still strangles anything that dares go near it. But we enjoy it like that. Everything about you is beautiful, inside, outside, and in that oretty little head of yours."
His voice dropped to a gravelly, obscene growl, his thick erection—already straining his trousers—grinding against her ass in slow, deliberate thrusts, the friction making her whimper.
"No cock for that pussy tonight, wife—you're too fucking tight, that tiny pussy would snap us in half if we tried. But gods, we're going to pry you open with our fingers and tongues, give you so much pleasure, stretch that resistant little snatch until you're sobbing and squirting. Gonna make that tight cunt be begging her husbands to finger-fuck her harder by the end of the night. And one day soon, when you're ready, we'll finally shove our thick cocks into that impossibly tight hole, stretch you wide, then fill you to the brim with our hot cum—pumping load after load deep inside, breeding that greedy womb until it's leaking our seed, marking you as ours forever."
Hermione shivered violently between them, a soft, needy whimper escaping as she broke the kiss with Theo to turn her head, capturing Draco's lips in a heated tangle, her tongue tentative but eager, tasting the wine on him while her hands reached back to grip his thighs, nails digging i.
"I adore you both so much," she whispered breathlessly when they parted, her voice soft and laced with shy heat, cheeks flushing deeper under their gazes, her heart swelling with adoration.
"My husbands... this night is for all of us. I love how you both make me feel safe, cherished...”
Theo's fingers worked the corset laces free with loving precision, the fabric whispering away to bare her breasts to the candlelit air, nipples pebbling instantly from the cool breeze and their hungry stares, already red from Draco's rough pinches.
They guided her to the bed with gentle urgency, laying her down amid the velvet scatter of rose petals, the silk sheets cool and slick against her heated skin. Theo knelt beside her, shrugging off his shirt to reveal his lean, elegant torso marked with faint scars from battles past, while Draco stripped fully, trousers pooling at his feet to free his thick, veined cock— inches of rigid, throbbing heat, the head flushed purple already with need.
"Look at our wife, Theo," Draco rasped, climbing onto the bed and positioning himself between her spread thighs, hooking his fingers into her panties and dragging them down inch by torturous inch, the fabric sticking to her soaked folds before peeling away, exposing her glistening, pussy to their ravenous eyes, clit peeking out like a pearl, her tight entrance clenching visibly on nothing.
“Isn’t she the most gorgeous lady in the world?”, Draco whispered in awe.
"Spread those thighs wider, my bride—show your husbands how much they turn you on. Fuck, it's already so wet. But gods, that virgin-tight hole—winking at us, clenching so hard already on nothing like it needs us. We're going to battle that resistant snatch tonight, give you so much pleasure. And someday soon, when you're really ready for it, we'll ram our cocks in there, stretch that tight pussy wide, then flood it with our cum—pumping you full.”
Theo leaned down to claim her mouth again, his hand teasing one breast, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger with loving firmness.
"You're breathtaking, love—our eternaly bonded wife. I love how your body sings for us, so sensitive, so perfect—I adore you beyond words, my heart."
He trailed kisses down her neck to her other breast, tongue swirling the peak before sucking hard, drawing breathy moans from her depths, his free hand stroking her thigh soothingly.
Draco's fingers traced her inner thighs, nails grazing the sensitive skin, building unbearable tension before parting her folds with two fingers, exposing her clit fully and pinching it lightly, making her buck.
"Draco... Theo... yes, touch me—inside, please," Hermione pleaded, her voice a husky whisper laced with love, hands fisting the sheets as arousal coiled low in her belly, her hips lifting instinctively despite the challenge, her eyes shining with trust and affection.
Draco's eyes gleamed with obscene delight, bearing down on his finger over her void slowly sinking it in.,
"Oh, we will, wife—but Merlin—gods, you're our perfect contradiction, light , so caring and pure but with a dirty burning need.”
He twisted gently, working the finger in, her arousal slickening the invasion, her thighs quivering uncontrollably.
"That's it, wife—feel the pleasure as I force it deeper? You're getting wetter, aren't you? We adore you, Hermione—your acceptance of us is our salvation.”
Theo shifted lower, his breath hot on her mound as he kissed her hip bone lovingly.
"I love you, Hermione—your body's a gift we cherish every second."
He joined Draco, adding his own finger alongside, the dual intrusion met with resistance—her entrance clamping, thelight burn inside doubling as they scissored millimeter by millimeter, drawing out whimpers and soft cries of "my husbands—it's so much, but I need it."
"Gods, wife—two fingers and you're strangling us. Feel that deep burn? That's your tightness surrendering—fuck, I love how you clench. You're our everything, Hermione—our loving wife, and one day we'll fuck this tight cunt raw, fill it with our hot cum until it's overflowing, marking you inside and out."
Hermione cried out, hips rocking “it's so intense, the stretch... but I need more, my boys."
Theo's tongue flicked her clit, lapping softly at first to ease her discomfort, then with building fervor, swirling the swollen nub while sucking lightly, syncing with their probing fingers that thrust shallowly at first, probing against her G-spot.
Draco pulled Theo up for a searing kiss over her body, tongues tangling sloppily, tasting her essence.
"Fuck, Theo—her filthy sweetness on your lips? Now ram those fingers deeper—battle that pussy until she breaks, make her squirt all over us. I love you, my sexy husband.”
They ramped up the pace gradually, fingers plunging harder against the tension, curling viciously to stroke her G-spot, the friction electric from the constant quiviering.
Hermione shattered first that night, her orgasm ripping through her like lightning, walls clamping down in brutal spasms that nearly trapped their fingers, a hot, forceful gush soaking their hands and sheets in a messy flood.
"Theo! Draco!—yes!"
As she trembled in the aftershocks, her pussy still fluttering in afterschocks, Draco's hand gripped Theo's cock, stroking the leaking length firmly, thumb smearing pre-cum over the head.
"Your turn now, mate—need to bury my thick cock in your ass while we keep our wife's little pussy coming. Bend over her, eat that dripping cunt like it's your last meal."
Theo positioned on all fours over her, his face diving back between her legs, tongue delving deep into her folds to lap at the fresh slick, his moans vibrating against her oversensitive clit.
Draco slicked his cock generously with lube from the nightstand, pressing the blunt head against Theo's entrance, meeting his own tightness but thrusting in with more ease—inch by scorching inch, the full length sinking deep until his balls slapped against Theo's.
"Fuck, Theo—your ass is a tight, hot heaven,Merlin its gripping my cock like a velvet fist, sucking me balls-deep while you tongue-fuck our wife'. Gods, the way you clench—milking me while your mouth makes her squirm, our loving wife watching us with those adoring eyes. I love you, Theo—love how you take it for us, and soon we'll take Hermione's tight cunt together, fuck her until she's filled with our cum.”
Hermione watched through half-lidded eyes, her hands stroking Theo's hair tenderly, fingers tangling in the dark strands, whispering,
"So beautiful... my men, together like this—I love seeing you together, feeling your devotion, it’s so hot."
Theo's moans hummed directly against her clit, the vibrations from Draco's brutal thrusts pushing her toward another peak, her oversensitive walls still resisting as Draco reached around, battling to add another finger to her pussy.
"Fuck, Granger—still a goddamn fortress after squirting? Relax for me, Granger let me in you while Theo takes me.”
Draco's savage thrusts rocked Theo forward, each slam jolting his tongue deeper into Hermione, the chain reaction building her relentlessly. Theo came with a guttural roar muffled against her folds, his cock untouched as he spilled thick ropes onto the sheets, his ass clenching rhythmically around Draco's pounding length, milking him harder.
The sensation—Theo's cries vibrating her clit, Draco's finger finally breaching her resistant entrance with Theos tongue inside—pushed Hermione over the edge again, her second orgasm exploding in a torrent, walls spasming in a brutal vice that trapped Draco's invading digit, another gush flooding Theo's mouth and chin.
"Yes Hermione, so hot—love you both so much, my hearts!" Theo encouraged.
Draco growled, pulling out of Theo with a wet pop, stroking his slick cock furiously to finish, hot ropes of cum painting Theo's back and ass in sticky stripes, marking him as he collapsed beside her.
"Fuck, that's it—our wife squirting while I ppaint Theo's ass, all of us tangled in filthy bliss. You both are so good it kills me."
Round two ignited without pause, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat, Hermione rolled onto her side with Theo spooning her from behind, his arms wrapping around her possessively, lips kissing her neck as he whispered, "I love you eternally, my wife—you're our light in the darkness."
Draco knelt in front, his mouth latching onto her clit with a hungry suck, tongue flicking the oversensitive bud.
"Fuck, wife—your pussy's still a virgin-death-grip after two squirting orgasms. Gods, imagine when we finally stuff you full.” Her untethered whimpers told him how much she loved it.
He battled a second finger into her pussy,pushing hard on her g-spot. her walls scorching hot and raw from the first orgasm.
"Holy fuck, that’s still so tight woman. Relax… let it go!"
Her climax exploded like a dam breaking, a massive torrent soaking Draco's face and chest, her body shaking violently as spasms ripped through her, as she sobbed their names.
Theo and Draco switched seamlessly for their own release, Draco flat on his back amid the soaked sheets, Theo straddling him reverse-cowgirl style to face Hermione, lowering onto Draco's still-hard cock with a shared groan—the stretch easier the seocund time but Theo's ass still gripping like velvet fire.
Hermione leaned in, kissing them both in turn, her hands stroking their sweat-slicked chests and cocks where she could reach, fingers teasing Draco's balls as Theo rode him.
Draco groaned ans so did Hermione watching it unfold, Draco’s hands gripping Theo's hips to slam up harder, balls slapping obscenely.
"Watch us, wife—see your husbands rutting like animals, while you stroke us.”
Theo's pace quickened, grinding down as Hermione's touches pushed him over, spilling hot cum over Draco's thighs and her hand; Draco followed with a roar, pumping deep inside Theo, excess leaking out in creamy dribbles.
After her second orgasm, Hermione's body had begun to loosen more—her tightness still formidable but her arousal and the afterglow making her walls slightly more pliant, slick flooding in waves from the repeated climaxes, her pussy flushed and swollen from the prior pleasure.
For the final round, both husbands focused between her quaking thighs, Draco and Theo's fingers working in tandem to breach a third finger into her pussy—the insertion a drawn-out, torment against her lingering resistance, the first two fingers already a tight fit but the third meeting a wall of clamping muscle that required patient minutes of twisting, scissoring, and unyielding pressure, her entrance burning uncomfortably.
"Holy fuck, Granger—three fingers now, after you've squirted twice, and your cunt's still fighting us tooth and nail. But your gushing even more because you love being full, don't you? Our loving wife, tight as fuck but craving the pain of being stuffed. Fuck, it's hurting you a little, isn't it? That deep ache from the fullness, walls protesting but fluttering like they need it—take it for bride, let your husbands make you shatter."
It took alittle bit of coaxing—Hermione whimpering, “Ugh—it's hurting a little, but I love feeling so full” before the third finger seated alongside the others, her walls a throbbing, vise-like grip around them, a little pain radiating through her core but mingling with the euphoric fullness she craved, making her moan deeply. "
That's it, Granger—clenching so hard it's like your pussy's trying to crush us, but feel how full you are?—fuck, fuck, Granger—your pussy's fightingus but losing, that full ache pushing you higher. Take the pounding, wife—And soon, we'll fuck this pussy just like you crave.”
They pounded her relentlessly now, fingers slamming in and out with quick force against her resilient walls, curling wildly to hammer her G-spot over and over, the pace intensifying to a punishing rhythm that had her thighs shaking, the wet slapping sounds obscene in the room, their dirty encouragements amplifying the pleasure-pain until she teetered on the brink.
"Fuck, Granger—feel us wrecking this tight cunt? Pounding so hard, but you're loving the fullness, aren't you? Salazar, you're so tight it's filthy—our devoted bride, full and aching, begging for release. Pound harder, Theo—slam those fingers deep, make her feel pleasure until she's screaming. Fuck, yes—take the pounding, Granger, your cunt's."
Theo whispered lovingly, "You're perfect, love—our wife, our heart—feel our desire for you in every thrust, how adored you are."
Her third orgasm was cataclysmic, a violent flood that left her boneless and trembling, pussy spasming in futile, exhausting clamps around their fingers, the pain of the stretch heightening the bliss as she felt utterly full, making her dizzy with ecstasy, screaming, "Theo! Draco! Merlin—oh gods!"
They eased their fingers out slowly, carefully, her pussy still twitching in aftershocks, raw and sensitive from the intensity of everything.
Theo and Draco immediately pulled her into their arms, cradling her between them on the soaked sheets, their bodies a warm, protective cocoon, hands roaming softly to soothe every inch of her. Theo kissed her forehead softly, his hands stroking her hair and back in soothing circles, whispering,
"You were incredible, love—our beautiful wife. I love you so much—let us take care of you now."
He reached for the chilled champagne, pouring a glass and holding it to her lips, encouraging her to sip slowly, the bubbles refreshing her parched throat. "
Drink, Hermione—you gave so much tonight. You're our wife, our light— I adore how strong you are, how you trust us completely."
Draco fetched a soft, charmed cloth from the nightstand—infused with soothing aloe and healing potions—and gently wiped between her legs, easing the lingering ache with tender dabs, his touch uncharacteristically soft as he murmured, "Fuck, Granger—you took that pounding like a goddess, I love how you trust us to take care of your plassure.”
He applied a dollop of healing balm, fingers dipping just barely inside to soothe the rawness, massaging lightly until she sighed in relief, whispering, "There, our bride—better? No more pain for you, just us holding you close, cherishing every breath."
They tucked her under the covers, Theo spooning her from one side, Draco the other, limbs entangled as they peppered her with kisses—forehead, cheeks, lips, neck—murmuring endless affirmations.
"You're safe with us forever, love—we adore you eternally, our heart," Theo whispered, nuzzling her hair.
"Our perfect wife—I'd fight the world for you, do you know?”, Draco whispered in her ear, his hand resting on her hip, thumb stroking soothingly. Hermione nestled between them, whispering back, "my husbands, my future."
They cuddled closer, bodies intertwined, sharing soft laughs and tender words—"You're the best thing that's ever happened to us," Theo said; "Fuck, you're our miracle, Granger—sweet and filthy, all ours," Draco murmured—until their breaths synced, drifting off together in a cocoon of love and afterglow.
Notes:
Well, they have chemistry =P
Chapter 84: Redeem Us
Notes:
I've been waiting to figure out where to put this scene for awhile.
Now that they just got bonded seemed like the perfect time.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sunlight poured through the tall bedroom windows of Nott Manor in a soft winter gold, slipping across the tangled sheets and the three sleeping figures beneath them.
The snow outside had stilled everything; even the air felt reverent, like the world knew not to intrude.
Hermione woke first. The room was quiet except for the crackle of the dying fire and the deep, even breaths of the men on either side of her. Theo’s arm was looped protectively over her waist, his palm resting on the flat of her stomach; Draco’s hand brushed lightly against her shoulder where their bodies met in the middle.
Both of them were warm, heavy, and content. She lay still, letting herself feel it — the quiet peace of bonded belonging.
After so many months of tension and uncertainty, the morning carried a strange calm. They weren’t just trying anymore. They had done it — linked themselves for lifetime of trying, chosen this, chosen each other.
Theo stirred first, pressing a sleepy kiss to her temple before murmuring, “Morning, Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott.”
His voice was rough from sleep, threaded with that low humor that always made her chest ache.
She smiled into the pillow. “That’s a mouthful of a name.”
Draco’s voice came from behind her, smooth and drowsy. “Fitting, though. We’re not exactly a simple story.”
She turned slightly to face him, and his grey eyes — softened by morning light — met hers. For a long moment, none of them spoke. It wasn’t silence so much as communion: shared breath, shared warmth, shared understanding that this was real now.
Theo pushed himself up on one elbow, hair mussed, eyes bright. “Do either of you realize what time it is?”
Hermione yawned. “Late?”
“Nearly eleven,” he said, pretending scandal. “The respectable pure-bloods will think we’ve been… well—”
Draco interrupted smoothly, “—celebrating the proper legal consummation of a bond. Let them think what they like.”
He smirked, half-teasing, half-protective. Hermione swatted at him with the edge of the blanket, laughing.
Theo lounged to her left, his arm draped casually over the back of the Draco, fingers occasionally brushing her hair in a soothing rhythm, while Draco sat to her right, one ankle crossed over his knee, his posture relaxed but his silver eyes intense as always, glinting with that predatory gleam.
The conversation had started innocently enough—reminiscing about last night’s reception, sharing laughs over a ridiculous school memo Hermione had received yesterday about inter-departmental owl etiquette—but it had veered into deeper, more charged waters, as it often did with them.
They'd begun talking about sexual fantasies, the kind that lingered in the back of one's mind, sparked by trust and desire.
Hermione had shared a few of her own first, blushing slightly under their gazes as she described a scenario involving a secluded library, enchanted restraints that teased without mercy, and the thrill of being utterly at their command.
Theo had smiled softly, his hand squeezing her thigh encouragingly, while Draco's smirk had deepened, his voice a low purr as he praised her imagination: "Fuck, Granger, that mind of yours—always plotting something filthy. We'd make it real for you some time soon, tie you up and edge you until you're begging."
Now, it was their turn to share. Theo cleared his throat first, his voice gentle but earnest, shifting closer so his knee brushed hers, his hand moving to squeeze Hermione's lightly, grounding her.
"Love, Draco and I... we've talked about something between us lately. A fantasy we've both had simmering for a while now. Something we want to try with you, if you're open to it. But it's... personal. Tied to who we are, or who we used to be—the shadows we can't fully shake."
Draco nodded, his gaze fixed on her with that piercing intensity, a rare vulnerability flickering in his eyes as he set his wine glass down on the table with a soft clink, leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees.
"Yeah. We've discussed it in detail, mate to mate, because it's not just about getting off—it's about reclaiming something rotten and turning it into gold. You know our family histories better than anyone, Granger. The Malfoy legacy—my father's twisted games with the Death Eaters, the dark artifacts hidden in our vaults, the blood purity nonsense that rotted everything from the inside out. The cruelty, the manipulation, the way it stained every fucking thing I touched growing up. I feel terrible about it—guilty as hell, even though I fought against it. I've spent years trying to scrub it clean, distance myself, but... it's still there, lurking. Every day, I wear this signet ring," he held up his right hand slowly, the heavy silver band catching the firelight, engraved with the intricate Nott family crest.
"It's a constant reminder of the shit I came from, the poison. But with you... gods, with you, I want to make it mean something better. Something about pleasure, about us—overwriting the darkness with your moans, your wetness."
Theo's expression mirrored Draco's, his own hand lifting to show his ring—silver, and more ornate, with the Nott crest.
"Same for me, Hermione. The Nott name—my father's cold commands, the war meetings in the Manor, the screams echoing through those halls I can't forget. The legacy of pain, prejudice, and power grabs that left scars on everyone, including us. I feel so fucking terrible about it all, the weight of it dragging me down some days. But we're trying to change that, aren't we? Going forward, brick by brick, making our names stand for something good—loyalty to each other, love that heals, redemption we earn every day. And this fantasy... it's part of that reclamation. We want to use these rings—these goddamn symbols of our fucked-up pasts—to bring you pleasure. To get you off with them, turn something tainted into something pure and filthy and ours."
Draco took over seamlessly, his voice dropping lower, more intense, leaning in so his breath ghosted her ear.
"We've talked about it in detail, Granger—late nights, just us, picturing those crests—cold, hard metal, engraved with all that ancient bullshit—pressing against your soft skin, vibrating with magic, making you writhe and beg. It's about overwriting the bad with the good, yeah? Taking these rings that once meant control and death, and using them to make your tight little pussy clench and drip. If you're open to it, Hemrione—we'd make it so fucking good for you."
Theo nodded, his thumb stroking her knuckles in a soothing circle, his voice softer but no less fervent.
"We'd never push you, if it’s something your against, Hermione. But it's a shared fantasy for both of us—sharing that vulnerability with you, making you come undone with pieces of our legacies turned into tools for your ecstasy. It's about trust, and redemention, about us building something new together."
Hermione listened quietly, her eyes moving between them, understanding dawning on her face like a slow sunrise. She saw the weight in their expressions—the genuine remorse for their families' sins, the raw determination to forge a new path forward. It made sense, in a twisted, poetic way: taking symbols of darkness and using them for light, for intimacy, for pleasure that healed. She squeezed Theo's hand back, then reached for Draco's, interlacing her fingers with his, feeling the cool metal of his ring against her palm.
"I get it," she said softly, her voice steady and warm, laced with empathy.
"Your families... they've left scars on all of us, deep ones. But you're not them—you're better men, fighting every day to make your names mean love and strength instead of fear. If this helps you reclaim that—turn those rings into something positive, something about us, about pleasure and connection—then yes. I'm open to it. Let's try. I trust you both."
The air thickened then, charged with electric anticipation, the fire's low crackle the only sound for a moment as they exchanged glances.
Hermione stripped first slowly, deliberately, her sweater sliding over her head to reveal her bare breasts, nipples already hardening in the cool moring February air, then her leggings peeled down her legs, exposing her smooth skin and the neat trim of curls at the apex of her thighs.
She stood there for a moment, vulnerable and aroused, her pussy already weeting with anticipation. Theo and Draco followed suit, shirts unbuttoned and discarded to show their toned chests—Theo's lean and elegant, Draco's more sharply defined—trousers shed to reveal their hardening cocks, thick and veined, bobbing with need.
They guided her to the bed with gentle hands, positioning her in the center on her back, pillows propping her up slightly so she could watch everything, her legs spread wide in invitation. Draco started the healing ritual, his ring still on his finger as he murmured the spell—"Vibrato maxima"—the silver band humming to life with a low, magical vibration that made the air around it shimmer faintly, the metal warming slightly but retaining that initial cool bite.
Theo did the same to his ring, the crests now buzzing with a steady, insistent pulse, like enchanted artifacts designed for exquisite torment.
"Fuck, Granger," Draco growled, his voice dripping with filthy intent as he knelt between her legs, parting her thighs even wider with firm hands, exposing her glistening folds to the air.
"Look at you—spread out like a feast for us, that pretty pink pussy already weeping, and begging. We're going to tease the fuck out of you with these."
Theo leaned in from her side, his touch softer but no less charged, pressing his vibrating ring first to her collarbone, the cool metal sending a jolt through her as the dragon crest hummed against her skin, tracing a slow path down her chest.
"You're so beautiful, love," he murmured, his tone loving but edged with that growing heat, his free hand cupping her breast tenderly.
"Let us take care of you—feel the hum against your skin, how it makes every nerve tingle, waking you up for us. I love you like this, open and trusting."
He circled her nipple with the ring, the engraved edges buzzing against the pebbled peak, making her gasp sharply, her back arching off the bed as pleasure sparked straight to her core. The vibration was intense—low and steady, building in waves that radiated outward, the cold metal warming from her flushed skin but still shocking her sensitive spots.
Draco mirrored him on her other breast, his silver serpent-etched ring vibrating over her nipple, his thumbs rolling the hardened bud as he leaned down to bite her neck lightly, sucking a mark into her skin.
"Godric, your tits are fucking perfect—feel that buzz drilling into your nipples? Making them throb,huh? Imagine it lower, Granger—cold metal humming on that greedy clit of yours, vibrating until your tight little hole is clenching empty, begging to be filled. You're going to be a soaking mess by the time we're done teasing, pussy lips all puffy and red from the need."
H trailed the ring down her stomach in a slow, meandering path, the vibration leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, dipping into her navel briefly to let the buzz pool there, making her squirm, before skirting her hips, tracing the crease where thigh met groin.
Hermione moaned, her hands fisting the sheets, the dual sensations from both rings building her arousal in layers, her body heating under their attention. They drew it out mercilessly—minutes stretching into a haze as Theo's ring danced over her inner thigh, the humming closer and closer to her core but pulling back just before contact, teasing the sensitive skin until her legs trembled.
"You're getting so wet already, love," Theo said softly, his voice a caress, leaning in to kiss her deeply, tongue sliding against hers in a slow dance. "I I adore how responsive you are, clenching just from the vibration on your skin."
He finally pressed his buzzing ring to her clit, the cool metal settling directly on the swollen nub, crest's edges adding textured pulses that made her hips buck wildly, a sharp cry tearing from her throat as electricity shot through her.
"Fuck, yes—grind that clit on our crests, Theo," Draco purred, his own ring joining the assault, both men now focusing on her clit with overlapping vibrations, buzzing in tandem, waves clashing and amplifying. The cold metal warmed quickly from her slick heat, but the initial shock had her thighs quaking, arousal flooding out in fresh waves.
"Look at her fucking squirm—clit throbbing under our rings, pussy lips parting like they want to suck them in. You love this, don't you, Granger? Our family rings—etched with all that dark, twisted history—now vibrating on your greedy little button, turning you into a dripping, desperate wife. Gods, I can see your hole clenching from here, winking at us, begging to be stretched and filled. We're going to make you come just from this teasing, then shove them deep where you need it most."
Hermione nodded frantically, her breaths coming in ragged pants, sweat beading on her skin as the prolonged teasing built her higher.
"Yes... oh gods, the vibration's so intense—buzzing right through me, making everything ache."
They tormented her like that for what felt like an eternity—long, drawn-out minutes of rings buzzing relentlessly on her clit, occasionally trailing down to circle her entrance, dipping just the edges into her slick folds without full penetration, letting the hum echo inside her shallowly before pulling back. The buildup was torturous, her body arching and twisting, pleasure coiling tight in her belly but held at bay by their control, her tightness making every pulse feel like it was echoing deeper.
Theo's eyes darkened with raw desire as he watched her face contort in pleasure, his voice husky with need.
"Hermione... we want more, love. Want to slide these inside you, let the vibration hum deep in that perfect, tight pussy of yours. Feel our crests buried in your heat, making you full and shaking."
Draco nodded, his gaze feral and hungry, his cock leaking pre-cum as he ground out, "Merlin, yes—imagine it, Granger. Our rings vibrating inside your cunt, those engraved edges scraping your walls, buzzing against your G-spot until you're squirting. We'd love that—reclaiming these pieces of shit with your pleasure.”
She saw it in their eyes—the raw, desperate want, the need to transform those legacies through her body.
"Do it," she whispered, her voice breathy and pleading, hips lifting in invitation. "Put them inside me. I want it—want you both to feel that, to make them yours through me."
Draco groaned, slipping his ring off his finger, the silver still vibrating intensely as he positioned it at her entrance, thecrest facing inward. Her walls resisted pasively, the cool, buzzing metal pressing against her slick, puffy opening, the vibration sending shocks through her core even before insertion.
"Fuck, your pussy's so goddamn tight—look at begging. But feel that hum? Buzzing right at your entrance, making your walls flutter."
He eased it in slowly, drawing out every bit—the masculine band thick and unyielding, the crest's raised edges dragging along her inner folds with textured vibrations that made her whimper, the oddly shaped light stretch burning exquisitely as her body yielded. The moment ticked by in agonizing detail, Draco's fingers holding her lips apart to watcher swallow his famil’s legacy, his voice a filthy stream.
"Gods, Granger—your hole's stretching around thickest part, sucking it in like it owns you. Feel itvibrating inside, scraping your sensitive walls? You're dripping all over it, pussy juices coating the crest, turning my family's poison into your personal vibrator. Fuck, it's buried halfway—clench for me, show me how tight you are, how you're going to milk it when it's deep."
Hermione gasped, her hips rocking instinctively, the vibration radiating deeper with each push of it further in, amplifying the fullness.
"Draco... it's so much—the buzz is hitting everywhere inside, making me throb."
Finally, after prolonged twisting and thrusting to draw out her anticipaiton, the ring seated fully, buried very deep in her channel, the crest humming against her inner walls, sending constant waves through her G-spot.
Theo followed immediately, his breath ragged as he slipped off his ring, the crest buzzing as he pressed it against her already- buzzing entrance, the vibration clashing with Draco's in electric pulses.
"Relax for me, love—you're doing so beautifully, taking us like this. Feel the bit sliding in beside his? So full, so cherished."
It was even harder now, her tightness amplified by the vibrations of the first ring, the stretch a delicious deep, burning ache as he worked it in millimeter by torturous millimeter, the second band forcing her walls wider, the fox’s tail adding ridged texture that ground against her sensitive spots.
Minutes dragged on—the insertion a purposively extended torment, Theo's free hand stroking her clit to ease the way, his voice loving and dirty.
"Gods, Hermione—your pussy's gripping so hard, walls fluttering like they crave the stretch. I love you, love how you're opening for us, allowing us to do this with you, turning our pasts into this—your tight pussy stuffed with vibrating metal, pulsing with every breath."
Draco leaned in, his fingers pinching her nipples hard as he growled, "Look at that tight hole, Granger—stretched thin around both rings now, juices leaking out like you can’t get enough. Feel them buzzing together inside you? Clashing vibrations wrecking your G-spot, making your walls spasm with oent up desire. You're so full of both of us it's obscene—our crests buried deep in that dripping pussy, clenching like you want to crush them. Fuck, I can see your clit twitching from here, begging for more, stuffed and humming, ready to squirt all over our legacies."
Both rings now sat deep inside her, the dual vibrations a relentless assault—buzzing in waves that built and crashed against her nerves, her tightness making the fullness feel overwhelming, like two thick, unyielding fingers pulsing against every nerve. They played with her for what felt like hours—ut were really only long, drawn-out minutes of torment, Theo's fingers circling her clit softly, lovingly, while Draco's were rougher, pinching and slapping her breasts, his mouth at her ear with endless filth driving her mind higher.
"Take it, Granger—feel those crests grinding your insides? Vibrations drilling into your G-spot until you're a mess. You're our wifely redemption, cunt clenching around our pasts, dripping. Gods, imagine if we added our cocks—double-stuffing you until you're split wide open, our spent cum leaking around the rings. You're loving it, aren't you? Body shaking, walls milking the buzz?"
Theo kissed her deeply, his voice a contrast—tender but heated.
"You're incredible, love—feel how full you are? Those vibrations humming through you, making every inch pulse. I adore you, Hermione—my perfect girl, taking this for us, clenching so sweetly."
His fingers sped up on her clit, syncing with the rings' buzz, while Draco's hand dipped lower, pressing firmly on her lower belly to amplify the internal vibrations.
"Bare down on them, Granger—feel the crests battering your depths? Your pussy's so tight it's trapping the hum. Merlin, you're gushing now—your wet, running down your ass, hole stretched around our pasts. Come for us,little wife —squirt around our rings, clean them with your lightness."
The prolonged melodic assault on her senses finally broke her—the coil snapping after endless minutes of building torment, her orgasm crashing like a storm. Her walls spasmed in a vice around the buzzing rings, a hot gush of wetness soaking them and the sheets, her body convulsing wildly.
"Theo! Draco!" she screamed, pleasure ripping through her in intense, endless waves, leaving her trembling and pleasantly spent.
They eased the rings out gently afterward, one by one, the vibrations ceasing with a charm, cleaning them with another as they pulled her into their arms, and put them back on, murmuring praises and love—"You're our everything, love," Theo whispered; "Fucking perfect, Granger," Draco growled—as the afterglow wrapped them in warmth, their bond forged anew.
Before the banter could continue, a sharp tap-tap-tap sounded against the frosted windowpane. A snowy owl perched there, feathers fluffed indignantly against the cold, Daily Prophet clutched in its beak.
Theo groaned. “Of course. The press never sleeps.”
Hermione slid out from under the covers, pulling on Theo’s oversized shirt from the night before, which hung past her thighs. She opened the window, let in the owl, and traded it a treat for the paper.
The headline was impossible to miss — bold gold letters shimmering with charmed ink:
-----
Daily Prophet – Society & Culture, February 11th Edition
WINTER MAGIC: THE GOLDEN GIRL AND HER SLYTHERINS — A NEW ERA OF UNITY
By Celestine Fortescue, Special Correspondent for the Prophet’s Society Desk
Under the gentle snowfall that blanketed Nott Manor yesterday morning, a remarkable moment of postwar history unfolded.
In a ceremony that blended old-world grace with a new spirit of reconciliation, Hermione Jean Granger, Theodore Alexander Nott, and Draco Lucius Malfoy were joined in magical matrimony — a rare and powerful triad bond recognized by the Ministry as both legal and, some whisper, destiny-woven.
The ceremony itself was intimate, attended only by family, close friends, and a handful of dignitaries — among them Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, who called the event “a symbol of the world we fought to build: one where choice, love, and magic itself are stronger than fear or bloodlines.”
Miss Granger — known to readers as the “Golden Girl of the War,” now a rising Charms scholar in the Cornwall Mastery Program — wore a gown with enchanted silver embroidery that shimmered like frost when she moved. A priceless Malfoy family tiara, only last seen worn by Narcissa Malfoy on her own wedding day (though this seemed to be a different one than that), crowned her veil — a poignant gesture of traditional Malfoy family practices inclusion that did not go unnoticed by guests.
Healer Apprentice Nott, ever the quiet scholar of St. Mungo’s, stood tall beside her, wearing the ancestral crest of his house. His steady devotion throughout the day reflected the deep steadiness for which his peers so often commend him.
And at her other side, Draco Malfoy — the reformed scion of one of Britain’s most ancient pure-blood lines — offered a cool dignity that, even in reserve, revealed its sincerity.
Many who saw him during the ceremony remarked that his vows carried an unexpected tenderness, and his gentle composure throughout the afternoon spoke of a man changed, tempered by major grief, and at last finding peace.
The three exchanged both personal vows and magical ones, pledging before the assembled guests and the old spirits of the manor’s orchard grove — said to bless the honest-hearted.
At the final moment, the winter light caught the air around them, and the unmistakable shimmer of long overdue bond-light settled over their hands. Witnesses describe it as “like starlight caught in snow.”
The reception that followed carried laughter, warmth, and the undeniable sense of a future being written anew. Luna Longbottom was overheard remarking that “the alignment of their magic feels like the first calm song after a storm,” and perhaps, she wasn’t wrong.
Society has, understandably, taken great interest in this union. Triad bonds, while exceedingly rare, are not entirely without precedent — yet never before has one united such storied names from both Muggle-born and pure-blood heritage.
In this, the newly wedded Malfoy-Granger-Nott family embodies something profound: proof that harmony is not constrained by the divisions of the past, but strengthened by bridging them.
Public sentiment, once so divided, appears to be shifting. The Prophet’s own correspondence desk reports that an overwhelming number of letters have poured in from readers expressing admiration, hope, and, in some cases, envy of the trio’s courage to take their Ministry enforced marriage with such grace.
Even more remarkable, sources within the Department of Mysteries confirm that this particular bond scored at a perfect hundred in compatibility — a magical rarity thought to occur only once every few generations.
As for the couple (or perhaps we should say, the trio), they have declined to speak directly to the press since their wedding, asking only for privacy as they begin their life together. Yet those present at the ceremony need no words to describe what was written so clearly in their faces — that this union, unexpected though it may be, is being forgerd from trust, chemistry, friendship, and a shared will to heal.
Perhaps, in the end, this is what the postwar world most needs to see:
Not perfection, but possibility.
Not scandal, but sincerity.
Not division, but the quiet, luminous truth that love — however it takes shape — is the most powerful form of magic we possess.
Caption beneath the enchanted moving photograph:
Above: Hermione Granger, Theodore Nott, and Draco Malfoy during their wedding vows in the snow-dusted orchard at Nott Manor. The bond-light visible at their joined hands was witnessed by all present — a rare sign of perfect triadic alignment.
---
Notes:
What did you think of that? Let me know in the comments please!
Chapter 85: Another Summons
Notes:
Ministry is wasting no time in getting them back in.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The moving photograph shimmered with soft light: the three of them in the orchard, snowflakes caught in Hermione’s veil, Draco holding one gloved hand, Theo the other. The image pulsed faintly with magic, the bond-light still visible at their joined fingers.
Hermione read the first lines aloud, her voice catching — not with embarrassment this time, but with disbelief. The article was… kind. Not mocking, not cruel. For once, Rita Skeeter’s shadow didn’t hang over the Prophet’s words. It painted their wedding as something historic — a union of reconciliation and courage.
By the time she finished, she blinked away tears.
“I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “They didn’t twist it. Not even once.”
Theo brushed his thumb across her cheekbone, catching the glint of moisture there. “Maybe people are finally ready to see what we are — not scandal, just… us.”
Draco’s eyes softened. “It’s about time,” he said quietly. “You deserve that, Granger.”
Hermione smiled faintly, leaning into him. “So do you, Draco.”
For a moment, everything was silent again — a content, rare silence full of things felt but not said.
By the time they made it downstairs, it was well past noon.
The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and spiced cider, and a pair of house-elves had already set out an indulgent spread: pancakes stacked high, fruit gleaming like jewels, a pot of strong tea, and a carafe of coffee so dark it could wake the dead.
Theo poured Hermione a mug, teasing, “We’re married and already late for breakfast. Terrible start.”
Hermione laughed softly. “If you think I’m ever becoming the sort of wife who actually enjoys geting up before ten, you’ve learned nothing about me.”
Draco smirked over his tea. “Good. I hate very early morning people.”
Between bites, they talked — about wedding memories, who had cried first (Theo, by Draco’s smug account), and how they wished they could vanish somewhere quiet, away from letters and law.
“I hate that you have classes tomorrow,” Theo said eventually, resting his chin on his hand. “We should be somewhere else right now. Somewhere warmer.”
Hermione sighed. “I know. But spring break isn’t far. I can wait another month.” She narrowed her eyes playfully. “You are planning something, aren’t you?”
Draco and Theo exchanged a conspiratorial look that made her groan.
“Oh no,” she said. “That look means trouble.”
Draco’s smirk turned faintly devilish. “Only the good kind.”
They bundled up and ventured into the winter light together. The grounds of Nott Manor glowed under the afternoon sun, their boots crunching in fresh snow. Theo slipped his gloved hand into hers; Draco walked on her other side, their shadows stretched long behind them.
Hermione paused by the frozen pond, the same one where the summer flowers would bloom come May. “It’s hard to believe this is the same place we stood just months ago,” she murmured.
Theo leaned down, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Feels like a lifetime.”
They wandered until the cold finally bit at their noses. Back inside, they thawed in the library, a fire flickering in the hearth.
Pudding, Hermione’s half-Kneazle kitten, was sprawled across an open book on the armchair, tail flicking lazily.
“You’ve got competition,” Theo muttered as Pudding promptly abandoned the book to climb into Hermione’s lap.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “I don’t compete with cats.”
“Funny,” Theo said, deadpan. “You’re already losing.”
The banter was easy now, flowing as gently as the snow outside.
Just then, a shimmer of silver light appeared above the fireplace — a proud peacock Patronus strutted into view. Pansy’s voice, amused and irreverent, echoed through the room:
“Checking in to ensure you’re alive after all that wedding bliss. Should I be sending flowers or a Healer?”
Hermione laughed, shaking her head as the light faded. She raised her wand and sent back her own silvery otter:
“Alive and happy, thank you very much. Try not to scandalize anyone else today.”
The day faded into blue dusk. Dinner was simple — soup, bread, laughter. Afterward, the three retreated to Hermione’s chambers, cider steaming on the low table, the fire painting them gold.
Theo lounged in the chair beside her; Draco sat on the rug at her feet, reading a newspaper he wasn’t really paying attention to. Hermione reached out, threading her fingers through his hair absently, and he didn’t stop her.
The silence between them wasn’t heavy — it was full.
Comfortable. Home.
When she began to nod off, Theo rose, took her hand, and guided her to bed. They didn’t speak much — just soft goodnights, whispered affection.
The three of them lay beneath the covers, warmth and trust weaving quietly between them. Outside, snow fell again — fine as ash, soft as breath — and Nott Manor seemed to exhale too, settling around them like a living heart.
For the first time in years, Hermione slept with no weight on her chest.
Only the steady rhythm of two heartbeats beside her —
and the knowledge that, somehow, impossibly,
they’d made it this far together.
The next morning, The sun rose late and silver through the February haze. Frost dusted the edges of the windows at Nott Manor, and the house had that deep, drowsy quiet that comes after snow.
Hermione woke to the faint rustle of parchment beside her — Draco, already dressed in one of his soft winter shirts, reading the Prophet by the hearth. Theo was still half-asleep, sprawled diagonally across the bed like he’d fought a duel with the blankets and lost.
She smiled sleepily, reaching out to poke his shoulder.
“Up,” she said gently. “Or I’ll be late for class.”
Theo groaned into the pillow. “Let the Ministry outlaw mornings. I’ll sign the petition.”
Draco glanced over the top of the paper, amusement flickering in his grey eyes. “You’d still be late to everything, Nott. Outlawing mornings wouldn’t save you.”
Their teasing was easy now, warm in its familiarity. They’d fallen into a rhythm — imperfect, sometimes clumsy, but real.
By the time they made it to breakfast, the kitchen was full of the smell of coffee, toast, and cinnamon. Hermione’s satchel was on the chair beside her, ready for her long day in the Charms Department. Theo had a shift at St. Mungo’s that afternoon. Draco would be handling media correspondence and estate business.
For a moment, they just enjoyed the quiet together — three cups of coffee, three different ways they took it, three rings glinting faintly on three hands.
A soft tapping at the window broke the calm.
Theo looked up. “You’re expecting someone?”
Before Hermione could answer, the tapping grew sharper — measured, almost impatient.
Draco rose to open the window. The owl waiting outside wasn’t any ordinary Ministry messenger — its feathers shimmered with a faint opalescent sheen, its eyes bright as polished quartz. When it dropped the letter into Draco’s hand, the parchment itself felt… charged. Almost thrumming.
Hermione frowned. “That seal— it’s not the regular Ministry wax.”
Draco studied it. The imprint showed the rune for Knowledge entwined with one for Silence. “Department of Mysteries,” he said softly. “They didn’t waste any time.”
He handed the envelope to Hermione. Her name — Mrs. Hermione Jean Malfoy-Granger-Nott — shimmered faintly in gold ink.
She hesitated before breaking the seal. The magic pulsed once, recognizing her touch, and then the letter unfolded itself neatly, the script elegant and impossibly precise.
Department of Mysteries
Ministry of Magic, London
To Mrs. Hermione Jean Malfoy-Granger-Nott, Mr. Theodorus Nott, and Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy:
The Department extends formal acknowledgment of your union, ratified under the Ministry’s Magical Matrimonial Compliance Act, Section 4.
As your bond has been verified as a perfect triadic match, your union qualifies for inclusion within the Department’s research and monitoring program on rare magical bonds of convergence.
In accordance with Standing Regulation 22B, your triad is required to attend an introductory consultation with a certified Unspeakable specializing in magical relational energy. The purpose of this meeting is to:
- Review the current energetic stability of your bond.
- Provide insight into the deeper nature and potential capabilities of triadic convergence.
- Ensure continued compliance and mutual consent in all aspects of the binding.
The Department assures you that all information disclosed will remain confidential under the Oath of Secrecy binding to all Unspeakables.
Your consultation is scheduled for Thursday, February 15th, at 5p.m. in the Hall of Whispers, Department of Mysteries.
Attendance is mandatory. You are encouraged to come as a complete unit.
Respectfully,
Eldric Thane
Unspeakable, Division of Magical Bonds and Energetic Systems
Department of Mysteries
When Hermione reached the signature, the parchment gave a faint hum — like distant thunder echoing through stone halls — before lying still.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
Theo leaned forward, brow furrowed. “Energetic stability? That sounds… unsettling.”
Draco’s jaw tightened slightly, though his tone stayed calm. “Everything about that department sounds unsettling.”
Hermione traced her fingers over the letter again. “I’ve read about their research. Barely anyone gets access to them — and triads, especially perfect ones, are almost unheard of. This isn’t just bureaucracy. They’ll want to study us.”
Theo frowned. “Like we’re an experiment.”
“Or a miracle,” Draco said softly.
That quieted the table.
Hermione looked between them — Draco’s poised restraint, Theo’s anxious protectiveness — and reached across the table, taking both their hands in hers. “Whatever this meeting is, we’ll face it together. We’ve already done the hardest part — trusting each other.”
Theo squeezed her hand. “Still. I don’t like that they used the word mandatory.”
Draco’s lips curved faintly. “That’s the Ministry’s favorite word, love. At least they didn’t send someone to take samples of our breakfast.”
Hermione laughed, the tension breaking a little. “Give them time.”
She stood then, collecting her satchel. Her scarf was still draped over the chair from the morning before, soft grey wool threaded with silver — a gift from both of them at Christmas.
Theo rose and wrapped it gently around her neck. “You’ll write me if they keep you late again?”
“Of course.” She tilted her head toward Draco, who was watching her from the doorway, unreadable and calm. “You’ll both behave while I’m gone?”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Define behave.”
Hermione rolled her eyes but knew exactly what the two of them would be getting up to while she was gone.
She stepped close enough to kiss his cheek — not quite on the lips, but close enough that it made his breath catch. Then she turned to Theo, pressing her forehead to his for a heartbeat before stepping back.
“See you tonight,” she said softly.
When the Floo flared green and took her away, the kitchen seemed too quiet. Theo let out a low whistle. “We’re in for it with the Department, aren’t we?”
Draco folded the letter carefully, his expression unreadable but his voice strangely thoughtful.
“Yes. But I can’t decide whether I’m dreading it…”
He paused, glancing toward the empty hearth.
“…or curious what it will show us.”
The fire crackled softly in answer, and for a long moment, the only sound in the kitchen was the faint hum of magic from the folded parchment — the pulse of something ancient and alive, waiting for the next step.
Notes:
What do you think they'll find out when they go to this meeting?
Share in the somments!
Chapter 86: Back at Hogwarts
Notes:
Some of you felt I'v ebeen neglecting Theo and Hermione as a couple. Hopefully this make you happy ;)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was a gray afternoon the next day, when Theo and Hermione stepped through the great iron gates of Hogwarts grounds. The wards shimmered faintly in the cold air as they passed, and Hermione felt the familiar hum of ancient magic ripple through her bones.
The castle loomed ahead—majestic, timeless, and oddly welcoming. Snow clung to the ivy that trailed down its towers, the lake gleaming like glass under the pale February light.
Theo’s gloved hand brushed hers as they walked the path toward the oak doors. They hadn’t spoken much on the journey from the manor—both wrapped in a quiet enjoyment of being alone together neither wanted to break.
The last time Hermione had crossed this threshold, it had been as a war-worn girl finishing off her 8th year. Now she returned as a woman bound by ancient magic, part of a bond she was still learning to understand.
Inside, the air smelled of parchment and pine polish. Portraits whispered in their frames as they made their way up to the Headmistress’s office. The gargoyle at the entrance actually smiled when it saw her.
“Miss Granger… it’s good to have you back,” it said, moving aside before she could speak the password.
Theo leaned toward her as they stepped onto the spiral staircase.
“You realize you’re probably still the most famous student she’s ever had beside Potter,” he murmured.
Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled, the warmth in his voice settling something steady in her chest.
“Not famous—just the smartest.” She teased him.
Professor McGonagall’s office hadn’t changed much. The tartan drapes, the shelves of spellbooks, the faint scent of lemon drops that had somehow outlasted Dumbledore himself. A cheerful fire burned under the carved mantel, casting gold light across the portraits of former Headmasters.
“Miss Granger—Hermione,” McGonagall corrected herself with a rare softness. “And Mr. Nott. I’m so glad you both could come catch up with me.”
She gestured them toward the small round table near the window, already set for tea. The silver teapot floated between them as they sat. Theo, ever the gentleman, poured first for Hermione, then the Headmistress, before serving himself.
Dumbledore’s portrait watched in silence, his blue eyes bright with curiosity, but for once he said nothing. It felt like a gesture of respect.
“I wanted to see how you were managing,” McGonagall began, her tone gentle but probing.
“This bond you three have entered… it’s a rare form of magic. I imagine it comes with no shortage of challenges.”
Theo set down his cup softly.
“That’s fair to say. It’s been… complex. But we’re learning. I think we’re stronger for it, even if we didn’t expect to be.”
Hermione nodded. “It’s strange. The Ministry forced our hand, but what’s growing between us feels real. It’s taken patience—more than I ever thought I had especially with Draco—but we’re finding our rhythm.”
The old witch’s sharp eyes softened. “Good. I worried the bureaucracy would crush what was human in it.”
She paused, then added, “You know the castle has a long memory. If you ever need access to the Restricted Section again, or to any of our archives, I’ll make sure you have it. There are volumes on magical bonding here that the Ministry itself never properly studied I suspect.”
Hermione blinked, touched.
“Thank you, Professor. We may take you up on that.”
Dumbledore’s portrait smiled faintly, as if approving.
The conversation drifted naturally after that, their teacups refilled by the pot that never seemed to empty. McGonagall asked about Hermione’s charm esearch, Theo’s healer training, and then—almost wistfully—the conversation turned to the newest generation of first-years.
“They’re so young,” she said, a trace of weariness in her voice.
“We have more Muggle-borns than usual this year, and the transition has been particularly difficult for some. A few have written home begging to return to their old schools. It’s… heartbreaking, really.”
Hermione frowned sadly.
“That used to be me. I still remember that first letter. My parents thought it was a prank at first.”
Theo smiled faintly.
“I can imagine.”
“I was terrified,” she admitted. “Eleven years old and suddenly there was this other world waiting for me. No one warned us what that would mean. We need to do better for those kids.”
McGonagall leaned forward.
“And what do you propose, Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott?”
Hermione flushed slightly at the formal name, but pushed on. “Someone should reach them earlier. When their first accidental magic happens, they shouldn’t just get a Hogwarts letter years later—they should get a visit when it first manifests. A proper introduction. Maybe even a small guide for their parents, to help them understand that their child isn’t broken or dangerous or crazy.”
Theo nodded. “If they can normalize it young, they’ll arrive here confident instead of frightened.”
McGonagall regarded them both for a long moment, then gave a rare, genuine smile. “Perhaps I’ll bring that idea to the Board of Governors. But, it’s something the ministry it’s would need to change. Perhaps your husbands might thik on how to use their house seats to help…It’s good to see the next generation of thinkers hasn’t lost its sense of compassion.”
Hermione blushed prettily.
“I had a few good role models,” she said softly, purposively not glancing toward the portrait behind the desk.
Dumbledore inclined his head gravely, eyes twinkling.
When the tea was finished and the conversation had wandered into lighter memories, McGonagall stood.
“The castle will always be a home to you both,” she said firmly. “Don’t hesitate to visit or take a trip down memory lane. It does good for the students to see what kind of adults a Hogwarts education can still produce.”
They thanked her and stepped back out into the corridor. The torches flickered to life as they descended the moving staircase, the sound of distant laughter echoing from the Great Hall below.
Theo caught Hermione’s hand halfway down.
“You know,” he said quietly, “you looked happy in there.. really enjoying yourself.”
She smiled, brushing her thumb over the faint glow of their bond-mark. “Maybe I just needed to remember where I came from.”
They lingered a moment at the base of the staircase, listening to the hum of the castle — that sense of ancient, benevolent magic wrapping around them both. Theo bent his head slightly, his breath brushing her temple.
“Hogwarts made us who we are,” he murmured. “It brought you and I together in the first place. Mad eus such close friends. Maybe it’ll help us figure out who we’re supposed to be now.”
Hermione nodded, eyes glimmering. “Together,” she said simply, as they turned to make a few nostalgic visits.
Outside, the snow had stopped. As they stepped back into the cold, the castle’s windows glowed behind them.
The Hogwarts greenhouses whispered secrets of the past as Hermione and Theo slipped unseen nside Greenhouse Three, the glass walls fogged with a humid mist that clung to their skin, the fading sun's golden rays filtering through in molten slivers that danced across dew-kissed leaves and cast elongated shadows over the earthy floor.
Vines heavy with exotic colored blooms—petals velvet-soft and unfurling with a faint, musky perfume of night-blooming cereus—curled around wrought-iron frames, their tendrils brushing against robes with a silken whisper, while the air hung thick and heavy, saturated with the tangy bite of potion-grade fluxweed, damp soil, and the subtle, intoxicating undercurrent of their rising arousal looking at each other flushed with the warm air and old memories.
They stood amid the lush overgrowth, the door clicking shut behind them with a resonant finality, sealing them in a world apart from the castle's echoes, the distant hoot of school owls mingling with the soft rustle of leaves stirred by an unseen breeze.
Theo turned to her, his stormy brown eyes—raw with vulnerability, shimmering in the dim, golden light like storm-tossed deserts. He stepped closer, the heat radiating from his body cutting through the humid air like a flame, his hand rising to cup her face, thumb brushing away an invisible tear track on her cheek with a touch as gentle as the petal of a moonflower.
The faint stubble on his jaw rasped against her palm as she leaned into him, the scent of his skin—clean soap mingled with the earthy spice of his cologne—filling her senses, grounding her in the moment.
"Hermione," he whispered, voice cracking with emotion, thick and unsteady like thunder rolling in the distance, "being back here at Hogwarts... it hits me how much time we lost. I watched you from the shadows, too broken by my own family's poison to reach out, too afraid you'd see the monster they made me. Too lost in my heartbreak over Draco. Now, every day with you, with Draco... it's like breathing for the first time, like my heart finally found its rhythm. I love you—Hermione, I love you so fiercely it scares me sometimes.”
Hermione's heart clenched, tears welling hot and salty in her eyes as she gripped his shirt, fingers twisting the crisp linen over his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat pounding like war drums against her palm, mirroring her own frantic pulse. The fabric was warm from his body heat, slightly damp from the greenhouse's moisture, and she could feel the taut muscles beneath flexing with restrained emotion.
"Theo... oh, Theo, I love you too," she breathed, voice trembling with the depth of it, years of tension and tenderness spilling over like rain on parched earth.
"I felt you even then last year—your quiet strength amid the chaos, like a steady flame of warmth in the dark days of healing. You've given me a home, a family... you and Draco. I never knew love could feel this safe, this consumingly sure — until we got together."
She rose on her toes, pulling him down, their lips meeting in a kiss that started soft, tentative—a brush of velvet lips, tasting of love born of deep understandings.
But the emotion ignited like fiendfyre, the kis surging into passion, raw and unbridled, their mouths fusing with a wet, heated urgency that sent shivers racing down her spine. Theo's arms banded around her waist, lifting her against him with desperate strength, the rough weave of his winter robes scraping against her softer ones, his mouth claiming hers in a deep, devouring press that bruised her lips with its fervr.
Tongues met in a fervent dance—hers tentative at first, slick and warm, then bold, sliding against his with a hunger that spoke of pent-up longing, the wet heat of their mouths mingling in exploratory strokes that tasted of shared secrets and salt-slicked desire, saliva trailing in glistening threads when they gasped for air.
He groaned into her, the sound vibrating deep in his chest like a primal rumble of thunder, resonating through her ribs and pooling heat low in her belly, his hands roaming her back with possessive urgency, fingers digging into the curve of her spine through damp fabric, the pressure firm enough to leave faint imprints on her skin.
"Hermione... my heart, my soul," he gasped against her lips, the words hot and ragged, his breath fanning her flushed cheeks like a humid breeze, breaking only to trail scorching kisses along her jaw—lips soft yet insistent, nipping the sensitive skin with teeth that grazed just enough to sting, sending electric jolts straight to her core—before sucking gently at her pulse point, the wet pull drawing a blooming mark that throbbed with each heartbeat.
The humid air amplified every sensation, beads of sweat trickling down her neck, mixig with the faint sheen on his skin.
"You've been healing every scar I carry—inside and out, like potion on old wounds. I wake up grateful every day that you're mine and Dracos, that you chose us. Merlin Slazar, I need you—need to feel you..."
His words were a torrent of emotion, laced with the sexual tension coiling between them like the vines around htem, his hips grinding forward instinctively, the hard, insistent ridge of his arousal pressing through layers of fabric against her core—hot, throbbing, the friction igniting sparks that made her inner core clench with want.
She moaned, the sound muffled and throaty as it escaped into his mouth, captured as she angled her head to deepen the kiss, turning it fiercer—lips bruising in their intensity, swollen and tingling from the pressure, teeth clashing lightly in the heat of it before tongues tangled in a passionate duel, wet and messy, saliva-slicked and unapologetic, dripping from the corners of her mouth as she sucked on his lower lip hard enough to draw a hiss of pleasure-pain.
Hermione's hands delved into his hair, the strands cool and slightly damp from the humidity, tugging sharply to angle his head, the pull eliciting a growl that vibrated against her tongue, deepening the connection as she poured her love into every sweep, every heated suck—the taste of him overwhelming, minty and spiced, mingled with the earthy tang of the greenhouse.
"Theo... I love you more than magic," she whispered hotly between breaths, her voice breaking with raw feeling, tears slipping down her cheeks to salt their kiss, "you make me feel seen, cherished... wanted, like I'm special just as me, not someone everyone wants em to be. Don't ever stop—gods, the way you touch me, like I'm fragile and loved all at once... it sets my blood on fire."
Her legs parted instinctively as he backed her against a sturdy workbench, pots of glowing moondew clinking softly with a crystalline chime, their bioluminescent light casting ethereal blue flickers across their flushed faces; her thighs wrapped around his waist, the coarse fabric of his trousers rasping against her inner thighs, rocking against his hardness in slow, deliberate grinds that built friction like a spell gathering power, her core throbbing with wet, aching heat, arousal soaking through her undergarments.
The tension built like a summer storm, electric and inevitable—their bodies moving in sync, hips rolling in a rhythm that promised more, the fabric barriers heightening the ache with every slide of cloth against sensitized skin, the humid air turning their skin slick and feverish.
Theo's mouth descended to her neck again, sucking a mark into the pulse point with a wet, possessive pull that echoed obscenely in the quiet, his teeth grazing just enough to sting with pleasure-pain, hot breath fanning her ear as he murmured against her skin, the words vibrating through her like incantations, "You're everything to me, Hermione—brilliant, unbreakable... mine, body and soul. I fought so many demons and I’ll never deserve you. Feel how hard you make me? That's all for you—your fire, your love driving me wild, making me ache."
The scent of crushed leaves rose as their movements franticaly against each other disturbed the plants, mingling with their sweat-slicked exertion, every sense overwhelmed—the taste of his skin on her lips, the rough texture of his stubble scraping her collarbone, the distant drip of condensation from the glass roof punctuating their gasps.
He returned to her lips, the kiss a whirlwind now—deep, consuming, tongues thrusting in mimicry of what their bodies craved, hands everywhere: his cupping her ass with kneading fingers that pressed bruises into soft flesh, grinding her harder against him; hers clutching his shoulders, nails biting through cloth into muscle, leaving crescent marks beneath that would linger.
The greenhouse was alive with their shared breaths—ragged, hot pants echoing off glass—their soft whimpers, the rustle of robes like whispers of silk, and the faint, wet sounds of lips parting and meeting, teeth clashing.
"I love you—forever, through every storm," Theo vowed hoarsely, forehead pressed to hers in a brief respite, eyes locked in soul-baring intensity, breaths mingling in humid bursts, before diving back in, the passion unrelenting, a testament to their unbreakable bond—emotions raw and overflowing, sexual tension simmering to a fever pitch, bodies trembling on the edge, untilt hey both broke together with a unison cry of pleasure.
“Theooo..”
“Hermione!”
When they striatented themselves and left there was the promise of more hanging thick in the air like unspoken magic as they stole away to leave the grounds.
Notes:
where do you think theyre taking her for their honeymoon? Let me know your guess!
Chapter 87: The House
Notes:
And for those of you who wanted more Draco... I gift you this:
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
After she got out of class the next day, Hermione had a trip she needed to make. She had been putting it off for months knowin g it would be hard on her to complete, but she knew her original protection charms were long past expiring. Draco had insisted on accounting her sine Theo was still at the hospital, and Harry had already written saying he was on a stake-out today and couldn’t come as planned.
The air in the small Muggle neighborhood was damp with the promise of spring. Hermione stood at the end of the familiar narrow drive, her breath catching in her throat. The little brick house looked almost the same — white trim, slightly crooked mailbox, the faded number “19” hanging askew — yet it felt like standing before a ghost.
Draco was silent beside her, his dark wool coat buttoned high against the chill. He watched her face rather than the house.
“Looks quiet,” he said softly.
Hermione nodded, though her hands trembled as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
“It always was. My parents hated cities — they liked being close to the dental practice but far enough from traffic. I used to ride my bike in circles right there.”
She pointed to the cracked bit of pavement at the end of the drive. Her voice turned wistful.
“My dad ran behind me, holding the seat until I shouted that I could do it on my own. He let go — and I went straight into that rosebush. Mum laughed so hard she dropped her tea.”
Draco smiled faintly, a soft, rarely unguarded thing.
“I can picture it.”
She let out a quiet, watery laugh.
“I can’t believe how long it’s been.”
He didn’t reach for her — just stood near enough that she could feel his warmth.
“You ready to go in?”
Hermione swallowed. “I have to be.”
The door opened with a creak, hinges stiff from disuse. A faint smell of dust and disuse lingered in the air, mingled with something darker — scorched wood, faint soot.
Hermione froze just inside the threshold. The hallway light fixture was shattered, the rug torn. A scorch mark blackened one wall.
“They were here,” she whispered.
Draco stepped forward carefully, his wand raised.
“Looks like they tried a few curses at least. They probably didn’t find anything useful since you’d eall left well before.”
His jaw tightened. “I’d bet it was when you were on the run.”
She moved toward the living room, her shoes crunching on broken glass.
“I can’t believe I left this place unprotected for so long. I knew the original spells would fade out, but it was… so hard… to come back here.”
Draco followed her gaze over the damaged photos on the mantel — her parents smiling in Muggle holiday sweaters, no sign of Hemrione. He took out his wand.
“We can fix what’s fixable.”
Together they worked in silence. He repaired the broken frames, she cast scourgify on the carpets and furniture. When the rug mended itself under her wand, she smiled faintly through her tears.
“Mum picked that one because she thought it looked like something from an old Austen film.”
Draco flicked his wand at the scorched wallpaper.
“My mother reads Austen,” he said.
“She always said those women were smarter than the men realized.”
Hermione sniffed. “Then she was right.”
When the repairs were done, they began resetting the wards. Draco took the lead, his voice calm and precise as he directed her through the sequence of charms: anti-apparition wards, concealment spells, protective boundaries layered like glass over the house.
She mirrored his movements, her magic weaving with his. Each incantation steadied her heartbeat a little more. By the time the final golden shimmer faded into the air, the house felt sealed — safe again.
Draco lowered his wand, turning toward her.
“That’s strong enough to keep even an Auror out for an hour if needed.”
Hermione smiled faintly.
“You’ve gotten quite good at protection spells.”
He met her eyes openly. “I’ve had good reason to learn.”
The quiet between them was heavy but not uncomfortable — a space filled with shared ghosts, and the fragile relief of survival.
They sat together on the small sofa, the repaired photographs watching from the mantel. Hermione traced the stitching on the throw pillow beside her.
“I used to sit right here,” she said softly, “between them, when we watched films. My mum loved old musicals — she’d sing along and embarrass Dad. I thought it was mortifying back then. Now I’d give anything to hear her sing again.”
Her voice broke on the last word. Draco said nothing, just listened with patient kindness.
“I remember birthdays here,” she went on, wiping her eyes.
“My dad made the worst cakes — they were always lopsided, and he’d say it was ‘artistic presentation.’
They weren’t magical, but they were perfect, wonderful parents.”
Draco leaned forward, elbows on his knees with a fiant smile.
“They sound like good people.”
“They were,” she whispered. “I hope they still are. Somewhere in Australia, they think they’re dentists who always dreamed of visiting Europe. I wonder if they ever come here on vacation and think it looks familiar.”
Her tears came again, quiet and steady.
Draco didn’t reach for her immediately hestiating. But, when he did, it was to wrap one arm around her, pulling her to him sideways, in comfort.
His thumb softly brushed the back of her knuckles, grounding her.
“You protected them,” he said softly.
“That was love, not loss.”
She looked at him through blurred lashes.
“You really believe that?”
“I do. If my mother had been in this same situation of danger, I’de like to think I’d have done the same. You made the only choice you could. The one that shows how much you truly love them.”
Hermione nodded, shoulders trembling. “Thank you.”
By the time they stepped back outside, twilight had fallen. The air was cold again, sharp enough to sting her cheeks. Hermione turned to lock the door with a whispered charm.
For the first time in years, the house felt like it was sleeping peacefully instead of standing abandoned.
She stood there a moment, looking at it — her first home, her last piece of the world before magic.
Draco waited beside her, hands in his pockets. When she finally turned toward him, he didn’t speak — just leaned in and pressed a single, gentle kiss to her forehead. It wasn’t romantic, exactly, but it was full of something deeper: care, empathy, a kind of reverence… possibly the stirring of deeper feellings?
“Ready?” he asked quietly.
She nodded, tears still glinting at the corners of her eyes but her expression lighter.
“I think so.”
They walked back toward the lane together, their breath forming small white clouds in the fading light. The wards shimmered once behind them, a golden thread across the threshold — a promise that her past was safe, and that somehow, she was too.
After dinner that night, the manor was quiet. Theo had just left for a late-night errand, something about procuring a rare ancient Japanese healing book from a shady contact in Knockturn Alley which Hemrione had reluctantly been ok with under the guise of promised shared knwoeldge, leaving Draco and Hermione the space to themselves for awhile.
Draco sat on the edge of the bed, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, revealing the lean, sculpted planes of his torso etched with faint scars from the war—marks that told stories he rarely shared, but tonight, in the quiet intimacy, they seemed less like burdens and more like badges of survival to Hermione.
His silver eyes fixed on her with that piercing intensity that always made her stomach twist in knots, a mix of possession and something deeper, unspoken. He seemed a bit softer today after their errand.
Hermione stood before him, her simple blouse clinging to her curves from the heat of the room, the skirt hugging her hips in a way that drew his gaze lower. Her curls were tousled from the way he'd run his fingers through them during dinner while Theo watched knowingly on, a casual touch that had escalated into lingering caresses under the table.
She felt exposed under his stare, her skin prickling with anticipation as he reached out, his long fingers curling around her waist to pull her between his spread thighs.
"Come here, Granger," he murmured, his voice low and rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet, carrying that edge of command that sent liquid heat pooling between her legs. There was no overt declaration of love from him as of yet—but the way his thumbs traced slow, possessive circles on her hips, the subtle softening in his sharp features, spoke of a vulnerability he reserved only for moments like this with his partners.
"You've been driving me fucking mad all evening, sitting there like the perfect little witch, all prim and proper with that brilliant mind of yours spinning over new charms theories to impress your master with. But we both know what's simmering underneath, don't we? That fire, that raw need you try to hide form the world—but not from me."
He tugged her closer, his lips brushing her abdomen through the thin fabric of her blouse, nipping lightly before soothing with his tongue, the warmth of his breath seeping through.
"On your knees for me now," he commanded, his tone darkening with hunger, his fingers already working the buttons of her blouse open, exposing the lacy bra beneath, her nipples hardening under his gaze.
"I want to see my new wife worship this cock—take it deep, make it yours with that hot, eager mouth."
Hermione's knees weakened at his words, a shiver racing down her spine as she sank down slowly compelying, her hands trembling slightly with the shared desire as they unbuckled his belt, the leather whispering through the loops before the zipper rasped open.
She freed him deliberately, drawing out the moment—his long cock springing free, thick and veined, the shaft curving slightly upward with that arrogant Malfoy flair, the head flushed a deep purple and already glistening with thick beads of pre-cum that trailed down the underside like an invitation.
It throbbed in her hand, hot and heavy, the skin velvet-smooth over steel hardness, the scent of him—musky and masculine—filling her senses as she leaned in.
"Fuck, yes—just like that," Draco growled, his hand fisting her curls gently but firmly, not pulling but guiding her forward with that controlled dominance.
"Eyes on me while you suck me off, Granger. I want to see that pretty face as you choke on my length." She obeyed eagerly, her gaze locking onto his as her tongue flicked out to taste the salty drop at the tip, swirling around the sensitive head in slow, teasing circles, savoring the way he twitched against her lips.
Pre-cum smeared across her tongue, thick and bitter-sweet, as she parted her mouth wider, taking him in inch by inch—the head popping past her lips with a wet suck, her cheeks hollowing as she bobbed forward, feeling the ridges of his veins drag against her inner lips.
He was so long, stretching her jaw already, the weight of him heavy on her tongue as she worked him deeper, saliva pooling and dripping down his shaft in shiny trails.
Draco hissed through clenched teeth, his hips twitching involuntarily as she sucked slowly at first, drawing out every sensation—the warmth of her mouth enveloping him, her tongue pressing flat against the underside to trace the pulsing vein there, sucking harder on the upstroke to milk more pre-cum from the slit.
"That's it—suck harder, you filthy little minx. Feel how nice I am? Hitting the back of your throat already, making you gag but not stopping. Gods, your mouth's like a velvet vice—warm and wet, taking me so deep I can feel your throat clenching around the head, trying to swallow me whole."
He thrust shallowly now, never forcing in the whole massive length, drawing it out—pulling back until just the head rested between her lips, her tongue lapping at the slit to draw out more pre-cum, then sliding in deeper, inch by torturous inch, making her feel every ridge and vein scraping against her inner cheeks, the salty taste flooding her senses.
Minutes stretched into an eternity of slow, deliberate motion—her pace on him building gradually, bobbing deeper each time, taking him until her nose brushed his trimmed pubic hair, still a few inches left out, gagging slightly as the head lodged in her throat, tears streaming down her cheeks but her eyes never leaving his, filled with a mix of submission and desire.
"Fuck, Granger—look at you gagging on my cock like a pro, tears streaming but eyes begging for more. Swallow around me harder—feel that throat clench, milking the head like your tight pussy would if I could fuck it right now, squeezing out every drop of pre-cum. Gods, I can't wait to bury this dick in your cunt one day—stretch that hole until it's taken it’s fill, then pump you full of my hot cum."
His words poured out in a filthy torrent, his free hand reaching down to pinch her nipple through her bra, twisting just enough to send a jolt straight to her core, making her moan around him—the vibration ripping a groan from his chest.
He drew it out even longer, holding back his release with iron aristocratic control, thrusting in long, slow strokes that had her jaws aching from the stretch, her throat raw from the depth, saliva dripping messily down his balls as she sucked harder, hollowing her cheeks to create that perfect suction, her hands stroking the base in twisting motions to heighten every sensation.
Finally, after what felt like an endless build of torment and pleasure, with a guttural
"Fuck—take it all, swallow every drop, wife" he bucked slightly deeper, his cock pulsing wildly as he spilled down her throat in hot, thick ropes—spurt after spurt of salty cum flooding her mouth, coating her tongue as she swallowed eagerly, her throat working around him to milk every last drop, drawing out the aftershocks with gentle sucks and licks until he softened, her lips cleaning him meticulously, leaving him glistening with her saliva.
Draco pulled her up immediately with a seering kiss, his breath ragged and uneven, flipping her onto her back with surprising gentleness despite the fire in his eyes, his body covering hers as he kissed her fiercely, deeply, tasting himself on her tongue with a possessive growl.
"You did so fucking well, Granger—swallowing my load like a good wife. Now, it's your turn—gonna make this pretty pussy scream for me with pleasure until you're a shaking, squirting mess."
He stripped her blouse and skirt with urgent, rough hands, tearing the fabric slightly in his haste but pausing to kiss the exposed skin—her collarbone, the swell of her breasts—as he unclasped her bra, freeing her nipples to the air, already hard and begging.
He slid her panties down last, inch by inch, drawing out the reveal of her slick, swollen folds, the musky scent of her arousal filling the room as he tossed the garment aside.
He murmured the spell—"Vibrato maxima"—his signet ring humming to life on his finger, the Malfoy crest buzzing with magical vibration, the cool metal already warming from his skin but retaining that initial chill.
"Spread wide for me—wider, you minx," he commanded, parting her thighs with rough hands, exposing her completely, his eyes devouring the sight of her glistening entrance, lips swollen and parted slightly, clit already erect and throbbing.
"Fuck, look at this cunt—already begging to be abused, that tight little hole clenching for something to fill it. But first... feel this."
He pressed the intensely buzzing ring to her cli without warning, the engraved crest sending immediate, electric shocks through her swollen nub, the ridges and edges of the crest adding textured, pulsating friction that made her hips buck wildly off the bed, a sharp, keening cry tearing from her throat as pleasure bordering on overload raced through her nerves.
"Oh gods—Draco, that's too much—it's buzzing so hard," Hermione gasped, her body arching like a bowstring, hands fisting the sheets as the vibration drilled relentlessly into her clit, waves of intense pleasure radiating outward from the sensitive bundle, her arousal flooding in fresh, slick waves that coated her inner thighs.
"That's right—feel the family crest buzzing on your clit like a filthy toy, Granger? Gods, you're soaking the sheets already, that greedy nub pulsing under the vibration—imagine when I finally shove my dick in there, stretching that tight hole real good, then flooding it with my hot cum, filling you to the brim, breeding that womb with our heir."
Her eyes flew wide open at his dirty words, but the immediate flood of arousal told him the real story of her desire.
He circled the ring slowly at first, drawing out the torment over long minutes, building the intensity gradually—pressing harder, then lighter, tracing figure-eights around her clit to tease the hood, catching on her sensitive skin, sending jolts that had her thighs trembling uncontrollably, her breaths coming in ragged pants as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in her belly.
As she neared the edge, her hips grinding against the ring for more, Draco eased a finger inside her, meeting her familiar tightness—the walls gripping immediately but yielding easily with her slickness after a mild push, the first digit seating smoothly despite the clenching of her desperate core.
"Fuck, still so tight—clenching around one finger like a vice, but dripping for more, walls hot and velvet, sucking me in. Take it, Granger—feel me sliding deep, stretching you just enough to ache for more."
He added a second soon after the first, the stretch burningever so slightly but manageable, her arousal easing the way as he pumped slowly at first, drawing out each thrust—pulling back to the fingertip, then plunging in to the knuckle, curling to brush her G-spot lightly, making her whimper.
"Two now—your pussy's fighting me a bit but loving it, walls pulsing, milking my fingers like the sexy wife you are. Gods, I can't wait to fuck into this heat.”
Hermione whimpered, the dual assault—ring buzzing without mercy on her clit, fingers thrusting in a building rhythm—pushing her higher, her body writhing.
"Draco—please, more. I need to feel full... for you."
He smirked darkly with approval, his eyes gleaming with filthy triumph as he positioned the third finger at her entrance—the resistance much more immediate and fierce thanwith the others, her walls clamping down, the stretch a little painful as he twisted and pushed, the burn radiating through her core like fire, her entrance protesting with a sharp yet needy ache that made her slightly wince while still groaning.
"Fuck, Granger—three fingers, and your cunt's still a death-trap, fighting me like it'll never yield. Feel that pain? That deep ache as I force it in slow—your tight hole stretching thin, clenching in distress but gushing because you love being full, don't you? Take it, wife—let me pry you open, make you hurt just enough to remember who's owning this pussy, that little burn reminding you how much you crave this stretch.”
She was whipping her head to and fro, losing her mind with whimpers as his words ushed her higher and higher.
“Imagine my cock doing this—stretching you wider, breaking you in for the first time."
Her core, clenched down on him harder than all night so far.
Minutes dragged on in exquisite torment—he twisted the fingers in slow circles, scissoring with the first two to coax her open more, her wetness flooding to help but the tightness making every movement a hard-won battle that he was determined to be the victor in, her whimpers turning to moans as the pleasure overtook her discomfort, the fullness building until, after what felt like an eternity of tantalizing pushing and retreating, the third finger found a home more comfortably angled fully alongside the others, a little pain lingering but mingling with the overwhelming, euphoric fullness that had her toes curling, her body trembling with need.
"That's it, Granger—three fingers buried, clenching so hard it's like your pussy's trying to crush me, but fuck, you're loving the fullness, aren't you? That ache turning to ecstasy as I pound you—take it deeper, let me hammer that G-spot until you squirt like a fountain. I’m going to pound this tight hole relentlessly, make you feel every brutal thrust shaking your body, clit throbbing while your cunt clenches in defeat. Fuck, Granger—your pussy's fighting but losing control. Take the pounding, wife—feel me in you.”
He pounded into her more mercilessly, finger-fucking her with rough steady intensity, the ring buzzing without pause on her clit, his voice a torrent of filth as he drew out the build, thrusting in long, deep strokes that had her body jolting, the wet squelching sounds filling the room, her tightness amplifying every slam until she shattered.
Her orgasm hit like a storm, walls spasming around the fingers in a vise, pain heightening the ecstasy as she felt utterly full, squirting in waves that soaked his hand and the sheets.
"Draco! Oh gods—yes!"
He eased out slowly, kissing her thighs tenderly.
"You were magnificent, truly breathtaking, Granger."
He pulled her into his arms, holding her close as she caught her breath, his body wrapping around hers protectively.
"Hurt much, wife? That third finger—gods, you were so tight, I could feel the burn in you, that little ache from being stretched full like that. I love how tight you are. It’s getting easier to make it pleasurable."
She nestled against him, sighing contentedly, a kiss to his chest.
"Not enough to need anything—the little soreness is... nice. A reminder of what we shared, how full you made me feel. I like it—makes me think of you, of us. And it’s really not bad."
Draco's smirk softened into something rare—genuine warmth—as he pulled the covers over them, his arm tightening around her waist, fingers tracing lazy patterns on her skin, his other hand interlacing with hers.
"Good. Because you make me happy, Granger, I don’t want you hurting—happier than I ever thought possible. You and Theo... you've pulled me from the abyss, given me a life worth trying to live for. Theo's the steady one, the balance we need—he keeps things grounded, makes sure we don't burn out. But you—you challenge me, make me want to be better than the shit I came from. Nights like this, with you in my arms, no bullshit, just us... it's everything I didn't know I needed. I'm glad you're in my life—both of you. Wouldn't trade this for anything—the way you look at me, like I'm worth something, worth saving... it's changed everything for me."
He kissed her forehead, his usual edge gone, voice low and sincere as they cuddled closer, his leg draping over hers, bodies pressed together in comfortable intimacy.
Hermione smiled, her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong.
"I'm glad too. You're both becoming my world—we're perfectly imperfect all of us together."
They lay like that for long minutes, limbs entangled, Draco's fingers combing through her curls as they whispered more—how she brought light to his shadows, how Theo grounded them all, how their bond wasfeeling stronger, sweet nothings turning to murmurs of contentment.
"You're my anchor to the light, Granger," he admitted quietly, his lips brushing her temple.
"Theo too—With you both... I feel like I can breathe for the first time in my life without worrying about what my next move has to be."
They shared soft kisses, bodies relaxing into each other, the emotional weight of the night wrapping them in warmth until sleep claimed them, tangled in honesty and quiet growing happiness.
Notes:
Their bond is growing slowly, but it'll get there.
Chapter 88: TRUTH
Chapter Text
The lift sank lower than Hermione had ever ridden before, more than even the time she had come to help Harry—below the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, below the Atrium, below everything that felt alive.
The air grew cooler, dense with enchantment. When the golden grate opened, they stepped into a vast corridor carved of obsidian stone, polished so dark it reflected their candlelit shapes.
Theo instinctively took Hermione’s hand.
Draco walked half a step behind them, protectively scanning every shadow like a bodyguard.
“This is unsettling,” Theo muttered. “It feels like the air’s watching us.”
“It is,” Draco said quietly. “That’s how the wards work.”
Hermione managed a small smile.
“Comforting.”
They reached an iron door embossed with a simple rune—TRUTH.
It opened without touch, revealing a chamber that seemed part library, part observatory. Runes glowed across the floor like constellations. In the center stood a single desk of pale marble, and behind it, an older wizard in simple robes that shimmered faintly with shifting color—an Unspeakable.
He inclined his head politely.
“Welcome, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Nott, Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott. I am Eldric Thane, Division of Magical Bonds and Energetic Systems. Please, sit.”
Three formal high-backed chairs waited.
Hermione sat between the men, their presence grounding her. The Unspeakable’s quill hovered over blank parchment, writing words on its own as he spoke.
“You were married February tenth, correct? And the triadic bond manifested instantaneously?”
Hermione nodded. “Yes—the moment we exchanged vows. The rings appeared on our fingers. They glow faintly sometimes but not very often, mostly if some’s upset.”
Eldric’s eyes glimmered. “Fascinating. May I?”
He gestured toward their hands.
Reluctantly, they extended them. The Unspeakable traced a hand just above their skin, never touching. The bands—thin lines of golden light etched like runes—brightened at his proximity.
“These are not mere symbols,” he murmured. “They are conduits—part oath, part focus. They connect your magical cores directly. A perfect triad creates equilibrium… if all three participants remain in alignment.”
Theo’s fingers tightened around Hermione’s with concern. “If they don’t?”
“Instability,” Eldric said. “Emotional discord echoes magically. Too much strain can distort each bearer’s core, drain their magic. Balance is essential.”
Draco’s jaw flexed with unease. “So you’re saying if one of us falters—emotionally—it could harm the others and our own magic… permanently?”
“Precisely. Love, resentment, contentment, guilt, anger, pain, lust—each has weight in the bond.”
Hermione swallowed, feeling Theo’s thumb brush reassuringly over her knuckles.
“We’ve been doing our best to stay honest and open,” she said softly. “It’s… a work in progress.”
The Unspeakable smiled faintly. “It always is.”
He flipped to a new parchment, his tone remaining neutral.
“Have you fully consummated the bond? Physical intimacy can strengthen equilibrium.”
There was a charged pause.
Theo glanced at Draco; Draco glanced at Hermione.
Hermione straightened reluctant to divulge something so personal.
“Not entirely. We’re—taking time. We wanted to make sure we were ready before crossing that line completely.”
Eldric inclined his head, unjudging.
“Wise. The law’s deadlines exist for bureaucratic reasons, not metaphysical ones. But once consummation occurs, your triadic magic will manifest into permanence. I suggest it happen before the appointed date the Ministry set, yes—but only when mutual readiness exists.”
Draco’s hand, resting on his knee, closed into a fist.
“We’ll handle it,” he said quietly.
“No one rushes her.”
Hermione turned toward him, warmth flickering behind her eyes. Theo’s expression softened too, the tension between them giving way to something protective and united.
Eldric watched all three with faint fascination.
“You are already exhibiting synchronized emotional response—protectiveness, empathy, shared magical resonance. That’s… rare, even for perfect triads.”
He rose, willow wand in hand.
“With your consent, I’d like to show you something.”
The trio nodded reluctantly.
Eldric traced a circular rune in the air; light unfolded like liquid silver, surrounding them in a thin veil. The glowing bands on their fingers pulsed, then connected—filaments of gold weaving between them until they formed a delicate triangle of light.
Hermione gasped softly.
She could feel it—not just the magic, but them. Draco’s cool steadiness, Theo’s restless warmth, their magic intertwining with hers until it hummed like a living chord.
Eldric’s voice dropped low.
“This is your bond’s true form—an energetic system built of three cores, not one. When united, you amplify one another. Magic cast jointly will be stronger, more precise, sometimes unpredictable but that can be learned over time to minimize. When aligned, triads have been known to heal, shield, and even reshape spells meant for single casters.”
Theo looked properly awed.
“That’s… beautiful.”
“It’s pure magical power,” Eldric said. “And power demands equilibrium.”
The light faded; the triangle dissolved. The warmth lingered like an echo under Hermione’s skin. She met each of their eyes, heart thrumming.
It wasn’t just a wedding ceremony anymore. This was real magic—alive, tethered to them.
When the consultation ended, Eldric sealed the parchment with black wax.
“As far as the ministry is concerned, you are cleared for full legal compliance, right now” he said.
“Attend to your bond with care, and it will attend to you. If instability arises—seek us immediately. We will reach out for the next check-in soon.”
They rose to go. Draco thanked him with careful formality; Theo kept one protective hand at Hermione’s back as they left.
Just before the door closed, Eldric called softly,
“Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott… one last thing you might like to know.”
She turned back to him curious.
He smiled faintly.
“You three burn brighter than most pairs I’ve studied. That brilliance can illuminate—or consume. Guard it well.”
The door sealed behind them with a whisper.
The corridors felt less cold now, though none of them spoke until they were back in the lift. The silence hummed with that same energy they’d seen—a low, invisible thread connecting them all.
Finally Hermione exhaled. “That was… overwhelming.”
Theo squeezed her hand. “And extraordinary.”
Draco’s eyes met hers, soft and serious. “He’s right, you know. About guarding it.”
She nodded slowly, a half-smile tugging at her lips. “Then we guard it together.”
As the lift carried them back toward the light, their joined hands glimmered faintly where the golden markings pulsed—quietly alive, quietly promising, their bond still unfolding.
The manor was quiet that night. A storm had rolled in just after sunset, and the soft rattle of sleet against the tall windows filled the silence that had settled between the three of them.
Theo had built a fire earlier when they got home, and it burned low now — the kind of glow that softened the edges of everything it touched. Hermione sat curled in one of the armchairs, wrapped in a wool blanket, her curls damp from the shower.
Across from her, Draco leaned against the mantle, staring into the flames as if the right answer might appear there. Theo was on the rug between them, one knee bent, his elbow resting on it, eyes flicking between the fire and the two people he loved most in the world — and worried for both. Pudding slept peacefully on a nearby pillow cushion.
He finally broke the silence.
“Draco, we need to talk about the bond,” he said quietly.
Draco’s gray eyes shifted to him unreadable.
“We have been talking about it.”
Theo exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Not enough. You heard the Unspeakable — the connection has to balance. It can’t just be two of our connections carrying the weight. If one thread is weak, the whole thing can destabilize. It may ruin our magic”
Hermione lowered her gaze to her hands guility.
“You’re talking about me and Draco.”
Theo didn’t deny it.
“I’m not blaming either of you. Merlin, I know you’re trying and these things take time. I just… I don’t want the bonds impatient instability to ruin something that could actually work. I want this to last. For us to be okay.”
Draco pushed off the mantel and crossed to them. His movements were unhurried, deliberate — the way he always moved when he was hiding nerves. He stopped near Theo and rested a hand briefly on his shoulder.
“You’re not wrong,” he said, voice low.
“But you can’t force trust, and you can’t rush love. Not even with ancient magic pushing it along.”
Hermione looked up then, meeting his gaze. The firelight reflected in his eyes — molten, sad, searching.
“I do trust you more every day,” she said softly.
“It’s just… strange. We’re building this on something none of us asked for, and yet I want to make it real. I want it to be ours, not the Ministry’s.”
Theo gave a small, tight smile.
“That’s why I worry. The bond is stronger when it’s born out of genuine feeling. The Unspeakable said it feeds on intention — shared hope, shared care, shared purpose. We’ve all been through too much to fake that.”
There was a long pause. The logs shifted in the grate, sparks dancing upward like a constellation trying to form meaning.
Draco sighed, then turned toward the window where the sleet traced silver lines down the glass.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” he murmured.
“There are texts about old forms of magical triads — the kind that existed before the Ministry decided to regulate love. Some were powerful enough to alter bloodlines. If we understand the roots, maybe we’ll understand what this is supposed to become.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed.
“You mean… study it? Abroad?”
He gave a small nod. “Through my family’s contacts. Quietly. I’ll send word to our archivists in Austria and France — see what’s buried in the old Pureblood archives.”
Theo looked up at him, half-worried, half-grateful.
“You don’t have to do that alone.”
“I know,” Draco said, finally meeting his eyes. “But it’s something I can do while you both focus on your educations. And I need to contribute something real to this. You’ve both been givng me more grace than I deserve.”
For a while, none of them spoke. The silence between them wasn’t empty, though — it was weighted, full of thought and feeling and something like tentative peace.
Hermione leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, the blanket slipping from her shoulders.
“We’ll be fine,” she said at last, her voice steadier than she felt.
“We’re already stronger than anyone expected. More linked than we were when we first found out. And we’ll keep choosing each other and working on it— that’s what matters.”
Theo reached across the space between them, brushing her fingers with his own.
“That’s all I needed to hear.”
Draco’s expression softened — almost imperceptibly. He glanced between them, then moved to stand beside Hermione’s chair. The firelight caught the faint silver glint of the bond-mark on his finger as he reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. The gesture was careful, reverent.
“I’m not good at this,” he murmured, his voice almost breaking. “But I’m trying. For both of you. I truly do want this with you both, it’s just hard to unlearn a lifetime of chocked down feelings.”
Hermione smiled up at him — small, sad, and full of affection.
“That’s all any of us can do.”
Theo rose from the floor, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders.
“Then we’ll keep trying. And we will make abigger effort to spend more time together, as a unit, and with each othe ralone. I know it’s hard with my schedule, but we can sneak in moments wherever they git.”
Draco nodded. “Deal.”
Hermione reached for both their hands — Draco’s in her left, Theo’s in her right. The faint hum of their bond pulsed the bands blighting for a moment, almost like a heartbeat shared between them, warm and constant.
Outside, the storm began to break, moonlight slipping through the thinning clouds. Inside, by the fire, the three of them sat in quiet unity — not quite healed, not yet whole, not yet fully sealed, but undeniably theirs.
Notes:
Ideas on how they can all get emotionally closer? Let me know!
Chapter 89: Mother's Help
Notes:
Someone had to suggest they do something to help bridge their gap, and a mother always knows best =P
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The owl had arrived that morning while Hermione was still in her rose dressing gown, its elegant script unmistakable:
---
My dear Hermione,
If you can spare an hour for tea today, I should very much like to see you. There are things a mother must understand when her son’s life changes so profoundly.
Yours,
Narcissa Malfoy
--
Hermione had known better than to refuse. And so, three hours later, she found herself stepping through the discreet side entrance of yet another exclusive London tearoom that seemed designed to look perfectly Muggle until one crossed the threshold. Inside, the chatter was soft, the silver gleamed, and the scent of bergamot hung delicately in the air.
Narcissa sat at a corner table near the window, her posture as graceful as ever. She wore winter-gray silk and a string of pearls that might have been older than the castle Hermione once called home. When she saw Hermione, she smiled—a small, controlled curve of her lips that somehow still carried genuine warmth.
“Hermione, my dear. How lovely to see you.”
“Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione greeted, taking the offered seat. “It’s good to see you as well.”
The first few minutes were polite conversation—the weather, the reconstruction of Diagon Alley’s north walls, a brief inquiry about Theo’s healer rotation schedule. Only once the tea was poured and scones arrived did Narcissa’s tone shift, subtle but unmistakable.
“I must admit, I asked you here because I’ve been concerned,” she began lightly, stirring her tea.
“Not worried, exactly. Merely… curious. My son has changed a great deal these past months, and a mother cannot help but wonder how.”
Hermione smiled politely but chose her words with care.
“He’s doing well, I think. He’s been focusing on his house seat and… on building our dynamic as a family. It’s a lot of adjustment for all of us.”
“Indeed.” Narcissa’s pale eyes flicked over the rim of her cup.
“I imagine it takes extraordinary fortitude to balance such a bond. How is it between the three of you, if I may ask?”
Hermione took a sip of tea before answering—buying time.
“It’s… a process. The Unspeakable who oversees our case mentioned that emotional stability within a triad is crucial. Without it, the bond can become unstable—magically, even physically. So we’re all trying to be honest with one another, to build that foundation.”
Narcissa nodded thoughtfully, but Hermione could feel the subtle probing in her gaze—the way she was measuring every word, every breath.
“You always did have an admirable capacity for discipline and persistence,” Narcissa said finally.
“It will serve you wel. Draco… takes time to let his wals down. It’s both his greatest flaw and his greatest safeguard.”
Hermione set her teacup down gently. “I’ve noticed.”
For the first time, Narcissa’s composure softened. Her voice grew quieter, almost wistful.
“He wasn’t always so guarded, you know. As a child, he was bright—too open, too easily wounded. Lucius taught him that vulnerability was weakness. I let it happen because I thought it would keep him safe. Then the war came, and… well, the boy I’d raised disappeared into someone else for a time.”
Hermione’s throat tightened.
“He’s not that person anymore.”
“No,” Narcissa agreed, her gaze fixed on the pale reflection of herself in the teacup’s surface.
“But ghosts cling. Astoria’s and the baby’s death reopened wounds that were never truly healed in the first place. He cared for her, in his own way—though not as one should love a partner. Guilt is a cruel form of devotion now.”
The quiet between them hummed. Hermione didn’t speak, because she didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound hollow.
Narcissa finally looked up, eyes luminous.
“He needs someone who will make him feel worthy again. Once he loves, he loves with terrifying depth. Protectively. Fiercely. I think you’re starting to see that with him with Theo. But you must understand—it frightens him. The idea that he could lose it again.”
Hermione exhaled slowly. “I think I understand more than he realizes.”
Their plates were mostly empty now, the pot of tea half-drunk. Narcissa refilled Hermione’s cup, her tone casual but deliberate.
“There’s one thing I might suggest,” she said.
“If you wish to help him move forward, take him to Astoria’s grave. He’s avoided it since the funeral. It’s easier for him to bury guilt under purpose. But perhaps seeing that part of his life laid to rest would let him breathe again.”
Hermione hesitated, her spoon clinking faintly against the saucer.
“I don’t want to overstep. That’s… an intimate wound.”
“It is,” Narcissa said gently. “But so are the kinds you already share with him. Trust me when I say closure isn’t selfish. It’s survival. This could be helpful for him, good for you both.”
Hermione nodded slowly, storing the thought away even as her heart twisted.
She could picture the way Draco’s jaw would tighten at the mention of the grave, the way he’d retreat into silence. But Narcissa was right—he couldn’t build something new while still living inside the ashes of what he’d lost.
When the tea was done, they stood, exchanging polite farewells. Narcissa touched Hermione’s arm lightly before they parted.
“You’ve both brought light back into that house,” she said quietly. “I see it in him. Thank you for that.”
Hermione managed a small smile. “He brings it into mine too.”
They left it at that.
Outside, the late afternoon sun slanted through the glass storefronts of Diagon Alley. Hermione pulled her cloak tighter as she stepped out into the chilly Feburary air, her thoughts a swirl of warmth and unease. She didn’t notice the blonde until she was right in front of her.
“Luna!”
The witch smiled serenely, her pale eyes reflecting the fading light.
“Hello, Hermione. You look like someone who’s been swimming through other people’s thoughts.”
Hermione blinked. “I just had tea with Narcissa.”
“Ah,” Luna said dreamily.
“She’s like a very elegant Snidget—beautiful, but prone to darting straight for your heart when you least expect it.”
Hermione gave a weak laugh of underlying merth.
“That’s… not entirely wrong.”
Luna tilted her head. “You’re thinking about Draco again.”
Hermione hesitated. “Always a little, I suppose.”
“You’ll need to think about him more than that,” Luna said matter-of-factly.
“Triads are threads woven together. You and Theo have bright thick colosr between you already. But Draco’s strand still frays at the edge a bit dull. It needs warmth and color to bind properly. It needs you.”
Hermione stared at her hard, heart catching in her throat.
“Luna, are you—”
Luna only smiled that knowing, distant smile.
“Oh, don’t look so worried. It’s not prophecy. It’s just obvious.”
And with that, she drifted off down the street, humming softly, leaving Hermione standing beneath the golden afternoon light, torn between heartache and hope.
By the time Hermione stepped out of the Floo into the manor’s sitting room, the light had gone more dim. The sky beyond the tall windows was bruised with violet and gray, a few early stars glinting above the tree line. The faint scent of parchment and pine filled the air — a smell she’d come to associate with home.
Draco was in the library, his head bent over a book at the long table. A single lamp burned beside him, throwing warm light across his pale hair. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps.
“You’re home a bit later than I expected,” he said, voice calm but wary.
“How was tea with Mother?”
Hermione hesitated, slipping out of her cloak. “Surprisingly gentle.”
Draco arched an eyebrow, setting his quill aside. “That’s a new one.”
She smiled faintly. “She’s still herself, of course. Perfect manners and a silver tongue. But… she asked about you. About us. She seemed genuinely concerned.”
He sighed, leaning back in his chair.
“I should’ve known she’d send for you instead of me. It’s her way of making sure I’m not falling apart.”
Hermione walked closer, her heart tightening at the faint weariness in his tone.
“She loves you, Draco. That much is obvious.”
“Love, in my family, has always come wrapped in instruction with rules.”
Hermione’s lips curved sadly.
“Sometimes that’s the only way people know how to care.”
He gestured toward the sofa near the fire.
“Come sit, wife. You look as if you’ve been carrying someone else’s secrets all day.”
Hermione did as he asked, settling beside him while the fire crackled softly. She clasped her hands in her lap, staring at the flickering embers.
“She said she’s worried about you,” Hermione began quietly.
“That she can tell how much you’ve changed. But she’s also afraid you’re still carrying too much guilt. About Astoria. About everything.”
His expression shifted — not angry, but shadowed.
“She’s not quite… wrong perhaps.”
“She also said…” Hermione hesitated, choosing her words carefully.
“That once you love, you love fiercely. Protectively. And that it scares you — because of what you’ve lost.”
Draco let out a slow breath. “She really said that?”
Hermione nodded. “She did.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze fixed on the fire.
“She’s not supposed to know me that well anymore.”
“She’s your mother. She’ll always know.”
A faint smile ghosted across his face — a mix of irony and sorrow. “I suppose so.”
Hermione leaned forward slightly.
“She suggested something else, too. Something I think might help. But, it’s really up to you…”
He stilled. “Go on.”
“She thinks,” Hermione said softly, “that it might help you to visit Astoria’s grave. To actually face it, not just keep it locked away.”
Draco’s jaw roughly tightened. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. The only sound was the steady pop of the fire.
Finally, he said, “I haven’t been there since the funeral.”
“I know,” Hermione whispered.
His eyes flicked toward her, gray and glassy in the firelight.
“It’s not that I’ve forgotten her. It’s just… that going there feels like admitting it’s over. Like she’s really gone. The baby is too.”
“They are gone,” Hermione said gently, “but that doesn’t make the feeling or the guilt any less real. You can’t build new things from ghosts, Draco. You have to let them rest.”
He looked down at his hands. “You sound like my mother.”
“Then maybe she’s right.”
A heavy silence stretched between them. He ran a hand through his hair stressed, then met her gaze — vulnerable in a way that still startled her.
“You’d come with me?”
Hermione reached out, her fingers brushing his sleeve.
“Of course I would. You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”
He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders softening slightly. “All right. Tomorrow, then.”
Neither of them moved for a while. The firelight danced across the room, glinting off the silver threads of their bond-marks. Hermione could feel the faint hum of connection between them — the kind that wasn’t about words or physicality, but shared understanding.
Draco broke the silence first.
“I know I’ve been… difficult lately.”
She smiled faintly. “That’s one word for it.”
He smirked, then sobered again.
“I’m trying, Hermione. I want this to work. I just don’t always know how to be the version of myself that deserves it.”
Hermione turned toward him fully. “You already are. You’re growing every day. That’s enough.”
He looked at her for a long moment, the edges of his expression softening. Then, almost without thinking, he reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingertips lingered for just a heartbeat longer than necessary.
They stayed like that a moment — quiet, steady, breathing the same air.
Then Draco sighed and shifted, opening an arm in invitation.
“Come here,” he murmured.
Hermione hesitated only a moment before settling beside him, curling against his shoulder. His arm came around her, solid and warm. The rhythm of his breathing eased something deep inside her.
Neither spoke for a long time. The clock ticked softly on the mantel; the fire dimmed to embers.
When Draco finally did speak, his voice was low.
“Thank you. For caring enough to ask me to go.”
Hermione rested her head against him.
“You don’t have to thank me. That’s what affection does, Draco. It stays when things are hard.”
He didn’t answer, but the way his arm tightened around her said enough. They stayed there until the fire went out, the room filled with the quiet peace of two people learning, slowly but surely, how to heal together.
Notes:
How do you think the next day is going to go for this visit?
Let me know in the comments!
Chapter 90: A Stone Weeps
Notes:
This going to be so hard for Draco, prepare your tissue box.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The end of February had that bleak stillness peculiar to English winters—where the air no longer smelled of snow, but the trees had not yet remembered what warmth was. The cemetery lay on the outskirts of Wiltshire, the wrought-iron gates dusted with frost. The sky was a dull pewter dome, pressing down over the sleeping earth.
Hermione wrapped her cloak tighter around herself as she and Draco walked the narrow path between headstones. The grass was stiff and brittle underfoot. A thin wind carried the smell of cold stone and pine needles.
Draco hadn’t spoken since they’d Apparated in. He wore all black: coat, gloves, trousers, even the scarf around his throat. The absence of color only made his pale features starker—the sharp line of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the faint shadows under his eyes.
When they reached the marble headstone marked Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy with the small inscription Beloved Daughter, Sister, Mother, Draco stopped short. He didn’t move closer; he just stared, his breath coming in shallow, visible clouds.
Hermione stood beside him in silence. She could almost feel the weight pressing against his chest—years of avoidance distilled into this one frozen moment.
After several minutes, Hermione knelt and touched her wand to the frozen ground. A shimmer of magic pulsed outward, melting a small circle of frost. With another careful motion, she conjured a bouquet—soft white lilies twined with silver winter roses. They glowed faintly in the gray light.
“She liked these,” Draco murmured, his voice hoarse. “Lilies. She said they looked like snow that decided to bloom.”
Hermione smiled faintly, standing again. “Then they’re perfect.”
He reached out, taking the flowers with trembling hands. For a moment he just held them, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he crouched to place them at the base of the grave.
When he rose, he didn’t look at Hermione—his eyes were fixed on the name carved in stone.
“She was only 18,” he said quietly. “ and she looked at me like I was her future. I couldn’t even be her present.”
Hermione’s chest ached. “You did what you could with the world you had then, Draco.”
He shook his head. “That’s what everyone says to make me feel less monstrous.”
He stood there for a long time, unmoving, the wind tugging at the ends of his coat. Hermione didn’t speak again; she simply stepped closer, close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm.
When his breath hitched, she slipped an arm around his waist.
For a heartbeat, he went rigid—but then he exhaled, the sound breaking on a sob he didn’t quite release. His arm came around her automatically, holding her to him as though she were the only solid thing in a dissolving world.
They stayed that way until the wind died down and the sky turned from gray to the faintest shade of lavender. It wasn’t comfort, exactly. It was acknowledgment—of loss, of guilt, of being alive when someone else wasn’t.
When at last he stepped back, his eyes were glassy but dry. Hermione guided him toward a small stone bench beneath a yew tree nearby. They sat in silence for several minutes, the grave visible just beyond.
A crow landed on a distant monument and cawed once, harsh and lonely.
Draco’s voice, when it came, was low and uneven.
“I never loved her, cared, not never loved. Not the way she deserved. I told myself it was duty—marrying her, having a child. Trying to build something honorable out of ruin. But all I did was destroy her faster.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “Draco—”
He cut her off with a small shake of his head.
“She wanted a family. I wanted… penance, maybe. To prove I could make something good. But every day she got sicker, and every day I lied to myself that love would come later, after the baby was born maybe… with enough time. And then she was gone.”
Hermione placed her hand over his, her fingers cold against his gloved knuckles.
“You can’t carry that forever.”
His laugh was bitter but soft. “It doesn’t feel like I have a choice. The last thing she said before they took her into St. Mungo’s was that she hoped the baby would have my eyes. And then they both died because of those eyes—because of my blood, my name, me wanting an heir.”
Hermione’s eyes filled. “It wasn’t your fault—her blood curse was ancient, buried in her family for generations. You didn’t cause it.”
He looked at her then, raw and searching. “Maybe not. But I was there. I watched her fade, and all I could think was that I didn’t even know how to grieve her properly. The pregnancy mad eit so much worse, faster.”
Hermione squeezed his hand. “You grieve her now.”
He gave a small, broken laugh. “Too late.”
“It’s never too late to let go of pain,” she whispered.
Draco leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the frost-bitten grass.
“I keep wondering if I could have been different. If I hadn’t been raised to think love was something you owed to a family name instead of something you built. Maybe I could have saved her by loving her.”
Hermione shook her head.
“You can’t rewrite the past by punishing yourself. You honor her by becoming better now. By not repeating the same silence.”
He turned his head toward her slowly, eyes rimmed red but clear.
“You really think I can do that?”
“I know you can.”
For a long time, neither spoke. The tension between them wasn’t romantic—it was heavier, older, forged in empathy and quiet recognition.
Hermione’s heart hurt for him, but beneath it was something else: an understanding of why Narcissa had said what she did. To love Draco was to love someone who had already survived his own ruin.
They had been sitting on the bench for a long time before Hermione finally spoke again.
Her voice was quiet enough that the winter wind nearly carried it away.
“Draco… can I ask something hard?”
He didn’t look at her, only nodded.
“How do you feel about… losing the baby?”
For a long while he said nothing. Then he drew a slow breath, eyes still fixed on the headstone.
“When I first found out she was pregnant,” he began, his voice almost breaking, “I thought it was the start of something clean. A chance to prove I wasn’t doomed to repeat everything my father was.”
He swallowed hard with a sniffle.
“I was terrified, of course, but also… I don’t know, almost happy. It felt like maybe life was giving me a second chance after the war. A do-over. But then she got sick, and every day it felt more like punishment than grace. Like the universe was saying, ‘How dare you think you could make something good out of this name.’”
Hermione reached over, sliding her fingers into his gloved hand.
“You didn’t deserve that kind of punishment.”
He gave a hollow laugh. “Maybe not. But I thought I did. I kept thinking if anyone should pay, it ought to be me—not her, not the child.”
Hermione waited a moment before asking the next question.
“Why did you want a baby so young? You were barely more than a boy yourself.”
Draco’s mouth twisted into something that was neither a smile nor a grimace.
“It’s what’s expected for old families,” he said softly. “An heir, as early as possible, so the line never falters. But for me… it wasn’t only about duty. Not really.”
He looked down at his hands, fingers trembling slightly.
“I wanted to be better than my father. I wanted to hold something small and helpless and have it look at me without fear. I thought maybe if I could love my child right, I’d finally know what love was supposed to feel like.”
Hermione blinked back tears. “That’s not selfish. That’s human.”
Draco’s voice went rough. “It’s naïve. I thought I could rewrite the past by creating a future. But the past always finds a way to stain what it touches.”
“Maybe,” she said softly, “but you’re not that man anymore. The one who didn’t know how to love yet. You’ve been learning how to let yourself be open to it growing inside you.”
He finally turned toward her, and there was something raw in his eyes—something that looked a lot like hope, fighting its way through the wreckage of guilt.
He exhaled, the sound shaking.
“You always talk about magic like it’s something you can shape if you just understand it well enough. But this—grief—there’s no spell for it. It just sits in your bones.”
Hermione squeezed his hand. “Maybe not a spell. But feeling changes how it lives there.”
He gave a small, incredulous laugh. “You make everything sound fixable.”
“I don’t think everything can be fixed,” she said. “But I do think it can be healed.”
For a long moment, he simply looked at her, the wind tugging at a few strands of her hair. His expression softened. “You always did believe in impossible things.”
“Only the ones worth believing in.”
The silence that followed was gentler this time, less suffocating.
When he spoke again, it was almost a confession.
“I think about them sometimes,” he said quietly. “Her and the baby. I imagine what they’d look like together. It hurts, but it’s… honest. For the first time I can think of them without the weight of hate attached to it.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “That’s what healing looks like, Draco. Not forgetting—just learning how to breathe around it.”
He nodded faintly, eyes closing for a moment.
“I want to get it right this time. Not just for myself, or for the bond, but because if I ever have that chance again—to be a father—I want it to come from love between us all, not redemption desires.”
Hermione rested her head against his shoulder.
“You will. And you won’t be alone this time. Theo and I will have you… some day, when the time is right for us all.”
When they finally rose from the bench, the sun was dipping low behind the trees, turning the frost into a fleeting shimmer of silver light. Draco lingered for a last look at the grave, then reached out to trace Astoria’s name with gloved fingertips.
“Rest well,” he murmured.
They turned toward the path, walking slowly. As they passed through the gates, Hermione slipped her arm through his. He didn’t pull away; instead, he held her hand in his coat pocket the whole way to the Apparition point.
That night, neither of them spoke much. They shared tea by the fire in the sitting room, the silence between them no longer heavy but fragile, tender. When Hermione reached out to cover his hand with hers, he didn’t flinch.
Draco met her gaze across the flickering light. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For coming. For making me go.”
She smiled, soft and sad. “Thank you for letting me.”
He nodded once, and then, without ceremony, shifted so she was tucked beneath his arm. They sat that way until the fire burned to embers—two people who had finally begun to understand what it meant to share grief instead of hiding from it.
As they walked back toward the gates, the setting sun caught the frost, turning it briefly to silver. Draco reached into his pocket and produced a single white lily that had fallen from the bouquet. He twirled it absently between his fingers before tucking it into Hermione’s hand.
“For coming with me,” he said simply.
She closed her fingers around it. “Anytime.”
He gave her a long, unreadable look—grief and gratitude woven together. Then he offered his arm, formal as ever, and together they stepped up the stairs to join Theo for the night.
For the first time in years, Draco Malfoy’s shoulders seemed just a little lighter.
Notes:
How do you guys thinks Draco would be as a Father?
Let me know in the comments.
Chapter 91: Ice Melts
Notes:
Gah, they needed some friend time before the honeymoon I think.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione sat curled on the sofa in her reading shawl, Pudding the half-Kneazle batting lazily at the tassels. Draco came in already dressed, the black of his coat softened by a forest-green scarf. Theo followed a few minutes later, sleeves rolled up, still smelling faintly of tonic from his shift.
Something between them had changed again overnight, but Hermione didn’t want to pry. They would share whatever it was when they were ready.
The silence was no longer tentative between all three of them lately—it was easier. When Hermione reached for her tea, Draco automatically steadied the saucer. When Theo crossed behind her chair, he brushed his hand over her shoulder in passing. None of them remarked on it; it simply was.
A sudden shimmer of light crossed the parlor—a silver horse galloping through the air, mane sparkling with frost. Ginny’s Patronus.
“If you three aren’t buried in work, come to the Burrow pond. First good ice of the year where its not so cod we’ll freeze to death. We’ve cocoa, mulled wine, friends, and far too many Weasleys.”
The message dissolved in a trail of glittering steam.
Theo grinned. “That sounds dangerously wholesome.”
Draco gave a theatrical sigh. “Do we have to wear wool hats?”
Hermione laughed for the first time in two days, and just like that, the decision was made.
The world outside Devon was dipped in silver. The Burrow looked even more uneven than usual under a cap of snow, smoke curling lazily from its chimney. The pond behind the garden glittered in the afternoon sun, already carved with skaters’ loops.
Ginny was the first to spot them. “About time!” she called, red-haired and rosy-cheeked, scarf flying behind her as she skated in a neat circle.
Harry waved from the bank, holding two mugs. “Cocoa—though I suspect Mrs. Weasley put a splash of firewhisky in it.”
Theo took one gratefully. “Merlin bless her.”
Draco eyed the pond with suspicion. “Are we absolutely sure this is safe?”
Ron—already wobbling on a pair of skates—snorted. “Relax, Malfoy, I tested it myself!”
“That does not inspire confidence,” Draco muttered, earning a smirk from Theo and an eye-roll from Hermione.
Hermione stepped onto the ice first, steady but cautious. Theo followed easily—apparently Healer balance extended to skating—and within moments was guiding her by the hand.
Draco hesitated on the bank until Ginny skated backward toward him. “Scared, Malfoy?”
“Strategically cautious,” he corrected, but he took the hand she offered and stepped onto the ice. He wobbled once—just enough for laughter to break out all around—and then, surprisingly, found his rhythm.
The afternoon filled with laughter and the scrape of skates. Harry and Ginny raced laps, Ron and Cho clung together in a tangle of limbs, and Theo managed to spin Hermione once, her hair flying around them in the cold light.
Draco joined them, falling in beside her with a half-smile.
“Not bad, Granger. You’ve nearly convinced me this is enjoyable.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Nearly?”
His smirk deepened. “Another hour, perhaps.”
When their cheeks were flushed and fingers numb, they gathered near the shore where Mrs. Weasley’s portable fire crackled. Mugs of hot cocoa steamed in mittened hands, and someone passed around sugared biscuits shaped like broomsticks.
Theo leaned back on his elbows, content.
“Remind me why we ever thought isolation was productive?”
Hermione smiled over the rim of her mug. “Because we’re terrible at letting ourselves have fun and need to work on the three of us.”
Ron, sitting beside Cho, gave her a shy, almost apologetic grin. “Glad you came, Hermione. You, uh… you seem happy.”
“I am,” she said softly. “It’s good to see everyone like this.”
Draco, catching the exchange, inclined his head politely. “We appreciate the invitation.”
Ron looked startled but managed, “Yeah. Well. It’s… good you came.”
Ginny, sensing the fragile peace, clapped her hands.
“All right, enough civility—Theo, you and I are racing next round!”
Theo laughed. “You’re on, Weasley.”
As dusk fell, lanterns flickered along the Burrow’s back garden, painting the snow in gold and rose. The trio lingered a little apart, watching their breath curl into the air.
Hermione slipped her gloved hand into Theo’s, and he automatically reached his other toward Draco. The gesture was small, casual—but it steadied something inside all of them.
Draco looked from one to the other, the faintest smile softening his features. “For the record,” he said quietly, “that was… tolerable.”
Hermione nudged his arm. “High praise from you.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he replied, though his tone was warm.
Theo chuckled. “Too late.”
They turned toward the house lights, laughter and the smell of cocoa trailing behind them, their footsteps merging on the snowy path—three shadows side by side in the soft winter dark.
The next morning, Snow still blanketed the Nott Manor grounds in soft folds, glittering under pale sunlight. The manor was peaceful — fire crackling in the hearth, the smell of cinnamon porridge drifting through the air.
Hermione sat at the breakfast table in her robe, hair still mussed from sleep, flipping absently through parchment notes for her Charms mastery. Theo was half-dressed for his shift, lounging beside her with Pudding curled up in his lap. Draco, immaculate even before noon, poured coffee for them all.
It felt domestic in a way that startled Hermione — quiet, easy, normal.
Until an owl swooped in through the half-open window, scattering snow and feathers onto the table. A familiar barn owl, unmistakably Harry’s, hooted indignantly until Draco untied the rolled Daily Prophet and a folded note.
“Ah, morning amusement from Saint Potter,” Draco drawled, breaking the wax seal.
Hermione leaned forward, curiosity sparking.
Across the front page of the Daily Prophet stretched a moving photograph:
Hermione, Draco, and Theo laughing together on the Burrow’s frozen pond — Hermione’s scarf flying, Theo’s arm around her waist as she wobbled, and Draco a half-step behind, steadying her with one gloved hand.
Snowflakes shimmered midair like falling stars.
The bold headline read:
**Golden Trio’s Heart Finds New Harmony:
The Malfoy-Granger-Nott Bond Shines at the Burrow**
Below it, the article gleamed with Rita Skeeter’s signature flourish — but this time, surprisingly, it wasn’t cruel.
By Miranda Wimple, Special Correspondent
When the wizarding world first learned that Hermione Granger — war heroine, scholar, and current Charms Mastery candidate — had been magically matched in a rare triadic bond with Healer-in-training Theodorus Nott and entrepreneur Draco Malfoy, reactions were mixed.
Yet at yesterday’s impromptu gathering at the Burrow, the home of the beloved Weasley family, the trio offered a different story: one of warmth, laughter, and remarkablely something that looked like…affection.
Witnesses walking a dog earby described the three skating together “like they’d been doing it all their lives.”
Gone was the formality seen at Ministry events. Instead, Malfoy—dressed in understated wool rather than silk—was seen steadying Ms. Granger on the ice with genuine care, while Nott cheered her on from nearby. “If this is what a triad looks like,” remarked another passerby, “perhaps the Ministry’s matchmaking laws can do some good after all.”
The trio shared cocoa with the crowd, chatted freely with Harry and Ginny Potter, and even endured what appeared to be a bit of teasing from Ron Weasley, who, we’re told, was on “polite terms” with his former Golden Trio member and her nw partners.
It seems the wizarding world’s most unexpected match may just be winning hearts one skating pond at a time.
Editor’s Note: The Prophet congratulates the couple—well, the trio—in advance on their upcoming first-month anniversary and wishes them continued happiness. Rumor has it, they’ll be taking their delayed honeymoon soon!
At the bottom, a smaller inset photo looped: Hermione laughing mid-spin while Draco tried, unsuccessfully, to look dignified on skates and Theo grinned broadly at the chaos.
Draco unrolled the note that came with it and read aloud, voice dry:
--
Couldn’t resist. You three made the front page again, but for once Skeeter didn’t bite. No idea how they got so close with the house wards for pictures, but we stopped them to late.
You’re welcome, by the way — I told her off the record that if she twisted a single word, Ginny would hex her quill hand.
Hermione — you actually look happy in the photo. About bloody time.
– Harry.
--
Theo laughed into his coffee. “I like this version of publicity.”
Hermione shook her head, cheeks pink. “Honestly, this might be the first time the Prophet hasn’t called me ‘controversial.’”
Draco pretended to preen, flicking his hair dramatically.
“It’s my influence. The Malfoy name redeems even the most chaotic reputations.”
Theo smirked. “Pretty sure Hermione redeemed yours, mate.”
“Semantics,” Draco replied smoothly, though his eyes softened when they met Hermione’s.
Hermione leaned her chin on her hand, smiling as she looked at the paper again. “You both look… happy,” she murmured. “Really happy.”
Theo reached across the table, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “So do you.”
Draco sipped his coffee, watching them with quiet fondness. “I’ll admit, it’s pleasant when the world sees us without claws out.”
Pudding meowed pointedly from Theo’s lap, as if demanding equal attention.
Hermione laughed. “Even she’s proud.”
Draco folded the newspaper neatly, sliding it toward her. “Keep it. Someday it’ll be proof we actually survived this circus with our dignity intact.”
Theo grinned. “Debatable.”
Hermione laughed again, the sound filling the sunlit kitchen. She looked from one man to the other — Draco with his polished calm, Theo with his easy warmth — and felt, perhaps for the first time, that their strange, beautiful bond was finally starting to feel like home.
Notes:
Thoughts?
Chapter 92: Pansy's Gift
Notes:
This is a very different writing style for me.
As many of you know if you've been reading the comments and discussions with my readers.... this is something I've been working on for many years. In bits and pieces... scenes all over the timeline and on a zillion devices I've owned since this started.
But, there is a very clear (and super long) specific outline that everything fits into. I'm basically finding it all, bringing it into the right order, and editing now... for the first big chunk of this it's all written just needs gap bridging and more consistency added.. Later on, I will need to fill in alot more outline gaps of pieces I don't already have for the other end of the story.
If you want the full story of this story, I explained it to a reader comment on chapter 59.So, this chapter is from a long while ago and comes off of a weekend writing workshop on self monologues and trying different styles of writing to find your voice.
If you like this style... your welcome!
If you don't... good news, I didn't write much like this over the years.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione stepped into her bedroom, and the heavy oak door clicked shut behind her with a resonant finality.
They're gone—Draco's sharp laugh, Theo's steady hand on my waist, both vanished into the Floo hours ago. The manor feels too big without them, echoing with ghosts of their touches.
Draco and Theo had departed for the Quidditch match with Blaise—a raucous exhibition game in a bustling London stadium that promised the thunderous roar of crowds, the sharp tang of butterbeer spilling in the stands, and the earthy scent of churned pitch under broom tails. She had bid them farewell at the floo, where Draco's possessive kiss lingered on her lips with the crisp bite of his cologne—sandalwood and citrus—while Theo's nuzzle against her neck carried the warm, grounding aroma of his earthy aftershave.
His whispered words, "We'll make it up to you later, love," had sent a shiver down her spine, his breath hot and minty against her skin.
Gods, I miss them already. But this... this is mine tonight. Pansy's gift—curiosity's killing me.
The gift bag from Pansy that had come by owl the day before at a terrible time with an ominous one line message on the outside saying “Granger, open this alone. <3 P” dangled from her fingertips, and its wrapped crinkled tissue rustled softly as she swung it.
Hermione's cheeks had flamed then, as the café's chatter faded while she stuffed the bag away, but now, alone, curiosity burned like a Slowing Charm reversed, propelling her forward.
What could it be? Lingerie? A book? No, Pansy—always bold.
The room glowed softly under the bedside lamp's amber light, which cast elongated shadows that danced across the king-sized bed's silk sheets. The sheets felt cool to the touch where they peeked from under the duvet, still faintly warm and indented from their triadic lazy morning tangle, and the fabric whispered against her skin as she brushed past.
She set the bag on the polished mahogany dresser, and her fingers—nails bitten from nervous habit lately during her charms exams—trembled as they tugged the satin ribbon loose with a silky sigh.
Tissue paper crinkled crisply under her touch, parting to reveal the prize: a sleek purple vibrator cradled in black velvet. Its silicone skin gleamed like polished amethyst under the lamp, smooth and slightly flexible, curved subtly for precision with a flared base etched in matte ridges for grip.
At 5.5 inches, it was shorter than Draco's daunting 8.5, and its girth was unremarkable—wider than three of her fingers bunched together but not as overwhelmingly veined as his cock or quite as thick—the tapered head promising a bit easier entry than either man would be, with buttons at the base glowing faintly blue when touched.
The weight settled cool and solid in her palm, the silicone warming quickly to her body heat, and a faint rubbery scent mingled with the room's air.
Pansy's note fluttered down like a falling leaf: "For the girl who has everything... except a little solo fun. Enjoy, H. xoxo P."
Shock hit her like a bludger—embarrassment surging hot through her veins, flushing her skin from chest to ears, her pulse hammering in her throat as vivid images of Pansy's smirk flooded her mind, making her want to cram it back into obscurity.
A vibrator? Merlin's beard—Pansy, you devil. It's... it's for me? To... use alone? With them…? For the honeymoon? Or… to prepare for the honeymoon?!
Yet she lingered, turning the toy over as the smooth curve caught the light, and her mind whirled with memories of furtive self-touches in steamy baths, where water lapped at her skin; Theo and Draco's explorations—heavy petting where their lovely fingers breached her, up to three stretching her with burning intensity, leaving her raw and aching but blissed.
She remained a virgin still, her hymen likely frayed from those sessions, the faint stings a prelude to this. Full penetration loomed intimidating, her tightness a vise even to herself.
Can I even fit this? It's bigger than fingers... but maybe that's the point. To prepare—for them, for when we're ready. Don't be a coward, Hermione. This could feel incredible.
"Don't be absurd," she chided aloud annoyed with herself, her voice echoing hollowly as she steadied her breath—the air tasting slightly stale in the stillness.
"This... it'll feel divine. Prepare you. For them."
Visions of Theo's tender murmurs and Draco's growled filth made her core flutter, and a warm trickle of arousal dampened her knickers, the musky scent blooming faintly.
To unwind, she retreated to the en-suite and stripped methodically: blouse buttons popping softly, lace bra yielding with a snap to free her breasts—heavy and swaying, nipples pebbling in the cooler air with a tingling ache; skirt whispering down hips, panties clinging wetly, arousal strings snapping with a slick pop as they peeled free, the cool marble floor shocking her bare soles.
Naked... vulnerable. But safe here.
Steam billowed as hot water roared from the showerhead, filling the space with humid mist that beaded on tiles like dew, and the air thickened with vapor carrying her lavender soap's floral sharpness.
Under the spray, water pounded her skin in scalding rhythmic sheets, easing knots in her shoulders, and rivulets traced curves—over breasts, suds foaming creamy under palms cupping their weight, thumbs flicking nipples to hardened peaks sparking heat downward; belly, thighs parting as fingers cleansed folds, the soapy glide teasing clit with electric brushes, arousal mixing in slippery trails down legs.
Relax... let the water wash away the nerves.
The ritual dragged luxuriously, water's heat mirroring inner fire, skin flushing crimson, and every droplet a sensual patter. Toweling off, plush fibers rasped gently, leaving her glowing with damp curls frizzing slightly, and her reflection in the fogged mirror appeared hazy but empowering—curves lush, skin scented lavender-sweet.
I can do this. For me. It’ll be empowering.
Naked, cool air goose-pimpling her flesh and nipples tightening to painful buds, she returned, and the sheets sighed cool silk against her back as she reclined. Music charmed alive with harp's ethereal plucks and pian's velvet kys weaving ambient calm, notes vibrating air like a heartbeat.
Music to drown out doubts.
Hands roamed—breasts kneaded, nipples circled to throbbing sensitivity, pinches drawing gasps, sparks lancing core; trailing nails raising shivers down quivering belly to curls, thighs splaying, air kissing slick folds, her desire heady now.
Fingers traced labia—silky, swollen—spreading viscous slick to clit, circles igniting fireworks, hips bucking; one digit breached entrance, walls velvet-hot gripping tight, wet sounds as curled to G-spot, stars exploding; second joined, burn delicious, thrusting lazy, thumb swirling clit, nipple twists amplifying, sweat sheening skin, moans harmonizing music, climax crashing—walls vise-spasming, gush soaking hand, wrist, sheets in hot flood, tremors wracking, breath ragged in afterglow haze.
That was good... but the toy promises more. Deeper.
Breath steadying, she reclaimed the vibrator—silicone tacky with sweat, hum low buzzing palm thrillingly. Nerves knotted her gut—fit? Hurt? Core pulsed sensitive, slick.
"For pleasure... mine," she whispered, knees bent, feet planted, folds exposed glistening, arousal trickling cool to perineum.
Breathe. You've taken fingers. They felt good. This is just... bigger.
She teased lips with tip—buzz tingling labia swell, clit jolts jerking hips; lingered minutes, gliding folds, clit circles sparking, breast kneads heightening, wetness coating toy shiny.
Building courage... feels good externally.
Courage surged, and she pressed head to entrance trying to notch it to her core—hum shocking rim, walls clenching fear-excite, breath shallow.
Now or never.
She pushed gently—the breach sharp, girth searing stretch beyond fingers, entrance clamping fiery protest like hot iron branding tender flesh.
"Ahh—fuck, ow!" She winced and pulled back, gasps pained, burn lingering like embers scorching inner walls, tears pricking, thighs quaking, sheet gripped knuckles-white.
Too much—gods, it burns like fire tearing me open. Slower, this will feel good once it’s in.
Vibration amplified ache, silicone rigid vs. yielding flesh.
Deep breaths, clit circled relaxing slick waves.
Relax try again, it’ll get better. Go slow.
Retry—head inching torturously, burn tearing like knives slicing velvet, widest ridge hovering rim clamping waves stinging pelvis like acid splashes, sob escaping, tears salting cheeks.
"Hurts... so much," she whimpered, paused, clit rub frantic countering, vibration tip-deep rippling pleasure-pain blur, G-spot faint tingle.
Push through—the pain means it's working, stretching me for them. Breathe, Relax, think of how hot they are. How sexy. How much you like them touching you. Them touching each other. Draco’s cock splitting Theo’s ass. Thei tongue inyou.
Torment stretched—head-quarter in, rocking micro-thrusts, sweat dripping temples, breasts heaving ragged gasps;
I can't—yes I can, for them, think… Draco's cock, Theo's gentleness, caresses.
More preassure, halfway, thighs numb, walls spasming protest like muscle bending, frustrated tears, clit rub desperate blur fingers cramping, vibration humming inner ridges electric haze easing edges but pain visceral, body shaking violent quivers cold sweat, free hand clawing sheet fabric, belly taut, feel intrusion intense pressure.
Deep breathing, sexy thoughts, three-quarters—burn peaking inferno flames, pain into pleasure, sting, hymen remnant suspected shred warm trickle mixing slick blood-tinge faint coppery metallic scent air sharp nostrils, determination steeling through haze.
You're stronger than this pain—imagine their pride, their dirty words, their tender touches, nipple pinch distract sharp sting, vibration deeper G-spot buzz-sparks pleasure like lightening cracks, shaft fuller, walls stretched fire-throb, tight stretch, fullness emerging good-pressure, thighs slick sweat-arousal pooling sheets, chest aching lungs burning, gutral groan, pleasure mixed with pain.
So much, base nearing—final pushes slick-grind desperate, raw friction exquisite-agony walls scraped raw nerve-ends screaming vibration melting burn euphoric throb, body convulsing spasms pain-pleasure war, free hand belly pressing feel bulge toy outline faint distend skin taut, inch gained burning climax wave cresting tsunami core pelvis thighs numb-tingle pins needles, clit rub frantic blur slick fingers, vibration G-spot hum turning ache throb-pleasure spark, near-base, ache constant fire, pulse throbbing heartbeat, but pleasure blooming vibration G-spot caress stars exploding eyes clenched; pop in final inch, obscene wet, base flush lips full-seated stretch limit-overwhelm walls pulsing girth fire-throb, soreness dull-deep fire-linger embers, low hum rippling bliss easing like balm cool wave, body quaking sweat-soaked sheets damp sticky cloying, tears drying salt-crusted cheeks tight skin, breaths ragged sobs relief-triumph, pride, intense pleasure.
I did it—gods, it's in, full, mine.
"Oh gods... all in," she panted in awe, her voice hoarse and shaking as she lay there for moments adjusting—full stuffed pressure omnipresent, breaths clenching waves fire-ache throb, vibration low G-spot caress stars burst.
Incredible... hurts but...good so full, alive, stretching.
She turned it to medium—the deeper buzz radiating core quake, cry sharp electric knife-core twist pleasure, clit throbs fire-pulse demand.
Thrusts began gentle—in careful friction divine ache-heighten blaze, clit circles frantic slick; smoother with increasing slick coat, pain delicious ache heightening inferno ecstasy, moans crescendo throat raw, hips rock instinctive; wave tidal built—scream tore voice, vise-spasm crushed toy, gush squirting base-hand-sheets messy hot flood, pulses endless euphoric quake body arch convulse.
She eased it out slow, relief-emptiness void ache echo, pussy throbs raw-sensitive fire-ache linger deep bruise.
Proud... so proud.
Pride glowed warm in her chest, toy aside glistening slick, cream cool-herbal tingled folds, inner slip wince-soothe burn-sting balm. Covers cool against flushed skin fever-damp, throb lulling sleep rhythmic pulse, smile secret promise, empowerment, satisfaction.
I’ll make sure I’m ready for them.
Notes:
Hermione is determined now. =P
Chapter 93: Shop Till You Drop
Notes:
One last friend meeting before the honeymoon.
Thank god Pansy has had Hermione's back.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Pansy had insisted they start the day with tea at the most extravagant little place in Diagon Alley — the sort of place with chandeliers made of crystal butterflies and tiny gold spoons that jingled when you stirred. Hermione had protested, of course, saying they didn’t need all this fuss, but Pansy only arched a perfect brow.
“Darling, you’re going on your honeymoon. That requires fuss.”
Now Hermione sat, cheeks faintly pink, stirring her tea while Pansy flipped through glossy catalogues enchanted to show the latest witchwear fashions — breezy sundresses that shimmered, swimsuits that changed color with heat, and the sort of lingerie that made Hermione wish she could disappear into her teacup.
“So,” Pansy said casually, eyes still on a page showing a particularly scandalous set of emerald-green silk.
“Did you get my gift?”
Hermione nearly choked on her tea. “Pansy—!”
“That’s a yes.” Pansy smirked.
“Did you like it?”
Hermione’s face went scarlet. “It was… very thoughtful.”
Pansy laughed, dark eyes gleaming. “Thoughtful. I send you the best thing you’ve probably had and you call it thoughtful? Hermione Granger, you kill me.”
Hermione ducked her head, muttering, “Yes, I’ve… been using it lately. I think it’ll help on the honeymoon… thankyou.”
“Oh, excellent!” Pansy said with an almost sisterly delight.
“Then my mission to make sure you aren’t all books and modesty has succeeded.”
Hermione could only sigh. “You’re impossible.”
Pansy grinned. “That’s why you love me.”
The pair moved through the cobblestone alleys of wizarding London, hopping between boutiques whose front windows bloomed with spells of tropical scenes — beaches, bright water, clothes fluttering in enchanted breezes.
The boys had told Hermione only two things about their honeymoon destination: warm and water. It was equal parts exciting and maddening. But, they wanted it to be a surprise for her.
Pansy took command immediately.
“We need swimsuits, light dresses, at least one silk slip you can’t possibly justify wearing outside your suite, and a few muggle-chic ensembles so you don’t look like you’ve come from a Disney fairy tale.”
Hermione groaned but let herself be swept along with Pansy’s persuasive buying. She ended up with:
- A white sundress that shimmered faintly gold in sunlight.
- A swimsuit charmed to dry instantly.
- A flowing robe in ocean-blue silk with tiny embroidered stars.
- And, to Pansy’s utter satisfaction, a soft blush-colored slip that made Hermione’s reflection blush right back.
They were stepping out of Celestine’s Charm Couture when a familiar voice drifted through the hum of the street.
“Hello, Hermione. Pansy.”
Luna stood there in a pale lilac dress, her belly just beginning to show beneath a flowing sash. Her hair glowed in the sun like a halo of spun starlight, and she carried a small bouquet of daisies that appeared to hum softly.
“Luna!” Hermione exclaimed, genuinely delighted. “You look radiant.”
Luna smiled dreamily. “Neville says the baby likes music. I think it’s the plants singing back to me.”
Pansy help in a snort. “Of course they are.”
Hermione and Pansy guided Luna into a small café with outdoor tables, ordering pumpkin scones and iced tea. Conversation flowed — Luna describing her garden of moonflowers that now only bloomed when she hummed lullabies, Pansy announcing she and Blaise were planning a spring time gala, Hermione telling them about her honeymoon mystery.
“You don’t know where you’re going?” Luna asked, eyes wide as if this were the most fascinating revelation in the world.
“Not yet,” Hermione admitted. “They just said to pack for somewhere warm and near water.”
Luna nodded solemnly.
“Ah. That means you’ll go somewhere your hearts already recognize, even if your minds don’t. Triadic bonds do that sometimes — lead you where you’ll feel at peace.”
Pansy smirked. “You mean they’re dragging her to a beach.”
Luna tilted her head thoughtfully.
“Perhaps. But water remembers things. It might help them all see what love looks like when it stops being heavy.”
Hermione went still for a moment, absorbing that in silence. Then she smiled softly.
“You always know how to make sense out of nonsense.”
Luna’s eyes twinkled. “Only to people willing to listen.”
They lingered until the afternoon light turned golden. Luna rose first, brushing crumbs from her dress.
“Have a beautiful journey, Hermione. Tell the sea hello for me.”
“I will,” Hermione promised, hugging her.
Pansy adjusted her sunglasses with mock drama.
“If you come back tanned, relaxed, and blissfully smug, I’ll consider my work here complete.”
Hermione laughed.
“You’ve already done more than enough.”
As they parted ways, Hermione’s arms were full of parcels — gauzy dresses, ribbon-wrapped boxes, a small enchanted shell Luna had pressed into her hand “for calm seas.”
The air seemed full of promise: salt and sunlight and the faint thrill of whatever lay waiting just beyond the horizon with her husbands.
Notes:
So, still love to know where you all think theyre going for the honeymoon, before the big reveal!
Comment!
Chapter 94: Before We Leave
Chapter Text
The evening sun filtered through the tall windows, casting a warm, golden hue over the frmla parlor room where Hermione, Draco, and Theo lounged on the oversized sectional sofa. Suitcases stood half-packed in the corner, overflowing with sun hats, swimsuits, and stacks of books—evidence of their impending honeymoon to a secluded villa, their first true vacation as a triad.
The air hummed with anticipation, scented with the faint aroma of chamomile tea steaming from their mugs and the underlying warmth of their mingled presences. Hermione nestled between them, her head on Theo's shoulder, Draco's arm draped possessively around her waist, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her hip through her thin blouse.
"I'm so excited," Hermione murmured, her voice soft but bubbling with genuine thrill as she sipped her tea.
"Our first real trip together—no work or classes for a week, no interruptions. Just us, the sea, and... whatever comes next."
She glanced up at them both, her cheeks flushing slightly, the weight of the unspoken hanging in the air.
Draco leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple, his silver eyes warm with that rare vulnerability he reserved for these moments.
"We are too, Hemrione. A a whole week of lazy mornings, exploring, swimming in... and you, in nothing but sunlight and salt water."
His voice dipped lower, laced with heat.
"But listen—we've been thinking about this a lot. You mentioned wanting to... take that step on the honeymoon. And we know you've been preparing yourself lately, with that toy from Pansy or whatever secret adventures you've been doing locked in your room."
He smirked teasingly, but his tone sobered quickly.
"There's no pressure, though. None. This is our honeymoon, but it's about us being together—sex or no sex. We can hike, read, swim, fuck around with magic in the villa's wards, whatever makes you happy. Your body's yours, and we're content just holding you."
Theo nodded, his hand covering hers, squeezing gently, his stormy eyes steady and reassuring.
"Exactly. We've talked it through. You're precious to us, Hermione. If it's too much, or you're not ready, we'll be just as thrilled swimming naked in a pool or feeding you grapes like some grek goddess. No expectations. We respect you—full stop."
Hermione's heart swelled, tears pricking her eyes at their thoughtfulness. She set her mug down and turned to face them, cupping Draco's cheek with one hand and reaching for Theo's with the other.
"I appreciate that so much—truly. Your respect, the way you always check in... it makes me feel safe, cherished. You've both been so patient with me, with my nerves about this. But I'm looking forward to it. Really. I've been preparing because I want to lose my virginity on this trip—with you two. It’s our only honeymoon. I trust you completely. It feels right, like the perfect way to start our life together as... us."
Draco's thumb brushed her lower lip, his gaze intense but tender.
"We know you do, but we need you to hear this: you set the pace. You lead. If we start and you change your mind—even mid-way, even we’re buried inside you—just say the word. We'll stop, no questions, no guilt. Theo and I will take care of you, switch to cuddles or whatever you need. This is about pleasure, not performance."
Theo chimed in, his voice low and earnest.
"He's right. Consent is everything—yours, always. We've got your back, love. But promise us you'll speak up?"
Hermione smiled, leaning in to kiss Theo softly, then Draco, the touches lingering with promise.
"I promise. But honestly? I don't think that'll happen. I've thought about it endlessly since the wedding. I want this—with both of you."
The boys exchanged a knowing look, a silent communication passing between them—the kind honed from years of shared trust. Theo cleared his throat, shifting slightly.
"We've been talking about the details, actually. Want to make sure we're all on the same page. Draco and I... we've agreed on how this should go down. I'm way too girthy for a first time, Hermione. Even with your prep lately, you're still so tight—it'd be a nightmare. Plus my piercing makes it more complicated. It would be a bad first experience for you. Painful as hell, leaving you sore for days, ruining the honeymoon. We don't want that for you."
Draco nodded, his hand sliding to her thigh, squeezing reassuringly.
"Theo's right. I've got experience with virgins too. I know how to go slow, read your body. And my size... it's more manageable for you. You'll find pleasure, not just pain. Theo will be involved every step—kissing you, touching, making you feel adored—but I think I should be the one to take your virginity."
Hermione exhaled, nodding without hesitation, her fingers interlacing with theirs.
"I knew it would be you, Draco. I'm good with that—more than good. I trust you implicitly with my body. You've always known how to make me feel safe and wanted, even when pushing boundaries. I know you'll make it good for me... for us."
Theo's expression softened with relief, pulling her closer.
"And no one's left out—this is our honeymoon, all three of us. I'll be right there, worshipping every inch of you. Hands, mouth, whatever you need. We're a team."
"Absolutely," Draco added, his voice husky with emotion and rising desire.
"Theo will have you trembling before I even start, he’ll be with you when it happens, and after... we'll both take care of you. Imagine it: Theo's tongue on your clit while I ease in, or me holding you open for his ring later once you're ready. Everyone involved, everyone satisfied."
Hermione's breath hitched, arousal flickering in her eyes as she imagined it, but the emotional depth grounded her.
"That sounds perfect. I love how you communicate this—openly, without ego. It makes me even more excited."
Theo grinned, glancing at the clock.
"We're leaving tomorrow late afternoon, right after my healer shift ends. Floo to the villa, crack open that wine, and let the time away melt our worries away."
Draco raised his mug in a mock toast.
"To us—and a honeymoon we'll never forget."
They laughed, clinking mugs, the tension dissolving into shared kisses—soft at first, then deepening with promise, hands roaming with affectionate heat. As the sun dipped lower, their excitement built, a triad working on trust, ready for the adventure ahead.
Notes:
They'll be off to their honeymoon next chapter!
Chapter 95: The First Night
Chapter Text
The Portkey shimmered like a suspended raindrop, glowing faintly silver in the early twilight.
Hermione looked between the two men — Theo grinning like a conspirator, Draco calm but with a rare hint of excitement behind his eyes.
Theo extended his hand. “Ready, love?”
“Do I even get a hint where we’re going?” Hermione asked, half-laughing, half-nervous.
Draco’s smirk was pure mischief.
“Only that it’s warm, and you’ll want to thank us later.”
Hermione rolled her eyes but took both their hands. The familiar tug of the Portkey yanked through her stomach — colors, heat, wind — and then—
—They landed barefoot in soft white sand. The ocean stretched endless before them, shimmering turquoise under a sky so blue it hurt to look at. The air was sweet with salt and flowers, waves whispering gently onto the shore.
Behind them, perched among palms and bougainvillea, was a white-stone villa with carved wooden doors and a balcony that opened directly to the beach. No other buildings dotted the horizon; only the ocean and the green rise of hills beyond.
Hermione gasped. “Oh—Merlin—it’s—”
Theo’s grin widened. “Welcome to Bali.”
Draco stepped closer, his voice softer, reverent almost.
“Our villa for the week. Private beach, private house eveles, private everything.”
Hermione turned toward them, eyes shining with disbelief. “You’re joking.”
“Do we ever joke?” Theo teased, though the pride in his voice gave him away.
She laughed, radiant and overwhelmed. “It’s perfect.”
Before she could overthink it, she threw her arms around them both — warm sand clinging to her ankles — and kissed Theo first, then Draco, soft, quick, grateful kisses that left them smiling like fools.
The first night of their honeymoon unfolded like a dream spun from starlight and sea salt, the private villa nestled on a secluded stretch of Bali's coastline where the world seemed to end at the edge of their own paradise.
The dinner had been intimate—a spread of fresh seafood grilled over an open flame on the beach, succulent prawns dripping with garlic butter, tender octopus charred to perfection, tropical fruits like mango and pineapple bursting with sweet juice that ran down their chins, and chilled white wine that left their lips tingling with crisp acidity and a hint of oak.
They'd eaten on a low teak table right on the sand, the grains still warm from the day's sun shifting under their bare feet, the waves crashing rhythmically just five feet away, a soothing symphony of foam and thunder that sprayed fine mist onto their skin, the salty tang mixing with the smoky aroma of the grill.
The sky above was a velvet canvas dotted with a million stars, the moon a silver crescent casting an ethereal glow over the cove, their private haven warded against intruders by ancient spells they'd cast upon arrival—no one but them existed in this bubble of bliss, the ocean's roar drowning out everything but their laughter and lingering touches.
They lingered after the meal, the empty plates pushed aside, Hermione leaning back against Draco's chest on the oversized blanket, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist, fingers tracing lazy, teasing patterns on the bare skin of her midriff where her sundress had ridden up, the fabric thin and damp from the sea spray.
Theo sat cross-legged beside them, his hand intertwined with hers, thumb stroking her knuckles in slow, affectionate circles, his stormy eyes heavy-lidded from exhaustion but sparkling with love under the starlight.
The air was balmy and thick, heavy with the salty tang of the ocean, the faint floral perfume of frangipani blooming along the villa's path, and the underlying warmth of their mingled scents—Draco's sharp minty cologne, Theo's earthy aftershave, and Hermione's subtle lavender from her lotion, now mixed with the musky hint of arousal that had been building all evening.
Theo yawned softly, covering his mouth with his free hand, his voice thick with regret but laced with affection as he squeezed Hermione's fingers.
"Gods, I wish I wasn't so bloody tired," he murmured, leaning his head against hers, his dark hair tickling her cheek.
"This place... it's perfect. The villa, the beach, you two—our honeymoon. But that healer shift this morning was brutal; dragon pox outbreak at St. Mungo's, and the travel here wiped me out. I want to ravish you both under these stars, but I'm fighting to keep my eyes open."
Hermione turned to him, her curls tousled by the sea breeze that carried the cool mist of crashing waves, her eyes soft with understanding and love as she cupped his face, thumb brushing the faint shadows under his eyes.
"Theo, my love, it's absolutely okay. We have all week here—no rush, no expectations we said. The travel wore us all out a bit, but being here with you, feeling the sand under my toes and the waves so close... that's magic enough. We love you—tired or not."
She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, tasting the lingering pineapple sweetness on his tongue, her hand sliding to his chest to feel the steady beat beneath.
Draco chuckled lowly from behind her, his hand sliding up her side to cup her breast through the thin sundress, thumb brushing her nipple teasingly until it hardened into a tight peak, sending a jolt of heat straight to her core.
"She's right, mate. No pressure—we've got a week in this cove. But..."
He nuzzled Hermione's neck, his breath hot against her skin, lips grazing the shell of her ear as his voice dropped to that gravelly timbre laced with filthy promise.
"What would help us all sleep like the dead tonight? A good, hard orgasm before bed. Teasing you two under the table all dinner has my cock throbbing—Granger's foot on my lap, your hand brushing my thigh. And since this is our private beach..."
His free hand gestured to the empty expanse, waves crashing with foamy whitecaps just feet away, the moonlit sand stretching endlessly.
"Why not strip right here? Let the stars watch us worship our wife."
Theo's eyes darkened with interest, fatigue momentarily forgotten as a slow grin spread across his face, his hand squeezing Hermione's thigh.
"Private cove, eh? No eyes but the stars and the sea."
He pulled her closer for a kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth with a slow, loving stroke that tasted of wine and salt, his free hand joining Draco's on her body.
"I love you both—whether I’m tired or not, you're my world."
The decision was made in a heartbeat, the three of them rising as one, the sand shifting warm and gritty under their feet, grains clinging to their soles like tiny caresses. Draco's hands found the hem of Hermione's sundress first, sliding it up her thighs with deliberate slowness, the fabric whispering against her skin as he peeled it over her head, exposing her to the night air—her breasts full and heavy, bouncing slightly as the dress cleared them, nipples pebbling into tight, rosy buds from the cool ocean breeze and the heat of their gazes; her stomach soft and curved, leading down to the flare of her hips and the neat trim of curls between her thighs, her arousal already glistening on her inner lips in the moonlight.
"Fuck, Granger—our wife, naked on the beach on our hneymoon like a sea goddess,"
Draco growled, his voice rough with desire as he tossed the dress aside, the waves crashing louder as if in approval.
"Look at those perfect tits, heaving with every breath, nipples hard as fucking diamonds begging for my mouth to suck them raw. And that pussy... gods, already dripping, clit peeking out swollen and ready. I love you like this—bare, wet, ours to devour."
Theo stripped Draco next, his fingers—still steady despite the fatigue—unbuttoning the shirt with lingering touches, revealing the lean, sculpted chest with its faint scars, the trail of blond hair leading down to the V of his hips.
Hermione joined in, her hands sliding Theo's shirt off, tracing the tattoo around his finger with reverence, the piercing in his head glinting silver as his trousers dropped, his cock springing free—7 inches of extreme girth, the shaft thick as her wrist, veins bulging along the length, the apadravya piercing—a horizontal barbell through the head—catching the moonlight with a metallic gleam, already beaded with pre-cum at the slit.
Draco's followed—8.5 inches long of average but still impressive girth, veined and curving slightly, the head flushed and leaking. Soon, all three stood naked, the ocean breeze caressing their skin like invisible hands, raising goosebumps and hardening nipples, the sand soft and yielding underfoot, waves' salty mist kissing their bodies in cool sprays, the stars twinkling like voyeurs above.
Hermione took charge then, her hands reaching for their cocks with a tender smile—Draco's in her left, thick and hot, the skin velvet over steel as she wrapped her fingers around the shaft, feeling the pulse of his veins against her palm; Theo's in her right, the extreme girth stretching her hand wide, the apadravya piercing cool and hard against her skin as she stroked the length, the barbell bumping her fingers with each pass.
"Such sexy husbands," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion and desire, as she stroked them in tandem, her hands slick with their pre-cum that leaked in thick beads, coating her palms in sticky warmth, the shafts hot and pulsing in her grasp—Draco's sliding smoothly with its length allowing her to twist over the flushed head, Theo's girth making her fingers ache slightly from the stretch of her fingers, the piercing adding a textured drag that made him hiss. The waves crashed closer, foam licking at their toes, the salty spray misting their heated skin.
"Fuck, Granger—your hands on our cocks, jerking us off like a pro under the stars,"
Draco groaned, his hips bucking into her fist, the head of his long shaft bumping her wrist with each stroke.
"Feel how hard I am for you? Throbbing in your grip, leaking all over your fingers like the filthy mess you make me. Gods, stroke Theo harder—feel that piercing bumping your palm, his girthy cock so wide you can’t even wrap your hand around it.”
Theo's hand cupped her face, pulling her into a kiss as she stroked, his tongue sliding against hers with loving fervor.
"Hermione... I love you—feel how you make me ache? Your touch... it's everything, even tired, I can’t help but be turned on by you."
The scene drew out, minutes of slow, synchronized strokes—their breaths mingling with the waves' roar, pre-cum coating her hands in glistening strands that stretched and snapped with each pull, Draco's cock twitching with every twist over the head, Theo's piercing adding a metallic click against her skin, the girth making her hand cramp slightly but the pleasure in his eyes worth it.
"Faster, love—milk us dry," Theo whispered sweetly, his free hand teasing her nipple.
She pumped them fatser and faster, their groans growing louder, their faces tensing in pleasure, until in unison they let out guttural calls of her name, both cocks shooting out streams of thick cum.
They laid her on the blanket then, the sand shifting warm beneath, stars twinkling above like a canopy. Draco and Theo knelt between her thighs, their mouths descending—Draco's tongue flicking her clit first, hot and wet with broad, flat laps that made her hips jerk, while
Theo's fingers parted her folds gently, sliding two in with a slow push, her tightness yielding with a familiar burn.
"Taste so sweet, love," Theo murmured, pumping his fingers in rhythm, curling to hit her G-spot.
"We adore you—let us make you feel good, every inch cherished."
"Fuck, Granger—your pussy's gripping Theo's fingers like a vice, walls hot and velvet, sucking him in deep while I tongue this throbbing clit," Draco growled, his mouth sucking her nub hard, the wet slurps obscene over the waves.
"Gods, I love this—your lips puffy and red, dripping that honey all over us, clit pulsing on my tongue like a little cock. We're gonna make you come so hard, love—Theo finger-fucking that tight hole, stretching you with every thrust, my mouth devouring this swollen button until you're squirting like the good wife you are, gushing all over our faces. Feel those fingers curling, hitting that spot? Pound deeper, Theo—make her walls burn and spasm, that tight cunt clenching like it'll never let go."
The scene stretched, minutes of licking and fingering—Theo's fingers thrusting in wet, curling relentlessly, Draco's tongue swirling and sucking with filthy precision, their sweet words weaving through: "You're our world, love," Theo whispered; "Come for us, my heart,"—until her orgasm crashed like the waves, walls spasming in rhythmic pulses around Theo's fingers, a hot gush squirting in arcs that soaked their hands and faces, her cries echoing into the night, body arching off the blanket in shuddering waves of bliss, thighs quivering uncontrollably, the salty mist mixing with her release on their skin.
As the tremors faded, they didn't pull away—instead, the post-orgasm haze enveloped them in a cocoon of tender intimacy, the waves' rhythmic crash a lullaby syncing with their slowing breaths.
Draco eased his mouth from her clit with a final, gentle lick that made her twitch oversensitively, his lips glistening with her arousal as he crawled up her body, pressing soft kisses along her inner thigh, the taste of her still on his tongue.
"My beautiful wife," he murmured sweetly, voice husky from the filth but now laced with pure adoration, settling beside her and pulling her into his side, his cock still semi-hard and slick against her hip, but ignored in favor of wrapping his arm around her shoulders, fingers threading through her damp curls to massage her scalp in soothing circles. The sand beneath the blanket cradled them like a natural bed, warm and yielding, grains shifting slightly with each breath.
Theo withdrew his fingers slowly, the wet slide audible even over the surf, her walls fluttering in protest at the emptiness, a trickle of her release seeping onto the blanket. He brought them to his lips, sucking them clean with a loving hum—"Taste like heaven, love"—before lying on her other side, his girthy cock heavy against her thigh, the apadravya piercing cool on her skin from the night air.
"I love you so much, Hermione," he whispered, voice thick with exhaustion and emotion, draping an arm across her waist to link hands with Draco over her stomach, their fingers interlacing in a triad knot. The ocean breeze cooled their sweat-slicked skin, raising faint goosebumps, the salty mist settling like a fine veil, mingling with the musky scent of sex that hung heavy in the air.
Hermione sighed contentedly, turning her head to nuzzle Draco's chest, inhaling his citrus scent mixed with sea salt and her own essence, then twisting slightly to kiss Theo's forehead, tasting the salt on his skin.
"You both... you're everything I didn’t know I neeeded," she breathed, her voice soft and sated, body limp and glowing in the aftershocks, thighs still trembling faintly. They tangled closer, legs entwining in a lazy knot—Draco's thigh draped over hers, Theo's calf hooking around, their combined warmth a shield against the cooling night. Draco's hand trailed lazy patterns on her breast, not arousing but comforting, thumb brushing her nipple in feather-light strokes that grounded her.
"Rest now, love," Theo murmured, his breath evening out, fatigue reclaiming him as he pressed kisses to her shoulder.
"We've got all week—more nights like this, but sweeter dreams first."
Draco chuckled softly, the vibration rumbling through her.
"Sleep, Granger. Dream of us burying ourselves in that perfect pussy tomorrow—my long cock stretching you deep, but tonight? Just this—us, tangled, togetehr." Sweet words flowed in murmurs—"My heart," "Forever ours," "Perfect wife"—as the stars wheeled overhead, waves lapping like applause, their bodies melting into one another, the post-orgasm glow lulling them toward sleep in a haze of salty air, shared warmth, and the excitement of the week to unfold.
Notes:
What should they do on their honeymoon here?
Chapter 96: The Beach
Chapter Text
The first rays of sunrise rose up over the jungled hill behind the villa, and the ocean murmured just beyond the veranda, rhythmic and slow, like the pulse of a living thing. Soft waves crashes, and tropical birds chripped.
The villa was alive with the sound of the sea and the smell of fruit and spices. Open-air rooms framed by pale stone columns and carved teak; wide windows that opened straight onto the beach. A sitting area with white cushions and silk throws, a massive canopy bed in the master, mosquito nets drifting like clouds, and private outdoor baths hidden by flowering vines. Every surface glowed with warmth — the pale sand-colored floors, the scattered seashells catching morning light.
Hermione stood barefoot on the veranda, still in a linen robe, staring out at the glittering horizon. She could hear Theo humming from the kitchen, coaxing the elves into adding extra cinnamon to breakfast, and the quiet scrape of Draco’s quill as he wrote a quick note to his mother to confirm their safe arrival here on the terrace table.
When they joined her outside, the air was thick with sun and salt and the smell of roasted coffee. They ate tropical fruit and cinnamon sweet bread while the waves lapped near their toes.
“I think I could get used to this,” Hermione murmured enchanted.
“That’s the plan,” Theo replied, reaching across to brush sugar from her lower lip.
Draco smirked, eyes half-lidded. “Careful, Nott, you’ll start making me jealous before noon.”
They laughed. The tension between them — once fragile — now hummed with comfort and possibility. Being away was already relaxing them, pulling away personal tensions, and Ministry pressure.
By late morning, they were walking down the private beach, bikini and swim trunk clad, wands tucked away, bubble-head charms in place. The sea was a sheet of glass, warm even at their ankles, and the sky above shimmered with that impossible tropical blue.
When they dove beneath the surface, everything turned luminous.
Coral towers rose like cities, pulsing with enchantments that glowed in shifting colors — coral pinks, silver greens, cobalt blues. Schools of magical fish darted past in bursts of light: rainbow-scaled tangs, translucent ribbonfish that left trails of sparkles, and even a pair of small sea-dragons curling around each other near the reef.
Hermione’s laughter bubbled up inside her charm-shield as she pointed out a turtle the size of a small table, lazily blinking at them. Theo swam closer, grinning like a child, and Draco — graceful even underwater — circled around them, his blond hair like floating silk.
When they surfaced again, breathless and shining, the world above seemed brighter for what they’d seen below.
“That was—” Hermione began, water streaming down her shoulders and between her clevage.
“—pure magic,” Theo finished for her, smiling wide.
Draco gave a rare, genuine laugh. “For once, Theo, you’re not exaggerating. It was incredible.”
After drying off with a charm, they spent the afternoon sprawled on soft towels in the shade of palms. Theo lay back with a glass of something cool and fruity, Hermione stretched out beside him reading Magical Currents of the South Seas, and Draco sat cross-legged in the sand, sketching them in an old Hogwarts crested notebook.
Every so often, Hermione looked up and caught Draco’s gaze, the sun reflecting in his pale eyes. Tremors of anticipation would spiral down her spine at his intense look, they way he’d drag his eyes apprectively along her skimpily clad body. He didn’t say anything, but the look was tender, curious, promising— the kind that said he was thinking about the night ahead.
They napped beneath the sound of the surf, woke to find Pudding (smuggled along by elf-magic, because of course she was!) batting at a blue crab, and laughed until their stomachs hurt when it grabbed her by the tail and she prance away.
The afternoon sun hung low, honey-colored and soft, its light turning the waves into sheets of gold. The air was heavy with salt and the perfume of ripe fruit from the platter the elves had sent down: mango slices glowing like warm amber, soft pink guava, starfruit, and passionfruit split open to reveal jeweled seeds.
They’d spread a blanket over the sand beneath a palm grove, the sound of the sea constant and soothing. Theo lounged shirtless, his tones body on display to them, propped on one elbow, while Draco sat opposite, impossibly elegant even in rolled-up linen sleeves. Hermione sat between them, the hem of her white sundress brushing her knees, curls lifting slightly in the sea breeze.
For a long while, they simply existed — the three of them watching the tide roll in, skin glowing with warmth, silence easy between them.
Theo plucked a piece of mango from the plate, its juice gleaming in the sun. “Try this one,” he said, holding it out to her sexily.
Hermione smiled, leaning forward. “I can feed myself, you know.”
“I know,” he teased, “but I’d rather do it.”
The mango touched her lips — sweet, soft, a little tangy. She bit into it, laughing as a drop of juice slid down her chin. Theo chuckled, reaching to brush it away with his thumb, his touch gentle and lingering.
Draco raised an eyebrow, dry amusement in his voice. “You two are impossible.”
Hermione turned to him, eyes glinting. “Oh? You think you could do better?”
Without breaking eye contact, Draco reached for a slice of guava and offered it to her — wordless, deliberate. She leaned forward again, tasting it from his fingers this time, licking the juice from his fingers, and his composure cracked just slightly at the corner of his mouth.
Theo laughed low in his throat. “Show-off.”
Draco’s tone was silken. “Jealous?”
“Of you? Always.”
Hermione couldn’t stop laughing. The sea breeze caught her hair, and both men looked at her like she was sunlight made real. They started feeding each other next — Theo tossing a cube of pineapple into Draco’s mouth, Draco retaliating with a slice of watermelon that splattered juice down Theo’s chest.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Theo grinned, flicking a drop of water at him from his glass.
“Consider it revenge,” Draco said, utterly unbothered.
Hermione leaned back on her elbows, heart full and light, watching them — this strange, beautiful balance of chaos and grace.
Theo turned to her again, softer now. “You look happy.”
“I am,” she said honestly. “More than I ever thought I’d be when I read the letter.”
The sun had drifted lower in the sky, mellowing into that soft amber light that makes everything seem half-enchanted. The tide was gentle now, curling lazily around their feet as they walked along the shore.
Hermione carried a woven basket, already half full of shells — spirals of cream, violet, and faint rose. She kept stopping every few paces, crouching to examine something glittering in the sand. Each time she did, Theo’s shadow fell beside hers, and Draco’s slower, deliberate steps followed not far behind.
“You’re going to end up taking half the beach home,” Theo teased, watching her examine a scalloped shell.
“Some of them are magical,” she said, holding it up to the light. “See that shimmer? That’s moon-coral dust — it means this one was formed under a lunar tide.”
Draco bent, brushing sand off another. “And this one?”
“That,” Hermione said softly, “is just… beautiful, but normal.”
For a moment, the three of them stood together with the sea breathing around them, the world gilded and still.
By the time they returned to the blanket outside the villa, the basket was overflowing — pale shells and pearly fragments glinting like treasure. Theo conjured soft music from nowhere, something lazy and melodic, while Draco sorted through the pile with the precision of someone cataloging art.
“We should make her a crown,” Theo said suddenly.
Draco’s eyebrow lifted. “A crown?”
“For our witch of the beach.”
Hermione laughed, sitting cross-legged between them. “You’re ridiculous.”
Theo twirled a conch shell between his fingers. “Ridiculous but right.”
He charmed strands of seagrass into a soft golden vine and began weaving. Draco joined in without another word, selecting shells with an artist’s eye — symmetry, color, weight. His fingertips brushed Hermione’s wrist more than once, whether by accident or something gentler. Theo’s hands worked deftly beside hers, brushing her knee, his grin wide and boyish in the sunlight. The boys mischievous eye glints giving away that they knew exactly what their touches where doing to her insides.
She couldn’t stop smiling. “You two are absurdly talented.”
“We had inspiration,” Draco murmured.
When they finished, the crown shimmered — woven with shells the color of moonlight, seagrass glowing faintly with a charm Theo had added. Draco turned it carefully in his hands, inspecting it one last time before meeting Hermione’s gaze.
“May I?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. He rose, stepping behind her, and set the crown atop her curls with careful precision. Theo whistled low.
“Perfect. Our wife, the queen of the sea.”
Hermione flushed, half laughing, half overwhelmed. The wind lifted her hair, the shells catching the last of the sun like fire.
Draco’s voice was softer. “It suits you.”
Theo leaned back on his elbows, smiling at both of them. “Who knew seashells and sunshine could make something this perfect.”
By twilight, the sky turned molten orange, and the elves had set up dinner again — this time on the villa’s upper deck. Lanterns floated above them, glowing with drifting charms that made them look like captive stars.
The meal was simple but perfect: grilled prawns, mango curry, spiced rice, chilled wine that tasted faintly of honey. They all seemed very caeful not to over indulge, but they enjoyed it nonetheless. The sound of the tide rose and fell just beyond.
“So,” Theo said between sips, “plans for tomorrow? I vote for the magical waterfall the locals mentioned. Apparently, it lets you float in midair if you swim through it.”
“Or the market in Ubud,” Hermione said eagerly. “They have enchanted textiles woven with moonlight.”
Draco swirled his wine lazily. “Or perhaps we stay here. You two running around barefoot in the sun is entertainment enough.”
Hermione blushed, laughing. “You really don’t get bored watching us, do you?”
“Never,” he said simply, and the way he said it made her heart flutter.
Theo leaned close, his grin softening. “This is what it’s supposed to feel like, isn’t it? Our bond finding harmony?”
Hermione nodded, her fingers finding his hand. “Yes. Peace — and maybe joy.”
Draco raised his glass toward the horizon. “Then here’s to both.”
They clinked glasses — a quiet promise under a foreign sky.
After dinner, they walked the beach barefoot under the moon, the waves glowing faintly blue again with that strange magic of the Balinese tide. Hermione walked between them, fingers brushing against theirs, the world warm and endless around them.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For bringing me here.”
Theo squeezed her hand.
Draco’s voice was lower, rougher. “We needed this. All of us.”
When they turned back toward the villa, the lamps in the windows shimmered like a waiting promise.
Notes:
Well... I think we all know what's happening tonight =P
Chapter 97: Bonded
Notes:
Well moment of truth, the reveal many of you have been sitting on the edge of your seat for... the night of consummation.
Before you all read this, I do want to reveal that this scene is actually the whole inspiration for this entire story. It was the very first one-shot I ever wrote many years ago, and everything else in this story came afterward, as bits and pieces to feed from it.
Eventually my plot outline grew and grew around this moment, and that's what you're getting today as this insanely long story.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione, Draco, and Theo stepped into the master suite of their luxury beach villa in Bali, the door whispering shut behind them with a soft click that sealed them away from the world, the sound barely audible over the distant crash of waves rolling in the private cove below.
The room was a sanctuary of tropical elegance—floor-to-ceiling glass walls opening to a sprawling terrace where the infinity pool merged seamlessly with the dark ocean horizon, the moon's silver light reflecting off the water in shimmering ripples, the air heavy with the salty brine of the sea mixed with the sweet, heady fragrance of plumeria blooming in pots along the balcony.
The king-sized bed beckoned like a dreamy cloud, its crisp white Egyptian cotton sheets turned down by invisible house-elf charms, scattered with fresh orchid petals in heart shape that released a subtle, exotic perfume with every movement. Floating lanterns hovered mid-air, casting a warm, golden glow that danced across the polished teak floors and the sheer white curtains billowing gently in the ocean breeze, carrying the faint mist of saltwater that kissed their skin like a lover's sigh.
The trio moved with a charged synchronicity, the sexual tension that had simmered all day between them now boiling over—the knowledge that this was the night Hermione would lose her virginity hanging thick in the air like the humid tropical night.
They'd just returned from intimately dinning on the beach below, the sand still clinging to their feet in warm, gritty particles, the taste of grilled lobster and mango salsa lingering on their tongues, the wine buzzing lightly in their veins.
Draco turned to her first, his silver eyes dark with a potent mix of adoration, hunger, and reverence, his hand cupping her face as he pulled her into a deep, slow kiss, his tongue sliding against hers in a languid exploration that tasted of salt and sweetness, his free hand already tugging at the tie of her sundress, the knot unraveling with a soft rasp of fabric.
"Our wife," he murmured against her lips, voice rough with emotion, "I can't believe this night is here—finally all of us alone, no distractions, no friends to pop in, or Ministry to intrude, just us alone with you. You're so beautiful, Granger...you mena so much to Theo and I."
Theo pressed in from her side, his arms encircling her waist, lips brushing her shoulder in soft, adoring kisses that left warm imprints on her skin, his voice a husky whisper. "I love you, Hermione—gods, I've dreamed of this since the summer. You're our light, our future. Tonight... we make you ours completely."
They stripped each other with deliberate slowness, drawing out the tease, the tensions rising like the incoming tide outside—the crash of waves a constant, rhythmic underscore to their heavy breaths and soft sighs.
Theo's fingers found the zipper of Hermione's sundress first, pulling it down with agonizing precision, the metal teeth rasping softly as the fabric parted inch by inch, revealing the smooth, sun-kissed expanse of her back, no bra beneath, her skin glowing in the lantern light with a faint sheen of sweat from the humid air.
"You're exquisite, love," Theo breathed, sliding the straps off her shoulders, the dress pooling at her feet in a whisper of cotton, leaving her in just lace panties that clung transparently to her curves, the damp crotch outlining her lips and the neat trim of curls, her arousal already seeping through in a dark, glistening patch.
Draco's hands roamed her breasts, cupping the full weight, thumbs circling her nipples until they hardened into tight, rosy buds that ached under his touch, the sensitive peaks sending sharp sparks of pleasure straight to her core with every flick, the faint calluses on his fingers adding a rough texture that made her gasp.
"Fuck, these tits—perfect handfuls, nipples begging for my mouth to suck them raw and bruised," he growled softly, but his voice softened as he kissed her collarbone. "I adore you, wife... every inch of you is ours to cherish."
Hermione's turn came next—she unbuttoned Theo's shirt with nervously trembling fingers, revealing his lean chest, the apadravya piercing at his navel, cock erect poking through his pants, glinting silver as she pushed the fabric off, her nails scraping lightly down his arms, raising goosebumps on his skin.
"Theo... my love," she whispered, kissing his chest, tasting the salt on his skin from the beach air, her hands sliding lower to unbuckle his belt with a metallic clink, the leather whispering through loops as his trousers dropped, freeing his 7-inch cock—extremely girthy, thick as her wrist, veins bulging along the shaft, the apadravya piercing—a horizontal barbell through the head—catching the light, already beaded with pre-cum at the slit.
Draco stripped next, Hermione and Theo's hands working in tandem together on their husband—unbuttoning his shirt to expose the lean, scarred torso, the trail of blond hair leading down; trousers shoved down to reveal his 8.5-inch length, average girth but veined and curving slightly upward, the head flushed an angry purple and leaking pre-cum in shiny beads that trailed down the underside.
Soon, all three were naked, the ocean breeze caressing their skin like invisible fingers, raising goosebumps across Hermione's breasts and thighs, the salty mist settling on their bodies in fine droplets that beaded and ran like sweat, the sound of waves the backdrop.
The boys lavished her with attention from the start—Draco's mouth on her breasts, sucking one nipple hard into his mouth with wet, slurping pulls while pinching the other between thumb and forefinger, rolling it until it throbbed with sensitivity, the dual assault sending sharp sparks of pleasure straight to her clit; Theo's hands roaming her thighs, parting them slowly with gentle pressure, his fingers tracing her outer lips, feeling the slick heat that coated them, the musky scent of her arousal filling the room.
"You're so beautiful, love," Theo whispered, his voice thick with love as he kissed her inner thigh, the faint stubble scraping her sensitive skin.
"Let us worship you—every touch for you, our heart. I love you —you're our forever."
Draco's hand joined Theo's between her legs, sliding one finger along her entrance—the tightness apparent but willing, her walls clenching as he pushed in slowly, her slickness easing the way.
"Fuck, Granger—still tight. But gods, you're so wet for us..."
He added a second, the stretch a bit more but manageable as she groaned with appreciation at the give, her walls yielding, curling to brush her G-spot lightly, sending ripples of pleasure through her.
Theo leaned down, his tongue flicking her clit—hot and wet, the flat of it lapping broadly before circling the swollen nub with precise swirls, the taste of her musky sweetness filling his mouth, his breath hot against her folds.
"I love you, Hermione—feel how ready you are? My fingers preparing this tight pussy for Draco... he'll fill you so good, love, stretch you until you come undone on him. You're our heart, our soul—let us make you feel so good."
They worked her slowly, fingers thrusting in rhythm with increasing depth, Theo's tongue swirling relentlessly against her clit, the wet sounds of sucking mingling with her intensifying moans, Draco whispering dirty promises: "That's it—take those fingers like the good wife you are. Soon it'll be my cock—filling you until you're overflowing with my seed”.
The third finger came after minutes of buildup—Theo pressing it against her entrance, the resistance a bit stronger than with the other, her walls clamping hard despite her arousal, the stretch a bit tighter, but the walls still giving to them.
"Fuck, that third one's a bit tight—relax Hermione, let us stretch this virgin core a bit more."
They worked it in over long minutes, her initial light whimpers turning to moans as the fullness turned into unbearable pleasure, her orgasm building until it crashed, walls spasming around the three fingers, a gush soaking the bedding below.
Panting, she nodded to Draco—ready. Draco cast the contraception spell, a warm glow enveloping her abdomen as they’de agreed on the day before.
Theo propped up on his side next to her, whispering, "I love you—watch Draco take you, love. He'll be gentle at first, but gods, he'’s going to ruin you so pretly. And I'll be right here, loving every second of your deflowering."
Draco tested with a finger again to be sure, nodding. He raised an eyebrow teasingly, but his tone was all seriousness, "You're ready, Hermione. Are you sure you want this—me taking your virginity, popping that cherry with my cock? It’s ok for us to wait more."
"Yes," she breathed. "I trust you, I want this.”
He kissed her deeply, Theo's hands teasing her nipples and clit to keep her aroused. Draco lined up, his leaking cock pressing against her entrance—the tip breaching slowly, her tightness resisting with a fierce clamp that made him groan form the start, the burn sharp but bearable for her.
"Fuck—so tight, Granger, your virgin cunt's fighting my cockhead like a locked door," he groaned, holding still as the head nudged her tight rim muscles, her virgin channel clenching like a vice around the very tip, the stretch immediate and intense, her walls pushing back with pressure that had him sweating with the effort to hold back and not just swiftly take her.
Everyone watched entranced, Theo's fingers tracing her thigh, Draco's hands on her hips steadying her.
"Look at that—your virgin pussy spread around my fat cockhead, Hemrione—feel that? The head barely notched, but I can feel your walls trying to drag me in.”
He pushed a fraction more, the head inching past the rim with excruciating slowness—the burn for Hermione spiking like a quick hot knife twisting in her core, her entrance burning with the stretch, walls clamping down in painful spasms that made her wince and gasp, tears pricking her eyes, the resistance so fierce Draco had to rock his hips minutely, pre-cum and her slick mixing in obscene wet sounds. Her toy had felt big and helped prepare her for this moment, but Draco was definitely a bit more than that.
"Draco—it's... so tight, hurts deep," she whimpered, but her hips tilted up instinctively, liking the fullness despite the ache.
Draco froze, kissing her forehead. "I know, sweetheart—breathe for me, you brave little virgin. You're doing so fucking well, taking the head like a champ. Feel how your pussy's clenching? It wants me in deep."
Theo whispered hotly, "So beautiful, love—taking him for us. I love you— rekax, breathe—let him in."
Draco rocked gently, the head popping fully past her rim with a wet sound, the sudden give making her cry out—the pain a deep, tearing burn that radiated through her pelvis like fire, her walls stretching thin around the girth, clamping in waves that felt like muscle ripping, but the fullness blooming underneath, her arousal flooding to ease it, though the tightness remained a brutal vice.
"Fuck—there, the head's in, Granger, whatever remained of your cherry's fucking popped. It’s going to feel so much better now. Look down—see how your lips are stretched thin around me? So beautiful, sweetheart, our little wife.”
He held still for long minutes, letting her adjust, the burn for her lingering like embers in her core, painful but not unbearable mingled with growing pleasure as her body relaxed to the intrusion and slowly yielded, Theo's fingers circling her clit to distract, whispering, "I love you—feel him caring for you, filling you? That tightness is perfect, love—your pussy claiming his cock for us."
Pushing further—an inch in now—the resistance was vicious, her walls clamping like iron bands, the stretch a visceral agony that made her sob out breifly, the burn peaking as his veined shaft dragged against her raw inner tissues, every ridge scraping like sandpaper on sensitive flesh, pain lancing through her like lightning, Draco grunting with effort, hips circling to work past the barrier fully.
"Ah—fuck, another inch. Feel it? You're dripping more, loving the stretch."
Theo: "My brave love—I love you so much, watching your tight hole swallow him inch by inch is so sexy. You're perfect, taking his dick like you were made forus."
At 3 inches, he paused again, the pain for her a steady constant, throbbing ember that made her thighs quake, her channel feeling split open, raw walls pulsing in protest, but the vibration of her anticipatory arousal and Theo's clit rubs turning it to a deep, aching pleasure.
Minutes passed—Draco rocking micro-thrusts, withdrawing half an inch then pushing back, the drag excruciating, her slick coating him in shiny trails but tightness slowly relenting to his patience, each advance a battle that left her with a few small tears.
Draco's dirty pleas: "Halfway, Granger—4 inches deep in your virgin cunt, Granger. Sweet Merlin, your pussy's a vice, strangling my cock, burning every vein as I sink deeper. Fuck Theo, look at that bulge starting in her belly—my cock stretching you from inside."
Theo’s hand traced the outline of Draco’s cock barely visible straight up her abdomen. Giving it slight downward pressure with his fingers, her immediate moan deeply pleasurable.
Theo: "I love you—your body's yielding for him, so hot to see your lips gripping his shaft, belly bulging with his length."
By 6 inches, the pain had past peaked—walls stretched to limit, feeling like she'd been split in two, but the fullness pressed her G-spot perfectly, pleasure sparking through the fire.
Draco bottomed out there, the bulge prominent in her abdomen. "6.5 inches—bottomed out, love. Can't go deeper yet—your tight virgin channel's too fucking tight., but look how much you’ve taken."
They obsessed, fingers tracing the ridge showing along her outer skin. Draco thrust slowly after adjusting his angle, the drag burning her walls but feeling good, Theo encouraging: "I love you—feel him taking such good care of you, filling you so well?"
Draco's pace picked up with relief that she seemed to be having amore enjoyable time now,his talk turning dirtier: "Fuck, Granger—your tight cunt clenching my cock like a desperate good wife. Take more—let me pound this virgin void, stretch it wide for my hot cum."
He worked the full length in very gradually over many steady and practiced thrusts, surprising them—her taking all 8.5, the bulge of her stomach more pronounced. "Fuck—all in, you took every goddamn inch, wife. Feel me bottomed out, wrecking that pussy, balls slapping your ass?"
Draco asked if she could take more—she nodded enthusiastically.
"Take me now Theo," he growled, shifting forward on his knees to give Theo access behind him, his ass clenching in anticipation. Theo knelt behind him, his hands gripping Draco's hips firmly with fmaialrity, the extreme girth of his 7-inch cock—thick as a wrist, veins throbbing—pressing insistently against Draco's tight entrance, the apadravya piercing at the head cool and metallic as it nudged the rim, pre-cum slicking the way along with a quick luburaciton spell.
"Fuck, Theo—your fat cocks going to be splitting my ass open like a virgin hole,"
Draco groaned as Theo pushed forward slowly at first, the head breaching with a burning stretch that made Draco hiss, the piercing dragging roughly against his inner walls like a textured invader, the girth forcing his ring to yield in agonizing increments, walls clamping down in protest but slick from arousal, while Draco continued short steayd thrusts into Hermione.
Theo thrust deeper, inch by girthy inch, the barbell piercing scraping Draco's prostate with every ridge, sending jolts of filthy pleasure through him that made his cock twitch inside Hermione.
"Gods, Draco—your ass is gripping me like a vice, so tight around my thick shaft, that piercing reaming your walls raw," Theo growled, his voice laced with sweet filth as he bottomed out, balls slapping against Draco's.
Over the next few minutes, he began thrusting in earnest—slow at first, long drags out until just the head and piercing caught on the rim, then slamming back in with a wet smack, the girth stretching Draco wide on every plunge, the piercing grinding relentlessly against sensitive nerves, building to a brutal rhythm that rocked Draco forward into Hermione harder with each pound.
"Fuck, Theo—your fat cock splitting my ass open, I can barely take you both ," Draco snarled, the chain reaction making his thrusts into Hermione savage, her walls fluttering around his full embedded length.
Theo's pace accelerated, hips snapping with powerful, rhythmic slams—each thrust a deep, grinding push that buried his girth to the hilt, the barbell piercing bumping and scraping inside Draco with metallic friction that had him moaning obscenely, sweat slicking their bodies, the obscene schlick-schlick of lube and fluids filling the air alongside the waves' crash.
"Take it, Draco—for me love,” Theo panted, one hand reaching around Draco’s back to tease Hermione's clit, whispering to her, "I love you—feel Draco filling your cunt while I wreck his ass ? Gods, you're both so perfect, taking us all."
They moved in sync, Theo's brutal thrusts driving Draco's cock deeper into Hermione, everyone extremely turned on—Theo whispering sweet filth to her: "I love you—feel Draco filling your cunt while I wreck his ass so he won’t be able to sit tommurrow?"
Draco's dirty: "Fuck, Granger—Theo's girth ruining my ass, that piercing dragging my walls to hell, making me pound your tight cunt harder, feel my cock slamming deep into your womb? Take it all—let me flood you with cum till it tringles out of you.”
Their pleas and groans filling the breezy night air with joint pleasure. Finally, they came together all at once, shouting each other’s name into the heavens.
Immediately, with a burst of bright white light around them followed by a deep gold mist wrapping them like a silk blanket as the triad bond sealed, ring tattoos pulsing bright. The mist hovered for over a full minute, then slowly dissipated into the atmosphere.
In the afterglow, they cuddled Hermione on the bed, Draco fetching soothing potions—the cream cool on her intensely sore pussy, easing the ache with tingling relief, though promises of soreness in the morning remained.
“Draco, thank you for making that so perfect.” Hermione murmured, head snuggled into Theo’s chest, while Draco spooned her form behind, his arms wrapping around them both.
"You were amazing, love," Theo whispered, kissing her forehead with tender affection.
"Thank you, Draco—for making her first time fantastic for us."
Draco smiled, kissing them both gently.
"It's a gift I'd never take for granted—worshiping her, caring for you both."
They tangled together, sweet words flowing between the triad: "Our heart," "Forever," before exhaustedly drifting to sleep in each other's arms.
Notes:
Just because this scene has now happened, doesn't mean we're even close to finished with this story. I have tons more to still share with you, and alot of the main plot has yet to even happen.
I do want to know what you think of this scene though, especially as the initial inspiration for the whole story.
Please engage with me in the comments!
Chapter 98: Emotions
Chapter Text
Soft morning light spilled through the curtains, a gentle sea breezy in the air. The room was quiet except for the slow rhythm of the sea outside and the mingled sound of slow restful breathing. The silk canopy above their bed moved slightly in the breeze coming form the open windows.
Hermione stirred first, drowsy and warm, and achingly sore down below, her cheek resting against Theo’s shoulder. Draco lay just beyond him, pale hair tangled, one hand loosely resting on the coverlet, the other on Theo’s hip lightly. For a long while she didn’t move—just breathed, feeling the deep sense of rightness humming in her bones.
Then she noticed it.
A faint shimmer at the base of her left ring finger. The etched ruin pattern that had appeared at their wedding ceremony now glowed softly, as if lit from within with a low cnalde. Her head whipped around to lok at her husband. Theo’s and Draco’s hands glimmered the same way in the dim light.
“Theo,” she whispered, lightly shaking his shoulder.
His eyes opened at once from her panicked voice, still fogged with sleep. He followed her gaze.
“Bloody hell,” he breathed with a shocked gasp. “They’re glowing.”
Disturbed, Draco sat up, rubbing his temple, then froze as he saw the light haloing his own hand. For a moment, the three of them simply stared, each of them touching each others fingers, studying them.
It wasn’t only the light. There was… something else. A faint echo behind the edge of their minds periphery, not a sound, or thought, but a sensation—as though their hearts had begun to keep time together.
Hermione’s breath caught alarmed.
“Do you feel that?”
Theo frowned slightly.
“Like a heartbeat that isn’t mine.”
Draco’s voice was low.
“Or a thought half-heard. Yours, I think, not mine.”
They fell silent again, testing the feeling. Hermione focused intently on the warmth blooming in her chest, and both men drew sharp breaths at once.
“You’re… happy,” Theo said quietly in awe.
She nodded, astonished. “And you—you're nervous, but not in a bad way. It’s like odd… almost I can taste it.”
Draco flexed his hand, watching the glow strengthen for a moment, then dim.
“It’s emotion I think. Not thoughts themselves. Just—impressions. Tied to bon of the rings perhaps.”
The realization struck all of them at once: this was no lingering wedding charm. The triadic bond itself had fully awakened.
They moved to sit together on the edge of the bed, the sheet pooling around them, sunlight catching on the faint golden glow of their marks.
Theo was the first to speak after a few minutes of stunned silence, voice rough but confidently certain.
“Last night… whatever magic ties triads together—it finished binding us when we consummated. That’s why the glow hasn’t faded. I don’t think it’s going away…”
Hermione traced the band on her hand thoughtfully.
“So it wasn’t just symbolic of our marriage. We are magically connected now. Magically, emotionally—maybe even spiritually.”
Draco leaned forward, elbows on his knees, thoughtful expression.
“It makes sense. The Unspeakable said a triad’s stability deepens with trust and intimacy. We trusted each other completely…. And well we certainly were intimate…”, he said with a pointed look and teasing upward eyebrow at Hermione. She blushed scarlet.
For a long time they sat in the hushed silence, each processing what it all meant.
“It’s strange,” Hermione admitted softly. “I can feel both of you—it’s not quite invading, but… more like surrounding. Like being in the same current of water maybe.”
Theo smiled faintly towards Draco. “And I can feel how calm you are right now. It’s contagious.”
Draco gave a low hum of agreement. “There’s pride in it too. I’m proud of how last night went. I’m proud of what we’ve been building so far between us all. Maybe that’s what’s anchoring the bond.”
“Maybe we should eat, and explore this some more”, Theo quipped.
The boys respectfully offered Hermione the master bath, saying they could use ones in the spare rooms, or wait for her to be done.
“The Lady always gets the best shower.” Theo insisted.
As Hermione rose from the bed to leave, the soreness form last night made itself known with her sharp gasp.
Draco looked at her knowingly, “Bit of pain left over…? It’d be surprising if you didn’t… I was amazed when you took the whole thing for the first time.”
Theo, pulled the soothing lotion form the nightside table drawer, gently applying to her folds, and the first inch of her channel.
“There love, that should help”
She nodded that it already was starting to feel better, and slid out of bed towards the bathroom, with a sexy grin thrown over her shoulder at them.
After breakfast in the kitchen that was mostly silent with them each absorbing the change of the bond, they moved out to the balcony where the ocean stretched endlessly. Cups of coffee steamed between them as they tried to put language to the indescribable.
“It doesn’t feel like losing privacy,” Hermione said.
“It feels like… being witnessed.”
Theo nodded. “Like there’s someone holding a light in the dark, and you don’t have to ask for it.”
Draco’s eyes softened in agreed understanding.
“That’s dangerous magic, then. The kind that can break or heal depending on how we treat it.”
The waves crashed, steady and sure. They sat there until the coffee cooled, the faint glow on their fingers pulsing in rhythm with their breaths.
For once, there were no Ministry or expectations—just three people who had survived too much, learning what it meant to share the same light.
After another round of coffees, they walked down the steps to the sand. The air smelled of salt and hibiscus.
They decided to test how far the bond stretched. Draco remained under a palm tree with a book while Hermione and Theo waded into the shallows.
Can you still feel us? Hermione thought, half-joking, the feeling of curiosity resonating in her husbands.
Yes, came Draco’s reply a heartbeat later— just as an impression, not words, but she interpreted it all the same: a flash of contentment and the dry amusement that always colored his tone.
Theo grinned. “He’s smug about proving it works.”
They laughed, splashing one another until the water turned silver around them. Every burst of laughter or spark of surprise rippled through the bond like waves crossing a pond. It wasn’t intrusive; it was alive—the constant assurance that none of them were alone.
The afternoon sun hung high over their private villa, casting a dazzling shimmer across the infinity pool that blended seamlessly at eye level with the turquoise ocean beyond, the water warm and silky against their skin. The triad bond pulsed subtly within them—a magical connection forged that they would all need to get used to: Hermione's lingering discomfort mingled with excitement, Draco's smug satisfaction radiating like heat, Theo's affectionate playfulness bubbling like champagne feelings in the bond.
Their tattooed rings—simple lines etched with runes—glowed faintly even now, a soft golden light that intensified with every intimate glance, a constant reminder of their unbreakable union. Hermione floated relaxed on her back in the pool, her bikini top off for even tanning and floating nearby, breasts buoyed by the water, nipples pebbled from the occasional cool breeze off the sea. The salty air carried the scent of coconut from their sunscreen charms, mixed with the faint floral notes from the villa's gardens, the distant crash of waves a soothing backdrop to their lazy day.
Theo swam up to her with a mischievous grin, his stormy brown eyes sparkling as he felt her contentment through the bond, a warm echo in his chest.
"Look at you, love—lounging like a mermaid in our private paradise," he teased, his voice low and flirty, hands sliding under her back to support her, fingers brushing the curve of her ass through her bikini bottoms.
The contact sent a spark through the bond—her slight discomfort from last night's intensity registering as the faintest twinge of panic in his awareness, but he pushed it aside for now, leaning in to nip her earlobe gently.
"I could devour you right here, Hermione. The way the water clings to your skin... gods, you're irresistible."
His hand trailed up her side, thumb grazing the underside of her breast, the touch light but charged, his own arousal stirring in his tight swim trunks as he felt her longing through the bond.
Draco lounged on the pool's edge nearby, his lean body shielded from the sun with a giant blue umbrella, sipping a piña colada from a coconut shell, the creamy sweetness coating his tongue as he watched them with a gloating smirk.
"Enjoying the view, Theo?" he called, his silver eyes gleaming, feeling Theo's flirtation and Hermione's shy delight like a shared buzz.
"Our amazingly smart and sexy wife—sore from her first real fuck last night, courtesy of yours truly. Gods, Hermione, you took it like a champ... I can still feel it."
He raised his glass in a mock toast, the rings on their fingers beginning to glow brighter as the tension of intimacy built between them, a soft golden light that illuminated their skin.
Hermione laughed softly, splashing water at Draco, but Theo's touches were turning more intimate—his fingers dipping under her bikini bottoms, tracing her outer lips with feather-light strokes, the water making the glide smooth but the contact sending a jolt through her.
She grimaced slightly, the soreness from last night flaring—a deep, throbbing ache in her core that registered sharply in the bond, making Theo pause immediately, his flirtation shifting to concern as he felt the hurt echo in his own body like a phantom pain.
"Hermione? Love, are you okay? That grimace—I felt it through the bond. You're still that sore?"
Draco set his drink down with a clink, sliding into the pool, his body cutting through the water like a knife as he swam to them faced edged with deep concern, the bond conveying Hermione's discomfort to him too.
"What's wrong, Hermione? Talk to us."
He reached her, his hands gentle on her waist, pulling her upright against him, the water lapping at their chests.
Hermione bit her lip embarrassed, floating between them, the warm water soothing but the ache persistent.
"I'm okay... just a bit sore from last night. It hurts a little when you touch me there, Theo. But I want this—want you both. This is our honeymoon and I don’t want this to sotp us from taking advantage of the privacy and time with each other."
Theo kissed her forehead, his concern flooding the bond like a wave of protectiveness.
"We don't have to do anything, love. Your comfort comes first—always."
Draco nodded, summoning a light pain potion with a flick of his wand—the vial appearing in his hand with a pop, the liquid shimmering a soft blue.
"Here—take this, Hermione. It'll ease the ache without numbing the fun. We care for you too much to see you hurt."
Hermione swallowed the potion down in a single gulp like a bad tasting shot, the cool, minty-grape liquid sliding down her throat, spreading a tingling relief through her core almost instantly—the soreness fading to a very minor throb, a pleasant reminder rather than pain.
"Better," she sighed, smiling as the bond conveyed her relief to them, easing their worry.
Feeling mostly better, Hermione initiated contact, using her wand to vanish their swim trunks to the lounge chair, her hands sliding down their chests—Draco's lean and scarred, Theo's toned body—to wrap around their cocks, stroking slowly under the water.
"See? I'm fine—let's not stop. I want to feel you both... my husbands should make me come in this pool."
The rings on their fingers glowed brighter, golden light reflecting off the water as intimacy reignited.
They moved with cautious gentleness, Draco summoning water-resistant lube that floated to them in a small vial—the clear gel slick and warm as he coated his fingers, the scent neutral but the texture silky even against the pool water.
Theo did the same, their hands dipping under the water to her pussy, starting with one finger each—Draco's sliding in first, her tightness still evident but eased by the potion and lube, the burn minimal as he thrust slowly.
"Fuck, still so tight, Granger—your pussy clenching my finger like it misses my cock already," he murmured, voice turning dirtier as her comfort grew.
Theo added his, the two digits stretching her together with a faint ache, but the lube making the glide smooth, water lapping around them.
"I love you—feel us filling you? So wet, love," Theo whispered sweetly.
They fingered her gently, fingers scissoring and curling in rhythm, the water splashing softly around them with each hand thrust, her moans mingling with the waves. As she relaxed into the feelings of pelasure, Draco's talk heatedup:
"That's it, take our fingers like a good wife, we love how tight you are, clenching like you want more."
Hermione came with a cry, his words being the final push she needed to fall, walls spasming around their fingers, the water rippling from her tremors.
Her hands never stopped—stroking Draco’s long length with firm twists, the veins pulsing under her palm, pre-cum mixing with the water; Theo's girthy monster stretching her other hand wide, fingers splayed around it, the apadravya piercing bumping her palm with each stroke, cool metal against her skin.
"Come for me, my husbands," she whispered, her pace quickening, the water churning around her wrists. Draco came first, groaning as hot ropes spurted into the pool; Theo followed shortly after, his thick cum mixing with the water. They cuddled in the pool on a massive float afterward for hours, the bond pulsing with shared satisfaction, rings glowing softly as they floated together.
Tropical rain arrived suddenly driving them into the villa in a mad dash for cover, shrieking with laughter as the water soaked them as they tried to get inside, drumming on the villa roof and turning the beachview hazy.
They retreated indoors for the rest of the afternoon, windows open to let the scent of wet jasmine drift through.
Hermione curled on the sofa with her notebook, trying to record what they’d learned about the bond that morning so far:
- Distance diminished the intensity but didn’t completely sever it.
- Strong emotion—fear, joy, love—made the glow brighten and were the easiest to feel form each other.
- Intimacy made the rings glow brightest.
- Comfort seemed to travel easiest; she could soothe the others without speakingif she focused on it.
Theo was stretched out across the opposite sofa sketching the pattern of their glowing rings. Draco stood by the balcony doors, watching the rain. He turned suddenly, his expression softer than usual.
“When I feel your happiness,” he said quietly, “it’s like sunlight after a storm. It’s… steadying.”
Hermione looked down quickly, overwhelmed by the tenderness that wasn’t entirely hers—Draco’s pride and Theo’s warmth bleeding through the link until her chest ached with it.
By evening the storm had cleared. The three of them ate dinner on the terrace—grilled fish, mango wine, lanterns swinging overhead. Conversation drifted easily from teasing stories of Hogwarts to plans for their future work. Every now and then one of them would pause, startled by an emotion that wasn’t theirs. They no longer had to ask “what’s wrong?” outloud; the answer passed silently among them in an array of interpretable emotions.
“It feels,” Hermione said, “like we’ve built a house out of light. Wherever we go, it’s still there.”
Theo reached across the table, brushing her hand. “Then let’s keep the lamps burning.”
Draco raised his glass.
“To balance. To patience. To finding our harmony. And to finally understanding what magic means when it isn’t about power.”
They drank deeply, the sea dark beyond the vila’s glow, their bond a quiet hum under their skin.
Later, they walked along the moonlit beach. Bioluminescent algae shimmered with each step, tracing glowing footprints that faded into the surf.
Without speaking, they stopped where the tide reached their ankles. The glow on their rings brightened, answering the blue fire in the waves.
Hermione felt a surge of affection—her own, and theirs returning to her threefold. It wasn’t passion alone; it was trust, the fragile, glowing heart of what they had become.
“Whatever happens,” she whispered, “we hold each other steady.”
Theo nodded, sliding his hand into hers. “Always.”
Draco’s voice was barely more than breath.
“The bond is sealed in more ways than magic could name. I think we still have a lot to discover about what triad magic means”
The ocean sighed around them, and their joined hands glimmered faintly like stars reflected in water.
Notes:
More honeymoon magic coming up!
Chapter 99: Another Day in Paradise
Notes:
Going to have a few more honeymoon chapters before they go back to reality. These moments together are all helping the bond build.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They woke the next day in a naked tangle of limbs and sheets.
Hermione was sandwiched between her husbands—Draco spooned against her back, his arm draped possessively over her waist, his cock semi-hard and throbbing warmly against the crack of her ass, the veined shaft leaving a sticky trail of pre-cum on her skin. Theo was facing her, his muscular leg hooked over hers, hand cupping her full breast with fingers idly tweaking the nipple, his length, with the piercing glinting—soft but heavy, pressing into her thigh, balls hanging loose and tickling her skin with their soft hair.
The triad bond pulsed vividly on their fingers, letting each feel the others' emotions acutely as the awoken: Hermione's residual soreness a dull mostly gone echo of their first encounter laced with calmness; Draco's smug contentment a warm glow of satisfaction; Theo's affectionate drowsiness a soothing haze of love laced with stirring lust.
Their tattooed rings glowed faintly at first, the golden light intensifying with every subtle shift of sweat-slicked bodies, marking their unbreakable magical union, the runes pulsing brighter as arousal flickered through the bond as they caressed each other as they awakened.
Tired from the late night, they snuggled deeper into the sheets. Hermione sighed, nuzzling Theo's chest, inhaling his earthy warmth mixed with sea mist and the faint, salty tang of his skin.
"My husbands," she murmured sleepily, the bond conveying her tender ache but rising desire. Theo stirred, kissing her forehead hungrily, pulling her closer as he felt the longing for closeness wafting from her.
"Morning, love—We've got you, gonna make it feel so good."
Draco rumbled awake behind her, lips brushing her shoulder with a nip, his hand tracing soothing but possessive circles on her hip, fingers dipping teasingly toward her ass crack.
"Cuddle time first, wife—no rush, but Merlin, I can already feel your desire spilling through the bond."
Their touches turned intimate gradually, hands roaming with sleepy affection—Theo's fingers pinching her nipple harder, Draco's palm cupping her mound to feel the heat radiating from her folds—the rings glowing brighter as craving stirred through the bond like liquid fire: Hermione's heat building despite the minor soreness, a slick gush of arousal leaking from her puffy lips; Draco's hunger igniting, his cock hardening fully against her; Theo's lust affectionate and protective, his piercing tapping her thigh as he throbbed thick on her thigh.
Draco slid down the bed first, his mouth finding Theo's cock, which hardened quickly to full mast, veins bulging like ropes under taut skin, the apadravya barbell piercing glinting wickedly as Draco engulfed the fat, mushroom head with a deep, wet slurp.
His tongue swirling greedily around the slit to lap up the salty beads of pre-cum oozing out, cheeks hollowing obscenely as he bobbed slowly, the extreme girth stretching his lips to their limit in a shiny ring of spit, saliva drooling in thick, the metallic tang of the piercing scraping his tongue with every deep-throat choke.
"Fuck, Draco—suck that fat cock deeper, tongue my piercing just like that…”
Theo groaned, hips bucking to fuck further into Draco's throat, gagging him with groans of pleasure, but he shifted to Hermione, wrenching her thighs apart roughly, his tongue plunging into her heat with broad, hot laps over her swollen clit, , tasting her musky sweetness as he tongue-fucked her entrance shallowly to avoid the raw ache of yesterday.
"I love you—your pussy's dripping for us so sexily.”
Hermione moaned gutturally, her back arching as Theo's tongue swirled her clit with precise, suctioning flicks, the wet schlurping sounds echoing vulgarly with Draco's throat-fucking slurps on Theo's dick.
The bond was amplifying Theo's Draco induced bliss like electric vibrations pulsing in her chest. Theo came first with a roar muffled into her folds, thick ropes of hot, creamy cum erupting in heavy spurts down Draco's throat, balls contracting visibly as Draco swallowed greedily, excess semen bubbling from the corners of his stretched lips.
Hermione shattered seconds later, her orgasm ripping through her like wild fire, inner walls spasming violently in brutal, milking contractions around nothing, a forceful gush of squirt spraying Theo's face running down,soaking the sheets as pleasure exploded through the bond in shared ecstasy at her intense detonation.
Draco rose, his cock throbbing—veins ridged—kissing Hermione deeply so she tasted Theo's bitter, salty cum coating his tongue.
"Ready for round two, Granger?”
She nodded eagerly through the bond's shared arousal, her entrance fluttering in anticipation. He summoned lube with a flick, slathering his length generously—the slick gel cool at first, warming to a slippery heat as he stroked the shaft, veins glistening obscenely—positioning between her spread thighs, the fat tip nudging her entrance.
He eased in slowly, the bulbous head breaching her rim with a lewd pop, her walls clamping down like a scorching, unyielding fist—still tender and brutally resistant from only her second time, the stretch a sharp, uncomfortable but sensual burn that seared her raw tissues, making her wince and gasp sharply, but nod for him to continue.
"Gods, so fucking tight—your sore cunt strangling my cockhead," Draco groaned gently in pace at first, rocking shallowly with micro-thrusts, holding still to let her adjust, the discomfort echoing through the bond,but her arousal slickening the invasion with fresh gushes of yearning.
Theo propped beside her, kissing her deeply— hands lavishing her breasts, fingers pinching and twisting her nipples to aching, rosy peaks.
"I love you so much—take him slow, feel that thick cock splitting your tight hole? You're perfect, relaxing those raw walls for us, letting him force deeper into your depths. Breathe, love—you're doing amazing. Enjoy him.”
Draco thrust deeper inch by agonizing inch—pausing at half-length as her body rebelled, the fullness stretching her tender tissues, a visible bulge forming low in her belly from the intrusion, but laced with growing pleasure as her G-spot was stimulated under the pressure, her whimpers mixing with breathy moans.
"Fuck, Granger—halfway buried in this scorching pussy, and your already full? Take more!"
As she yielded slightly, hips tilting up instinctively, Draco's pace quickened minutely to shallow pumps, his dirty talk escalating to feral snarls: "That's it, tight little wife— look at that obscene bulge distorting your belly from my cock wrecking your insides. Gonna pound you till you can’t take any more."
Theo whispered feverish encouragements amid nipple flicking, "So beautiful taking his full length, love— feel how good his filling you?”. Her pleasure rose and rose with the feeling of Draco’s powerful deep thrusts, his shaft holding her walls apart with deep fullness, and Theo’s words wrecking her brain.
Just before climax, Theo murmured the contraception charm—a warm, tingling glow blooming over her abdomen, sealing off her womb.
Hermione came hard with a scream, her walls convulsing in brutal, rhythmic waves around Draco's full 8.5 inches, the vice-like clench yanking his orgasm from himwith a throaty roar, thick ropes of scorching cum erupting deep inside her in powerful jets, painting her cervix and overflowing in creamy backflow that squeezed out around his buried shaft with each new pulse.
They collapsed in the afterglow, cuddling amid the throbbing glow of rings and the bond's shared, euphoric haze, whispering breathless words of appreciation as the waves crashed outside, bodies slick with sweat, cum, and utter satisfaction. There breathing beocmign one as they drifted back to sleep.
Hermione stirredagain, stretching languidly under the sheer canopy. She turned her head — Theo was asleep on his stomach, hair mussed, one arm draped carelessly over the edge of the bed. Draco was awake already, leaning on one elbow, reading quietly by the light spilling through the gauzy curtains.
“You read before breakfast?” Hermione teased, voice still husky with sleep.
“Unlike some people, I didn’t exhaust from a single session,” he replied with a smirk.
Theo groaned into the pillow. “If you two start flirting and get us going again before I’ve had coffee, I’m going back to bed in the guest room.”
They all laughed — easy, unforced laughter that filled the room like music. Draco set his book aside and rolled out of bed.
“Fine, coffee first. Then, Miss Malfoy-Granger-Nott, we’re going for a swim.”
“Bossy,” she muttered, smiling.
“Slytherin,” he said with a half-bow.
By the time the sun was high in the blue sky, they were waist-deep in the private lagoon, the water so clear they could see their toes. Bubble-Head Charms shimmered faintly over their faces, their laughter bubbling through the enchanted barrier as they dove below.
Theo pointed excitedly at a passing sea serpent the size of a tree trunk — gentle and slow, its scales rippling in waves of blue light. Draco’s eyes widened; even through the charm, Hermione could hear his faint, reverent, “Merlin’s beard.”
When they surfaced, laughing and breathless, Theo brushed water from her cheek.
“You realize,” he said, “that if you’d told me a year ago we’d be snorkeling with sea serpents on our honeymoon, I’d have had you tested for a confundus Charm.”
“And yet here we are,” she replied, eyes bright.
Draco swam closer. “Still think the Ministry pairing us was a mistake?”
“Oh, I know it was,” Hermione said with a grin.
“But it might just be quickly becoming my favorite mistake.”
He laughed — the real kind, unguarded and sunlit — and they all felt his happiness light through the bond.
They set up lunch on the beach: charmed plates of grilled tuna fish, mango slices, passionfruit, and chilled butterbeer. The sun was warm but not harsh, the waves curling lazily along the shore.
Theo leaned back on his elbows. “I think we’ve officially achieved perfection,” he declared. “Sun, food, and no reporters.”
Hermione plucked a piece of pineapple from the platter and held it out toward Draco.
“You’re quiet and I can’t tell what that impression is in the bond,” she said.
He raised a brow. “I was appreciating the view.”
Theo snorted. “The ocean?”
Draco’s mouth tilted in a half-smile. “Among other things.”
Hermione laughed, flustered, and tossed a mango slice at him, which he caught easily and bit into.
“Merlin, you two,” Theo said. “You’re impossible.”
“We learned from the best,” Draco shot back.
“Meaning me?”
“Obviously.”
The teasing stretched into easy warmth, full of stolen looks and quiet touches. At one point, Hermione leaned over to wipe juice from Draco’s lip, and his gaze lingered on hers longer than necessary.
Theo noticed — and smiled, faintly amused but tender, like he was watching the rhythm of something precious unfold.
They spent the day lounging on the pool deck, reading aloud to one another, and with more lazy dips into the sea when they felt too hot. The bond was overflowing with giddiness.
When the sun sank behind the palms at the end of day, the house-elves had arranged dinner on the terrace — lanterns flickering in glass globes, the air rich with jasmine and roasted coconut.
They dined barefoot, wineglasses catching the starlight. Hermione’s laughter was softer now, the kind that came after a perfect day. Theo leaned close, chin on his hand.
“You’re glowing,” he murmured.
“That’s the sunset.”
“No,” Draco said quietly. “It’s not.”
For a while, no one spoke. The night air was warm, the ocean whispering just beyond the sand. Their rings glimmered faintly, the triad bond humming with a low pulse — comfort, affection, and a little electric thrill beneath it all.
Hermione exhaled, smiling.
“I think… this might be the happiest I’ve ever been since the war started.”
Theo reached for her hand.
“Good. Because this — us — it’s only the beginning of what we’re going to achieve together, I jst know it.”
“That sounds like a promise,” she teased.
“It is,” Draco said simply.
They watched the waves until the lanterns burned low, the air thick with the quiet joy of people who no longer needed words to feel connected.
Notes:
Let me know what you want to see happen or them do on the honeymoon.
Chapter 100: Days of Bliss
Chapter Text
Hermione woke to the smell of cinnamon and sea salt. The villa was bright with morning. Outside, the waves whispered, rhythmic and calm.
Theo was leaning against the kitchen counter, pouring coffee, hair still damp from his shower. Draco was bent over a parchment map, brow furrowed, looking more like an explorer than an aristocrat.
“What are you plotting?” Hermione asked, padding in barefoot.
“An adventure,” Draco said smoothly. “There’s an ancient magical temple a few miles inland. The elves said the path is safe — mostly.”
“Mostly?” Theo echoed, raising an eyebrow.
“Meaning,” Draco replied, smirking, “that it requires bravery and a sense of humor. Which, given our collective Gryffindor and Slytherin tendencies, we’ll manage.”
Hermione laughed into her coffee mug. Bravery and a sense of proud humor — that did sound like their trio.
They followed a narrow trail that wound through a forest thick with palms and banyan trees. Magic shimmered in the air; flowers opened when they passed, their petals glowing faintly.
Hermione felt the bond humming like a low chord — warm, connected. Whenever she stumbled on a root, Draco’s hand steadied her before she could fall. She didn’t even need to look to know it wold be there; she could feel his concern flicker down the link before e reached her.
Theo walked a few steps ahead, whistling a tune she didn’t recognize, radiating such lighthearted joy that both of them felt it echo inside.
“Stop humming happiness into the bond,” Draco called lightly. “You’re making us both sentimental.”
“It’s my new favorite skill,” Theo shot back. “You should try it.”
“I’ll stick to cynicism. It suits me.”
But Hermione caught the small smile tugging at Draco’s mouth, and her heart warmed.
The forest opened into a clearing, and before them towered a waterfall — ribbons of silver spilling into a turquoise pool. A carved stone arch marked the entrance to an old shrine, overgrown with vines and faint runes.
The air shimmered with soft enchantment.
“It’s beautiful,” Hermione whispered.
“You should see what it looks like through your own reflection,” Draco said, gesturing to the pool.
When she knelt beside it, ripples shaped themselves into patterns of light — and she saw the three of them together, their joined hands glowing where the rings rested. It was fleeting but unmistakable: the bond visible as a halo of shared magic.
Theo crouched beside her, voice quiet.
“Guess that confirms it — we’re literally glowing together.”
Draco chuckled under his breath.
“Romantic and slightly terrifying. I approve.”
They waded into the water to cool off, splashing each other like children. Hermione shrieked when Theo sent a jet of cold water her way; she retaliated with a charm that drenched them both in glittering mist. Draco tried to remain aloof and failed spectacularly when she hit him square in the chest with a charm-propelled wave.
“You’re going to regret that,” he warned, smirking — and then promptly slipped in the shallows.
Theo laughed so hard he snorted, and Hermione’s laughter joined his until even Draco couldn’t stop himself. It was sunlight and salt and pure joy.
They dried off on a flat rock warmed by the sun. The ocean breeze rustled through the palms, and for a while they sat in comfortable silence.
Theo stretched out, folding his arms behind his head.
“You know,” he said lazily, “I used to think I didn’t need anyone. Then you two happened.”
Hermione smiled softly. “That sounds suspiciously sentimental, Healer Nott.”
“It’s the heat,” he replied. “Makes me say mushy things.”
Draco looked at him, something gentler in his eyes.
“Keep saying them anyway. They don’t sound so bad.”
Hermione felt it ripple through the bond — affection, amusement, and a deepening warmth. The feeling lingered, like the air right before a storm that never comes.
They reached a cliff overlooking the sea as the sun began to set. The temple’s magic pulsed through the air like a heartbeat. They sat together on the edge, legs dangling over the rocks, watching the sky bleed into orange and violet.
Draco turned his hand palm up, tracing the faintly glowing band on his finger.
“I used to think bonds like this were cages,” he admitted quietly.
“Now I think they’re constellations — separate stars, linked so none of them ever get lost.”
Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder. “That’s beautiful,” se murmured.
Theo nodded.
“He’s getting poetic. Quick, someone write it down before he denies saying it.”
“I’ll deny nothing,” Draco replied with surprising sincerity.
“Not anymore.”
The three of them sat in silence, the bond humming gently — pride, affection, belonging. The sunset painted their faces in gold and rose, and the sea below caught the colors like spilled fire.
By the time they got back, the sky was thick with stars. The house-elves had prepared dinner on the terrace again — curry fragrant with lemongrass and coconut milk, fresh papaya juice, little pastries dusted with powdered sugar.
They ate barefoot in front of a beach bonfire, still sandy and tired, laughter coming easily between them. When Hermione leaned back in her chair, eyes closed in contentment, she felt both their emotions ripple through the bond — Theo’s peace, Draco’s quiet pride.
“You’re both terrible influences,” she said lazily.
“Only because you let us be,” Draco murmured, his smile soft.
“And because you like it,” Theo added.
She laughed, warmth flooding her chest — her own, and theirs returning to her threefold.
When the ambers in the fire burned low, they walked down to the beach once more back to their vila..
They burst into the master suite with shared giggles and playful gropes, the door slamming shut with a resonant thud that vibrated through the humid air like a heartbeat, moonlight flooding through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls in a silvery cascade that bathed the room in ethereal luminescence, illuminating the infinity pool outside that shimmered like liquid stars under the night sky/
The tropical humidity was thick and clinging like a second skin, scented with jasmine incense burning lowly on the terrace and the ever-present sea mist that beaded on their sun-kissed arms and necks like sweat-kissed dew, making clothes—light sundresses, shirts, and shorts shed in a frantic trail from the bonfire through the terrace—stick damply before hitting the teak floor with soft, muffled thuds, sandy footprints marking their path across the polished wood like temporary tattoos.
Theo, feeling the buzz most keenly through the bond as a lightheaded haze that made his skin tingle with heightened sensitivity, flopped flat onto the king-sized bed with a contented sigh, the mattress dipping under his weight with a soft creak of springs, silk sheets rustling like secrets as he sprawled naked—they'd shed their clothes on the terrace, leaving a trail of discarded shirts and shorts in the sand.
His lean body stretched out in full display, muscles rippling slightly under tanned skin from the day's sun, his cock already semi-hard against his thigh—the extreme girth evident even in this state, thick as her wrist with subtly raised veins like ropes under taut skin, the apadravya barbell piercing—glinting coldly in the lantern light, a bead of pre-cum already forming at the slit like a pearl of filthy promise.
"Come here, my love—straddle my face and let me taste how much you love me, while you wrap that pretty mouth around my cock," he murmured, voice husky with affection and desire, eyes soft with love as the bond surged his tenderness like a warm wave through them all, pulling Hermione onto the bed with a gentle grip on her wrist, the cool silk sheets contrasting her fevered skin, crushed orchid petals bursting a heady floral perfume that mingled with the rising musk of arousal filling the room.
Hermione crawled over him with a tipsy giggle that quickly turned to a needy whimper, her knees bracketing his chest as she lowered her dripping pussy to his face, the scorching heat of her core radiating against his breath like a furnace, her arousal glistening obscenely on her puffy, swollen lips in shiny trails that caught the lantern light, the tangy, musky scent flooding his nostrils like an intoxicating drug, making his mouth water with hunger.
The bond let him feel her dripping excitement like a slick pulse in his own veins, her faint nervousness a delicious twinge that fueled his dominance, the golden light of their rings intensifying as her emotions surged through them.
Draco loomed at the bed's end, his veined beast hardening to steel with a visible twitch, curving wickedly upward, head purple and leaking thick pre-cum.
"Gods, you beautiful pair—wife, grind that sweet, leaking pussy on his tongue while you love his pierced cock with that perfect mouth of yours," Draco murmured, voice a gravelly caress, the bond letting him feel their building heat like fire in his groin, rings intensifying to a bright golden shine.
She leaned down lovingly, lips parting to envelop Theo's extreme girth—the flared head filling her mouth instantly, her jaw aching as the cold apadravya barbell brushed her teeth and the soft flesh of her inner cheeks with metallic friction, the bulging veins pulsing hot and salty against her tongue like living ropes throbbing with life, pre-cum seeping in bitter, creamy drops that she savored, the thick fluid coating her mouth as she sucked gently, drool beginning to trickle in thin ropes from her lips down the veined shaft, pooling on his heavy balls.
"Mmm, Theo, I love how you taste, so thick and mine," she murmured around him, the bond exploding her loving bliss like fireworks through them all, bobbing with tender slurps that filled the room with soft, wet sounds, saliva slowly building as the girth challenged her jaw.
Theo sighed in pleasure, his hands guiding her hips down to his face, tongue sliding deep with gentle thrusts that made soft, wet noises, lapping her clit with broad, hot strokes that sent warm shocks through her core, stubble tickling her inner thighs softly, her lingering soreness a faint ache but drowned in slow floods of slick that coated his chin.
"I love you so much—your pussy's so sweet, love, let me taste every drop while you love my cock with that perfect mouth."
Draco watched with affectionate hunger, then said softly impatiently interrupted, "Hands and knees, my love—ass up for me while you cherish Theo's cock with that beautiful mouth of yours."
Hermione shifted into position on all fours over Theo, ass raised toward Draco, cheeks parted by his gentle grip, her slick pussy exposed and glistening in the lantern light, arousal trickling to the sheets, the soft sounds of her sucking Theo echoing sweetly.
"Look at this beautiful pussy—so ready, dripping for my fingers—let me prepare you gently."
One finger slid in smoothly, walls clenching for more, curling to stroke her G-spot tenderly.
"So warm and tight—feel how you welcome me, Hermione."
Second joined, the stretch a soft hum, thrusting slowly, his free hand caressing her ass.
"Taking two so beautifully—your pussy's perfect, yielding for me."
Third added after gentle scissoring, resistance noticeable as her channel tightened, the fit a bit more snug but eased by desire, her whimpers soft around Theo's cock as the fullness built to pleasure.
"Taking three so well, sweetheart—your tight pussy loving the stretch, isn’t it?"
Once ready, Draco aligned his cock, rubbing the head against her entrance lovingly.
"Ready for me? I'll go slow, stretch you with care, let you feel every inch of me stretch you out so good."
He entered slowly, head slipping past her rim with a wet noises, walls clenching tenderly around him.
"So tight, love—your pussy embracing me."
He thrust slowly at first, words sweet and building: "Feel how I fill you? I adore you—taking me so well."
Pace picked up, talk turning passionate: "Gods, your tight pussy clenching my cock, so hot and perfect. Feel me sliding deeper, enjoying every inch of you?"
Hermione moaned around Theo's girth, the vibration making him sigh blissfully, his tongue lapping her clit gently.
Theo encouraged lovingly: "I love you—suck me deeper, love, while Draco loves your pussy with his cock. You're so beautiful, taking us both like this."
Draco's thrusts quickened, talk intensifying: "Take my cock, Granger—feel it enjoying your depths, stretching you so deep?"
He pounded harder, deeper, angle shifting—head bumping her cervix with a sharp thud, pain shooting through her core, bond flaring it to all, Draco freezing with horror.
"Gods—I'm so sorry, sweetheart, I hit your cervix too hard, didn't mean to hurt you," he apologized, voice full of concern as he pulled back gently, the sudden emptiness making her whimper, but he played with her clit tenderly, fingers circling to reignite pleasure.
"Breathe, my heart—I'm sorry, let me make it better."
Theo kissed her, "I love you—relax, love, feel Draco's touch healing you."
Moans returned in moments, Draco resumed gently, keeping the last inch out, thrusting with care: "That's my good wife—take me deep but safe, your pussy so perfect for me."
The bedroom was obscene. The wet sounds of Hermione's mouth on Theo's girth, slurping and gagging as she took more, her jaw aching, saliva dripping in strings, the piercing bumping her tongue; Draco's thrusts building from gentle rocks to steady pounds, his cock dragging her walls with veined friction, the sounds of arousal loud.
Draco's talk got more intense: "Fuck, Granger—your tight pussy clenching my cock like a desperate void, burning around every inch. Feel me pounding deeper, veined shaft dragging your raw walls? Take it, Granger—let me fuck this hole harder, stretch you wide for my cum."
Hermione groaned around Theo, vibrations making him buck, "Suck harder, love—I love you, feel that piercing on your tongue?"
Draco shifted angle slightly grinding her g-spot with every thrust, playing with her clit to soothe her longing. He cast a quick contraceptive charm, before picking up the pace, shoving into her harder but steadily.
They came individually—Hermione first, walls spasming in waves around Draco, a gush soaking his balls; Theo second, spilling hot ropes down her throat as she attempted to swallow, most of it choking her and running down her face; Draco last, flooding her with thick cum with a long groan.
In afterglow, they cuddled, whispering words of affirmation.
Notes:
Only a couple days left of their honeymoon.
What do you think will happen when they get back to the real world?
Chapter 101: The Sailboat
Chapter Text
The sun rose lazy over Bali mid-week, its reflection rippling across the lagoon like liquid gold. The trio breakfasted on the veranda in their sleep-rumpled clothes—pancakes with banana syrup, a carafe of coffee, and a shared, contented silence.
Theo sat barefoot on the railing, reading a crossword puzzle. Draco looked far off toward the horizon, the light turning his hair to molten silver. Hermione watched them both and smiled. The bond hummed, faint but constant—a small tug beneath her skin, like the tide drawing gently home.
“You can feel it too all the time, can’t you?” she asked quietly.
Theo lowered the paper. “The bond? Always. It’s like a heartbeat under everything.”
Draco nodded. “Not intrusive—just there. Warm.”
Hermione exhaled, tracing the faint band on her finger. “It’s… comforting. But a little overwhelming too. I’ve never belonged to something that big before.”
Later, the three of them sprawled on the wide hammock strung between palm trees. The air shimmered with heat; somewhere a lizard clicked lazily in the sun.
Theo, eyes closed, said, “So if the bond reflects emotions, does that mean you two can tell when I’m thinking inappropriate things?”
Hermione laughed. “Not thoughts—just feelings.”
Draco smirked. “So yes, essentially.”
Theo cracked an eye open. “Terrifying.”
They all laughed again, but the humor softened into quiet. Draco’s fingers found Hermione’s hand, brushing the ring there.
“It’s strange,” he said. “We used to talk about bonds at school as if they were chains. And yet now… I’d miss it if it vanished.”
“Because it’s ours,” she said.
“Because it feels like home,” Theo added.
The wind carried the scent of sea salt and frangipani. Hermione felt the words settle deep in her chest.
After lunch they walked the beach, the sand hot beneath their feet. The waves murmured softly, drawing them into a slower rhythm.
It was Draco who broke the easy silence. “What happens next, when we go back? After the honeymoon?”
Hermione looked out to sea. “I suppose… we keep living. Classes, rotations, the manor. Learning each other.”
“And long term?” Theo asked gently.
She hesitated. “I don’t know yet. I’ve always imagined I’d do something for magical law reform, maybe teach one day, maybe run for Minister eventually. I want us to travel more too. I still want that.”
Draco nodded. “You should. You’re brilliant at it.”
“What about you two?” she asked.
“Finish my Healer training, maybe specialize in spell damage,” Theo said. “And keep making sure you both eat properly.”
“Run my family businesses better than my father did,” Draco said, smiling wryly. “And keep this… us… steady.”
The bond flickered between them—pride, affection, a shared sense of direction none of them could have found alone.
They dined outside again, the sky bruised purple and gold. After the plates were cleared and only the sound of the surf remained, Hermione took a slow breath.
“We should talk about something practical,” she said. “Children.”
Draco went very still; Theo’s brow furrowed slightly, not in worry but thought.
“I do want them, someday,” Hermione continued.
“Always have. But not yet. I’m barely an adult it feels like. I’d like to wait—maybe at least until the end of whatever ridiculous deadline the Ministry set.”
Draco exhaled, a low sound of agreement.
“Then we’ll wait. There’s a potion—pure-blood families use it when conception must be certain for an heir. Especially if it’s going to be a one time try when the bride and groom don’t like the arrangement. You take it once, it guarantees success. We could… do that, when the time comes so we can wait till the very last minute of the deadline if you want.”
Theo gave a soft laugh. “Trust the pure-bloods to invent something equal parts practical and terrifying.”
Draco’s tone turned quieter, rough around the edges.
“It’s not just practicality. I do want children, someday. I—”
He paused, looking toward the sea.
“When Astoria died, and the baby with her… I thought it was punishment. For being me. For what I’d done. I told myself I didn’t deserve to try again.”
Hermione reached across the table, fingers brushing his. “That wasn’t punishment. It was tragedy.”
He swallowed hard. “Maybe. But I’d like a second chance. To be the kind of father my own never was. To show that Malfoys can protect, not just possess.”
Theo watched him, quiet sympathy in his eyes.
“You’d be good at it, mate. Fierce and insufferably organized, but good.”
They laughed softly.
“And you?” Hermione asked. “What do you think, Theo?”
“Honestly?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve never pictured myself with children. Didn’t think I’d have a wife, let alone two partners. And it’s not something I would have wanted to do alone… raising kids.”
“Fair,” Draco muttered with a faint smile.
“But…” Theo continued, “I can imagine it now. Maybe not planning for them, but… loving them, once they’re here.”
Hermione’s throat tightened; the bond pulsed warm between them—Draco’s lingering grief, Theo’s cautious hope, her own tenderness weaving them together.
They moved to the beach afterward, a blanket spread on the sand. The sun hung high, full and soft. The sea whispered secrets no one needed to repeat.
Draco lay back with one arm behind his head.
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad the bond lets us feel each other’s hearts, not read each other’s minds. Merlin knows that would be chaos.”
Theo laughed. “You’d hate how often I think about food.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Or how often I think about research.”
Draco turned his head toward her. “Or how often I think about the two of you.”
The words lingered like heat in the air.
Theo reached out, linking their fingers in the space between them.
“Then don’t stop.”
The ocean hissed softly along the shore. Their rings glowed faintly again, light pulsing in rhythm—three lives beating in one steady pattern.
Hermione whispered, “Whatever happens next, we’ll choose it together, face it together.”
Draco murmured, “Together.”
Theo echoed, “Always.”
The waves rolled higher on the sand, carrying the enchanted sailboat to pick them up.
The boat gleamed like a charm-polished shell as it glided out from the cove. The air smelled of salt and citrus, the sea a sweep of turquoise glass. A lazy wind caught the sails and pushed them away from shore until the villa was no more than a white blur on the horizon.
Theo stood at the helm, his sleeves rolled up, laughing into the breeze. Hermione sat on the foredeck with her feet dangling over the edge, the spray kissing her ankles. Draco sprawled in the shade near her, half reading, half watching her hair whip around her face.
“We’re terrible sailors,” Theo called.
“Speak for yourself,” Draco replied, not looking up. “I’m navigating beautifully from here.”
“Reading isn’t navigating,” Hermione teased.
“You wound me,” he said, stretching lazily.
The bond between them hummed in the background — contentment, sunlight, the low warmth of affection looping through each of them like music.
They anchored in a small bay surrounded by cliffs lush with vines. The three of them ate a picnic of cold fruit and grilled prawns on the deck, passing plates and teasing each other.
Theo leaned over, holding out a wedge of mango.
“Taste this. It’s so sweet it’s indecent.”
Draco muttered, “If you two start a fruit war, I’m diving off the side.”
Theo smirked. “Please do. You could use the rinse and so could I.”
Theo did just that, cannonballing into the water and soaking them both. Hermione’s shriek echoed across the cove as she retaliated with a splash charm, laughter ringing until even Draco dove in after them.
After the swim, Hermione, Draco, and Theo lounged on the deck of their private sailboat, the vessel gently bobbing on the turquoise waters off Bali's coast, the rhythmic creak of the wood and the soft slap of waves against the hull a soothing backdrop to their lazy afternoon.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden-orange glow over the sea that shimmered like molten glass, the air thick with the salty brine of the ocean mixed with the faint, tropical sweetness of nearby island blooms carried on the warm breeze.
They'd chartered the boat for the whole day, the captain discreetly below deck, leaving them alone in their secluded paradise—the bond thrumming with shared contentment, Hermione's relaxed bliss a gentle wave in their chests, Draco's watchful intensity a steady hum, Theo's affectionate desire a tingling spark that made their tattooed rings glow faintly golden even in the daylight, the magic amplifying every brush of skin and lingering gaze.
The deck was scattered with plush cushions and a picnic spread of fresh fruits—juicy mango slices dripping sticky sweetness, papaya chunks bursting with tangy flavor—and chilled champagne that fizzed in their glasses, the bubbles tickling their tongues with crisp effervescence.
Hermione lay on her back between them, her bikini top untied and tossed aside, breasts exposed to the sun's warm caress, nipples pebbled from the occasional cool gust off the water, her skin glistening with sunscreen that smelled of coconut and vanilla.
Theo reclined on his side next to her, his lean, tanned body propped on one elbow, his free hand tracing idle patterns on her thigh, the touch light but charged, sending shivers through her despite the heat.
Draco sat at her feet, his silver eyes fixed on them with intent focus, feeling Theo's growing arousal through the bond like a slow-building fire in his own veins, his own cock stirring semi-hard under his swim trunks.
"You two look like a painting," Draco murmured, voice low and appreciative, sipping his champagne, the cool liquid sliding down his throat with a fizzy burn.
"Our wife, laid out like a goddess under the sun—gods, I could watch this all day."
Theo smiled, his stormy brown eyes darkening as he leaned in to kiss Hermione's shoulder, tasting the salt on her skin from the sea spray, the bond letting him feel her contented relaxation like a warm blanket wrapping his heart.
"She's our everything," he whispered, his hand sliding higher up her thigh, fingers brushing the edge of her bikini bottoms, the fabric damp from the pool earlier and her rising arousal.
"Hermione... love, you feel so good—your skin soft and warm, like silk under my fingers. I love you—can't stop touching you."
His touch turned more intimate, fingers slipping under the fabric to trace her outer lips gently, the slick heat there making his fingertips glide smoothly, the tangy scent of her arousal rising faintly in the open air, mixing with the sea brine.
Hermione sighed, her body arching slightly into his touch, the bond conveying her pleasure like a gentle ripple to them, the rings glowing brighter.
"Theo... that feels nice," she murmured, her voice breathy, eyes fluttering closed as the sun warmed her bare breasts, nipples tingling from the breeze.
Draco watched intently, his gaze fixed on Theo's hand disappearing under her bottoms, feeling the spark of her arousal through the bond like a hot flush in his core, his cock twitching harder.
Theo's fingers circled her entrance slowly, the pad of his index finger dipping just the tip in, feeling her tightness yield with a soft, wet give, her walls clenching lightly around the intrusion.
"So tight still, love," he whispered hotly, his breath against her ear sending shivers down her spine.
"But one day... gods, one day you'll be able to wrap this pretty pussy around my cock, take all my girth inside you. I can't wait to feel you like that—your walls stretching around me, hot and wet, clenching like you never want to let go. I'll be so gentle at first, love, inch by thick inch, until you're full of me."
He edged her deliberately, finger thrusting shallowly, avoiding deeper penetration to build the tension, her slick coating his digit in shiny layers, hr whimpers faint but audible over the waves.
Hermione moaned, her hips rocking subtly into his hand, the bond letting them feel her building frustration and pleasure like a coiling spring.
"Theo... that sounds amazing," she gasped, her cheeks flushing from the words and the tease, her arousal flooding more, the musky scent intensifying as a breeze carried it.
Draco leaned forward, his hand stroking her leg, feeling the rising heat through the bond like a fire in his belly. "
He's right, Granger—watching him edge that tight pussy... gods, you're dripping for it, keep teasing her, Theo, make her beg."
Theo obliged, adding a second finger but keeping thrusts shallow, curling just enough to graze her G-spot without full pressure, the stretch made her whimper, her walls pulsing around him, slick gushing with each withdrawal.
"Feel that, love? Two fingers teasing you, building you up... soon you'll take my whole girth, love, that piercing dragging your walls, filling you completely. I can't wait—your pussy wrapped around me, clenching like heaven."
The edging continued for long minutes—Theo's fingers thrusting in slow, shallow pumps, circling her clit with his thumb in feather-light touches that had her hips bucking for more, her moans filling the open deck, the sun warming her skin to a flush, sweat beading between her breasts and down her back, the sea breeze cooling it in tantalizing contrast.
"Theo—please, more," she begged, her body trembling, the bond conveying her desperate need like a tight coil in their cores.
Theo kissed her thigh, whispering, "I love you—come for me, love."
He finally thrust deeper, curling firmly on her G-spot while sucking her clit hard, the wet slurps loud, her orgasm crashing like a wave—walls spasming around his fingers, a gush soaking his hand, her cries echoing over the sea, pleasure flooding the bond in ecstatic waves that made Draco and Theo groan with shared bliss.
Draco watched the whole time, his cock hard and leaking, feeling every pulse of her release through the bond like his own, the rings glowing brightly.
"Beautiful, Granger—you're our everything."
They cuddled on the deck, the sun setting in a blaze of colors, the bond binding them.
After a while they drifted in the water together, floating on their backs under the sunlight. A pod of little silver dolphins circled them once, curious, before darting away.
Theo’s voice came lazily through the sound of the surf.
“You ever think about what we’ll tell people about… all this?”
Hermione turned her head toward him, droplets glinting in her curls.
“You mean about the bond?”
He nodded.
Draco floated closer.
“It’s one thing to tell people we’re happy. Another to admit we can feel each other.”
Hermione sighed softly. “I don’t want people turning it into gossip or research. It’s ours — not something to dissect.”
Theo agreed.
“Right now it feels too new to share. I’d rather live it before explaining it.”
Draco looked between them, sunlight cutting across his face.
“Then we keep it to ourselves. People already think they know our story — let them. We’ll keep the truth.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Just for us.”
The bond pulsed in response — quiet and sure — as if sealing the promise. It wasn’t about secrecy out of shame, but about preserving something sacred, something still unfolding.
By the time they sailed back toward the villa, the sky had gone lavender and rose. The sea around them glowed faintly with plankton, a galaxy of soft blue light under every ripple.
Hermione stood at the bow, hair loose, watching the fading horizon. She felt both of them behind her — Draco steady and warm at her left shoulder, Theo’s easy calm behind her. She didn’t need to look to know their emotions: the steady peace, the shared wonder, the contentment that hummed low and constant through their bond.
“You know,” Theo said softly, “if the whole world forgets what they think of us, I’d still remember today.”
“Good,” Draco replied. “Because I don’t intend to forget any of it.”
Hermione turned, smiling at both of them.
“Then let’s make sure there are more days like this.”
Draco reached for her hand, Theo covered them both, and under the deepening sunset their joined rings glowed faintly — a shimmer of gold and white light pulsing in time with the sea.
Notes:
Only a few days of honeymoon left, then back to the world.
Chapter 102: Shower Shenanigans
Chapter Text
Hermione, Draco, and Theo had spent the next morning exploring the villa's private cove, in crystal-clear waters teeming with colorful fish that darted like living jewels, the sun warming their backs as they floated hand-in-hand, the triad bond letting them share the wonder like a collective breath—Hermione's awe a sparkling joy in their hearts, Draco's relaxed contentment a steady calm, Theo's playful delight a bubbling laughter.
Now, in the outdoor rain shower washing of the salt and sand, Hermione let the warm water cascade over her, the stone enclosure providing privacy amid the lush greenery, ferns brushing her arms like soft fingers as she turned under the flow, the mineral-rich water tasting faintly of earth on her lips when she opened her mouth to it.
Draco slipped in quietly, his presence announced by the bond's surge of his affectionate remorse like a gentle tug in her chest, his bare feet silent on the teak slats wet with overflow.
"Hermione," he said softly, his voice blending with the water's patter, stepping under the spray in loose shorts that instantly darkened and clung to his thighs. His silver eyes were soft with regret as he pulled her close, the water pounding their joined bodies, his hands sliding up her wet back.
"I needed to see you alone. I'm so sorry for hitting your cervix before—it was careless, and it haunts me that I caused you any pain. You're my world, sweetheart; I never want to hurt you. Let me make it up to you, please—let me show you how cherished you are."
She turned in his arms, water streaming down her face, her brown eyes meeting his with forgiveness that flooded the bond like a soothing balm, easing his guilt.
"Draco, it's okay—I know you didn't mean it. But... yes, make it up to me," she whispered, her voice breathy, pulling him into a kiss that tasted of rain and salt, her hands fisting his wet hair. The bond let him feel her eagerness rising like a warm tide, her arousal stirring despite the faint soreness from before.
He cast the contraception charm with a murmured word, a soft blue glow enveloping her abdomen briefly, then turned to washing her body with reverent care—lathering the villa's hibiscus-scented soap into creamy foam that slid over her skin like silk, his palms gliding over her breasts in slow, worshipful circles, thumbs circling her nipples until they tightened into hard, rosy peaks that ached with sensitivity, sending electric tingles straight to her core, the water rinsing the suds in rivulets that tickled down her belly and between her thighs.
"Gods, you're stunning," he breathed, his voice husky as he knelt, soaping her legs, fingers tracing her inner thighs, brushing her outer lips gently, the touch igniting her need.
She grew eager, moaning softly, her hands in his hair urging him higher, the bond surging her arousal through him like velvet heat in his groin, his cock hardening fully against his shorts.
"Draco... please," she gasped, her body arching as his fingers dipped between her legs, parting her lips to find her clit, circling it with feather-light touches that made her thighs tremble, the water mixing with her growing slick in a warm, slippery glide.
He rose, stripping his shorts with a wet slap to the stone, his cock springing free—veined and curving, head flushed and leaking pre-cum that the water washed away in streams.
"Want me inside you, love? Let me fill you, make you feel good," he whispered, backing her against the stone wall, the rough texture cool and textured against her back, lifting one leg to hook around his hip, his free hand parting her folds, fingers sliding through her wetness with a slick glide.
"So wet for me already—your pussy dripping like it craves my cock. I'm going to fuck you so good, stretch you just right, make you scream my name without a hint of pain."
He aligned himself, rubbing the head against her entrance, the blunt tip nudging her clit before pressing in slowly, her walls yielding, the stretch a deep, delicious fullness without burn, her recent preparation and arousal making her slick and ready, clenching around him like velvet fire.
"Fuck, Hermione—your tight little cunt sucking me in, so hot and greedy. Feel that? My cock wedging deep, veined shaft dragging your walls, filling you up like you deserve."
She gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, the water pounding their joined bodies in hot sheets that made their skin slick and steaming, his average girth perfect for her, the curve hitting her G-spot with precision as he thrust slowly at first, each slide in and out a deliberate drag that made obscene wet sounds over the rain, building pleasure in coiling waves that had her moaning, her head falling back against the stone, water streaming down her face in rivulets that mixed with sweat.
His dirty talk poured out, voice rough with lust as he picked up pace: "Take it, you filthy goddess—your pussy's a perfect cock-sleeve, clenching my dick like it never wants to let go. Gods, look at you, spread against this wall, water streaming down your tits while I pound this sloppy hole. Gonna fuck you raw, make you cream on my shaft, flood you with cum till it leaks down your thighs."
Pace quickened to hard, passionate slams, hips snapping with wet smacks, her leg hooked high, the angle letting him grind deep without hitting her cervix, pleasure spiking sharp and sweet, her moans echoing off the rocks, the bond broadcasting her ecstasy like fireworks to Theo.
Theo felt it mid-chop—the sudden surge of her pleasure laced with Draco's lust hitting him like a bolt through the bond, his knife clattering as he bolted, heart pounding, racing to the shower. He burst in, water soaking him instantly, stripping his shorts with frantic hands, his girthy cock springing free, pierced and hard.
"Hermione—fuck, I felt that, you guys can’t do this to me when I’m holding knives" he groaned, stepping under the spray, immediately pulling her into a fierce kiss, tongues tangling hungrily as Draco's thrusts continued relentless, the slap of skin on skin loud under the water, her walls fluttering around Draco's cock in blissful spasms.
Theo's lips left hers only to claim Draco's in a heated clash, tongues battling with raw passion, teeth nipping, the taste of water and Hermione's lingering sweetness on both their mouths, hands roaming—Theo's fingers tangling in Draco's wet blond hair, pulling him closer, then back to Hermione for another deep kiss, sucking her lower lip, swallowing her moans.
"I love you both—feel that bond? Your pleasure's mine," Theo panted, kissing Hermione's neck, sucking marks into her wet skin, then Draco's shoulder, biting lightly, the three of them a tangled, kissing frenzy under the cascade, Draco's thrusts relentless, her body rocking between them, no pain, only overwhelming ecstasy that made her cry out into their mouths, nails raking Draco's back, hands clutching Theo's hair.
Her orgasm crashed first in shuddering waves, walls convulsing around Draco, gushing slick that mixed with the water; Draco followed, roaring as he flooded her with hot ropes of cum, pulsing deep; Theo stroked himself to completion against her thigh, spilling with a moan into their shared kiss, the bond exploding in unified bliss, water washing them clean as they held each other, laughing breathlessly in the steaming afterglow, kisses lingering soft and sweet.
Notes:
Going to be hard to leave this magical place.
Chapter 103: Castles of Sand
Notes:
This was my favorite thing to do at the beach growing up, so they needed a scene.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The tide was low when they came down to the beach. Draco had brought a parasol charm, Theo carried a pail and spade he’d conjured, and Hermione—hair twisted up and skin still glowing faintly from the day before—looked amused.
“You two realize we’re grown adults, yes?” she asked, watching Theo kneel in the sand.
“Grown adults need fortifications,” he replied, starting a moat.
Draco arched a brow. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly. A full castle, not some lump with a flag.”
Hermione sighed but knelt beside them anyway, her laughter carried off by the sea breeze.
Their sandcastle began as a joke, but before long it became an elaborate thing: towers with seashell crenellations, winding moats that filled with water each time the tide reached them. Theo kept reshaping the drawbridge charm every time Hermione “accidentally” collapsed it, and Draco used a transfiguration spell to make the sand look like pale stone.
“You’re both insufferable,” Hermione said fondly.
“You’re enjoying this,” Draco countered.
“Maybe a little,” she admitted.
The bond between them pulsed lightly—Theo’s humor, Draco’s focus, Hermione’s joy—twisting together in the warmth of the morning sun.
When their castle was finally complete, they sat back to admire it. Draco rested on his elbows, gaze fixed on the horizon.
“I haven’t done something this… simple in years,” he said quietly. “It’s odd. Feels a bit like getting part of childhood back.”
“That’s the point of holidays,” Hermione said softly. “You stop being who the world expects you to be and just… exist.”
Theo smiled, tossing a handful of sand into the air so it sparkled in the sunlight.
“It suits you, both of you—being more unguarded.”
They talked about growing up—Theo about Nott Manor’s lonely winters, Draco about the pressure of being an heir, Hermione about her muggle summers full of scraped knees and library books.
The more they spoke, the more the bond hummed with shared understanding, like threads weaving tighter.
Hermione leaned her head on Draco’s shoulder, and Theo’s fingers brushed her back absently, tracing idle circles in the sand. No one spoke for a while; they just listened to the waves.
It started with Theo’s grin.
“You’ve been staring at the surf all day, Granger,” he said, standing. “You want to swim. Admit it.”
“The water’s cold!” she protested.
“Liar,” Draco said, smirking. “It’s perfect, it has been since we got here. You just don’t want to get your hair wet!”
Before she could object further, they were both on their feet, tugging her up by the hands.
Her laughter broke into delighted shrieks as Theo swung her over his shoulder and waded into the shallows.
“Theo Nott, put me down right now!”
“As you wish,” he said—and dropped her straight into a wave.
Hermione surfaced sputtering, curls plastered to her face, laughter bubbling out anyway. Draco dove in after her, his splash sending water over both of them.
Soon they were all three caught in the waves, playful and unrestrained—splashing, ducking each other under, laughing until they ached.
At one point, Draco and Theo each took one of her hands, and they jumped together as the next wave rolled in, the sun flashing on their wet rings.
When the water calmed, they floated on their backs, breathless and laughing, the sky a wide endless blue above them.
“You know,” Hermione said between breaths, “I think this is the lightest I’ve felt since we got here. I’m not scared of us… just curcious where this goes.”
Theo smiled softly. “Then we’re doing something right.”
Draco murmured, “About time, too.”
The bond thrummed low and warm, full of laughter and salt air and belonging.
By the time they trudged back to the villa, they were sun-kissed and sandy, hair tousled, skin smelling faintly of the sea. The house-elves had left cool drinks and lunch under the veranda shade.
They ate lazily, toes buried in the sand, still teasing each other about who cheated during the “wave war.” Hermione threatened to hex them both; Draco offered her his last piece of grilled pineapple in apology.
After a while, Theo leaned back in his chair and said quietly, “We should talk about what to share when we go home.”
Hermione stilled. “You mean about the bond?”
“Yes,” Draco said. “The emotional part. The connection.”
“If we tell our friends everything, it’ll become everyone’s fascination,” Theo added. “They’ll want to study it. Ask how it feels every day., drive us batty.”
Hermione looked down at her glowing ring, the light faint in the afternoon sun.
“I don’t want this to become another public story. Not yet. It’s ours. Let’s explore it privately, see what it really means first.”
Draco nodded.
“Agreed. Let the world think we’re just happy newlyweds. The rest—stays between us.”
Theo smiled faintly. “Our secret language.”
Hermione reached across the table, taking both their hands.
“Just for now. Until we understand it ourselves.”
The bond pulsed once more—warm, certain, steady—as if sealing their decision.
As the sun fell low, they walked along the tide line again, the castle they’d built now half melted by the waves. Draco looked down at it and smiled.
“I like that it’s fading. Means we’ll have to build another one someday.”
“Good,” Hermione said, slipping her hand into his. “Then we’ll keep coming back.”
“Deal,” Theo said, taking her other hand.
The three of them stood in the surf, the sea washing over their feet, the sky painted orange and rose.
Hermione whispered, “Let’s not forget this, when things get hard again back home.”
“We won’t,” Draco said quietly.
Theo nodded. “Because this—right now—is what we’re fighting to keep.”
Their rings glowed faintly once more as the waves broke around them, the bond warm and alive beneath the sound of the sea.
Notes:
Almost time to head home.
Chapter 104: It's a Honeymoon After All
Chapter Text
The master suite in their luxury beach villa in Bali was awash in the soft, diffused light of morning sun filtering through the gauzy curtains, casting a warm, golden haze over the rumpled king-sized bed where Hermione, Draco, and Theo had slept in a tangled naked heap, the crisp white Egyptian cotton sheets twisted around their limbs like loving restraints, scented with the faint floral residue of crushed orchid petals from the night before.
The triad bond hummed gently within them, a magical tether letting each feel the others' emotions as acutely as their own: Hermione's contented languor like a slow, warm tide in their veins, Draco's possessive satisfaction a steady pulse of pride, Theo's affectionate warmth a soft glow in their chests, their tattooed rings glowing faintly golden even in sleep, intensifying with every subconscious shift or sigh.
Hermione stirred first, her body nestled between her husbands—Draco spooned behind her, his arm draped over her waist. Theo's eyes fluttered open, a lazy smile curving his lips as he felt her affection through the bond like a warm sunrise in his chest, his hand sliding up to cup her face.
"Morning, beautiful—slept like a dream with you in my arms," he murmured, kissing her forehead softly, the bond letting him sense her need like a faint burn in his own groin.
"How are you feeling, love? That ache... I feel it too. Come here—let me hold you closer."
He pulled her tighter, his body heat enveloping her, the golden glow of their rings intensifying as he nuzzled her neck, lips brushing her pulse point with feather-light kisses that sent shivers down her spine, his fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns on her back.
Draco woke behind her, his arm tightening around her waist, his breath hot against her ear as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "Mmm, morning, wife," he rumbled, his voice gravelly with sleep, shifting to spoon her more closely, his semi-hard cock pressing against her ass.
"You seem like you're not hurting anymore when we fuck," he said softly, his hand sliding down to gently cup her pussy, fingers tracing her outer lips with care, feeling the faint warmth there. The bond conveyed his concern like a protective shield in her heart.
She sighed contentedly, arching slightly into his touch, the faint soreness of fullness a pleasant reminder rather than pain.
"It's still tight, especially when you're first entering... but it's a good kind of pleasure now, with just the tiniest bit of pain that makes it even better," she whispered, her voice breathy, the bond letting them feel her honest contentment like a gentle wave washing away any worry.
Draco's eyes darkened with interest, his fingers dipping slightly inside her, feeling her wetness begin to gather.
"You think you'd like something more intense, Hermione? Tell me," he asked, his voice low and curious, the bond surging his eagerness through them like a spark.
Theo's interest piqued through the bond like a curious hum, his hand joining Draco's between her legs.
"Intrigued," he murmured, kissing her neck.
"What do you have in mind, Draco?"
Hermione encouraged him by reaching back, her hand wrapping around Draco's cock—hardening in her palm, the veined length pulsing as she stroked slowly, feeling the curve and the average girth that filled her so perfectly, pre-cum beading at the tip to slick her fingers.
"Show me," she breathed, her other hand sliding to Theo's cock, stroking his extreme girth—the apadravya piercing cool under her thumb as she rubbed it, veins bulging under her touch.
Draco groaned, positioning Theo on his back, then guiding Hermione to straddle Theo's face reverse, her pussy hovering over his mouth as she bent to take Theo's cock. But first, Draco knelt between Theo's legs, his mouth descending on Theo's girth—sucking the head with a wet slurp, tongue swirling the piercing, the metallic and salty taste filling his mouth as he bobbed, cheeks hollowing, saliva coating the shaft in shiny layers.
"Gods, Theo—your fat cock tastes so good," Draco murmured, hand stroking the base as Theo moaned. Theo's fingers dipped into Hermione, one at first, the wetness slipping as he curled it, "So wet for us, love—feel that?" He added two, the stretch gentle, thrusting slowly, her moans vibrating as she watched.
Once Theo came, spilling hot ropes down Draco's throat, Draco rose.
Draco positioned Hermione on hands and knees at the bed's edge, her ass raised high toward him, cheeks parted slightly by the arch of her back, her slick pussy glistening in the morning light filtering through the gauzy curtains, lips puffy and pink from Theo's fingers, arousal dripping in thin, viscous strings onto the rumpled sheets below, the musky scent rising sharp and intoxicating amid the jasmine air.
Theo lay back, spent but blissed, his girthy cock softening against his thigh, the apadravya piercing glinting with saliva and cum residue, his chest heaving as he watched with dark, intrigued eyes, the bond thrumming with Hermione's eager anticipation like a live wire in their veins, their rings glowing brighter golden.
"Cast the charm, Theo," Draco commanded huskily, gripping Hermione's hips, his cock—veined and curved, head flushed purple and leaking pre-cum—bobbing heavy as he rubbed it against her entrance in teasing circles, the blunt tip parting her folds with a wet nudge that made her whimper with hot need.
Theo murmured the contraception incantation, a soft blue glow enveloping her abdomen, the magic tingling warmly through her core like a promise of safety, his hand stroking her thigh encouragingly.
"All set, love—take him hard, you're ready," he breathed, voice rough with arousal, settling back to watch, the bond letting him feel every spark of her desire like echoes in his own body.
Draco thrust in with one hard, passionate slam, his cock wedging deep in a single move, forcefully, her walls clenching vise-tight around the invading girth, the stretch intense but pleasantly yielding with her slickness, the curve dragging her inner walls in a burning friction that bordered pleasure-pain but tipped firmly into ecstasy, no true hurt, just the delicious burn of fullness that made her cry out vocally, "Fuck, Draco—yes, so deep!"
He didn't hold back, pounding hard from the start, hips snapping with brutal rhythm, the wet slap of his balls against her clit echoing over the waves outside, each thrust bottoming out with veined shaft raking her G-spot relentlessly, her pussy lips stretching thin and white around his base, slick gushing with every withdrawal in creamy froth that coated his length and dripped down her thighs.
"Gods, Granger—you tight little wife, your cunt's gripping my cock, milking every veiny inch," Draco growled, dirty talk spilling filthy and relentless, voice gravelly with lust as he gripped her hips bruisingly, fingers digging into soft flesh leaving red marks, pulling her back onto him harder.
"Feel that? My dick battering your hole, stretching you wide to flood it with my hot cum till you're leaking for days, begging for more."
He slammed deeper, pace punishing, the bed creaking under them, her breasts swaying heavy with each jolt, nipples grazing the sheets, her moans vocal and unrestrained—"Harder, Draco, fuck me raw!"—the bond exploding her bliss to Theo, who groaned in shared ecstasy, stroking his reviving cock as he watched.
Theo encouraged from the side, voice husky, "Pound her, Draco—she's loving it, look at that ass bouncing, pussy creaming on your shaft. You're our perfect wife, love—take his cock like you were made for it."
Draco's thrusts grew more savage, hips pistoling with wet, obscene sounds, his curved length grinding her depths without mercy, balls slapping her clit in rhythmic smacks that built her toward edge, her walls fluttering wildly, vocal cries filling the room—"Yes, gods, right there, fill me!"—until she shattered, orgasm ripping through her in convulsing waves, pussy spasming vice-like around him, gushing slick that soaked his groin.
Draco roared, burying deep to unload thick, hot ropes of cum pulsing into her channel, excess bubbling out in frothy leaks; Theo came again watching and feeling thru the bond, spilling over his fist with a moan, the bond supernova-ing their shared release rebounding the pleasure back to them all in waves.
Notes:
They're leaving the next day.
Chapter 105: The Last Morning
Chapter Text
The last morning of their honeymoon dawned with a breathtaking palette of pinks and golds over the private cove, the sun rising from the horizon to paint the turquoise waves in shimmering hues, the air crisp yet warming with the promise of heat, carrying the fresh, salty tang of the sea mixed with the earthy scent of sun-warmed sand and distant frangipani blooms from the villa above.
The waves were soft that morning — quieter, somehow, as if even the sea knew it was their last day.
Hermione woke first, blinking against the light spilling through the open curtains. Draco and Theo were still asleep on either side of her, both half-tangled in the sheets, the sound of their breathing blending with the rhythmic hush of the tide.
For a long while, she didn’t move. She simply lay there, watching the curtain stir in the breeze, her heart full in a way that scared her a little.
She thought of what waited back home — her studies, Theo’s hospital shifts, the endless scrutiny of the Prophet, and the truth of their bond that no one yet knew. It all seemed impossibly far away here.
When Theo stirred beside her, she brushed his hair back from his eyes.
“Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
“Morning,” she whispered back.
“Don’t get up yet.”
Draco stretched lazily on her other side, opening one pale grey eye.
“Bossy, aren’t we, Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott?” he teased softly.
She smiled faintly. “You love it.”
“We both do,” Theo said, reaching to take her hand.
The bond hummed faintly between them — contentment, warmth, the quiet ache of knowing this was the end of something precious.
They ate under the veranda, sunlight turning the ocean to molten glass. The table was covered in tropical fruit, pastries, and steaming tea. None of them were particularly hungry — they kept lingering over their cups, stretching the meal out as long as possible.
“So,” Theo said finally, “real life resumes tomorrow.”
“Don’t remind me,” Hermione sighed.
“We can’t stay in paradise forever,” Draco said, though there was a wistful note in his voice.
Theo smirked. “We could try. I’m fairly certain the hospital can survive without me for another week.”
“And your school without its favorite prodigy?” Draco arched an eyebrow at Hermione.
“Please,” she said, laughing quietly. “Master would send a search party within the hour.”
The laughter faded into comfortable quiet.
Hermione glanced out at the surf and said softly, “This was the first time since the war that I… forgot everything. No ghosts. No fear. Just us.”
Draco’s gaze softened. “Then it’s done what it needed to.”
Theo reached over and squeezed her hand.
“We’ll make sure you never have to forget like that again. You’ll just live it.”
She smiled through sudden tears.
“That’s a promise I’ll hold you to.”
Later, inside the villa, the charm-lit air was filled with the faint hum of zippers and the rustle of folded linen. Hermione shrank her dresses and swimwear into her trunk with absentminded wand flicks.
Theo was organizing his own things methodically, every motion precise, while Draco stood by the wide window, staring at the sea.
“We’ll come back,” Theo said quietly, as if reading both their thoughts.
“To Bali?” Hermione asked.
“Maybe. Or somewhere new. As long as it’s just us.”
Draco nodded, but didn’t turn around.
“When we’re home, everything changes again,” he said finally.
“Press, obligations, expectations… sometimes I wish magic could freeze time.”
Hermione walked over, standing beside him.
“If it could, this would be the day I’d choose.”
Draco turned to her, eyes shadowed but soft. “Me too.
Hermione, Draco, and Theo had carried a plush beach blanket down to the secluded stretch of white sand, spreading it out under a swaying palm, the triad bond thrumming with bittersweet nostalgia and lingering desire like a golden undercurrent in their veins, their tattooed rings pulsing softly as emotions intertwine.
Hermione's tender longing a soft ache in their hearts, Draco's possessive fervor a smoldering fire, Theo's affectionate playfulness a sparkling effervescence. Waves lapped gently at the shore, foam hissing like whispers, the beach empty save for them, a perfect farewell to paradise.
They lounged naked on the blanket, skin kissed by the rising sun, Hermione between them as always, her body relaxed but alive with anticipation, breasts rising with each breath, nipples pebbling in the breeze.
Draco leaned in first, capturing her lips in a deep, passionate kiss, tongue exploring with slow, claiming strokes that tasted of shared mornings and unspoken promises, his hand cupping her breast, thumb circling the peak until she moaned into his mouth, the bond surging her arousal like a warm tide.
"One last time here, wife—our beach, our goodbye," he murmured against her lips, voice husky, casting the contraception charm with a flick of his wand, a soft blue glow enveloping her abdomen, the magic tingling reassuringly through her core.
Theo joined seamlessly, kissing her neck from the other side, lips trailing fire down her collarbone, sucking gently at her pulse point to draw a gasp, his hands roaming her thighs, parting them slightly to trace her inner skin with feather-light touches that made her shiver.
"We love you—let us worship you one more time here," he whispered, the three of them melding in a tangle of limbs and kisses, Draco's mouth claiming hers again while Theo lavished her breasts with open-mouthed kisses, tongue swirling one nipple then the other, teeth grazing just enough to spark pleasure without pain, hands kneading her flesh as Draco's fingers dipped between her legs, parting her folds to circle her clit in slick, teasing strokes, her wetness gathering quickly, coating his digits in shiny trails.
Hermione arched into them, vocal with need—"Gods, yes, touch me"—the bond amplifying every sensation, Draco's cock hardening against her thigh, veined and curving, Theo's girthy length pressing her hip, pierced and throbbing.
Draco positioned her on her back, settling between her legs, guiding his cock to her entrance with a slow, deliberate push, the head popping past her rim, walls clenching hot and welcoming around his girth, the stretch deep and fulfilling as he sank inch by inch, veined shaft dragging her inner walls in exquisite friction, bottoming out with a groan.
"Fuck, you're perfect—so tight, sucking me deep," he breathed, thrusting passionately, hips rolling in powerful, grinding strokes that hit her G-spot relentlessly, wet sounds of skin meeting skin mingling with the waves, her legs wrapping his waist.
Theo straddled her chest facing Draco, his massive girth hovering near her face—he guided her hands to stroke him, her fingers barely encircling the member, thumb rubbing the apadravya piercing as pre-cum beaded and slicked her palms, while he leaned forward to kiss Draco fiercely over her, tongues battling hungrily, then bent to suck her nipples in turn, teeth nipping, tongue lashing, his free hand pinching and rolling the other peak, heightening every thrust from Draco.
The trio moved in sync—Draco pounding deeper, pace building to fervent slams, cock pistoning with graphic wet slides, her pussy creaming around him in frothy rings; Theo's moans vibrating against her skin as she jerked him faster, his balls heavy and drawn tight; kisses exchanged in a frenzy.
Draco claiming her mouth mid-thrust, Theo nipping her lips, then Draco and Theo locking lips again, the bond exploding shared ecstasy.
"You're ours—feel me owning this pussy, stretching you full," Draco growled passionately, dirty talk laced with devotion.
"Gonna fill you with everything, make you come undone."
Hermione cried out vocally, "Yes, Draco—harder, Theo, your cock feels so good in my hands!"
Pleasure crested—her orgasm crashing first in shuddering waves, walls spasming vise-tight around Draco, gushing slick that soaked him; Draco followed quickly, bellowing as hot ropes flooded her depths, pulsing deep; Theo spilled over her breasts and stomach in thick arcs, groaning into a final three-way kiss. Breathless and sated, they collapsed in a sweaty embrace, whispers of worship mingling with laughter.
Afterward, hand-in-hand, they sprinted into the surf, waves crashing cool and invigorating around their naked forms, diving and splashing in joyful abandon, the water washing away the evidence of their passion, the bond thrumming with unbreakable unity as they prepared for the Portkey home, stealing one last kiss amid the waves before reality beckoned.
Notes:
And with that the honeymoon is over. Back to the real world.
What did you think of their honeymoon?
Chapter 106: Letters
Notes:
back home and look who is already harrassing them.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The familiar chill of early March England met them the instant the Portkey released them.
Snow still dusted the edges of the manor’s tall hedges; the air smelled of pine and hearth-smoke rather than salt and fruit.
Hermione clutched the strap of her bag tighter. “We left summer behind,” she murmured.
“And traded it for dreary romance,” Draco said dryly, pulling his cloak tighter around her shoulders anyway.
Theo smiled. “Home never looks quite right after paradise.”
They stood in the drive a moment longer, reluctant to step back inside.
Then, together, they crossed the threshold.
The entrance hall looked exactly as they had left it—except for the mountain of post waiting on the console table.
Dozens of owls had apparently delivered while they were gone, stacked by the elv es; several parchment corners were singed from impatient talons.
Hermione groaned. “We were gone a week, not a year.”
Theo flicked his wand, sorting the envelopes into neat hovering stacks.
“Let’s divide and conquer,” he said. “Friends’ letters, business, and—Merlin save us—anything bearing the Ministry seal.”
They carried the piles to the fire-lit sitting room. Pudding, their kitten, mewed a scolding welcome and curled immediately in Hermione’s lap.
-----
“You three looked disgustingly happy in every photograph from Bali.
Harry says he’s jealous of your tans; I’m jealous of the villa.
When you’re back, come for dinner—we want to hear everything (minus anything that would make my husband blush).
Love, G.”
----
Hermione laughed softly. “She always pretends not to pry and then pries anyway.”
“Dinner with the Potters,” Theo said, “that’ll keep the Prophet busy again if we do it in public.”
Draco only smirked. “Let them talk; they will anyway.”
---
“Darlings—
Paris misses its favorite triad.
The newest boutique is flourishing, Blaise is impossible, and I expect proper honeymoon gossip next time I see you.
P.S. The Ministry’s been noisy about new ‘Family Stability Audits.’ You may have mail… good luck.
— P.”
---
Hermione’s smile faded slightly. “That sounds ominous.”
Theo rubbed the back of his neck.
“Everything sounds ominous when it involves the Ministry.”
Draco poured wine.
“We’ll handle it when we open whatever wretched envelope they’ve sent.”
--
“We hope Bali gave you sunlight to store in your bones for the grey months ahead.
Our garden has frost fairies nesting again. Luna insists that’s a good omen.
We’d love you to visit before spring.
Yours affectionately, N. & L.”
--
Hermione touched the parchment, smiling.
“We really should go soon.”
Draco’s mouth softened.
“Yes. Before Luna decides we’ve offended the fairies.”
At last only one letter remained—a heavy cream parchment bearing the gold-embossed seal of the Department of Mysteries.
Hermione unfolded it carefully; all three leaned over the table as she read aloud.
Ministry of Magic — Department of Mysteries
Summons of Inquiry Regarding Triadic Bond No. 2173-A
To: Mrs Hermione Malfor-Ganger-Nott,
Mr Theodore Nott, Healer Apprentice,
and Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy.
Subject: Follow-Up Evaluation of Magical Bond Stability and Compliance.
In accordance with Article 6 of the Marriage-Restoration Act, all registered unions are required to undergo periodic review to ensure societal and magical equilibrium.
You are hereby requested to attend a meeting at T.R.U.T.H. — Triadic Research & Unified Thaumaturgic Harmony Division within the Department of Mysteries.
Date: 27 March at 10 o’clock a.m.
Location: Sub-Level Nine, Room 17B.
Purpose: Assessment of emotional resonance, magical integration, and projected offspring potential.
Please bring:
• Verification of residence;
• Latest medical and magical health evaluations;
• Statement of mutual consent regarding continued union.
Failure to attend will result in review by the Office of Magical Compliance.
Signed,
Ambrose Vane
Senior Unspeakable, T.R.U.T.H. Division
Silence followed the letter’s final line. Only the ticking clock and the soft crackle of the fire filled the room.
Theo exhaled first. “Offspring potential,” he muttered.
“They make us sound like breeding hippogriffs.”
Hermione folded the parchment with steady hands that trembled anyway.
“It’s only a check-in, right? We already met with them once.”
“Once before the wedding,” Draco reminded her.
“Now they want proof the magic’s stable.”
He sounded calm, but the bond vibrated faintly—his unease rippling through them both.
Theo reached across the table, covering Hermione’s hand.
“We’ll face it together. Like everything else.”
She nodded, though her throat felt tight.
“I hate that they can summon us like this. As if affection needs their consent.”
Draco’s gaze softened; he touched her wrist lightly.
“They can measure magic, Hermione, not meaning. The bond’s ours. Always will be.”
The warmth that moved through her then was deeper than the hearth fire—an echo of their connection thrumming back into steadiness.
Later, after dinner, the letters still lay in a neat pile on the mantle.
Outside, snow began again—soft, drifting flakes against the window glass.
Theo sat reading on the sofa, glasses low on his nose. Draco was by the fire, tuning the wireless to soft music. Hermione watched them both, heart caught between calm and ache.
“It already feels like Bali was a dream,” she said quietly.
“Then we’ll just have to dream again,” Theo answered without looking up.
“Preferably somewhere warmer,” Draco added, smirking faintly.
She smiled, moving between them, curling against Theo’s side while reaching for Draco’s hand.
For a few quiet minutes the world outside didn’t matter—the Ministry, the deadlines, the scrutiny.
Only the three of them, the faint glow of their bond, and the slow rhythm of the falling snow.
It felt like home.
Notes:
What do you think will happen at the TRUTH meeting?
Chapter 107: TRUTH in the Kitchen
Notes:
Calling them in the day after they get back.. the boys aren't pleased.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The kitchen of Nott Manor gleamed under the soft flicker of charmed floating lanterns in the very early morning hours, marble countertops veined in black and the rich, dark wood of antique cabinets that whispered of old money and Slytherin legacy. Pansy had said they were classic, and refused to update them when she redid the manor that summer.
The air was thick with the lingering aroma of freshly brewed espresso from the Muggle machine Draco had installed for them—a bitter, robust scent mingling with the faint vanilla of Hermione's favorite tea steeping in a pot on the stove.
It was the crack of dawn after their honeymoon, the manor silent save for the distant creak of settling beams and the soft hum of the bond between them.
The magical conduit between thempulsing with shared wakefulness and desire: Hermione's restless curiosity a sparkling tingle in their fingertips, Draco's smoldering intensity a heat low in their bellies, Theo's tender affection a gentle, enveloping warmth that made their tattooed rings glowing.
Hermione leaned against the island counter in a loose silk camisole that draped off one shoulder, exposing the curve of her breast, her nipples faintly visible through the thin fabric as she sipped her tea.
Theo approached first intrigued my her bond signals, his bare feet silent on the cool stone floor, wrapping his arms around her from behind with a loving nuzzle into her neck, lips pressing soft, adoring kisses to her skin.
"My beautiful love, can't sleep either?”, he murmured tenderly, voice a velvet caress full of devotion, hands sliding up her sides to cup her breasts gently, thumbs brushing her nipples with feather-light reverence that made them peak into hard, sensitive buds, the bond flooding him with her pleasure like sunlight in his chest.
"I adore you so deeply, let me worship you as you deserve, my sweet, precious love. Let’s forget about this morning’s appointment and relax."
Draco watched from the doorway undetected for the moment by them.
His pajama bottoms were low on his hips, his cock already half-hard and tenting the fabric, silver eyes darkening with possessive lust as the bond let him taste their kiss vicariously, rings glowing brighter.
"Merlin, you two—my wife and husband up in the middle of the night, unable to keep your hands to yourselves," he growled low with heated desire, striding over to join, his hand tangling in her curls to tilt her head back for a claiming kiss.
"Strip her, Theo—let's get her naked and dripping for us, give her the distraction she needs" Draco urged huskily, pulling the camisole over her head to bare her breasts.
Theo obliged with loving hands, easing her pants down her legs, kneeling to kiss her thighs tenderly, "You're exquisite, let us show you how good of a distraction we can be”, his breath hot against her core as he parted her folds with gentle fingers.
Draco's fingers joined, two plunging in with little resistane, her walls clenching tight and hot around them.
"Fuck, Granger—your hot, wet pussy's soaking my fingers, gripping so tight and needy, gods, I'm stretching you open, getting this sweet cunt ready for Theo's massive cock someday, making you wide and slick so you can take all that girth,"
Draco groaned dirty with raw lust, pumping faster with obscene squelches, free hand kneading her breast, rolling the nipple between fingers.
"Feel how you're creaming for us, that perfect hole pulsing like it craves to be filled with cum—gonna pump you full later, flood your depths with my hot load till it's dripping out, just so Theo can lick it out of you.”
Hermione moaned vocally, arching into their touches, "Yes—gods, more," the bond exploding her ecstasy through them.
Theo guided her hands to their cocks—hers stroking Draco's veined length, feeling it throb and curve in her palm, pre-cum slicking her fingers; the other on Theo's, veins pulsing under her grip, piercing rubbing her thumb as he groaned tenderly.
Draco spun her to bend over the counter, ass presented, pussy slick and ready; he cast the contraception charm, blue glow tingling her abdomen, then rammed in hard and unexpectedly, cock spearing her deep.
“Draco… oh, do it again.” Hermione cried out.
Theo stood beside her, kissing and biting marks down her eck, feeding off the bond’s pulses of pleasure they both were causing her.
Draco pounded her savagely against the counter, hips slamming with wet thwacks, balls smacking her clit, "Take my cock deep, love—your tight pussy's hugging me so perfect, wet and hot, milking every inch like it was made for me; gods, I'm stretching you wider with every thrust, prepping this greedy hole for Theo's beast someday, so you can wrap around all that girth and take him balls-deep," he growled dirty with passionate hunger.
Theo groaned deep and long at the thought, sucking at her neck harder, leaving a bruise, before he kissed her pasiotnately.
Her cries muffled around Theo’s lips, body jolting, bond supernova-ing bliss; orgasms chained—hers first in convulsing gushes, Draco flooding her with ropes, Theo spilling down her side—collapsing in sweaty, bonded afterglow amid kitchen chaos. They all looked at each other and couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of Hermione laying naked in the kitchen, and their equally as disheveled states.
The bond tingled with satisfaction and bliss, releasing the tension and nerves of the coming meeting.
After getting a bit more sleep, the trio arrived at the Ministry early.
Even though the Ministry atrium buzzed with its usual weekday energy, a subtle hush followed them as they crossed the marble floor — a ripple of whispers that seemed to cling to the air long after they passed.
Draco’s jaw was set tight. Theo walked close beside Hermione, his hand brushing hers like an anchor.
“Ignore them,” Theo murmured.
“I’m trying,” Hermione whispered, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. The bind prickled with her unease.
Draco’s tone was sharp, protective.
“Let them stare. They read the papers; they think they know everything. They don’t.”
They reached the lift. When the doors slid shut, the sound of the Ministry faded, replaced by the low hum of magic. The brass indicator ticked downward until it landed on Level Nine: Department of Mysteries.
The waiting chamber for T.R.U.T.H. was colder than Hermione even remembered.
Dark marble walls reflected the pale blue glow of floating orbs.
At the far end sat a receptionist who didn’t look up as they entered — just gestured wordlessly toward three steel chairs.
Draco exhaled through his nose.
“Welcoming as ever.”
Theo smirked faintly.
“I think we’ve already failed the warmth test.”
When the door at the other end finally opened, a tall, severe-looking man in grey robes beckoned them inside.
“Ambreb Val,” he introduced himself curtly. “Follow me.”
The next room was circular and lined with what looked like black mirrors — their surfaces swirling faintly with mist.
Three chairs stood in the center around a low table bearing a silver bowl etched with runes.
Val motioned for them to sit.
“You’ve been summoned for your six-week post-marital evaluation,” he said.
“We will verify magical stability, emotional resonance, and compliance with the Marriage Restoration mandates.”
Hermione nodded cautiously the bond still alive with her unease.
“Of course.”
Draco’s hand rested protectively on her shoulder.
Theo, calm but firm, said, “We’re happy to cooperate, as long as we’re treated with respect.”
Val didn’t respond. He waved his wand and the mirrors flared to life — each reflecting the trio’s faces with faint, pulsing light around their ring fingers.
Val gestured to Hermione first.
“Extend your hand, Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott.”
She hesitated, nerves pouring through the bond, then obeyed.
Her fingers glowed faintly where the tattooed bond-ring shimmered beneath the skin, the mark a living thread of light.
The Unspeakable traced his wand along it. The silver bowl on the table filled with mist that swirled in rhythm with her pulse.
“Strong,” Vane murmured.
“Potent. The bond’s energy has intensified since registration.”
Theo stiffened slightly. “That’s expected, isn’t it?”
Val glanced up.
“Intensity reflects consummation of the magical contract.”
Hermione’s embarrassment flooded the bond.
Draco’s voice was deceptively mild. “And what precisely are you implying?”
“Nothing untoward,” Vane said, though a flicker of curiosity lingered.
“Merely confirmation that the bond has been sealed.”
Hermione felt heat rise in her cheeks, but kept her chin high.
“Our bond is strong,” she said simply.
“That’s all that matters.”
The mirrors hummed in reply, their reflections brightening — as if in agreement.
After several more tests — pulses of light, whispered incantations, the flicker of enchanted symbols across the walls — Vane finally lowered his wand.
“Your bond is fully active,” he said, consulting his parchment. “However, with triadic unions of this strength comes risk. If emotional equilibrium falters — jealousy, prolonged discord, divided affections — the bond can become volatile. Magical feedback has, in past cases, resulted in illness, accidents, even magical collapse.”
Hermione’s stomach dropped.
Theo’s expression darkened.
“So you’re saying our emotions can hurt each other physically very badly?”
“If neglected, yes. If nurtured, no,” Val replied flatly.
Draco crossed his arms.
“Perhaps focus on telling us in hoe how to nurture it, then, instead of threatening us with doom.”
The Unspeakable ignored the barb and produced another parchment, official and cold.
“The law’s reproductive clauses remain in force. As of your marriage registered date, you have twelve months to produce your first pregnancy. Your magic is compatible, your bond very fertile. You are legally expected to fulfill the mandate.”
Hermione’s breath hitched and the bond to the boys was a live with panic.
Theo’s hand immediately found hers under the table, squeezing it tight.
Draco leaned forward, voice low but dangerous.
“You speak of my wife as though she’s an asset ledger, a brooding mare for the ministry. Choose your words more carefully.”
The air in the chamber prickled. The mirrors pulsed red before settling again.
Val cleared his throat.
“I would caution you, Mr. Malfoy, that heightened emotion during resonance testing can produce unpredictable readings.”
Theo glared.
“Then perhaps don’t provoke them.”
The Unspeakable finally took a step back.
“Your magical stability is high. Your emotional integration remains… developing. Continue cultivating mutual transparency. And above all, remain aligned. Harmony sustains triads; division destroys them.”
He snapped his folder shut.
“You’re dismissed.”
They didn’t speak until they were back in the corridor.
Hermione’s fingers were still trembling slightly, the glow of her bond faintly visible even through her gloves.
“They made it sound like a weapon,” she whispered.
Theo exhaled slowly.
“It’s only dangerous if we let it fracture.”
“They have no idea what this feels like,” Draco muttered, walking ahead of them.
“To be bound by something real. To have to defend it like this.”
Hermione caught his sleeve, stopping him.
“You did defend it. Both of you did. Thank you.”
Theo smiled faintly.
“That’s our job now, isn’t it?”
“Not a job,” she said softly.
“A choice.”
The bond thrummed between them again — low, alive, steady.
When they reached the atrium, the world felt louder than before — brighter, colder, busier.
Yet something between them had changed.
They walked hand in hand — the three of them, side by side — through the crowd of curious eyes and whispering onlookers.
Their glowing rings caught the light like fire.
“They’ll talk,” Theo said quietly.
“Let them,” Draco replied.
Hermione’s lips curved faintly. “Let them see what harmony looks like.”
And as the lift doors closed behind them, their bond pulsed once more — not warning this time, but in quiet promise.
By the time they apparated back to Nott Manor, dusk had settled.
The moment they crossed the wards, the air felt different—less oppressive than the Ministry, yet heavy with exhaustion.
Hermione shrugged off her cloak, laying it across the back of the settee.
Theo lit the hearth with a flick of his wand, the flames catching and spilling amber light across the parlor walls.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Finally Hermione said, in a voice softer than the crackle of the fire,
“It felt like we were being studied. Not people—subjects.”
Draco was standing by the window, looking out toward the orchard where the snow was beginning to fall again.
“That’s exactly what we were,” he said flatly. “The Ministry never just looks. It measures. We’ll be in their reports by morning.”
Theo sank onto the couch, his elbows on his knees.
“It’s not just that. They made it sound like—like we could explode if we argued too hard.”
Hermione joined him, curling one leg beneath her.
“Or fall apart if we don’t love each other fast enough.”
Draco turned then, his expression tight but not unkind.
“They don’t understand us. They don’t know anything about it more than we do. They haven’t experienced it. The way this feels—it isn’t dangerous. It’s alive. It’s us. Home.”
She smiled faintly at that, and for a while the three of them just sat, letting the warmth from the fire melt the chill that had followed them home.
After dinner—something simple Italian that Theo insisted on cooking himself—they reconvened in the informal parlor, mugs of mulled cider steaming in their hands.
“I keep thinking about what he said,” Hermione murmured.
“That if we’re not in harmony, it could hurt us.”
Theo’s gaze softened. “That’s why we keep being honest. Even when it’s ugly. Even when it’s hard.”
Draco, quieter now, toyed with the handle of his mug.
“Honesty’s easy for you,” he said.
“You two learned it in the war. For me, it was always a liability.”
Hermione reached across and touched his sleeve.
“It’s never too late to unlearn that.”
For a second, he didn’t breathe. Then, almost reluctantly, he covered her hand with his.
The air in the room shifted—gentle, charged, aware.
“If balance is what keeps us safe,” Theo said, watching them, “then this is it, isn’t it? Trust.”
Hermione nodded.
“And choosing each other. Every day.”
A sharp crack outside the door broke the spell.
Pansy’s voice rang through the hallway before the elf could even announce her.
“If you’re all sitting around said your not in Bali, I’m here to fix it!”
Theo groaned under his breath but smiled.
Draco muttered, “Merlin save us,” and stood to greet her anyway.
She swept into the room in winter green robes, cheeks flushed from the cold.
“I brought pastries,” she said, thrusting a box at Hermione.
“And gossip. Mostly gossip.”
Hermione’s laugh was the first real one of the evening.
“How did you know we needed both?”
Pansy perched on the arm of the couch, studying each of them.
“Because you look like you’ve been through a Dementor conference. What did they do to you down there? Balise got your letter last night saying they called you in as soon as you got back.”
Theo rubbed his temples the bond voicing frusteration.
“They measured our pulse, our bond, our sanity—possibly our souls.”
Draco added dryly,
“And gave us a list of ways we might die if we ever have an argument.”
Pansy blinked, then clapped her hands.
“Charming. So, same as marriage for everyone else.”
That earned a reluctant chuckle from all three.
Over cocoa and sugared tarts, Pansy managed to coax more out of them.
She listened without interrupting as Hermione explained the Unspeakable’s warning about magical imbalance, and the looming expectation of children.
“Children already?” she said, eyebrows shooting up.
“It’s barely been weeks! Merlin’s beard, give people time to enjoy the fun part first. Blaise and I get married before you, and we haven’t even decided on when to do that.”
Hermione flushed.
“The Ministry doesn’t seem to believe in giving time.”
Draco’s hand brushed Hermione’s shoulder in quiet reassurance.
“We’ll decide that when we’re ready, not them.”
Pansy gave him an assessing look, then softened. “Good answer, Malfoy. Maybe you are learning. Though stay out of prison.”
She turned to Theo next. “And you? You’ve got that healer calm going, but I can practically see the anxiety rolling off you. What’s wrong?”
Theo sighed.
“I just… I hate seeing her worried. I hate that someone else gets to dictate what we’re allowed to be, what our future has to look like when.”
Pansy tilted her head.
“Then love her louder than they can legislate.”
For once, Draco didn’t have a retort.
He just looked at Hermione, a flicker of pride—and something warmer—crossing his face.
By the time Pansy left, the manor was quiet again.
Hermione closed the door behind her and leaned against it, exhaling.
“She’s exhausting,” she said, smiling.
Theo chuckled. “She’s also usually right.”
Draco, standing by the fire, nodded.
“Louder than they can legislate. I’ll remember that.”
Hermione crossed the room, resting a hand against the mantel beside him.
“I think we all needed to hear it.”
Theo joined them, leaning against the opposite side.
The three of them stood there in the glow of the fire—close but not touching, the bond between them humming faintly, steady and alive.
“We’ll keep each other balanced,” Hermione said quietly.
“No matter what comes next.”
Theo’s voice was low, sure. “That’s a promise.”
Draco’s reply was softer still. “And a vow.”
The flames burned brighter for a moment—as if the manor itself agreed.
Notes:
What friends are you most looking forward to them catching up with?
Chapter 108: The Results
Chapter Text
Early the next morning, light snow still powdered the orchard when the owl arrived, one of the last flurries of winter had arrived in the night no doubt.
Hermione was the first one awake, sitting cross-legged on the settee near the tall window in the informal parlor they favored on busy mornings.
The house was quiet — the kind of hush that only came after a long night of thinking rather than sleeping. She’d been rereading the notes she’d scribbled from their meeting with the Unspeakable when a shadow crossed the glass.
A Ministry-stamped owl swooped down, the wax seal glinting purple and scarlet.
Her heart clenched. The nerves pulsed through the bind to her hsubands.
Theo came in a moment later, hair damp from the shower, still tying his healer’s robes on to head out shortly.
“You’re up early.”
Hermione held up the envelope wordlessly.
Draco entered behind him, already dressed in black and green, eyes narrowing at the sight. “They couldn’t even wait two days.”
Hermione broke the seal. The parchment inside was thick, official, and cold.
She began to read aloud.
---
Department of Mysteries — Division of Temporal-Relational Unified Triadic Harmonies (T.R.U.T.H.)
Confidential — To Be Read Only by Bonded Parties
Following the evaluation conducted this week, it is confirmed that the triadic magical bond between:
Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy-Nott, Draco Lucius Malfoy-Granger-Nott, and Theodore Elias Nott-Granger-Malfoy (Hermione giving a huff that they couldn’t even get their last name right).
demonstrates an unprecedented Level Five Resonance Stability Index — the highest recorded since records began in 1632.
The bond displays traits of both soul resonance and collective magic equilibrium, suggesting that the triad operates as a single magical entity when in proximity.
Observed manifestations:
• Subconscious empathic linkage — mild to moderate transmission of emotion between all parties.
• Stabilization of ambient magic fields within a five-metre radius when the triad is aligned emotionally.
• Surge phenomena detected during emotional distress or discord, indicating potential magical volatility if left unresolved.
• Magical signatures of each participant now traceably intertwined; warning -separation beyond a 500-mile radius for more than 30 days may induce physical debilitation.
Recommendations:
• Maintain emotional harmony through honesty, joint activity, and shared spellwork to reinforce balance.
• Engage in periodic T.R.U.T.H. monitoring evaluation for changes.
• Report any spontaneous magical discharge, empathic overload, or shared dreaming immediately.
Addendum:
The Department advises careful planning regarding the first mandated conception. Due to the unique stability index of your bond, the resultant offspring would likely bear combined magical characteristics, the study of which may prove invaluable to magical understanding of triadic unions.
Signed,
Unspeakable Val
Unspeakable, Department of Mysteries
---
When Hermione finished reading, the only sound was the faint hiss of the fireplace.
Theo was the first to speak.
“Combined magical characteristics.” He gave a low whistle, as his anger puled through the bond.
“They make it sound like we’re a breeding experiment.”
Draco’s hands were clenched so tight the leather of his winter gloves crackled.
“We’re not their project. Any children we have will not be subject to their experiments.”
Hermione folded the parchment carefully, her voice quiet but firm.
“They’re not wrong about one thing — we do feel each other.”
She looked at both of them.
“When either of you get upset, it hums under my skin like static I can’t get rid of. I get irritated too.”
Theo met her gaze, the edge of worry softening into awe with a teasing smirk.
“I thought that was just Draco all the time.”
Draco exhaled through his nose.
“It’s… unnerving. But it’s also—” He hesitated, searching for the word.
“Reassuring. You’re never really alone.”
Hermione smiled faintly.
“That’s what scares me. And what comforts me most. It’s so complicated.”
Theo reached for his wand, murmuring a charm that made a small golden flame appear above his palm.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
“I want to try something I was playing with late last night.”
They did.
He focused on calm — on the warmth he felt toward them both — and slowly, the flame brightened.
Hermione inhaled sharply.
“I can feel it. You’re… content and warm.”
Draco frowned, then his expression softened.
“She’s right. It’s bleeding through.”
Theo smiled, shy but proud.
“Guess it’s proof we’re balanced. For now. I suspect out of balance, the emotions would run rampant… not so controlled.”
The light flickered out and the room seemed suddenly larger, quieter, intimate in a different way.
Hermione nodded slowly.
“That’s what it sounds like. The empathic link explains why everything feels… amplified between us.”
Theo rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“And they seem to think if we’re apart too long too far, it can make us sick.”
“Lovely.” Draco’s voice was dry.
“No pressure, then. Guess we’ll be testing the edge of that pramtinotr with all the estate business I need to travel for in the coming months. None for very long though… but some pretty far away.”
Hermione reached for his hand.
“We’ll figure out the rhythm of it. We already are. Maybe we’ll have to go with you sometimes… honestly traveling with you both would be nice.”
The bond pulsed faintly, warmth flowing between them like a heartbeat.
Theo cleared his throat.
“Do we talk about the addendum?”
Hermione sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples. “I suppose we have to. They’re reminding us of the law yet again.”
Draco’s tone was gentler than she expected.
“We’ll do it when we’re ready, not because they’re watching. If this bond really reacts to emotions, then we wait until it feels right. No Ministry clock at the back of our minds every day. We know when the deadline is… we already have aplan. We don’t need to think more about it.”
Theo nodded, gaze flicking between them.
“Agreed. And if they want progress reports, we’ll send them essays about empathy and stability instead of—” he gestured vaguely, “—biology.”
That made her laugh — soft but genuine, the bond pulsed with amusement.
“Deal.”
They spent the next hour rereading the letter together, noting the details they needed to remember: the distance clause, the periodicreviews, the shared magic field.
By the end of it, the parchment looked less like a threat and more like a map — a strange, beautiful, daunting map of their connection.
Theo finally folded it shut and set it aside.
“So, what now?”
Hermione glanced between them. “Now we live our lives. And try to stay… aligned.”
Draco’s mouth curved into something between a smirk and a smile.
“We’ve managed worse odds in our lives.”
Theo raised his mug of coffee.
“To harmony, then.”
Hermione met their eyes, feeling the hum of the bond pulse softly through her veins, answering him like a heartbeat.
“To harmony,” she whispered.
Notes:
What does the ministry want with their children?
Chapter 109: Classroom Distractions
Chapter Text
It didn’t take them many days back from their honeymoon to realize the impact of the bond on the other’s concentration. On Thursday, just four days after being back, and three days about THRUTH’s warning to them, Hermione and Theo had already started back into he routine of their educational programs.
In the dimly lit Charms classroom in Cornwall, Hermione sat rigidly at her desk in the back row, quill scratching notes on advanced Levitation variants under Master Lilthly’s enthusiastic lecture.
The air was buzzing with the hum of practiced spells and the faint scent of aged books and ozone from magic.
Her curls were pinned back neatly, apprentice uniform crisp, but beneath the facade of studious focus, the triad bond had been thrumming with a relentless, scorching heat that had her cheeks flushing and thighs clenching under her robes for the past five minutes. It was entirely distracting.
Draco and Theo must both be home locked in passionate intimacy that flooded her senses like a tidal wave of shared ecstasy.
It started as a distant tingle in her chest, Draco's possessiveness echoing in her mind through the bond, followed quickly by waves of longing and then a sharp bolt of warm pleasure.
Hermione bit her lip hard to stifle a gasp, scribbling nonsense as the bond blasted her feelings of light pain, passion, and amorous intentions.
Sweat beaded her brow, pussy clenching emptily under her knickers, slick soaking the fabric as the bond shared every filthy detail, amplifying the shared bliss till she was trembling, desperate to join.
As soon as the bell rang; she bolted, robes flying, floo activated, racing through corridors to their private wing, bursting into the chambers to the graphic sight: Draco bent over the four-poster, ass up and spread, Theo pounding him from behind with savage slams.
Theo's girthy cock—veins bulging with tense desire, piercing glinting slick with was disappearing balls-deep in Draco's stretched, gaping hole with vulgar squelches and wet pops. Hermione drew in a deep breath at the sight in the doorway.
Draco's own curved length was leaking pre-cum onto the silk sheets below, their bodies slick with sweat and lube, grunts and moans filling the air like a symphony of raw need, the room reeking of musk and sex.
"Hermione—fuck, did you feel us through the bond? Get over here," Draco groaned, spotting her in the doorway, silver eyes wild with lust.
She stripped frantically, robes pooling at her feet, knickers yanked down to reveal her soaked pussy, joining with a desperate moan.
She dropped to her knees before Draco to engulf his throbbing cock ravenously, tongue swirling the flared head to lap up the salty pre-cum flooding her mouth in bitter bursts.
Soon her jaw was aching from the wicked curve as she bobbed deep and fast, throat bulging with each thrust while Theo hammered Draco harder from behind.
"Join us fully, my heart—suck him dry while I fill him up, gods, you're perfect," Theo panted with adoring filth, hips pistoling relentlessly.
Draco came first, noisy and primal as his balls tightened, hot ropes of thick cum erupting down Hermione's throat in pulsing jets that she swallowed greedily.
Theo followed seconds later with earth-shattering bellows, burying to the hilt to flood Draco's ass with spurts of seed that overflowed.
Hermione, overwhelmed with the bond pulsing of release, fingered her dripping cunt furiously, three fingers plunging to mimic their passion.
Her clit was throbbing under her thumb until she shattered in a gushing climax, the bond exploding in a supernova of unified rapture that left them all shuddering.
They collapsed in a sweaty, cum-smeared heap on the disheveled bed, limbs tangling in a boneless pile of limbs and heaving breaths, the air thick with the pungent scent of sex and satisfaction.
After moments to steady their breathing, Draco pulled Hermione close first, his arm wrapping possessively around her waist, pressing a lazy, sated kiss to her temple.
"Merlin, Hermione, you felt every filthy second through the bond, didn't you? We’re going to have a lot of fun with that” he murmured huskily, voice rough from his yelling.
Theo spooned behind her, one hand interlacing fingers with hers while the other traced loving patterns on Draco's thigh draped over her hip.
"Love, you're incredible, joining us like that; I love you so much, feeling your pleasure mix with ours through the bond was so intense," he whispered adoringly.
Draco shifted to capture Theo's lips in a slow, deep kiss over her shoulder, tongues tangling lazily before Draco turned to claim Hermione's mouth, the three sharing gentle, lingering kisses.
Laughter bubbled softly as Draco teased relentlessly about her classroom torment, and Theo promising gentle aftercare in the bath once they felt up to moving again.
Notes:
Don't worry, Hermione will get them back for this.
Chapter 110: Luna's Wisdom
Notes:
Someone said they wanted Luna scene... so here we are :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The evening air was fragrant with the very beginning of early-spring blooms dusted with snow when Hermione Apparated to the Longbottoms’ cottage just outside Oxford.
It was a cozy, ivy-covered home they had bought when they married, preferring it over Longbottom estate, where his grandmother continued to reside.
It looked as though it had grown straight out of the hillside—wildflowers climbing up the stone walls, smoke curling lazily from the chimney, and, in typical Luna fashion, at least half a dozen wind chimes made from seashells and moonstone glinting in the light.
Neville opened the door before she even knocked, cheeks flushed from the warmth inside.
“Hermione!” He smiled, ushering her in.
“Luna’s in the kitchen making something that smells… well, unique.”
Hermione laughed, stepping into the glow of the sitting room.
“Unique is usually a good sign with her cooking.”
The room was cozy chaos—potted plants hung from every available beam, vines curling around sconces and shelves full of herbology journals.
A woven tapestry of constellations covered one wall, its stars gently moving.
The air itself seemed alive, tinged with the scent of sage and roasted vegetables.
Luna appeared in the kitchen doorway, small tummy rounding under her robes, her pale hair pulled back with a vine that seemed to be growing around her braid.
“Hello, Hermione,” she said dreamily.
“I thought you’d like shepherd’s pie, but the nargles insisted on extra thyme.”
Hermione grinned.
“If nargles cook as well as you do, I’ll take their advice any day.”
Neville chuckled, pouring pumpkin fizz into three mismatched metal glasses.
“You’ll get used to it. They always have opinions.”
They sat down together around a round table near the window, plates steaming, the golden lamplight catching the faint glow of Luna’s small baby bump beneath her flowing robes.
The warmth of domesticity filled the room—a softness that made Hermione ache a little, even as she smiled.
Halfway through dinner, Luna placed a gentle hand on her stomach and said,
“The baby moved I think for the first time this morning. I think it was because Neville was talking about the greenhouse expansion.”
Neville blushed.
“She—or he—likes my voice, apparently.”
Hermione’s heart melted and brain claulated. “That’s wonderful, Luna. I can’t believe it’s happening so soon. Baby will be here … in late August or early September?”
“Yes, I’m due the first day of September,” Luna said serenely.
“I think they’re going to have Neville’s eyes, and perhaps my knack for finding things that aren’t really lost.”
Hermione tilted her head, curious.
“You already know that?”
“I don’t need to know,” Luna said with a soft smile.
“Some things hum through the air if you listen. Just like your bond does.”
Hermione froze, fork halfway to her mouth.
“My—my bond?”
Luna looked at her gently, as if the question itself was unnecessary.
“Oh yes. It sparkles around you now, you know. I’d have to say judging by its intensity now… you three had quite a good honeymoon. I can feel it. It’s quite a strong hum, like sunlight through water.”
Neville blinked with winder.
“Wait, Luna—you mean you can sense the triadic bond?”
She nodded matter-of-factly.
“Of course. It’s not exactly a secret to anyone with sensitivity to magic. These three are practically a constellation.”
Hermione laughed weakly, cheeks warming.
“We’ve… been learning more about it. There’s still a lot we don’t understand.”
Luna’s eyes were wide and calm.
“You don’t need to understand everything to live it. Love is a current, Hermione. It pulls you where you’re meant to go.”
Hermione looked down at her plate, thoughtful.
“Sometimes it feels overwhelming. The connection—it’s beautiful, but it’s also… intense.”
Neville reached over, touching her arm in quiet solidarity.
“It sounds like you all just need a little time to adjust to it.”
Luna leaned forward conspiratorially.
“Then you mustn’t fight the tide. When the bond swells, let it. When it quiets, rest in it. And if you ever feel it twist, don’t hide from them. It only knots tighter if you pull away. It doesn’t like being shoved away in alone spaces. I suggest you have a shared space, it likes to be together at night.”
Hermione swallowed. “That’s… very poetic.”
“Oh, I’m not being poetic,” Luna said serenely.
“I’m being literal.”
Neville laughed under his breath.
“Best to just take it as gospel, Hermione. She’s always right about these things.”
After dinner, they took their tea into the charm warmed garden, where hundreds of tiny orbs of light hovered among the flowers like captured stars.
Hermione breathed in the damp earth and jasmine, watching Luna trail her fingers through the air as if tracing invisible patterns.
“You seem happy, Luna,” Hermione said softly.
“I am,” Luna replied, resting a hand over her bump.
“It’s strange, though—sometimes I dream of the three of you. Not like memories, but… possibilities. You standing together in a field of light. You’ll do something important someday, something that makes people see love differently.”
Hermione blinked back light tears, caught off guard.
“That’s… a lot to live up to.”
Luna smiled dreamily.
“It’s not something you have to do, Hermione. It’s something you already are. You, Draco, and Theo—you’re proof that balance is possible, even in chaos. You just have to listen to each other… keep the bond flowing with no bloackages.”
The words settled into Hermione’s chest like warmth seeping into cold hands.
She glanced at Neville, who was trimming a glowing vine and smiling to himself.
“You both make it look easy,” she said.
Neville shook his head.
“It’s not easy. But it’s worth it. And that’s what matters.”
Later, as Hermione pulled on her cloak, Luna pressed a small charm into her palm—a delicate silver pendant shaped like a moon and entwined vine.
“For your bond,” Luna said softly.
“It’ll glow when all three of your hearts are calm. A reminder that even when things feel stormy, the light’s still there.”
Hermione’s throat tightened.
“Luna, that’s… thank you. It’s beautiful.”
Luna smiled widely.
“Just don’t try to understand it too hard. Magic hates being over-explained. Just feel it… let it guide your growth together.”
Neville hugged her warmly.
“Take care of yourself, Hermione. And of them.”
“I will,” she promised.
As she apparated home under the starlit sky, she felt the faintest hum from the ring on her finger—a soft, shared pulse of warmth from Draco and Theo, waiting for her.
And for the first time since the TRUTH aptioment, Hermione smiled without any hesitation.
Hermione landed on the front step just as dusk deepened into indigo past the orchards.
The air shimmered faintly—the manor’s protective family wards recognizing her magic—and at once she felt it: a ripple of warmth beneath her skin, the familiar thrum of their anticipation.
They’d felt her arrive.
She pushed open the heavy door and was met by the scent of parchment, cinnamon tea, and the faint tang of potion ingredients Draco had been fiddling with lately.
Somewhere down the corridor she heard Theo’s laugh and Draco’s drier reply. The hum in her chest steadied.
“You’re home earlier than we expected, we figured Luna may want to do some type of late night moon ritual” Theo said when she appeared in the library doorway.
Draco looked up from a book spread open across the desk.
“You’re radiant,” he observed, sounding both amused and faintly unnerved.
Hermione smiled with warmth.
“Luna has that effect.”
Theo rose to pour her tea; Draco studied her over the rim of his glass.
“She’s the one who sees wrackspurts, isn’t she?”
Hermione nodded.
“And apparently emotional resonance fields. She could feel our bond. She said it sparkled.”
Theo’s eyes flickered with confusion. “She… what?”
Hermione set down her bag and joined them by the fire.
“She described it perfectly. The way it hums when we’re close, the way it steadies when we’re honest. She even said we’re like a constellation.”
For a moment no one spoke. The fire crackled, catching the reflection in Draco’s pale eyes.
“She’s not wrong,” Theo murmured finally. “It does feel like we orbit each other.”
Draco’s lips curved slightly. “Trust Lovegood to turn mysticism into accuracy.”
Hermione laughed softly, but the warmth in her chest deepened—the bond pulsing faintly with shared amusement. She wondered if they felt her happiness as clearly as she felt theirs.
Over dinner, she told them more—Luna’s advice about not fighting the tide, about letting the bond swell and settle naturally, about needing a shared space to make it happy.
Draco listened in silence, one hand curled around his wine glass, while Theo nodded along.
“She’s right,” Theo said. “Every time we’ve tried to control it, it’s gone strange. When we stop forcing things, it smooths out. And I was already missing having that big master suite in Bali. We should convert a sutie here for all of us to share. Everyone can keep their personal rooms too for when they want privacy, but having one big bedroom for all of us most nights would make me happy.”
Draco sighed deeply.
“I don’t like surrendering control to anything. But, I do agree about a shared suite, that’s just practical… and more comfortable.”
Hermione reached across the table and brushed his wrist lightly.
“Maybe it’s not surrender. Maybe it’s trust.”
His eyes met hers for a long beat. The bond fluttered again—quick, electric—before settling into a slow warmth that made the air between them feel alive.
A day later, the three of them moved into a freshly transfigured and converted giant set of master suites with bedroom, private parlor, and bathroom bigger than the Prefect’s one at Hogwarts.
It had been an ambitious afternoon project of quiet intention, lots of fancy spellwork and a few floo calls for advice form Pansy.
The result was not one single room, but a shared triadic suite — vast, luxurious, and alive with magic that breathed harmony into every stone.
A tall, arched doorway of dark walnut opened into a sunken private parlor, designed as the central heart of the suite.
A fire burned perpetually in the marble hearth, charmed to never produce smoke yet fill the room with the faint scent of cedar and honey.
Over it hung a painting of the Scottish Highlands at dusk selected by Theo — enchanted so that the light in the painting shifted with the real-time weather outside.
The furniture had been chosen and conjured by all three of them, purposely, and with respect towards each other’s tastes.
Hermione’s touch showed in the soft bookish details — enchanted bookshelves lining one wall, filled with rare magical texts and several well-loved Muggle novels.
Theo’s mark was in the deep emerald velvet settee and the antique chess table by the window.
Draco’s dramatic flair appeared in the sleek silver-accented decanter set and the intricate entrance wall mirror framed with subtle gold serpentine filigree.
At the center of the room was a low round table carved of ashwood, surrounded by sprawling chairs and cushion It would be a good place for tea, late-night reading, or quiet conversation. Above it floated three orbs of warm golden light that dimmed or brightened according to mood.
Through stunning arched stained glass doors, the parlor opened onto a small balcony overlooking the manor’s winter gardens. Hermione had wanted a place for morning tea or stargazing when the mood struck.
Beyond that a set of tall doors of frosted glass lay the bedroom proper, much larger than the common room at Hogwarts and twice as inviting.
The bed itself dominated the space — an enormous four-poster with carved blackwood posts twined with silver runes of protection and devotion.
Its linens were layers of cream, green, and pale gray, charmed to always remain the perfect temperature.
A canopy of soft translucent silk inspired by their Bali honeymoon shimmered faintly in the candlelight cats about the room.
Each of them had added something personal here too. At the foot of the bed, a wool-white rug — Hermione’s choice — soft as clouds, perfect to lay on while reading, and enchanted never to stain. On the nightstand beside Theo’s side, a tiny potted hellebore from his personal healer’s greenhouse that thrived only in magical homes. Above Draco’s nightstand, a floating glass frame that displayed moving images of constellations — the very same ones visible over the manor each night, of course predominantly featuring his own namesake.
The light in the room could shift with spelled intention: golden warmth in the mornings, silvery glow in the evenings to set the mood if they wanted.
The walls themselves were alive with faint traces of spellcraft — protection wards woven through the plaster curtesy f Bill that thrummed faintly in harmony with the trio’s bond rings.
In the corner, a small writing desk faced the window, already cluttered with Hermione’s parchment and quills, beside a chaise lounge where Draco planned to read and Theo thought would be comfy between night shifts.
The entire space radiated a quiet sense of belonging — not one person’s room, but a sanctuary built by all three. The bond was pleased.
Through a polished oak arch, the suite opened into the bathing chamber, easily the grandest in the manor — a space that rivaled Hogwarts’ famed Prefects’ Bath.
A single enormous marble pool occupied the center of the room, wide enough for several people to bathe comfortably, and ringed with steps of onyx and pale green stone.
Charms kept the water at whatever temperature the bather desired; the surface glowed faintly with silver light when infused with magic salts or oils.
A cascade of enchanted water fell endlessly from a wall-sized spout shaped like a dragon’s mouth — Draco’s touch.
Along one wall, Hermione’s shelves overflowed with glass jars of oils, soaps, and scrubs labeled in her tidy handwriting.
On another, Draco’s collection of selfbrewed potions — healing balms, tension-relief tonics, and a few he refused to name, rested.
Overhead, the ceiling had been charmed to show the night sky as seen over the manor grounds in real time.
Off to the side were separate dressing alcoves and a towel wardrobe that restocked itself daily.
The floors radiated gentle warmth underfoot, and the air smelled faintly of pine and mint.
There was something else about their new rooms, too — subtle but unmistakable. The entire suite felt aware.
Magic lingered like breath between the surface of the soaces, resonating faintly with the triadic bond.
When one of them entered alone, the lamps would brighten in recognition; when all three were present, the room itself seemed to exhale, settling into a quiet pulse of contentment.
It was as if the suite itself had been woven from the essence of their connection — equal parts intellect, devotion, and desire.
Theo was half-reclined on the couch, an arm draped across the back; Hermione sat beside him, and Draco took the armchair opposite.
The conversation currently was about the idea that magic itself might respond to affection.
“Luna gave me this.”
Hermione unclasped a small pendant from around her neck—a silver moon twined with a vine.
“She said it’ll glow when all three of our hearts are calm.”
Draco leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. “
A magical barometer for domestic peace. How terribly useful.”
Theo laughed lazily.
“If it starts flashing red, we’ll know which one of us started the argument.” He raised a pointed eyebrow at Draco.
Hermione shook her head, smiling.
“You both underestimate Luna. I think it’s… real magic. Not the kind you cast.”
The pendant shimmered faintly just then—soft silver light pulsing in rhythm with the glow of their ring-tattoos. All three of them noticed. None of them spoke for a long time.
When the fire burned low, Hermione rose and stretched, the day’s warmth still humming inside her.
Theo brushed his fingers against hers as she passed; Draco’s gaze followed her to the doorway.
“She’s right, you know,” Theo said quietly.
“About balance. When you’re both happy, everything feels easier.”
Hermione turned back, smiling at both of them.
“Then we’ll just have to keep each other that way.”
The bond pulsed once—gentle, steady—answering her like a heartbeat shared between three people.
Draco exhaled, the smallest ghost of a smile touching his mouth.
“Easier said than done,” he murmured.
“But worth the effort.”
Theo lifted his glass in mock toast. “To worth the effort.”
Hermione’s laughter was soft and calming through the bond.
Notes:
Lots of plot, smut, and everything in between still to come.
Also - want to live in their new chambers!
Chapter 111: The New Heirs
Chapter Text
The library at Nott Manor had been rearranged for the evening: the long oak table cleared of scrolls and stacked instead with quills, teacups, and a few bottles of Ogden’s Firewhisky that Blaise swore made policy talk “tolerable.”
Hermione sat near the head of the table, parchment already divided into neat columns labeled Proposal Ideas and Allied Votes.
The wards pulsed faintly around the room—warm, steady, echoing the calm rhythm of the triad’s bond.
Theo poured aged wine to start everyone off; Draco leaned back in his chair, immaculate and posh even in his informal robes.
Neville arrived last, brushing ash from his sleeves after Floo travel with apologies and something about ‘Luna’s gnome tea party’.
“All right, then,” Harry said, tapping his quill.
“Tomorrow’s the first day the Wizengamot sits with all of us officially recognized as House representatives. Let’s make it count.”
Hermione straightened, the soft lamplight glinting off the glowing ring-mark on her finger.
“I’ve been thinking a great deal about what Professor McGonagall said when Theo and I visted—about Muggleborn first-years.”
Her voice warmed with conviction.
“We tell them they’re witches and wizards only when Hogwarts letters arrive. That’s far too late. At eleven, they’ve already spent years thinking something’s wrong with them.”
Draco nodded slowly; even he looked thoughtful.
“You’re suggesting the Ministry contact families as soon as magic manifests—when a child first levitates a toy or bursts a lightbulb.”
“Exactly,” Hermione said.
“Not recruitment— just offering support. Explain what’s happening, give them resources, help parents prepare. Let the child be in wizarding spaces like Diagon Alley. It would save so many frightened children.”
Neville’s brow furrowed.
“You’d need legislation through both the Education and Muggle Relations committees.”
“Then that’s where we start,” Blaise said.
“A coalition bill. House Black and House Nott in the lead, Malfoy backing—it’d signal unity. The rest of us helping get votes behind the scenes.”
Theo leaned forward, fingers brushing Hermione’s for a heartbeat; the bond stirred like a shared heartbeat.
“We’ll draft it tonight. Title it The Early Magical Disclosure and Support Act. Straightforward. Compassionate.”
Hermione smiled, pride and affection threading through the link between them.
Draco caught the flicker of feeling and, almost unconsciously, softened his usual reserve.
Hours passed late into the night.
The heirs argued amicably over language, loopholes, and the politics of presentation.
Harry promised to speak to Kingsley about securing the Minister’s endorsement first thing in the morning before the session began.
Blaise plotted which older families might oppose it and how to win them with public appeal.
Draco insisted on airtight confidentiality clauses to protect Muggle privacy.
The fire burned low; parchment littered the table like fallen leaves.
When they finally paused, Theo rubbed his eyes.
“That’s our first initiative, then. But Hermione, you mentioned a second idea?”
She hesitated, then drew a folded page from her pocket.
“Yes. It links with this though. I’ve been thinking about access for Muggle families. Right now, if they need Ministry help, they have to navigate guarded entrances and enchanted lifts. And now we want to add young children to that mix with early disclosure. I want to create a Muggleborn Family Welcome and Support Centre—neutral ground, easy to find.”
Harry looked impressed.
“Where would you put it?”
Hermione swallowed.
“My parents’ old house. It’s been empty since the war. It already sits between both worlds, literally—a perfect bridge.”
The room went quiet. Even Blaise set down his drink.
Through the bond, Theo felt the ache beneath her calm tone and reached out, covering her hand; Draco’s gaze softened.
Neville said gently, “That’s generous, Hermione.”
She smiled faintly.
“It feels right. Maybe turning that space into a place for others to find belonging will finally… give it peace.”
As they returned to logistics—permits, warding, finding, staffing—the undercurrent between the triad thickened.
Every time Hermione spoke, Draco felt pride radiating through the link; Theo felt it too and sent his quiet steadiness back.
It became a quiet circuit of emotion—admiration, affection, resolve—none of them speaking of it but all three aware.
When the others rose to stretch, Blaise grinned.
“Merlin help the Ministry. They’ve no idea what’s coming.”
“Good,” Draco murmured, smirking. “It’s overdue for a little righteous chaos.”
The laughter broke the intensity, but beneath it the bond pulsed steady and sure—like a promise.
Later, after their guests had departed through the Floo and the manor fell silent again, Hermione lingered by the window overlooking the snowy gardens.
Theo joined her first, wrapping an arm lightly around her waist; Draco stood a little apart, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable.
“You were brilliant tonight,” Theo murmured.
Draco inclined his head.
“You led a room full of heirs like a general, Granger, the only one in the room without even a houseseat.”
She smiled between them.
“We led it. All of us. Together”
For a long, quiet moment they stood watching the frost glitter under the moonlight. The sense of purpose from the evening lingered—hope stitched together with affection and the quiet certainty that whatever came next, they’d face it united.
Early the next morning, the Ministry of Magic looked brighter than Hermione remembered—
new glass, polished brass, the scent of parchment and burnt coffee hanging in the air.
In the great atrium, Theo and Draco were adjusting the green-and-silver sashes that marked them as Lords of their Houses.
Harry waited beside them in crimson and gold, grinning at how stiff the two Slytherins looked in formal robes. Neville and Blaise stood nearby chatting about grape vine properties in tundra conditions, both with purple and yellow sahses pinned on with pride.
“You’d think it was your wedding day again,” Hermione teased, smoothing the edge of Theo’s collar.
He smiled at her, eyes soft.
“Feels almost as important.”
Draco met her gaze with earnestness.
“More so. A marriage is personal; this might actually fix something broken in our world.”
She squeezed both their hands, the triadic bond humming with prideful aniticpaiton like a low chord under her skin—warm, steady, protective.
“You’re about to make history. Don’t forget that.”
Theo lifted her hand to his lips softly.
Draco, ever more reserved in public, brushed an invisible thread of hair from her shoulder—a gesture that meant the same thing.
Hermione took her seat high in the Wizengamot gallery, quill poised to take notes, though she doubted she could write much through the nerves pulsing the bond.
From here she could see the whole chamber: concentric circles of raised seats, banners of each House fluttering faintly in the magical draft.
At the center table sat the new generation—Harry, Theo, Blaise, Neville, and Draco—each flanked by older mentors and Ministry clerks.
Kingsley, dignified as ever, rapped his gavel.
“Order. The spring session of the Wizengamot is now officially in progress.”
Hermione’s heart thudded as Theo rose, parchment trembling slightly in his hand.
“Honored members,” Theo began, voice measured but strong, “House Nott, with the sponsorship of Houses Black via Potter and Malfoy, presents the Early Magical Disclosure and Support Act.”
He outlined their case clearly: frightened children, unprepared parents, needless trauma, poor educational outcomes.
Draco followed with the argument about confidentiality wards and the obligation of magical society to protect both Muggle and wizarding secrecy.
Harry stood last, bridging both worlds with quiet conviction.
“It’s not just a kindness,” he said, “it’s prevention. We all know how fear breeds danger.”
In the gallery, Hermione felt pride burn in her chest.
The bond pulsed—Theo’s focus, Draco’s tension, both brushing against her awareness like the beat of two hearts beside her own.
The debate that followed was brutal and lengthy, a call for a lunch recess happening after the first three hours of debate. Everyone coming back a tad more refreshed to argue some more afterward.
Old-guard members in plum-colored robes muttered about “wasteful reform.”
A witch from an ancient line snapped that “Muggles have no right to know of our world until summoned.”
Hermione’s fists clenched around her notes.
Draco’s jaw tightened below—she could feel his anger flare and fade through the bond as Theo’s calm steadied him.
Then Neville stood.
“My parents were attacked and tortured because of fear and ignorance. We can’t keep repeating that.”
The chamber quieted in shame.
When the gavel called for a vote finally after a full day of debate, Hermione barely breathed.
Tiny enchanted counters shimmered in the air—silver for Aye, red for Nay.
One by one they lit across the hall.
Hermione’s heart raced as the totals flickered back and forth, red edging ahead, then silver catching up again.
Kingsley raised his hand.
“By a margin of three votes, the Early Magical Disclosure and Support Act is hereby adopted.”
The chamber erupted—some in applause, others in outrage.
From her seat, Hermione pressed both hands to her mouth, tears stinging her eyes. She felt the surge from below: Theo’s relief, Draco’s stunned disbelief, both blooming into a shared exhale of triumph that filled the bond like sunlight through glass.
When the crowd began to spill out, Hermione met them in one of the marble corridors outside the chamber.
Theo barely had time to speak before she flung her arms around him; Draco stepped close behind, resting a hand between her shoulder blades.
“You did it,” she whispered, voice breaking.
“You actually did it.”
Theo laughed softly, the sound low and shaking.
“We did. All of us.”
Draco’s voice was rougher.
“Barely—but enough. First law of the new generation. That’s something. Finally doing something my name can be proud of.”
Hermione looked between them, pride and love and exhaustion mingling until she couldn’t separate one from the other.
“Let’s go home,” she said finally.
“You can tell me everything over dinner.”
Theo nodded, still smiling. Draco offered his arm. Together they walked toward the floo—three silhouettes against the Ministry’s golden light, their rings glinting faintly with the quiet pulse of the bond.
When the green floo light faded, Hermione stepped out first into the soft glow of Nott Manor’s drawing room.
Dinner had already been set by the elves: roast pheasant, buttered winter greens, and a bottle of champagne chilling in silver.
Theo followed, coat unfastened, exhaustion and adrenaline mingling in his expression. Draco came last, shoulders squared as if he were still in the Wizengamot chamber.
“I can’t believe we actually passed it,” Hermione whispered.
Theo sank into the sofa with a weary laugh.
“By three votes. Merlin, I thought my heart stopped twice during the count.”
Draco poured three glasses of champagne, his movements precise.
“Three votes are all it takes to rewrite a piece of history.”
Hermione smiled and accepted her glass.
“To all of us,” she said, lifting it.
“And to every Muggleborn child who’ll never have to be terrified of what they are again.”
Their glasses touched. The sound rang clear and low, vibrating faintly through the magic of the manor — the bond humming beneath the walls.
They ate together in the private dining room, firelight flickering across polished wood and silver. The conversation wound through the evening: the tension of the session, the faces of the old families, the look on Kingsley’s face when he announced the results.
Theo reached across the table once, brushing Hermione’s fingers. The touch was small, but she felt Draco’s answering warmth through the bond as if he’d reached out, too.
“You were magnificent today,” Draco said at last, voice softer than usual. “You have this way of making everyone listen — even the ones who wish they didn’t.”
Hermione blushed.
“You both were, too. You handled the chamber like you’d been born for it.”
Theo smiled. “That’s the Malfoy in him.”
Draco arched an elegant brow.
“And the Granger in you, apparently, makes policy miracles possible.”
Their laughter filled the room — gentle, incredulous, the sound of people who hadn’t yet gotten used to hope.
Later, they moved to the parlor. The fire burned low, shadows stretching long across the carpet. Theo curled up on one end of the sofa, head tipped back. Draco stood by the mantle, staring into the flames; the reflection gilded the pale lines of his face.
Hermione sat between them, her legs tucked under herself, still in the simple black dress she’d worn to the chamber.
“You know,” she murmured, “it feels like we did something that matters. Not just for me, or Muggleborns — for the whole world.”
Theo nodded slowly. “It’s just the beginning.”
Draco turned, eyes catching the firelight.
“And we’ll keep going. Reform by reform, one generation replacing another.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was heavy with something else — connection, respect, quiet affection.
Hermione could feel it, pulsing faintly through the bond like threads of light between them.
When she looked at each of them, she saw pride mirrored back, tinged with exhaustion and something deeper.
When the clock struck ten, Hermione wandered toward the balcony doors. Moments later, footsteps followed — Theo’s slower tread, Draco’s quiet grace.
They stood on either side of her, the air bright with frost and candlelight spilling through the doors.
“Do you ever think,” Hermione asked softly, “that maybe this is what it was all for? All the fighting, the fear, the years of rebuilding… maybe it was so we could get here. To something better.”
Theo reached for her hand; Draco’s voice came low and sure.
“Then let’s not waste it.”
The three of them stood like that for a long time, watching the moon climb higher — a single shared silence, equal parts peace and promise.
When they finally went inside, the fire had burned down to embers. Theo brushed Hermione’s shoulder lightly as they passed through the doorway; Draco caught her eye, and for once, didn’t look away.
“You were brilliant today, Hermione,” he said again, quieter this time.
“Truly the smartest one in the room.”
She smiled — a small, tired, glowing thing.
“So were you. Both of you.”
Theo chuckled.
“Then I suppose we deserve a proper celebration tomorrow with our friends.”
“Tomorrow,” she agreed.
“Tonight, I just want to remember what this feels like.”
Draco nodded. “Victory,” he said simply.
Theo added, “And belonging.”
She reached for their hands, one in each of hers.
"I'm so proud of you both," she whispered emotionally, stepping into their arms.
Draco pulled her close from the front, hands tracing her spine in feather-light strokes, lips brushing her forehead, then her temple, savoring the bond's shared spark.
"All for you, Hermione," he murmured huskily, fingers teasing the gown's laces at her back, loosening them agonizingly slow, the fabric whispering against her skin as it slipped inch by inch down her aroused body.
Theo pressed in from behind, lips ghosting her neck in soft, adoring kisses, breath warm and deliberate, hands resting on her hips, thumbs circling lazily just above the gown's waist, building anticipation.
"My heart, you're our inspiration—every word today was born from caring for you," he whispered tenderly, nuzzling her ear, the bond amplifying each puff of breath into tingling waves.
Minutes stretched as Draco's fingers danced lower, gown pooling at her elbows, baring her breasts fully.
He cupped one globe reverently, thumb grazing the nipple in the lightest circle, watching it tighten, the bond echoing the feather-touch to Theo's own skin.
Theo's hands mirrored, sliding up her sides under the fabric of her blue jumper, palms skimming her ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts without quite touching the peaks, teasing until she arched with a soft whimper.
They guided her to the plush settee in their chambers with unhurried steps.
Draco sat first, drawing her onto his lap facing him, her thighs straddling his, skirt still half-on like a teasing veil over his legs.
His hands roamed her back, tracing vertebrae one by one, while Theo knelt beside, kissing her shoulder blades exposed by the slipping fabric.
Draco freed his cock slowly as she watched transfixed—veined and curving, half-hard and twitching in the air—guiding her hips to hover over him.
With a slow lowering, the head nudging her entrance in shallow, torturous rubs, parting her folds without entering, pre-cum mixing with her growing slick in glistening trails.
"Feel how hard you make me, sweetheart—just teasing your wet heat," he breathed, rocking her forward so the tip kissed her clit, circling languidly, the bond sharing the electric friction.
Theo's fingers trailed her inner thighs, feather-light, inching upward without touching her core, whispering,
"So beautiful, my love—let us savor you," his breath ghosting her folds as he leaned in, tongue extending to lap a single, slow stripe along her seam.
He repeated the tease until she trembled.
Draco finally aligned, sinking in millimeter by millimeter, the head popping past her rim with a soft, wet give, walls yielding in velvet embrace, the stretch drawn out eternally, each veined ridge dragging her insides as he paused, grinding shallowly.
Theo suckled one peak into his mouth, tongue swirling in unhurried spirals, free hand stroking Draco's base where it met her flush, feeling the union pulse.
The rhythm built slow and dteady—Draco's hips rolling in deep, sensual grinds, cock dragging her walls with exquisite slowness,; Theo alternating kisses between her lips, Draco's mouth, and her breasts, fingers ghosting her clit in feather-circles.
Three climaxes building like distant thunder until Hermione shattered in slow, rippling waves, walls fluttering silkily around Draco; he pulsed deep with a drawn-out groan, filling her gradually.
Theo stroked himself languidly to completion over her exposed thigh, cum arcs landing tenderly.
They collapsed entwined, hands tracing idle patterns, whispers of pride and love lingering in the bond's warm glow, the manor's quiet cradling their unhurried afterglow.
Notes:
What should be next on their revolution agenda?
Chapter 112: Celebration Dinner
Chapter Text
Morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows of Nott Manor’s breakfast room the next morning.
The table had been set for three — tea steaming, eggs and toast waiting — but for a long time, none of them said much.
They were still wrapped in the quiet satisfaction of the night before.
Hermione sat cross-legged on her chair, hair loose and tumbling around her shoulders, reading through a stack of notes she’d scrawled about the bill.
Theo leaned back with his tea, looking a little dazed still from the magnitude of it all. Draco, already in a crisp white shirt, was scanning through correspondence that had arrived overnight.
It was Draco who noticed the owl first.
“Incoming,” he said dryly, glancing up at the great tawny bird swooping in through the open window.
The owl landed neatly beside Hermione’s teacup, dropping a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet and a smaller envelope sealed with red wax. It gave a polite hoot before taking a piece of toast and flying back out into the morning light.
Theo smiled faintly. “Only one paper? That’s either good or disastrous.”
Hermione unrolled it — and gasped.
Across the front page in gleaming ink, the headline read:
“Young Lords of the Wizengamot Usher in New Era of Reform”
— by Clarice Binns, Political Correspondent for The Daily Prophet
Beneath it was a moving photograph: the three of them standing together in the corridor outside the chamber, Hermione in the center with Theo and Draco on either side. The picture caught the exact moment Hermione had turned to them, laughing through her tears. The image shimmered with quiet pride — the perfect story of victory.
Hermione read aloud:
“In a stunning upset for the old guard, the newly seated heirs of several ancient Houses—Black/Potter, Nott, Malfoy, Longbottom, and friends—secured passage of the Early Magical Disclosure and Support Act, a groundbreaking law ensuring that Muggleborn children and their families receive early information and support from the wizarding world. The proposal, written primarily by Lady Hermione Malfoy-Granger-Nott, passed by a narrow margin of three votes, signaling the beginning of a generational shift in the Wizengamot.
Eyewitnesses describe the trio of newlyweds—Lord Draco Malfoy, Lady Hermione Malfoy-Granger-Nott, and Lord Theodore Nott—as a formidable alliance of intellect, compassion, and strategy. The partnership of Houses once divided by blood status has now become a symbol of reconciliation for post-war Britain. Sources in the Ministry report that the trio plans further legislation to modernize magical education and Muggle relations in the coming months.
‘They represent what the war was supposed to achieve,’ said Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt in a brief statement. ‘A future where courage and conscience, not heritage, determine leadership.’
For the first time in a decade, hope feels not only possible—but law.”
Hermione lowered the paper slowly, eyes bright.
“They… they actually said something nice,” she murmured.
Theo leaned forward, smiling crookedly. “Something glowing, actually. We might even be the Prophet’s new sweethearts.”
Draco gave a low, disbelieving laugh.
“Don’t get used to it. But still…” He reached for the paper, scanning the column again, his expression softening.
“They got it right, mostly. Hope feels like law. That’s—” He stopped, unable to finish.
Hermione’s fingers brushed his on the table, their bond warm as a heartbeat.
“It’s true,” she said.
“You made it true.”
Another owl arrived not long after — this one instantly recognizable by the way it barreled in and landed clumsily in the fruit bowl.
Theo chuckled.
“I think that’s Potter’s new one.”
Hermione untied the parchment from its leg and read it aloud.
To Hermione, Theo, and Draco,
Saw the morning Prophet—bloody brilliant work. You lot made the entire chamber sit up and listen. It’s the first time in years I’ve felt like real change might happen again. I’m proud of us all.
And Hermione—you were right. Reform isn’t just surviving the world we inherited, it’s daring to make a new one. Keep daring.
We’ll toast to this tonight—Ginny’s insisting on dinner. Bring yourselves and whatever victory grin you’re still wearing.
Cheers,
Harry.
Hermione smiled, throat tight.
“He really is proud of us.”
Theo grinned. “He should be. We’re unstoppable.”
Draco tilted his head toward Hermione. “You are. He’s just smart enough to recognize it.”
They lingered over breakfast far longer than they usually did. The bond between them felt bright and open — pride flowing back and forth with warmth and quiet understanding.
Theo reached for her hand across the table.
“You realize what happens now, right? Every old family in the Wizengamot is going to try to figure out how to court our support.”
Hermione smirked. “Good. Let them try. Maybe the world’s ready for new rules.”
Draco leaned back in his chair, studying her.
“Granger, if you keep this up, you’re going to make being respectable fashionable again.”
She laughed softly, eyes shining. “Well, then I’ll consider that my next great reform.”
As the morning wore on, the sun climbed higher through the frosted windows.
Hermione leaned against Theo’s shoulder, her other hand resting near Draco’s. They didn’t need words; the bond carried everything — exhaustion, triumph, affection, the heady quiet of something that had begun to truly work.
Theo finally said, “We should get ready for dinner at Grimmauld Place.”
Hermione nodded but didn’t move.
“Just a few more minutes. I want to remember what this feels like.”
Draco looked down at her, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.
“Victory looks good on you, Lady Malfoy-Granger-Nott.”
“On all of us,” she whispered.
The fire in the drawing room flared emerald as the triad stepped through the floo.
Harry and Ginny’s house looked warmer, brighter than even there past visits. Framed photographs of their Quidditch team and honeymoon lined the mantel, and the smell of roast chicken and buttered potatoes filled the air.
Ginny was the first to greet them, hugging Hermione so tightly she almost lost her balance.
“You heroes! Everyone’s talking about your law.”
Harry’s grin was pure pride.
“ Come in before Kreacher decides you’re not happy with dinner.”
Draco stiffened at the familiar house-elf’s glare but said nothing. Theo’s arm brushed Hermione’s lightly as they followed Harry toward the long oak table.
Conversation started easily. Ginny teased Theo about the Prophet headline calling him “the charming strategist of reform.”
“You know that’s going on our team’s bulletin board,” she said.
Theo rolled his eyes. “If you want reform to happen faster, threaten to publish my old school essays instead.”
Laughter rippled around the table. Even Draco looked faintly amused. Hermione, watching them all, felt that subtle hum in her chest again—warm, living magic linking her to the men beside her.
She saw Ginny pause mid-sentence, brow furrowing.
“What’s that feeling, almost a shimmer in the air?” Ginny asked quietly.
“It’s like the air’s humming.” Chimed in Harry.
Hermione hesitated.
“We’ve been… learning more about our bond since the wedding. It’s strong. Sometimes people sensitive to magic can sense it.”
Harry exchanged a look with Ginny—half curiosity, half awe.
“Feels a bit like the first time we cast the Patronus charm together,” he said.
“Bright, but not blinding.”
Draco inclined his head slightly, as if admitting a secret. “It’s been stabilized since the honeymoon,” he said.
“The Unspeakables told us that means it’s working as intended.”
Theo added, softly, “We can feel one another’s emotions—just faintly. The resonance leaks outward sometimes.”
Ginny’s eyes widened.
“So you’re… linked? Properly linked?”
Hermione nodded, cheeks flushed but calm.
“Yes. It’s strange, but also comforting. We’re still learning how to live with it.”
Harry poured another round of wine.
“Then here’s to learning. And to not letting the Ministry define what family means anymore.”
They raised their glasses. For a moment, the triad’s rings glimmered in the candlelight—each faintly aglow.
Ginny noticed, whispering, “They really do shine.”
Hermione smiled shyly. “Only when we’re together.”
Theo reached across to squeeze her hand under the table. The small pulse of connection that followed was gentle, reassuring. Draco felt it too; his gaze softened though he said nothing.
After the meal, they gathered by the fire with coffee and treacle tart.
Conversation shifted between Quidditch, politics, and baby names—Ginny hinting at future plans, Luna’s pregnancy coming up again.
Hermione found herself telling stories from their honeymoon—the coral reefs, the villa, the way the Balinese witches had woven protection charms from seashells. She left out the personal parts, but even her reserved tone carried quiet joy.
Harry listened, smiling.
“You’re glowing, all three of you. It’s not just the bond, is it?”
Hermione met his gaze.
“No. It’s… happiness, I think. Hard-earned.”
For once, Draco didn’t hide behind cynicism. “We deserve it,” he said simply.
When it was time to leave, Ginny hugged Hermione again, whispering,
“Whatever that bond of yours is doing, it suits you. Just don’t forget us ordinary couples.”
Hermione laughed, eyes bright.
“Never. We’ll have a girls night soon, I promise!”
Harry clapped Theo’s shoulder, nodded to Draco.
“You’ve got something real going. Keep it steady.”
As they stepped into the green swirl of floo powder, Hermione glanced back at the cozy room—the warmth, the laughter, the acceptance—and thought how far they’d all come.
Back at Nott Manor, the night was cool and still. The triad walked the corridor in silence, the faint glow from their rings lighting the path.
Theo broke the quiet first.
“They felt it, didn’t they? The bond.”
Hermione nodded. “Yes. And they weren’t afraid.”
Draco’s voice was soft but resolute. “Good. Let them see that power can mean peace.”
She reached for both their hands, fingers intertwining. The hum of shared emotion warmed the air—contentment, exhaustion, a flicker of love.
“Whatever comes next,” she whispered, “we keep building.”
And beneath the moonlight filtering through the high windows, the three of them walked on together—heartbeats steady, magic humming in perfect, quiet harmony.
Notes:
A friend offered to make me a coverart for this story, I'm kind of excited.
Chapter 113: Muggle Movies
Chapter Text
The idea began innocently enough. Theo had left for a 24 hour shift, and Hermione only had a single early morning class, which she’d already returned from.
Hermione had been sorting through a box of her old Muggle things still unpacking form early summer—books, photos, and a few battered movie tickets—when Draco found one between the pages of a novel.
“What’s Cinemark Odeon 12?” he’d asked, sounding like he’d stumbled upon a secret code.
She’d grinned. “A cinema. Where Muggles watch stories come to life on a big screen.”
His brows had lifted with faint challenge. “You mean like a pensieve… but flat?”
That had settled it.
Now, on a the late March Friday afternoon, she stood in front of him outside a London cinema, scarf looped around her neck and a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Draco looked devastatingly out of place—immaculate wool coat, sleek blond hair, the faintest curl of skepticism on his lips.
“This,” she announced, “is a movie theater. You’re going to love it.”
He arched a brow. “Or it’ll be my undoing.”
“Only one way to find out.”
The moment they stepped inside, Draco’s senses were assaulted by light, color, and the smell of buttered popcorn.
He stopped dead.
“Is it supposed to smell like that?”
Hermione laughed. “That’s the best part! It’s called popcorn—trust me, you’ll want some.”
Before he could protest, she dragged him to thenearest concession stand.
He examined the glass bins with suspicion, as if they might explode. The attendant handed him a paper tub, and he held it like a volatile potion ingredient.
“You’re telling me,” he said slowly, “that people voluntarily pay to eat… salted corn?”
“Yes,” she said, amused. “And you’re going to, too.”
The first bite startled him; the second made him hum with reluctant approval.
“It’s… not terrible,” he conceded. “Warm. Oddly addictive.”
“See? You’re already half-Muggle.”
He gave her a sly look.
“Let’s not start rumors.”
Inside the dark theater, the enormous screen glowed to life.
Draco startled when the surround sound kicked in, instinctively reaching for his wand before Hermione caught his hand under the armrest.
“It’s all right,” she whispered, laughter trembling in her voice. “It’s just sound.”
He didn’t let go of her hand right away.
The flickering light from the screen painted gold across his face, softening him in a way she’d rarely seen.
When the hero first appeared—a tomb raiding adventurer racing through ancient ruins—Draco leaned forward, fascinated.
“This is… illusion magic?” he murmured.
“It’s technology,” she whispered.
“Muggles can create their own worlds without a single spell.”
He turned toward her, voice low and reverent.
“You were born in a world of wonders.”
Her breath caught. The movie thundered on, but she couldn’t look away from him.
Halfway through the film, Hermione reached for the popcorn at the same time he did.
Their fingers brushed, then lingered.
Draco didn’t pull away; his thumb traced the edge of her hand before retreating, deliberate and slow.
Neither spoke. The contact was small, but the warmth of it burned like a secret.
A few seats down, someone laughed at the film’s joke. Hermione smiled faintly but didn’t remember what was funny.
When the hero kissed the heroine onscreen, Draco leaned back, expression unreadable—but the bond between them hummed faintly with warmth, as if their shared pulse had found its own rhythm in the dark.
After it ended, Draco sat watching the blank screen for awhile, pondering the movie with her.
Outside, the night air was cool and sharp. The marquee lights flickered above them.
Draco looked unusually thoughtful, the paper popcorn tub still in his hand.
“I think I understand now,” he said.
“Why Muggles love this. It’s… escape. The kind you can share.”
Hermione nodded. “That’s what it was for me growing up. A way to believe in something bigger.”
He tilted his head, studying her. “You already were something bigger.”
The compliment hung between them, unguarded.
Hermione blushed. “Careful, Draco. You’re getting sentimental.”
He smirked faintly. “Maybe I’m just adapting.”
They began to walk, shoulders brushing occasionally on the crowded pavement. At one point, she realized he was still holding a kernel of popcorn between his fingers.
“For research,” he said, when she caught him.
“Of course,” she replied, smiling. “Purely academic.”
When they arrived at the edge of the alley to apparate home, the city lights haloed in mist.
Draco turned to her, quiet for a long moment.
“Thank you,” he said finally.
“For showing me this. For… letting me see your world.”
Hermione’s heart swelled. “You’re welcome in it, you know. Both of my worlds.”
The words seemed to move through him. Then, softly, he took her hand again—not bold, not demanding, but steady.
“Next time,” he said, “you’ll let me choose the film.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You’ll have to earn that.”
He smiled, slow and dangerous.
“Oh, I plan to.”
And as they disapparated together, the faint hum of their bond shimmered between them—a quiet echo of laughter, popcorn, and the shared wonder of light on a silver screen.
That evening the master bedroom of Nott Manor was bathed in the soft, diffused light of a lazy evening moon, the silk sheets rumpled where Draco and Hermione lay entwined.
The air was heavy with the lingering musk of their recent intimacy—her leisurely blowjob moments ago, lips wrapped around his cock, while the bond shared diluted waves of his bliss to Theo at his Healer classes without overwhelming him.
They'd grown adept at muting the magic's intensity, filtering it like a soft veil, though faint echoes of contentment still rippled through as a shared heartbeat.
The triad rings glowed softly on their fingers, underscoring the relaxed, sexually charged atmosphere, Draco's arm draped possessively over her waist as she nestled against his chest.
Draco's hand trailed lazily down her side, fingers dancing over the curve of her hip before dipping between her thighs with unhurried intent, parting her slick folds gently.
"Gods, sweetheart, you were incredible earlier—your hot mouth taking my cock so deep, swallowing every drop of my cum like it was made for you," he murmured huskily against her ear, voice a low, gravelly caress, one finger sliding in, her walls yielding warmly.
He curled it lazily against her G-spot, stroking in slow, deliberate drags that made her sigh contentedly, hips shifting subtly.
The pace was leisurely, teasing and gentle, designed to build pleasure without spiking the bond too sharply for Theo.
Hermione arched into his touch, her hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart, a soft moan escaping as his thumb grazed her clit in feather-light circles, the nub swelling under the gentle pressure.
"Mmm, Draco... keep going, just like that—feels so relaxing," she breathed, legs parting wider in invitation, the bond carrying a muted ripple of her bliss, relaxed and sensual.
He kissed her temple, adding a second finger with the same unhurried push, the dual thickness stretching her softly, her slick easing the glide as he scissored them just enough to feel her inner walls part.
"Theo's dying to have you fully, love—I've felt it pulsing through the bond every time we're together, that massive girth of his aching to stretch your tight pussy wide, fill you so deep with his pierced cock."
His voice was gentle praise, free hand cupping her breast,, building a leisurely fire.
"But he never wants to push you too far, hurt you more than you can handle—he adores you too much, my brilliant wife. You're so damn good at taking me now, that sexy tightness gripping my cock like hot silk, not terrible anymore, just the perfect squeeze that milks me dry every time. Theo's so girthy, though hand that apadravya barbell dragging inside you—he knows you need to be fully ready, prepped with love and time, or it'd be too intense at first."
She whimpered softly, hips rocking in time with his fingers, the stretch turning delicious as he added a third, the three digits filling her more profoundly, twisting gently to open her channel wider.
"Draco... it's starting to feel so full—tell me more about Theo, how he'd feel," she panted, curiosity and arousal mingling, the bond humming faintly, a shared undercurrent that Theo might sense as a vague, pleasant currents.
Draco's free hand joined between her legs now, ring finger from the opposite hand sliding alongside the first three, the total of four stretching her entrance with careful, deliberate insistence.
Her pussy lips parting around the dual invasion, the graphic pull creating a profound, burning fullness that hovered on the edge of overwhelming but stayed in teasing pleasure, her inner walls yielding visibly under the slow pressure.
"Like this, love—feel these four fingers pulling you open so gently, imagining Theo's cock someday, prepping this perfect, tight pussy to take his thickness without too much ache," he praised dirtily but tenderly.
He begane to tug his hands in opposite directions millimeter by millimeter, the stretch drawn out eternally—her entrance gaping slightly more with each subtle pull, pink inner walls exposed ever so slightly to his prying eyes.
The sensation made her gasp sharply with unease.
"Breathe for me, darling—does it burn a little? That's the stretch we want, opening you slow so Theo's fat head can push in without tearing too bad."
"Oh gods, Draco—yes, it burns so good, pulling me apart like that... I can feel my walls parting, so exposed," she whimpered, nervousness flickering through the bond softly.
"Keep talking—I'm still nervous Theo's girth will tear me apart completely—it's so much wider than you, that piercing... what if I can't take it without real pain?"
He eased the pull slowly, holding the gape steady, fingers trembling with restraint, her pussy quivering around the invasion.
"I know, Hermione—that nervousness is valid; Theo's so massively thick—it'll likely tear a little at first maybe, stretch you to your limits until your body adjusts over time, molds to him with lots of slow prep like this. Feel how I'm tugging opposite now, holding you open wider; imagine Theo's head right there, blunt and flared, pressing against you, popping in with that first burn."
He tugged a fraction more, her entrance stretching tauter, inner pink flesh pulsing visibly, slick frothing at the edges.
"Under normal circumstances, if you hadn't been so sexy tight and him so incredibly girthy, Theo would have taken your virginity long before I even entered the picture—he's been craving that moment since day one, dreaming of being your first, easing into you with all his loving patience, filling you with his cum as your initiation. I wish we'd gotten that for him, love—seen his eyes light up as he claimed you first, stretched your innocence around his fullness. Does this pull feel deeper now? Tell me how it aches, Granger—good ache or too much?"
"It's... a good ache, Draco—stretching me so wide, I can feel every bit opening, like I'm made for this... but gods, for Theo, it'll be even more," she confessed breathily, voice trembling with honest anxiety and growing arousal.
He released the tension slowly, fingers resuming a languid thrust—all four working in tandem inside her, scissoring and curling with exquisite care.
Then he tugged opposite again, even slower, holding the gape longer this time, her entrance stretched more pronouncedly, inner walls quivering exposed to the air.
"That's my perfect wife—so responsive, taking four fingers so beautifully, your pussy learning to love this deep stretch, opening wider with every pull, getting prepped to swallow Theo's thick cock inch by veiny inch someday. Feel that burn building as I hold you open? That's what it'll be like when he breaches you—intense at first, but it’ll feel good too.”
His thumbs converged on her nub in tandem, rubbing feather-soft circles amid the exposure, " tell me, Granger, does it make you wetter, thinking of Theo's girth right here, pushing in?"
"Yes—fuck, Draco, wetter... the stretch is making me drip, imagining him... hold it, please, let me feel it longer," she begged softly, body undulating in slow waves, the four fingers creating a profound fullness, the bond carrying soft, relaxing waves of her building ecstasy—leisurely and contained.
He obliged, tugging fractionally wider, holding her open—pink flesh pulsing, slick stringing taut between digits—whispering praises, "Beautiful, wife—your pussy's gaping so pretty, walls all slick and ready; Theo would lose himself seeing this, knowing he's next to fill it."
The cycle repeated endlessly—pull, hold with dialogue, release, plunge—minutes blending as her body adapted, the burn transforming to profound pleasure, until the leisurely build crested in a slow, unfurling orgasm into bliss.
Draco eased his fingers out with tender kisses to her mound, gathering her close, their bodies molding in sated languor as they dozed in the fading light.
Notes:
Well, at least Draco is thinking about where this needs to head for Theo.
Also... Theo's birthday is coming up, what kind of party or outing should he have?
Chapter 114: The Girls
Notes:
They needed some girl talk about the honeymoon =P
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The grandfather clock in the entrance hall had barely chimed seven am when the wards rippled softly to admit Theo home.
He looked wrecked—hair flattened from a sleep-deprived night, dark smudges under his eyes, but he was smiling faintly in that way he always did when he crossed the threshold of Nott Manor.
The scent of fresh coffee drifted from the kitchen.
Hermione was there in a dressing gown, hair a tumble of curls, humming softly as she stirred milk into two mugs.
She didn’t hear him at first.
“Morning,” he rasped, voice rough from disuse.
She jumped spilling a cup, then grinned.
“You scared me. Merlin, you look exhausted.”
“That’s because I am.”
He leaned against the doorframe, eyes softening on her.
“And you look… suspiciously cheerful for someone who said she’d spend the evening reading and whose bond said otherwise.”
Hermione flushed, busying herself with pouring.
“I, um, changed my plans.”
“Did you?” His tone was mild, but the flicker of curiosity through the bond was unmistakable. “Where’s Draco?”
“Still asleep, I think,” she said quickly.
“We got to bed late.”
Theo raised an eyebrow and moved to the table, collapsing into a chair. “We?”
Hermione set the mug in front of him, then sat across from him, fingers curling around her own.
He looked at her—really looked—and even half-dead from work, his healer instincts were sharp.
There was a glow about her, subtle but unmistakable. And the bond—normally a quiet hum—was warmer this morning, steadier, touched with something he hadn’t felt in weeks: lightness.
He took a slow sip. “All right. What happened?”
Hermione sighed. “I took Draco to see a Muggle film.”
Theo blinked. “A… what?”
“A movie. You know, moving pictures on a big screen? Popcorn? Crowds?” She smiled at the memory.
“He’d never been to one before.”
Theo’s mouth twitched into a tired grin. “Merlin’s beard, I’d pay to see that. Did he hex the projector?”
“No, but he nearly hexed the speakers.” Her laughter softened.
“He loved it, though. More than I expected.”
Theo tilted his head, watching her fondly.
“And you loved showing him.”
The admission lingered unspoken between them. Hermione stirred her coffee, eyes lowering.
“It was nice,” she said finally. “Just… normal. No headlines, no politics. Just us.”
Theo nodded slowly a flicker of understanding.
“You two needed that.”
Silence fell for a moment, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace. Theo closed his eyes briefly, feeling the pulse of magic that connected them.
Something had changed—gentle, unthreatening, but undeniable. He could sense contentment from both her and Draco, a new ease threading through the bond’s undercurrent.
“You feel different,” he said quietly.
Hermione looked up. “Different?”
“Peaceful,” he said. “And maybe a little smug.”
She laughed, color rising in her cheeks.
“I promise, no smugness. Just… happy… maybe alittle satisfied…”
He smiled at that, exhaustion softening into warmth.
“Good. That’s all I want for you both.”
For a moment she hesitated, then reached across the table, laying her hand over his.
“You too.”
Their bond flickered in response, a quiet note of affection. Theo squeezed her fingers lightly.
“I’ll admit,” he murmured, “it’s strange—feeling both of you through this thing. When one of you’s content, it makes the whole world quieter.”
Hermione smiled. “Then let’s hope we can keep it that way.”
A yawn echoed down the corridor. Draco appeared, hair tousled, wearing one of Theo’s old shirts. He froze for a moment at the sight of them hand-in-hand, then smirked faintly.
“Morning, Healer. You look half-dead.”
Theo released Hermione’s hand and stretched.
“Feels about right. Did the movie ruin you for wizarding entertainment forever?”
Draco’s smirk widened.
“Possibly. Although I still think Muggle ‘trailers’ are a form of psychological warfare.”
Hermione groaned, hiding a smile.
“He sat through three of them complaining the whole time.”
“And yet,” Draco said, pouring himself coffee, “I’m already planning what to see next.”
Theo shot Hermione a look—amused, knowing.
“I see you’ve corrupted him thoroughly.”
She only shrugged, a spark in her eyes. “In more ways than one… someone had to.”
Whn Draco left to fetch the morning post, Theo leaned closer, voice low.
“He’s calmer,” he said.
“Whatever happened last night… it helped.”
Hermione nodded softly. “It did. For both of us. Things are feeling more settled… just not quite right though yet.”
Theo smiled, a little tired but content.
“Then I’m glad. I’ll be sleeping half the day, but wake me if the world ends—or if you decide to teach me this cinema thing… or whatever this other thing is…”
She laughed quietly and stuck out her tongue. “Deal.”
As he stood, she reached out impulsively and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.
“Welcome home, Theo.”
His smile was slow, genuine. “It’s good to be home.”
And as he disappeared down the hall, she felt the faint hum of their bond pulse once more—three heartbeats in quiet harmony, threaded together by light, warmth, and the simple comfort of coming home.
In late afternoon, Hermione Apparated to the steps of Number 12 Grimmauld Place just after sunset.
When the door opened, warmth and the smell of butterbeer and cinnamon burst out to meet her.
Ginny pulled her in at once.
“Finally! We were starting without you if you didn’t show in the next five minutes.”
Pansy was sprawled elegantly on the sofa, glass of wine in hand and an expression of mock impatience.
“She’s been positively glowing since Bali,” Pansy drawled.
“I want all the scandalous details.”
Hermione flushed immediately, hanging up her cloak.
“There aren’t any scandalous details,” she said, though the faint color in her cheeks betrayed hr.
Hermione tucked her feet under her on the armchair opposite the sofa while Ginny handed her a steaming mug.
“It’s Firewhisky cocoa,” Ginny said. “Because plain cocoa is for first years.”
They clinked mugs, and for a few minutes they just talked about work—Ginny’s upcoming Quidditch schedule, Pansy’s new line of enchanted skincare, and Hermione’s latest Charms mastery project.
The easy rhythm of friendship filled the space, comfortable and bright.
Then Ginny gave her a sly look.
“So… honeymoon.”
Pansy leaned forward like a cat spotting prey.
“Yes, let’s start there. Were the beaches divine? Were they divine?”
Hermione groaned.
“Merlin’s beard, you two.”
Ginny smirked. “You brought this on yourself. You disappear for a week with two gorgeous men and come back smiling like the Mona Lisa. We deserve to know something.”
Pansy raised a brow.
“Just a single adjective will do. We’ll extrapolate the rest.”
Hermione hid her face behind her mug, laughing despite herself.
“Fine. It was… wonderful. Beautiful. And—” she hesitated, choosing her words carefully, “—everything a honeymoon should be.”
Ginny let out a triumphant squeal. “So you did—”
Hermione cut her off, laughing harder now.
“We consummated the marriage, yes. Well, Draco and I did, but Theo was… involved too. There. That’s all you’re getting.”
Pansy clapped her hands together.
“About time. I was beginning to think the Ministry would send an Unspeakable to supervise.”
Hermione choked on her drink sputtering. “Pansy!”
“What?” Pansy said, utterly unrepentant.
“You know they probably have a form and rules for that.”
Ginny nearly dropped her mug laughing. “Oh, that’s brilliant.”
When the laughter settled, the teasing softened into genuine affection.
Ginny reached across the coffee table, squeezing Hermione’s hand.
“I’m really happy for you, you know. It’s not traditional—but it’s you. And it seems to fit.”
Hermione’s eyes warmed.
“It does. It’s… surprising, but it feels right. We’re still figuring things out, but the bond is stronger than I imagined.”
Pansy tilted her head.
“And Draco emotionaly?”
“Trying,” Hermione said softly. “He’s still learning how to let people love him. But he’s doing beautifully. And I’m not ready quite to say it yet either, I don’t want to put preassure on him to say something he doesn’t mean.”
That earned an approving nod from Pansy.
“Good. He needs grounding. Theo’s better at that.”
Hermione smiled. “He is. They both are.”
For a few moments they sat quietly—three women, each shaped by war and healing and new beginnings—letting the fire crackle between them.
By the time the clock chimed nine, their talk had drifted to lighter things—wedding memories, gossip about who was secretly seeing whom at the Ministry, and Luna’s pregnancy cravings.
Ginny yawned, stretching like a cat.
“You realize we’ve officially become the old married club? Luna nesting, you juggling two husbands, and me yelling at Harry for leaving socks on the stairs.”
Pansy sipped her wine.
“Speak for yourselves. Blaise still thinks marriage is an elaborate duel with nicer clothing.”
They all burst out laughing again, shoulders relaxed, hearts lighter.
For Hermione, it felt like exhaling after holding her breath too long.
When Hermione finally stood to leave, Ginny hugged her tightly.
“Tell those boys of yours we expect a double date soon,” she said.
“I’m dying to see if Draco can actually handle the mountain muggle world.”
Pansy kissed her cheek.
“And remind Nott that if he ever needs potion consultations for fertility deadlines, I have an entire apothecary of discretion in my back closet.”
“Pansy!” Hermione sputtered, laughing as she pulled on her cloak.
Pansy winked. “You love me.”
“I do,” Hermione said fondly. “Both of you.”
Outside, the cool night air greeted her. As she disapparated, the faint tug of the bond stirred against her chest—Theo and Draco, sensing her on her way home.
For once, instead of feeling the pressure of the connection, Hermione only felt peace.
Notes:
So... where do you think Hermione's and Draco's feelings for each other are now?
What do they need to actually love each other and realize it?
Chapter 115: Family Jewels and Intentions
Chapter Text
The little glass-roofed café at the far end of Diagon Alley had always been Hermione’s favorite—bright, open, and full of the kind of noise that made serious conversation difficult.
She had chosen it on purpose whe asked for a meeting.
Maybe, with sunlight and chatter around them, lunch with Narcissa Malfoy would stay polite and noninvasive.
Draco sat beside her at the small table, immaculate in black, posture perfect, the very picture of controlled elegance.
Across from them, Theo lounged with the ease of a man who’d worked three night shifts and decided coffee counted as a meal.
When the door chimed, all three looked up.
Narcissa swept in like magic itself—silver scarf, pale gloves, eyes sharp and assessing.
The crowd seemed to hush as she crossed the floor, then filled again with murmurs as she sat down.
“Mother,” Draco greeted carefully, rising to kiss her cheek.
“My dears,” she replied, lips curving faintly.
“Let us pretend I’m not scandalous for being seen with Britain’s most talked-about newlyweds.”
Hermione couldn’t help but smile as she ordered tea for the table. The tension in Draco’s shoulders was palpable, but Narcissa looked disarmingly calm—too calm, which was always dangerous.
They hadn’t finished their first cups before Narcissa’s gaze sharpened.
“You three feel different,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Even the air around you hums. Have the Unspeakables adjusted your bond again?”
Draco gave a weary sigh. “Mother, we’re managing the bond just fine.”
“That is not an answer.” Her eyes gleamed with mischief. “I can practically see the energy moving between you. Theo, tell me—what have they done?”
Theo’s lips twitched. “Nothing. They can’t touch our bond. It adjusts itself. It’s just stronger now. More balanced since the hhoneymoon.”
Draco groaned softly. “Not helping.”
Narcissa turned toward Hermione, delighted. “So it’s true, then. You’ve stabilized. How very modern of you.”
Hermione tried not to laugh. “It’s still a work in progress.”
“Of course,” Narcissa said, pretending innocence. “I do wonder, though—how do you manage privacy when you can all sense each other’s moods? Draco says you can sense things now. It must make arguments fascinating.”
Hermione nearly spilled her tea. Theo coughed to hide a laugh. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Mother,” he warned, “we’d prefer not to discuss private matters over lunch.”
“Of course not, darling,” she replied sweetly.
“I’m only curious. One must understand the new social order.”
When the teasing had run its course, Narcissa changed subjects with practiced ease.
“Now, Hermione,” she began, “you are officially a Lady of two houses. The Malfoy and Nott estates both recognize you as their matriarch. It’s time you had the proper jewels.”
Hermione blinked, looking at her engagement ring. “I have jewelry.”
“You have trinkets,” Narcissa corrected gently.
“Each house keeps heirlooms for its Lady—the pieces meant to be worn at family gatherings, Ministry functions, the Wizengamot. They belong to you now. You must visit Gringotts and claim them.”
Draco frowned.
“Mother, that isn’t necessary.”
“Oh, it is,” she insisted. “You and Theo will take her after tis. It should haven been done right after the wedding. The goblins will release what’s legally hers under the bond. And for Merlin’s sake, make sure she has something elegant to wear when she wears them out. A Lady must look as though she can command a room.”
Theo leaned back, smirking.
“If it keeps her from wearing Ministry-issue pins, I’m in.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, though she was laughing. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’ll thank me later,” Narcissa said approvingly.
“Appearances matter. The public needs to see strength and unity—and a bit of glamour never hurts.”
Draco muttered something about “fashion diplomacy,” but didn’t argue further. Hermione could feel the reluctant amusement from him through their bond; it warmed the space between them.
Lunch lingered with small talk that only Narcissa could weaponize.
She asked after the manor’s renovations, inquired about Theo’s healer rotations, and complimented Hermione’s latest article on Muggleborn integrationin the Quibller—each question layered with subtle probes for information.
Every time Draco tried to redirect her, she pivoted gracefully back.
“And how are you finding married life?” she asked, cutting into her lemon tart.
Theo answered first with a smirk. “Noisy.”
Hermione smiled. “Rewarding.”
“Private,” Draco muttered under his breath.
Narcissa’s smile widened. “Then I’ll take that as perfectly complicated.” She set down her fork and looked at all three of them in turn. “You’re doing better than I expected. Try not to make me regret being proud.”
For once, Draco’s expression softened entirely. “Thank you, Mother,” he said quietly.
When they rose to leave, the sunlight outside had turned the cobblestones into gold. Narcissa kissed Hermione’s cheek lightly. “Gringotts, now,” she said.
She disapparated with a soft crack, leaving them standing in the bright afternoon.
Theo chuckled. “That went surprisingly well.”
Draco gave him a look. “You call that well?”
Hermione slipped her arm through his and smiled. “Honestly? I liked her today.”
“That’s how she traps you,” Draco muttered, but there was laughter under his breath.
The three of them walked down Diagon Alley together, sunlight glinting on their joined hands, Narcissa’s decree already setting their next adventure in motion.
The marble steps of Gringotts were slick from a recent drizzle, catching the glint of afternoon sun as the trio climbed them.
The goblin guards gave them long, assessing looks—no surprise there. A bonded triad of two ancient pure-blood lines and one of the most famous witches in the country who wrecked the bank recently, made for good gossip even in the deepest vaults.
Draco held the heavy brass door open for her. “If Mother’s already written ahead,” he murmured, “they’ll have both vaults prepared.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “You say that like it’s a military operation.”
“Family treasure is a battlefield,” Theo muttered, running a hand through his hair as they passed into the echoing hall.
A goblin banker met them with a formal bow and a clinking ring of keys.
“Vaults seven and nine have been made accessible to all three signatories. Please follow me.”
The cart plunged into darkness before jerking to a halt before a massive iron door etched with serpentine runes. When it opened, torchlight spilled over mountains of polished cases and velvet-lined chests.
The Malfoy vault glowed like captured moonlight—silver and diamond everywhere, each piece precise and coldly beautiful.
Hermione drew in a breath. “It’s… overwhelming.”
Draco stepped beside her, pride softening into something almost shy.
“Most of these haven’t been touched in decades. My mother wore only a fraction. She said the rest felt like wearing someone else’s gaudy history.”
Theo whistled low. “You could buy half of France with what’s in here, the nott’s don’t have nearly so much jewlery.”
Draco gave him a look. “We’re not buying France.”
Hermione turned in a slow circle, hands clasped.
“Well, we’re certainly not taking all of this home.”
Draco frowned his pride faultering in the bond. “Why not?”
“Because I’m not a jewelry shop,” she said with amusement.
“And because it feels wrong to strip it bare. Let’s pick a few pieces I can actually wear.”
He looked reluctant, but Theo was already moving toward a smaller chest near the wall. Inside were simpler items—filigree bracelets, delicate earrings, a handful of rings without the ostentation of court jewels.
“These suit you,” Theo said, handing her a narrow bracelet in platinum with emerald inlay. “Elegant, but not shouting.”
Draco gave a slow nod.
“Keep that one. It belonged to my great-grandmother. She was… difficult, but she had taste.”
Hermione smiled and slipped it on. “Then I’ll wear it in her honor—and to spite her ghost if she disapproves.”
That made Draco laugh. “Merlin, I adore you.”
Her cheeks flushed; the bond shimmered warm between them. They picked out a few more practical pieces and headed out.
Their second descent took them deeper, the air cooler and tinged with copper. The Nott vault was smaller, less curated than the Malfoy one—boxes stacked neatly, charms humming quietly in the corners. The gold here looked worn by use rather than display.
Theo brushed dust off a chest near the front and opened it, revealing a velvet tray of rings and brooches, many bearing the Nott crest worked in garnet and gold. “My mother never wore these,” he said softly.
“Said they felt like chains. Maybe they’ll mean something better on you.”
Hermione reached out gently, tracing the old family sigil. “They’re beautiful. And they’ll stay here unless I need them.”
He smiled at that, faint but genuine. “You really are the sensible one of us.”
“She’s also the one keeping us from looking like magpies,” Draco added.
She picked a pair of delicate gold drop earrings and a single chain with a garnet pendant. “A few things from each vault,” she said firmly.
“Something for daily wear, something for galas. The rest stays here where it belongs. If an occasion calls for it, we can always come back to get others.”
The goblin banker nodded approvingly. “Wise, Lady Malfoy-Granger-Nott. Few humans show restraint in these halls.”
Hermione inclined her head. “Then I’ll take that as the highest compliment.”
Back on the surface, the sunlight was brighter than before, reflecting off the velvet cases in Draco’s arms. He looked faintly pleased, like a boy who’d gotten away with mischief.
“You do realize you’ve just been invested with several fortunes’ worth of history.”
“History can stay in the vaults,” Hermione said, smiling as she adjusted her bag. “But beauty should be lived in.”
Theo chuckled. “That’s very poetic.”
“Good,” she said. “Then I’ll wear poetry to the next gala.”
As they stepped onto the crowded street again, she could feel both men’s quiet pride through the bond—Draco’s tinged with nostalgia, Theo’s threaded with contentment. She reached for their hands without thinking, linking all three together. The jeweled bracelet caught the light, scattering tiny emerald sparks over their fingers.
It looked, Hermione thought, exactly as it should: not treasure locked away underground, but something bright and living, bound between them in daylight.
The manor was unusually quiet when they returned from Diagon Alley. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the tall windows, turning the marble floors to honey and shadow. Hermione had just set the velvet jewelry boxes on the console table when one of the house-elves appeared with a bow.
“Lady Malfoy requests your company for tea in the east drawing room, Miss.”
Hermione blinked. “She’s here?”
The elf nodded. “Arrived not five minutes ago, ma’am. She said it was… a social call.”
Hermione felt Draco’s gaze from the hall. “Did you know she was coming back here today?”
He shook his head. “No, but I can guess why. She’ll want to see what we brought back.”
Theo smirked, tugging off his gloves.
“I’ll be in the study when you’ve survived the inquisition.”
Hermione shot him a look, though the teasing steadied her nerves. She straightened her shoulders, smoothed her hair, and made her way toward the sun-filled drawing room.
Narcissa Malfoy was waiting by the tall windows, framed in gold light. She looked almost ethereal—hair in a perfect chignon, a dark green gown that shimmered like moss in shadow. A silver tea service floated at her elbow, steaming gently.
“My dear,” Narcissa said as Hermione entered, her voice soft but commanding.
“Come, sit with me. I’ve had the elves fetch the good Darjeeling. You’ll need it.”
Hermione obeyed, taking the seat opposite. The porcelain cups were delicate things—lace-thin, painted with curling serpents and lilies. Narcissa poured without spilling a drop.
“I see you’ve been to Gringotts,” she said lightly, stirring her cup.
“Draco looked as if he’d been forced to share toys with his favorite rival.”
Hermione smiled faintly.
“He and Theo both wanted to bring home half the vault. I convinced them reason was better than robbery.”
“Ah,” Narcissa mused. “Already mastering the art of gentle command. Good. My son needs that.”
She took a sip, then set her cup down, eyes narrowing slightly—not cruelly, but sharply, like a jeweler appraising a diamond.
“Tell me, Hermione. How are you—truly—managing the bond?”
Hermione hesitated. There it was—the real reason for tea. Narcissa’s gaze was kind, but it missed nothing.
“It’s… complicated,” Hermione said finally. “But we’re finding our rhythm. The bond has deepened since the honeymoon, but parts of it remain incomplete. I can feel them more clearly now though—Theo’s calm, Draco’s storm.”
“That sounds rather like my marriage,” Narcissa murmured, not quite smiling. “Except your storm seems to have learned gentleness.”
Hermione blinked. “He has. He’s… trying, so hard. I didn’t expect how much he’d change once the walls began to fall.”
Narcissa leaned back, eyes softening.
“He was a boy made of armor for so long. You must understand—when one grows up fearing love, it takes time to recognize it, even when it’s standing in front of you.”
Hermione swallowed. “He’s different with me. He’s patient, and thoughtful, but sometimes I can still feel how careful he’s being. As if he’s afraid to emotionally reach too far.”
“Because he is,” Narcissa said simply. “He’s terrified of giving everything and being left hollow again. Astoria’s death was… unkind to his spirit. He never forgave himself for surviving her.”
The quiet words cut through the air. Hermione set down her cup and met the older woman’s eyes. “He told me about her. About the baby. About the guilt he still carries. When we went to her grave.”
Narcissa nodded slowly. “Then you understand. His heart is still tender, no matter how proudly he wears that mask. You’ve done more than anyone to coax warmth back into him.”
Narcissa leaned forward, her voice gentling.
“Tell me about the three of you. Does it feel balanced? Are you—connected?”
Hermione exhaled. “In ways I can’t quite describe. I feel them, both of them, like currents under my skin. If Draco’s anxious, it ripples through me. When Theo’s content, I breathe easier. It’s intimate in a way that has nothing to do with touch.”
“That is the mark of a sealed triadic bond,” Narcissa said softly.
“Emotion, not possession. But balance must be tended like flame. If one of you withholds affection, love, or honesty, the others will feel the hollow.”
Hermione nodded slowly. “The Unspeakable said something similar. Harmony, or instability.”
“And instability,” Narcissa said, “can twist even love into madness. I’ve seen it happen once before, when I was very young. Promise me you’ll keep talking to each other—openly.”
“I will,” Hermione said, and meant it.
For a time, they simply drank tea in companionable silence. Sunlight slid across the floor; the shadows of the garden trees danced on the rug.
At last Narcissa spoke again, softer now. “You remind me of someone I once knew—an Arithmancer my father despised because she was Muggleborn. Brilliant woman. She never let our prejudice dull her shine. You have her same unshakable grace.”
Hermione blinked hard. “That’s… a kind thing to say. Thank you.”
Narcissa smiled, genuine and small.
“Consider it my welcome to the family. You’ve given my son a chance at something I never thought he’d find—a life not ruled by legacy, but by choice.”
Hermione looked down into her teacup. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing enough. For either of them.”
“My dear,” Narcissa said, reaching across the table to cover Hermione’s hand with hers, “you are remaking both of them. You’ve already done enough.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. She managed a trembling smile. “You really are… not what I expected.”
“Good,” Narcissa said briskly, sitting back again. “Now finish your tea before it goes cold. And tell those boys of mine that if they don’t let you rest between your studies and their politics, I’ll come remind them who truly runs these families.”
Hermione laughed softly, the tension breaking. “I think they already know.”
When Hermione finally stood to leave, Narcissa followed her to the door. “One last thing,” she said, her voice suddenly gentle again.
“You asked once what it means to love a Malfoy. It means patience. It means forgiveness. But above all, it means refusing to let him hide from his own heart.”
Hermione nodded solomely. “I can do that.”
“I know you can,” Narcissa said, eyes glinting with something proud and secret. “Now go. He’ll be pretending to read and really listening for your footsteps.”
Hermione smiled, warmth pooling in her chest as she made her way down the corridor.
The bond hummed faintly under her skin—Draco’s anticipation, Theo’s quiet curiosity—and she thought, as the drawing room doors closed behind her, that Narcissa had given her more than advice. She had given her blessing to love Draco.
Notes:
so, does Hermione think she may love him? Or only that they're heading that way?
Chapter 116: Strike
Chapter Text
It had been Theo’s idea—well, sort of.
Ginny had written earlier that week:
“You three need a normal night out before the next round of Ministry drama. We’re thinking bowling. Muggle, not magical. Wear something that can get scuffed and pizza greasy.”
Draco had stared at the owl as if it had delivered a death sentence at first.
“The shoes alone sound unhygienic,” he’d muttered.
Hermione had just smiled sweetly. “You’ll survive.”
Theo had clapped him on the shoulder.
“You survived the Dark Lord, mate. You can survive footwear and bowling muggles.”
And so, against all odds, Saturday evening found the triad walking into Kingpin Lanes, a cheerful muggle bowling alley in North London.
The vibe was complete with neon lights flickering and pop music thumping softly over the sound of rolling balls.
Draco paused just inside the door. His expression was… complicated.
“So this is where muggles spend their evenings voluntarily?” he asked, taking in the cracked plastic benches, the rows of scuffed shoes, and the faint smell of fried potatoes.
Hermione grinned. “Yes. Isn’t it glorious?”
Theo was already grinning wider. “Smells like pure joy and saturated fat.”
Harry and Ginny waved from lane 12, Ginny already in fitted jeans and a red jumper, her hair up in a ponytail. “You lot took forever!” she called.
“I was about to start without you.”
Harry handed Draco a pair of rental shoes. “Size eleven, right?”
Draco accepted them like someone receiving cursed relics.
“I can feel the unwashed history radiating from these. Surely we can caste a cleaning charm.”
Theo snorted. “Just pretend they’re enchanted dragon-hide.”
“That would help if they didn’t smell like someone died in them,” Draco muttered, but sat down anyway.
Hermione tied her own with practiced ease, suppressing a laugh.
“Consider it character-building.”
Ginny went first. She bowled like a woman who played Quidditch professionally—aggressive, confident, absolutely merciless.
A strike on her first turn.
Harry applauded her proudly. “That’s my wife.”
Theo leaned toward Hermione. “Should we be intimidated?”
“Absolutely. They do this for date night regularly,” Hermione replied, half-smiling.
Theo’s own first throw veered dramatically left, bouncing off the gutter with a clatter. “See? Perfectly calibrated to boost her ego.”
Ginny laughed loud enough for three lanes to turn to stare.
Then came Draco.
He stood at the top of the lane, ball in hand, posture aristocratic as if about to duel. “How difficult can this possibly be?”
“Famous last words,” Harry murmured with mirth.
Draco threw—too much force, not enough aim. The ball rocketed down the lane, leapt into the gutter halfway, and slammed into the barrier with a resounding clang.
Every head turned.
Draco exhaled slowly. “I loosened the lane for the rest of you.”
Hermione was next. She took careful aim and rolled, smooth and steady. Eight pins fell.
Theo gave an exaggerated bow. “And that is why she leads our household strategy meetings.”
Between frames, they gathered around the small table behind the benches. Ginny had ordered fries, a cheese pizza, and fizzy cider for everyone.
Theo dunked a fry into the sauce, biting into it happily. “This, right here, is why muggles rule the culinary arts.”
Harry laughed. “I’ll have to tell Molly that.”
Draco eyed the plate of fries suspiciously, then finally tried one. His expression shifted—first wary, then resigned pleasure. “All right. I admit it. They’re edible.”
Hermione leaned her chin on her hand, teasing. “You mean delicious.”
He looked at her over the rim of his cup, smirking. “For something deep-fried in mystery oil? Yes. Irresistible.”
Ginny snorted giggling. “That’s exactly how I described Harry when we started dating.”
Harry groaned. “Merlin’s sake, Gin.”
The group dissolved into untamed laughter.
By the second game, things had grown serious. Ginny and Theo had formed a mock alliance called Team Chaos, while Hermione and Draco declared themselves Team Strategy. Poor Harry was just trying to keep up with his wife’s score, and failing.
Theo spun the scoreboard quill toward Draco. “Losser buys dessert.”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “And if we win?”
“You buy it anyway, because you’re rich,” Theo shot back.
Hermione laughed so hard she nearly dropped her ball on her way up.
Then Draco found his rhythm—long, graceful stride, just enough spin. Strike. He turned, perfectly smug. “Clearly I’ve mastered it.”
Theo mimed clapping in slow motion. “Yes, Your Highness, we bow before your athletic prowess.”
Ginny whispered loudly to Hermione, “He’s enjoying this too much.”
Hermione whispered back, “I’ll let him. He needs the ego boost after his first attempt.”
Through the bond, she felt Draco’s faint amusement pulse back toward her—a shared spark of mirth and affection that made her cheeks flush.
They took a break after game two. Harry fetched another round of cider and mozzarella sticks. Ginny challenged Theo to an arm-wrestling contest on the counter. Hermione nearly spit her drink onto Draco when Theo let her win with dramatic groaning.
Draco sat back, watching the chaos unfold, and said quietly to Hermione, “I think I finally understand why you like these people.”
She smiled, tilting her head. “Because they’re basically my siblings?”
“Because they make you laugh like that.”
Her stomach fluttered at the softness in his tone.
Theo turned in his seat, catching the look between them, and grinned. “Don’t get sappy, you two. It’s my turn to score a strike and win back our dignity.”
He immediately bowled a gutter ball. Ginny whooped. “Dignity: denied!”
The night stretched pleasantly long. The final scores were a disaster: Ginny – 158, Draco – 122, Hermione – 116, Theo – 93, Harry – 87.
“Clearly,” Draco said loftily, “I have a natural aptitude for Muggle recreation.”
Theo leaned toward Hermione. “Translation: he’s already planning team uniforms for next time.”
Harry groaned. “Next time I’m bringing George. He can explode the pins for us.”
Ginny raised her cider glass. “To surviving our first public triad double date without a duel!”
They all clinked cups, laughing. Hermione felt the bond hum under her skin, warm and settled—the quiet contentment of belonging.
Outside, the night air was cold, their breaths puffing in small clouds. The neon sign of Kingpin Lanes flickered behind them.
Theo slung an arm loosely around Hermione’s shoulders. “Admit it—you had fun.”
“I did,” she said, smiling up at him. “Even with the unwashed shoes.”
Draco shook his head, but there was real affection in his eyes.
“You realize this means I’ve crossed the final threshold. If I can muggle bowl, I can survive anything.”
Ginny looped her arm through Harry’s. “You three looked almost normal tonight. It suits you.”
Hermione laughed softly. “We’re getting there.”
Harry nodded, eyes crinkling. “Normal’s overrated anyway.”
As the two couples said goodnight, the triad stood for a moment under the streetlight, the glow from the bowling alley painting the wet pavement in red and gold.
Theo squeezed Hermione’s hand. Draco brushed her other. Through the bond came shared warmth, amusement, and that deep, steady pulse of connection that no one else could feel.
It had been messy, ridiculous, utterly human— and, Hermione thought, absolutely perfect.
Very late that evening, the master bedroom of Nott Manor enveloped Theo and Hermione in a cocoon of quiet intimacy.
Draco had run back out when they returned form bowling after changing into more formal robes, and was out late at a seedy estate lawyer meeting at The Leaky Caldron, finalizing the paperwork to add Hermione to both his and Theo's ancient vaults.
Theo and Hermione were alone with their shared anticipation and tenderness from the date, the triad ring on her finger glowing softly golden against her skin.
Hermione lay on her back amid the rumpled sheets, her nightgown hiked up to her waist, legs parted invitingly as Theo hovered between them, his stormy blue eyes brimming with pure adoration, lean body propped on one elbow.
His other hand was tracing reverent patterns on her inner thigh before gently parting her slick folds.
"My heart—you're so breathtakingly beautiful like this, your sweet pussy glistening and opening just for me," he murmured with tender filth, voice a low, affectionate rumble.
He started to press soft, worshipful kisses to her inner thighs, then dragged his tongue slowly through her wet slit.
His finger slipped in next, thick and gentle, her walls embracing it warmly with a soft whine from her.
Theo circled her clit with his tongue in adoring swirls, sucking the sensitive pearl softly into his mouth, the bond flooding him with her bliss like a warm sunrise in his soul.
"Gods, my darling, I can't wait to make love to you fully someday, to slide my thick cock into this heavenly pussy, feeling your tight warmth stretch around my girth, that piercing gliding along your walls in the most intimate dance," he whispered hotly but lovingly against her folds.
He added a second finger with a tender push, scissoring them carefully to openup her pulsing channel.
"I've dreamed of it endlessly, my love—holding you close, kissing away any nerves as I ease in slow, inch by veiny inch, your body yielding to me because I cherish you too much to rush. But you're still so beautifully tight right now, my angel; my fullness would overwhelm you at first, and I want our first time to be pure ecstasy, not just the ache of adjustment."
She gasped, hips lifting gently into his touch, fingers threading through his hair with trust.
"Theo... this feels incredible, but I'm nervous... scared it might hurt too much with your size," she confessed breathily, vulnerability shining in her eyes, the bond sharing her honest fear like a delicate thread.
He paused to kiss her clit lovingly, eyes meeting hers with tenderness, his signet ring with the Nott crest, its engraved edges cool and textured—pressing gently against her nub.
"Oh, my precious wife, I understand your nerves completely—yes, it likely will hurt a bit at first, love, the stretch intense as your sweet pussy learns to take all of me, that initial burn when my head pushes past your entrance. Maybe even the first few times, as your body adjusts to my girth and that piercing dragging deep inside. But I'll make it feel so good for you, my darling—I'll spend hours prepping you with my fingers and tongue, just like now, stretching you wide with love and lube, whispering how adored you are, how perfect you feel clenching around me. I'll go agonizingly slow, holding still when you need it, kissing your tears if they come, rubbing your clit with this ring until you're soaking and begging”
"Yes... I trust you, Theo. When the time is right, we can try it," she whimpered, nervousness easing into anticipation as three fingers now filled her, thrusting with caring rhythm, curling to caress her G-spot while his ring teased her clit relentlessly.
Theo’s fingers pumped deeper, twisting to mimic his future fullness.
"Imagine it, me hovering over you, eyes locked as I breach you, that fat head popping in with a wet give, your pussy fluttering in shock and bliss; I'll freeze, let you breathe, kiss you senseless while I sink further, veins pulsing against your walls, piercing bumping your depths till I'm buried to the hilt, balls against your ass. Then I'll make love to you slow and deep, grinding that spot inside till you shatter, and only then fill you with my cum, hot and thick, marking you as mine forever.”
He intensified the ring's grind and his finger-thrusts, sucking her clit with loving pulls, until her orgasm crashed in shuddering waves, walls spasming around him, gushing her release as the bond sang with shared joy.
He withdrew tenderly, cradling her close, peppering her face with kisses, whispering "I love you, my heart" as they drifted to sleep entwined, the bond a warm, unbreakable glow.
Notes:
Of course now they've been in public again, so who knows what the media will say....
Chapter 117: Mother of Magic
Chapter Text
The morning light spilled softly through the tall windows of Nott Manor’s breakfast room, casting a glow on the linen-covered table set for three.
The scent of fresh coffee, toast, scones, and marmalade hung in the air.
Theo sat in his usual place, hair still tousled from sleep, reading a parchment list of healer rotation schedules with a frown.
Hermione padded in barefoot, curls loose, wearing one of his shirts over leggings. She poured herself coffee, yawning.
“Where’s Draco?” she asked, stirring in cream.
Theo gave a sleepy grin. “Brooding, I assume. He’s been glaring at the owl post since it arrived.”
As if summoned, Draco appeared in the doorway, impeccably dressed already but with that faintly irritated crease between his brows that meant trouble.
He dropped The Daily Prophet onto the table with a dramatic sigh.
“Good morning to you too,” Hermione said wryly.
“You might not think so after reading this,” Draco replied, tapping the front page. “Apparently, our private lives are now the wizarding world’s breakfast entertainment.”
Theo leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Excellent. Read it aloud.”
Draco shot him a look, but Hermione was already reaching for the paper. “Let me. I’ll be gentler.”
-----
"THE TRIAD STRIKES AGAIN: Bowling, Bonds, and Baby Rumors?"
By Celestine Fairbourne, Special Correspondent for Wizarding Society
In the weeks since their wedding and subsequent honeymoon abroad, the wizarding world’s most-watched couple—well, throuple—have made a surprisingly down-to-earth appearance.
Last night, Lady Hermione Granger-Malfoy-Nott and her two husbands, Healer Theodore Nott and Lord Draco Malfoy, were seen enjoying a lively evening at Kingpin Lanes, a Muggle bowling alley in London.
Eyewitnesses say the trio appeared “shockingly normal,” laughing, sharing food, and engaging in what one onlooker called “a competition that got adorably intense.”
Sources confirm that Hermione Granger bowled with “grace and terrifying accuracy,” while Draco Malfoy, after reportedly throwing his first ball into a gutter, “looked unfairly handsome while pretending not to care.”
But perhaps even more intriguing than their newfound hobby is the glowing phenomenon now frequently observed on the hands of all three. Photographs captured over the past week—including one taken last night—show faintly luminescent markings around their ring fingers.
Experts in ancient magic tell The Prophet this is a known feature of Triadic Bonds, particularly after “significant emotional or physical milestones.” (No further comment was given by the Department of Mysteries.)
Speculation has naturally followed the trio’s much-discussed honeymoon, rumored to have taken place on a private tropical island. Could this new glow indicate a completed magical bond—or perhaps even something more?
One healer, who spoke on the condition of anonymity, suggested that the glowing bond might “amplify if conception has occurred.” When asked directly if Lady Hermione might be pregnant, a close friend of the couple said only:
“She looks happy. That’s all anyone needs to know right now.”
Whether or not a new generation of the Malfoy-Granger-Nott lineage is on the way, one thing is certain—the wizarding world remains fascinated by the trio who continue to redefine love, legacy, and what it means to be magical.
---
The room was very still for several heartbeats.
Theo was the first to break. He leaned back in his chair, muttering, “Well. That’s… thoroughly invasive.”
Hermione lowered the paper slowly. “They think I’m pregnant.”
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course they do. Merlin forbid we have a private life or honeymoon without someone tracking the magical luminosity of our fingers.”
Theo tried, unsuccessfully, not to laugh.
“Glowing hands—honestly, that sounds like something out of a romance novel.”
Hermione shot him a look, but the corners of her mouth were twitching too. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m trying to find the humor,” Theo said, eyes sparkling. “If I don’t laugh, I’ll hex the next journalist I see.”
Draco leaned against the sideboard, arms crossed, face unreadable. “It could have been worse. At least they didn’t call it ‘The Bowling Baby Scandal.’”
Theo snorted coffee through his nose. “Don’t give them ideas.”
Hermione folded the paper and sighed.
“It’s not mean, at least. Just… invasive. Speculative. Wrfong”
Draco’s tone softened. “Still, they shouldn’t be printing our magic like it’s gossip. The bond glow isn’t a scandal—it’s private between us.”
Theo reached across the table, brushing her fingers.
“Hey, for what it’s worth, you do look radiant lately. I’m not surprised the world noticed.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was warmth behind it. “Flattery will not distract me.”
“Not flattery,” Theo said simply. “Observation.”
The connection through the bond pulsed—his quiet affection, her nervous amusement, and Draco’s reluctant fondness blending in that strange shared awareness they were still learning to navigate.
Draco finally sat down, pouring himself tea with deliberate calm. “We should make a statement. Something simple. Confirm nothing. Deny nothing. The less we feed it, the faster it will fade.”
Hermione nodded. “Agreed. But I do want to know how they even got that information about the glowing.”
Theo raised a brow. “Maybe someone saw it at the bowling alley. You were waving your hands around a lot when you beat Draco.”
“I was celebrating,” Hermione protested.
“You were gloating,” Draco corrected dryly. “And your fingers were lit up like fairy lights.”
Theo chuckled. “Can’t blame the reporter then.”
Eventually, the teasing faded into a more reflective quiet. Hermione absently traced the glowing band on her finger, soft gold under the morning light.
“I suppose it’s a good thing,” she said after a while. “That people are curious instead of cruel.”
Theo nodded. “Progress looks like gossip sometimes.”
Draco hummed, half-amused. “I’ll take gossip over bigotry.”
Hermione smiled faintly, her heart full but heavy too.
“Still… I don’t like the idea of strangers speculating about my womb.”
Draco’s expression softened immediately. “No one should. You owe them nothing.”
Theo reached for her hand again, squeezing gently. “They can talk all they want. We know the truth of us.”
Hermione smiled between them, a warmth blooming low in her chest—love, exasperation, belonging.
Through the bond, the same emotions rippled back at her, steady and strong.
By the time they finished breakfast, the article had been folded and tucked under a stack of parchment.
Draco stood to leave first, adjusting his cuffs.
“I have to head into the Ministry for the afternoon session. If anything important happens, Theo, I’ll summon you to come. If anyone mentions this, I’ll pretend not to know what bowling is.”
Theo grinned. “And I have a day rotation again, so don’t start any scandals while I’m gone.”
Hermione smiled fondly at them both. “I’ll try to restrain my glowing fingers.”
Draco bent to kiss her temple, his voice low and fond. “See that you do.”
Theo brushed her shoulder affectionately on his way out. “We’ll survive the rumor mill.”
When they’d gone, Hermione sat for a moment longer, looking out the window at the soft February light. The world might talk and speculate all it liked—but here, in this quiet morning after laughter and love, she felt the bond humming steady beneath her skin.
She smiled, whispered to the empty room,
“Let them wonder.”
The master bedroom of Nott Manor was a a scene of debauchery that night. The triad bond roared with primal, electric need—Hermione’s desperate craving a sparking inferno in their veins, Draco’s predatory lust a molten blaze, Theo’s ardent devotion a throbbing pulse that made their tattooed rings blaze blinding golden with desire.
Hermione was sprawled naked across the bed, legs splayed obscenely wide, pussy glistening like a wet altar in the candle light—lips swollen, her clit throbbing.
Draco knelt between her thighs, trousers discarded, his cock head bloated purple and oozing pre-cum in viscous globs that splattered the silk below in anticipaiton.
Theo stood beside the bed, bare, apadravya piercing glinting with wicked promise—pulsing rock-hard.
The bond surged with their shared hunger, a feedback loop of filthy want that had Hermione moaning lewdly before contact even.
Draco snarled the contraception charm immediately, blue magic flaring over her abdomen like a warm pulse, then lunged to claim her lips in a deep, tongue-plunging kiss.
Without hestitaiton his three fingers rammed inside, her walls clamping hot and tight, gushing frothy cream.
"Fuck, Granger—your dripping pussy’s gripping my fingers so tight, that hot, wet heat begging for my cock to stretch you wide," he growled filthily, voice a guttural rasp of lust,
His fingers were pumping with brutal curls that battered her G-spot.
"Gods, you’re so fucking wet—gonna fuck this perfect pussy deep, fill it with my cum till it’s leaking everywhere."
Theo groaned loudly, hand fisting his own girth as the bond blasted Draco’s ferocity through his veins, his free hand reaching to pinch Hermione’s nipple, rolling it lovingly.
"You’re our sexy goddess, love—so perfect, taking him like that," he panted with devotion, stepping closer as Draco went down on Theo’s cock with a ravenous, throat-stretching slurp.
It was comepltely indecent with his lips straining wide around the massive head, the apadravya barbell raking his tongue raw with metallic fire.
Draco didn’t falter moving up and down Theo’s length, aligning his cock and spearing Hermione in one savage thrust, her walls gripping his him in a scorching, velvet inferno.
"Fuck—Draco, fill me more!"
His hips slammed forward with relentless force, balls battering her ass with wet, stinging thwacks.
“Take it all, wife—this tight pussy’s my heaven, milking my cock so perfectly, so wet and hot; fuck, you’re creaming everywhere, gonna pound this sweet hole till it’s overflowing with my thick cum, dripping from your gorgeous cunt," he roared, dirty talk a torrent of worshipful filth in between deepthroating Theo.
Theo’s hand tangled in Draco’s blond hair, hips rocking to fuck his mouth deeper, the bond detonating his pleasure threefold.
"Love you both—so fucking beautiful, Hermione, your pussy soaking him," he moaned adoringly, leaning to kiss her deeply, tongue plunging with passionate love.
Draco pulled off Theo’s cock with a filthy, stringy pop, saliva drooling from his lips in ropes, snarling, " I’m going to ram this dripping pussy raw; fuck, you’re so tight and perfect, gonna flood your sweet cunt with my hot load!"
He dove back onto Theo’s girth, throat bulging as he deepthroated, hand pumping the base, hips hammering Hermione with brutal, bone-jarring slams.
The bond exploded their shared ecstasy—Hermione’s climax hit first, a shrieking, body-seizing convulsion, walls crushing Draco’s cock.
Draco rumbled around Theo’s cock, erupting creamy cum deep into her pussy.
Theo bellowed, flooding Draco’s throat with pulsing, molten jets, overflow spilling from Draco’s chin in sticky, cum-smeared ropes.
They collapsed in a sweaty, cum-drenched heap, limbs tangled in a boneless, reeking pile, exchanging sloppy, adoring kisses.
The night whispers of love mingling with breathless laughter in the reeking, debauched afterglow.
The next day was a lazy Thursday morning at Nott Manor. Theo and Hermione didn’t need to head to their programs till mid-afternoon, so the lie-in was much appreciated after their lust filled evening.
Hermione had just finished her tea, curled on the settee by the window, a notebook full of Charms notes open in her lap.
Draco sat at the end of the table reading the Financial Prophet, while Theo prepared to head to St. Mungo’s for his mid-shift rotation.
It was, for once, a quiet morning.
Hermione had nearly convinced herself that the “glowing ring” article had blown over already—that the gossip cycle had moved on.
That was when the owls came.
Two of them, both large, both official-looking.
One bore the Witch Weekly seal, gold foil gleaming.
The other had the wax sigil of the Department of Triadic Registration, Union, and Harmony Testing—better known by its unfortunate acronym: TRUTH.
Theo groaned as they landed on the breakfast table. “Oh, bloody hell. This can’t be good.”
Draco set down his paper, jaw tightening. “Let’s start with the one that isn’t likely to end in bureaucratic torment.”
Hermione broke the Witch Weekly seal with reluctant fingers.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
“THE GOLDEN TRIAD’S GLOW: LOVE, LIGHT, AND MAYBE A LITTLE ONE?”
By Calista Dove, Witch Weekly Society Columnist
If you thought romance was dead, think again—because the magical world’s most enchanting trio continues to prove otherwise!
Sources spotted Lady Hermione Granger-Malfoy-Nott and her two husbands, Lord Draco Malfoy and Healer Theodore Nott, out at a Muggle “bowling alley” last week with the Potters—laughing, holding hands, and, yes, glowing.
And it seems that glow isn’t just from happiness. Multiple sightings of the trio since their romantic honeymoon abroad (rumored destination: a private villa in Bali!) have shown the magical bond marks on their hands shining brighter than ever.
According to one Healer who specializes in magical unions:
“Such strong triadic resonance usually signifies that the emotional, magical, and physical components of the bond have been completely fulfilled. It’s often an indicator of deep harmony… or, in some cases, the start of new life.”
That’s right, dear readers—rumors are swirling that a baby might soon be on the way for the Golden Trio 2.0.
Whether it’s true or not, one thing is certain: the triad has captured the public’s imagination. Lady Hermione, already a legend for her role in ending the war, is now being hailed as “the mother of a new magical age”—a woman who’s helping heal old divides and redefine what love can look like.
A representative from the Ministry declined to comment on the triad’s family plans, but when asked about the rumors, Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt himself said:
“The Malfoy-Granger-Nott family represents a union of courage, redemption, and hope. Their private lives are their own—but the unity they symbolize is something we can all learn from.”
If true, this would be the first triadic magical child born in over a century. But even if it’s just speculation for now, the world clearly can’t get enough of this story.
Whether glowing from love, light, or something more, one thing’s for sure: the future looks bright for the Golden Triad.
…………..
By the time Hermione finished reading, her face was crimson. Theo had his head in his hands. Draco looked like he was trying not to hex something.
“They quoted the Minister,” Hermione said faintly.
“They actually quoted Kingsley.”
Theo let out a low whistle. “You’ve officially gone from scandalous to national inspiration.”
Draco muttered, “They’ve turned our private bond into bedtime reading for housewives.”
Hermione set the paper down, rubbing her temples. “And apparently I’m the mother of a new age. Honestly, it’s not even insulting—it’s absurd.”
Theo tried, as always, to find the humor. “At least it’s not negative press. Witch Weekly could have said you hexed him into marriage.”
Draco glared. “Do not tempt fate.”
The second owl waited patiently on the edge of the table. Hermione untied the seal and unfolded the letter with a sigh.
It was written in the same officious, coldly polite tone they had come to dread:
……………….
Department of Triadic Registration, Union, and Harmony Testing
Ministry of Magic – Office of Compliance
To: Lady Hermione Jean Malfoy- Granger-Nott, Lord Draco Lucius Malfoy, and Healer-to—be Theodore Nott
Subject: Mandatory Triadic Bond Evaluation Appointment
Dear Mr., Mrs., and Mr. Malfoy-Granger-Nott,
Per Section 7(b) of the Magical Population Restoration Act, all registered triads are required to undergo periodic evaluations to assess the stability and compliance of their bond.
Due to the high magical activity recently recorded in your joint registry (ref: “Triadic Bond Luminescence, Category III”), your triad has been scheduled for a mandatory reassessment.
Appointment Details:
Date: Friday, April 22th
Time: 10:00 a.m.
Location: Department of Triadic Union Harmony (TRUTH) – Level Five, Ministry of Magic
Please bring documentation of your domestic arrangements, proof of cohabitation, and verification of continued emotional and magical compatibility.
Failure to attend this evaluation will result in legal sanctions as outlined under Section 9(a) of the Act.
Sincerely,
Reginaldo Larchmonta
Senior Registrar, TRUTH Department
<<<<<<<<
Theo groaned. “Oh, perfect. They saw the glow in the papers and think we’ve gone unstable and will explode.”
Hermione sighed, folding the parchment. “Or they think I’m about to give birth to a magical revolution.”
Draco rubbed his temples. “What they’ll get is me hexing their entire department into next week if they so much as imply we’re out of alignment.”
Hermione shot him a warning look, though her lips twitched. “Please don’t hex the Ministry officials. I’m trying to maintain a professional reputation.”
Theo smiled faintly. “And yet they keep inviting us back.”
The three of them sat in silence for a few moments, the faint hum of the magical bond between them pulsing softly—warm, steady, alive.
Finally, Hermione looked up at them both. “We’ll go. We’ll cooperate. But we won’t let them treat us like curiosities.”
Draco’s hand brushed hers. “Agreed.”
Theo reached out too, his thumb tracing the faint golden shimmer still marking her ring finger. “Whatever this bond becomes, it’s ours, not theirs.”
She smiled softly, her chest tight with affection. “Then we face it together. Again and again.”
Draco exhaled, his usual composure softening.
“If there’s one thing we’re good at, it’s surviving scrutiny.”
Theo grinned. “That and bowling.”
Hermione groaned, laughing despite herself. “I’ll never live that down, will I?”
“Not a chance,” Theo said cheerfully.
Draco’s lips curved faintly, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “At least the world believes we’re blissfully glowing.”
Hermione rolled her eyes but squeezed both their hands under the table. “Then let’s make sure we actually are.”
The morning sunlight caught on their golden bond marks—three soft glimmers that seemed to pulse in unison, defiant and unashamed.
Whatever the Ministry thought, whatever the Prophet printed— this was theirs.
Notes:
Still looking for ideas for Theo's birthday party. Comment.
Chapter 118: The Match
Notes:
In another life The Orphans Club would have their own spin-off story if I had the time.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The early April air outside Nott Manor was crisp and wet, mist curling around the garden hedges.
Inside, Hermione and Theo had settled into a quiet evening: she at the library table researching for Charms Mastery assignments, he on the sofa with his healer texts open and a cup of tea slowly cooling beside him.
The floo roared green without warning.
“Honestly,” Theo murmured, not even looking up, “it’s either a Ministry summons or Pansy.”
A moment later she stepped out—heels first, wearing a fur-trimmed cloak far too glamorous for rural Wiltshire, a bottle of wine in each hand and mischief in her smile.
Behind her, a second swirl of emerald flame revealed Harry Potter, looking resigned but amused, balancing two paper bags that smelled unmistakably of takeaway curry.
“Evening,” Harry said. “She told me there’d be food. And wine.”
Hermione blinked. “Pansy—what is this?”
Pansy deposited the bottles on the coffee table with a dramatic flourish. “A meeting of The Orphans Club, obviously.”
Theo raised an eyebrow. “You’ve invented a club?”
“I’ve invented a movement, darling remember this summer?”
She unfastened her cloak and turned in a small circle. “Where’s Draco?”
“Out,” Hermione said. “Ministry appointments. You’re being mysterious. Explain.”
Pansy gestured imperiously for them all to sit. “Well he’s not an orphan anyway. Wine first, explanations after.”
Half a bottle later, the living-room fire burned bright and Harry had finished his second helping of curry. Pansy kicked off her heels, tucked her legs under herself on the sofa, and sighed.
“I’ve been thinking,” she began, voice softer now.
“About everything we lost. Not just people, but… guidance. Stability.”
Hermione’s expression gentled. “You mean our parents.”
“All of them,” Pansy said. “Some dead, some broken, some gone by choice. The four of us—we’re what the war left behind. I don’t want the next generation of orphans to go through it alone.”
Theo sat forward, elbows on his knees.
“You’re talking about the children who were mostly too young to remember it but lost family in it.”
Pansy nodded. “Exactly. I keep reading about how the Ministry’s overwhelmed—too many war wards, not enough funding. So I thought…”
She hesitated for once, eyes bright. “We could help. The four of us. Host a gala at my estate early this summer. Raise money for war orphans. Scholarships for Hogwarts, stipends for caretakers—whatever they need.”
Hermione’s lips parted. “That’s… actually brilliant, Pans.”
Harry looked faintly stunned. “You want me involved too?”
“You’re the poster boy of orphan resilience, Potter. Naturally.”
Theo chuckled under his breath. “She’s not wrong.”
Pansy smiled, but her tone was serious again. “I’m calling it The Orphans Club. Not as a pity group, but a promise—people who made it through will make sure the next ones do too.”
For the next hour, parchment appeared; Hermione fetched quills and a fresh bottle. Ideas flew like sparks:
- a midsummer date when Hogwarts let out;
- the Parkinson estate’s expansive rose garden for the venue;
- silent auctions of donated potions, art, and Quidditch memorabilia;
- and a short speech from each of them about loss and rebuilding.
Harry scribbled numbers on a napkin. “I can get the Prophet to sponsor publicity—Rita owes me a favor after that interview correction.”
Hermione snorted. “Rita Skeeter doesn’t owe favors. She collects souls.”
“Fine,” Harry said, grinning. “I’ll make it sound heroic enough that she wants the credit.”
Theo, half-lounging on the rug, looked up at Pansy. “You realize you’re volunteering us for months of logistics planning.”
“Yes,” Pansy said, “and you love it. You’re a Nott; organizing things is your kink.”
Hermione choked on her wine. “Pansy!”
Harry laughed so hard he nearly spilled his curry. “Oh, Merlin, she’s right though.”
Theo flushed faintly but grinned. “Just for that, I’m putting you in charge of donor correspondence.”
Pansy fluttered her lashes. “I excel at begging rich men for money.”
“Merlin help us all,” Hermione muttered fondly.
As laughter faded, a gentler stillness settled. The fire popped. Rain had begun outside, drumming softly on the windows.
Pansy traced the rim of her glass, voice small. “I keep thinking about the kids who’ll never know who their parents were. About how lucky we were to find each other.”
Harry nodded, gaze distant. “I still catch myself wanting to tell Sirius or Remus something. Then I remember.”
Theo looked into the fire. “Sometimes I think my father’s ghost still disapproves of everything I do. Then I remember I’d rather be disapproved of and alive.”
Hermione reached for his hand, squeezing gently. “You’re more than what they left behind.”
Pansy sniffed, brushing at her eyes. “Merlin, I didn’t mean to make this a therapy session.”
Harry smiled faintly. “Maybe we needed one.”
For a moment, they all sat in that fragile quiet—the survivors of a war that had stolen too much, finding something whole in the act of remembering together.
When the clock chimed nine, Pansy refilled everyone’s glasses and stood. “Right. Then it’s decided.”
She raised her drink like a toast. “The Orphans Club—charity, chaos, and champagne.”
Theo clinked his glass against hers. “I’ll draft the proposal for Ministry approval.”
Harry grinned. “I’ll handle the press.”
Hermione lifted her glass last, eyes shining. “And I’ll organize the scholarship fund with Hogwarts. For the first-years who need it most.”
Pansy beamed. “Perfect. Look at us. Doing good while looking fabulous.”
Theo smiled, warmth spreading through the bond he shared with Hermione—a hum of pride, affection, belonging.
“You realize Draco will insist on making it formal black-tie with string quartets.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Pansy said. “Let him. He can pay for the orchestra of his choice.”
Harry chuckled. “That’s one way to balance the budget.”
Later, after Harry and Pansy flooed home, the manor fell quiet again. The empty wineglasses still glimmered on the table, and the scent of curry lingered in the air.
Theo turned to Hermione, voice soft. “I think that was good for her. For all of us.”
Hermione nodded, resting her head briefly against his shoulder. “It felt right. Like something we’re meant to do.”
He smiled faintly. “Maybe that’s what healing looks like—turning grief into purpose.”
She looked up at him, eyes gentle. “Maybe we all just needed to remember we’re not alone anymore.”
The fire cracked softly. The bond between them hummed steady and warm—threads of comfort, shared strength, and a flicker of anticipation for what they could build next.
Outside, the rain eased into silence. Inside, the survivors of the war—now friends, family, and something far more—had found the beginning of something new.
The grandfather clock in the entrance hall had just chimed half past ten when the floo flared emerald in the sitting room.
Draco stepped through, brushing ash from his sleeves. He looked tired — the kind of exhaustion that settled in his eyes more than his posture — but still impossibly composed in his dark coat and gloves.
He paused, noticing the scene: two empty wine bottles, parchment scattered across the coffee table, and the faint smell of takeaway curry.
“Either you’ve started a food-based revolution,” he said dryly, “or Pansy’s been here.”
Hermione, curled sideways on the settee with a blanket and a half-finished glass of wine, looked up and smiled. “Both, actually.”
That earned the faintest upward tilt of his mouth. “Do I want to know? The bind felt, sad, but happy at once.”
“Probably,” she said softly, gesturing for him to join her. “It’s good news.”
He shed his coat, draping it neatly over a chair, and sat beside her — close, but not quite touching. The warmth of the fire caught in the silver of his eyes as he studied her face.
“All right,” he said. “Tell me what chaos I’ve missed.”
She explained it slowly — Pansy’s impromptu visit, Harry’s reluctant participation, the idea for the gala. The words flowed gently, but the emotion behind them pulsed steady through the bond.
Draco listened without interruption, expression shifting from curiosity to something quieter, almost reverent.
When she finished, he sat back, thoughtful. “She wants to raise money for war orphans.”
Hermione nodded. “And to fund Hogwarts scholarships for them. We’re calling it The Orphans Club.”
Something flickered in his gaze — guilt, pride, grief, all tangled together.
“Appropriate name,” he murmured. “You do make quite the set, don’t you? Four children of a war, trying to rebuild the pieces.”
She smiled faintly. “I think it’s beautiful, actually. Turning loss into purpose.”
He looked down at his hands, long fingers tracing the faint golden glow of his ring. “You always make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not easy,” she said gently. “It’s just… necessary.”
For a moment, the only sound was the fire. Then Draco exhaled, low and ragged.
“When I think about the orphans from the war,” he said, “I can’t help thinking about the ones my family’s choices helped create like Teddy Lupin.”
Hermione’s heart tightened. She reached across the small distance between them, covering his hand with hers. “Draco…”
He didn’t pull away. “I’ve spent years donating quietly to reparations funds. It never feels like enough. Maybe it never will.”
She squeezed his fingers. “Maybe enough isn’t the point. Maybe it’s about showing that you care — that you remember.”
He looked up then, eyes searching hers. “You really believe that?”
“I do,” she said softly. “Because I’ve seen what you’ve become since then.”
Something broke open in his expression — the tension in his jaw easing, his breath unsteady.
“I wish I could see myself the way you do,” he admitted.
“Then let me help you,” she whispered.
She let a moment of quiet stretch between them before speaking again.
“We want to make the gala big enough to actually make a difference,” she said carefully. “But it’s the first one. We don’t know how much we’ll raise.”
He tilted his head. “You’re leading to something.”
She smiled faintly. “I am.”
He arched an eyebrow. “And what is it you’re trying to convince me to do this time?”
Hermione leaned a little closer, eyes bright in the firelight. “Match it.”
He blinked. “Match it?”
“Whatever’s raised at the gala,” she said. “You — the Malfoy family — match it in donation. It doubles the impact, and it shows that you mean what you say about rebuilding the world better than it was.”
Draco stared at her for a long moment, silent. Then a quiet laugh escaped him — not mocking, but almost disbelieving. “You realize what you’re asking.”
“Yes,” she said simply. “And you can afford it.”
His lips curved wryly. “That’s not the point.”
“I know,” she said, voice softening.
“The point is that it matters. That people will see the Malfoy name tied to something good. Something selfless. And maybe… you’ll start to believe it yourself.”
He looked away, jaw tightening. “And what will people say? That I feel guilty? That I’m buying my record clkean?”
“They’ll say you’re trying,” she said. “And they’ll be right.”
He fell quiet again, gaze fixed on the flickering fire. For a long while he said nothing, and Hermione let the silence stretch — giving him space, trusting him to find the answer himself.
Finally, he sighed and leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “You’re infuriating.”
She smiled softly. “Persuasive, you mean.”
He met her eyes, a reluctant warmth there now.
“Fine. I’ll do it. Whatever they raise at the gala, I’ll match it pound for pound. The Malfoy estate can carry that weight.”
Hermione’s chest filled with quiet joy. “Thank you.”
He studied her for a long moment, voice lower now. “You always manage to make me want to be better.”
She reached for him again, brushing her fingers against his. “You already are.”
For a long, suspended breath, they simply sat like that — her hand in his, the air between them thick with unspoken understanding. The firelight danced over his pale hair, over the soft gold shimmer of the bond mark on her skin.
Something unspoken passed between them — a flicker of pride, of gratitude, of something that was slowly becoming more.
Later that night, when she rose to head upstairs, he walked her to the door of their room. The manor was quiet, the corridors dim and still.
At her threshold, she turned. “You really didn’t have to say yes so quickly.”
He smiled faintly. “I didn’t do it quickly. I just knew I would the moment you asked.”
Her breath caught. “Why?”
He hesitated, then said quietly, “Because you believe in me. And that makes it impossible not to try.”
She didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him — gentle, brief, but full of warmth.
For a heartbeat, he froze; then his arms came up around her too, firm and sure. He pissed the top of her head reverently.
When she pulled back, his voice was a whisper. “Goodnight, Hermione.”
“Goodnight, Draco.”
She watched him walk away down the hall back into his study, the faint glow of their bond reflecting gold at his fingertips.
Long after the lights went out, Hermione lay awake, thinking about what they had built — from ruins, from grief, from something impossible.
Down the corridor, through the pulse of the bond, she could feel him — quiet, thoughtful, but lighter than he had been before. She could feel Theo too, steady warmth in the distance in London, the three of them connected even in her sleep.
Notes:
It's never too early to think of what they'll wear to the gala... let me know!
Chapter 119: Pre-Birthday Bliss
Notes:
I said she would get her own version of revenge on them!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was a breezy day, the following Thursday and the VIP box at the Holyhead Harpies' stadium was a luxurious haven of emerald velvet seats and polished mahogany railings.
The view was prime, offering a sweeping view of the Quidditch pitch where Ginny Weasley streaked through the air like a fiery comet.
Harry lounged beside Draco and Theo, the tickets his pre-birthday gift to Theo—a gesture of post-war male sport camaraderie.
The triad bond thrummed with a warm undercurrent—Draco’s smug contentment a steady pulse, Theo’s bubbling excitement for his impending birthday the next day a radiant spark, Hermione’s distant focus a soft thread as she supposedly prepared finishing touches for Theo’s lavish party tomorrow.
Three hours into the match, as Ginny executed a heart-stopping spiral to snatch the Quaffle, the bond detonated with a searing torrent of Hermione’s desire. The bond flooded their minds with bliss, longing, and sexual desire. No veil or hold back of the waves coming off Hermione being attempted.
Draco’s reaction was visceral, cock surging to painful hardness in his tailored trousers. His breath hitched sharply.
A low growl escaping under his breath only Theo could hear, "Fuck—Hermione, you minx, you’re fucking yourself raw for us right now," his voice barely audible over the crowd’s roar.
Theo’s body tensed, thighs clenching as he fought to maintain composure, the bond amplifying her pleasure into his own groin, his ring flaring golden as he struggled to focus on the match, Harry’s oblivious cheer for Ginny a distant annoyance.
"She’s killing me—feel that, Theo?” Draco muttered through gritted teeth, one hand adjusting himself discreetly, the other gripping Theo’s arm, grounding himself as the bond flooded with Hermione’s pleasure.
Theo’s reaction was even more intense, pupils blown with lust and awe, a choked gasp escaping as he clutched the railing, heart pounding like a drum.
"Merlin’s fucking beard—She’s... gods, she’s wrecking me—my birthday, and she’s giving me this through the bond!" His hands shook, one gripping Draco’s thigh for stability, the other rubbing his bulge instinctively but discretely.
The bond pulsed again, another wave of Hermione’s ecstasy crashing through. Draco’s control snapped first, his growl turning feral, "We’re leaving—now. She’s fucking herself into a puddle for your birthday, Theo; we’re not missing this."
Theo nodded frantically, birthday joy and lust colliding in a dizzying rush, "Yes—fuck, I need her!"
They muttered a hurried excuse to Harry—something about an urgent owl—and bolted from the box, apparating with a crack straight to Nott Manor’s master bedroom, the roar of the Quidditch crowd swallowed by the bond’s pulsing heat.
They burst through the bedroom door to a graphic, breathtaking sight.
Hermione sprawled naked on the four-poster, a red satin bow tied jauntily in her curls like a gift for Theo, legs spread wide, dripping pussy, the vibrator humming mercilessly against her engorged clit, her orgasm crashing just as they arrived.
She screamed "Theo, happy birthday!" through the room, the bond detonating her ecstasy through them like a supernova, making Theo’s knees buckle as he clutched the doorframe, eyes wide with awe and lust.
"Fuck, love—you’re my perfect gift, cumming like that for me, gods, I’m losing my fucking mind!" he panted, voice thick with adoring, birthday-fueled fervor, his girthy cock springing free as he stripped in a frenzy.
Draco growled, shedding his coat and trousers.
"You’re a fucking vision, Granger—Theo’s birthday surprise”, he rasped, prowling to the bed as Hermione tossed the vibrator aside with a wet clatter.
She slid to her knees before Theo. "Happy early birthday, my love—this is for you," she purred, lips engulfing Theo’s massive head with a vulgar, throat-stretching slurp, jaw straining around the wrist-thick girth.
Theo’s brain was overwhelmed with birthday-charged bliss as he groaned, "My angel, your mouth’s fucking paradise—best birthday gift ever, love you so much!"
Her hand found Draco’s cock, freeing it to stroke the veined, curving length, pre-cum slicking her palm in sticky globs as she pumped in rhythm with her bobbing mouth on Theo.
Draco growled, hips bucking into her grip, "Fuck, love—stroke my cock harder while you choke on Theo’s fat girth; you’re making his birthday fucking perfect."
Theo’s hands tangled in her curls, guiding her lovingly but firmly, his moans escalating with birthday-fueled intensity, "Gods, Hermione—you’re sucking me like a dream. I’m gonna cum so hard for you, my birthday goddess!"
The bond amplified every wet glide and slurp, their shared arousal a roaring tide shared between thm.
Theo’s climax hit first, a bellowing roar as thick ropes flooded her throat in pulsing jets.; Draco followed, snarling as he spilled over her hand in hot arcs, coating her fingers.
Hermione moaned around Theo’s girth, the vibrations sparking her own aftershock-orgasm fueled primarily by the bond, relief dripping from her untouched pussy onto the floor.
They collapsed in a sweaty, cum-smeared heap, exchanging adoring kisses, Theo’s birthday joy radiating through the bond as they whispered their love for him.
Notes:
Theo's birthday party is coming up next!
Chapter 120: Steam and Water
Chapter Text
The world blurred from the tug of the portkey and then snapped back into heat and echo and light.
Hermione’s feet hit warmed tiles; a humid rush of air kissed her cheeks, smelling of coconut oil and chlorine water.
All around them rose a glasshouse of summer—palms swaying under floating orbs of golden light, turquoise pools glittering, slides in sweeping ribbons of lemon and lime arcing toward a foaming splashdown. Above, a charm cast false sunlight across the ceiling like an endless afternoon.
“Surprise!” Pansy’s voice ricocheted off mosaic pillars, bright as a bell.
Theo staggered one half-step, blinking, curls dampened by mist already curling tighter.
A banner unspooled over the main wave pool in a cascade of silver sparks:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, THEODORE!
Ginny, in a crimson wrap and a grin that belonged on a Quidditch poster, whistled through her teeth.
Harry lifted a butterbeer like a toast. Blaise lounged at the edge of a cabana, every inch of him saying yes, I planned exactly none of this, but I approve.
Theo turned in a slow circle seeing the emptiness, laughter building. “You—rented—the—entire—place, for me?”
“Five hours,” Draco said, deadpan, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Minimum private booking. Tragic.”
Hermione slid her fingers into Theo’s, felt the tremor of delighted disbelief ripple through their bond and spark through her own ribs.
“Happy birthday,” she said, soft as spelllight. “You get to play like a little kid with us.”
Theo’s face went boyish. He looked at her, then Draco, and the warmth that poured off him was a sun unto itself. “You two are impossible.”
“Accurate,” Draco allowed. “Go on then. Go be eight again without a shitty dad.”
Pansy clapped once. “Shoes off, wands stowed, egos optional!”
They vanished into changing rooms and spilled back out in a flurry of bare ankles and borrowed courage. Hermione tied a sarong at one hip over her suit and tugged her curls into something vaguely obedient.
Theo reappeared in dark swim shorts and the kind of grin you only get by stealing time back from the world.
Draco, predictably, looked like a Grecian statue fate had dumped beside a wave pool and dared to relax.
“Race?” Ginny asked, already aimed at the twin racing slides that coiled like tame serpents.
Harry groaned. “Against you? Absolutely not.”
“I’ll bite,” Draco said, eyes narrowing with good humor. “I’d like to see what a lifetime on a broom does for… whatever this sport is.”
Theo bumped his shoulder. “It’s called joy and fun.”
Pansy paired herself with Hermione on the lazy river “for reconnaissance,” which turned out to mean “for commentary.”
They bobbed on bright rings down a winding stream beneath the palms as enchanted speakers played the kind of Muggle summer song that makes your bones loosen.
“Have you noticed,” Pansy murmured, watching Draco and Ginny mount the slide stairs, “that our ice prince is… thawing?”
Hermione tracked Draco’s profile—amused, focused, pretending not to be wildly competitive. Through the bond she felt his anticipation, keen and clean as mint. Theo’s happiness hummed like a string plucked just right.
She smiled. “He’s melting in increments. Very dignified.”
“Ugh, gross.” Pansy flicked water at her. “Fine, it’s cute.”
A whistle shrieked. Draco and Ginny shot down their lanes like comets. Water fanned, laughter leaped.
Ginny won by the barest splash, launched into a hands-over-head victory pose, and Draco stood at the runout, wearing displeasure that somehow read as please dare me to do that again.
“Rematch,” he called up.
“Later,” Ginny shouted, already sprinting toward the wave pool. “I see a wall I want to jump off.”
Hermione’s ring bumped the rubber rim of her float. It glowed faintly in the steam. Theo drifted into them, hooked a finger in Hermione’s handle, and tipped her over with shameless glee.
She squealed, went under warm water that tasted faintly of chemical oranges, and came up spluttering, curls plastered to her cheeks, laughing so hard her stomach hurt.
“You menace,” she gasped.
“Birthday immunity,” Theo sang, backstroking away.
She flicked her wrist and sent a gentle charm-ripple that lifted his float and spun it in a slow triumphant circle. He clapped above his head. “Unfair, no magic!”
“Strategic,” she corrected, and his look back screamed of revege ploys.
The wave generator woke-up, the water heaved, and everyone went from standing to bobbing in a heartbeat. Hermione lost sight of Theo and then found him again.
“Milady,” he said, exaggeratedly courtly, and tucked her into his side as the swell lifted them. The bond poured steady warmth through her—spruce and honey and something like sunlight on stone.
Draco appeared at her other shoulder, water beading on his collarbones. “He’s going to demand a knighthood if you keep feeding him lines.”
“I’ll settle for cake,” Theo said, undeterred, then glanced at Draco with intent. “You’re actually enjoying this.”
“Rumors,” Draco said. A wave surged. He didn’t step back. His hand slid, purely for balance, to Hermione’s waist and lingered as if the rhythm of the pool insisted on it.
The touch was chaste; the heat it traced along her skin was not.
Theo’s fingers drummed absently at her other hip, and the three of them rocked with the water, bodies finding an unspoken cadence that felt suspiciously like dancing.
“You three are disgusting,” Pansy called from the shallow end, treading water with a smirk. “Get a cabana.”
“After cake,” Blaise corrected, floating on his back with sunglasses he absolutely had not worn in with him. “Priorities.”
They did everything like children with perfect reflexes for the next few hours including:
- Water basketball (Ginny fouled gleefully; Harry protested about ethics; Draco shot from a ridiculous angle and sank it; Theo whooped like a teenager).
- The “river run,” a charmed course where jets of water tried to knock you off balance; Hermione took it like a Charms puzzle and ended smug and dry at the end while the rest of them slid into a laughing heap into the pool below.
- A cliff-drop slide that Pansy swore she would never touch until Blaise bribed her with a promise of breakfast in Paris, after which she screamed down it and then calmly informed the attendant she would be doing it again immediately.
- The hot tubswith groups of friends lounging inside sharing fun stories and laughs while they cooked.
At some point, Theo separated from the chaos and leaned against the tiled edge, breathing hard, hair pushed back, eyes bright.
Hermione paddled close. Steam rose around them in gauzy veils. Draco tube drifted near, bracing one hand beside Theo’s on the tile, a bracket of warm bodies and warmer looks.
“Happy?” Hermione asked.
Theo tipped his head to look at both of them in turn, something tender and unguarded moving over his face. “Ridiculously.”
The bond pinged of warmth and happiness. Draco’s thumb skated a wet crescent along the back of her knuckles under the water where no one could see. She inhaled, pulse skipping—
“Oi!” Ginny yelled from the high dive. “Stop making eyes and come watch me humiliate physics!”
“We’re coming,” Hermione called, and only then stepped away.
By the fourth hour, their laughter had frayed into happy quiet. The staff wheeled out an absurd confection: three tiers of dark chocolate cake frosted to look like a healer’s kit. It was complete with fondant bandages and a sugar stethoscope. Silver candles flared alive on their own and spelled THEO in sparking script.
“Pans,” Theo said, hand to heart. “It’s grotesque. I love it.”
“Blow it out before it detonates,” Draco advised, eyeing a frosting vial labeled DRAGON POX ANTIDOTE that looked one sneeze from collapse.
They sang with wholehearted incompetence. Theo closed his eyes and made a wish that pulsed through the bond and made Hermione’s throat tighten—something about time and this and more she suspected.
He blew, the candles went out, and the cake released a safe, delighted pop of silver confetti into the air.
Presents followed on towels on the concrete and laughter. Ginny and Harry’s gift besides the prior days quidditch ticket, being a muggle record cd player that he was curious to try out. Pansy and Blaise got him a silk-lined waistcoat in deep viridian, the embroidery so fine it looked like moonlight had gotten trapped in thread.
Pansy hinted he should wear it to the gala. Luna, who had turned down the day out because of the preganancy, had sent along a shell that hummed at exactly the frequency of a steady heartbeat when you held it (Theo, predictably, held it for a long time).
Draco and Hermione exchanged a look over Theo’s shoulder—a private spark; later. Theo caught it and dimpled. “You two are terrible at secrets.”
“Untrue,” Draco said, unbothered. “We’ve mastered the art.”
Hermione set a small parchment in Theo’s palm anyway—this weekend written in her hand, a teasing anchor. He slid it into the pocket of his towel with reverence and a nod towards them both.
The staff dimmed the light to late-afternoon honey. Most of the enchanted orbs drifted lower, turning the cavern into an amber lantern. The crowd of exactly six shrank to scattered pairs.
Hermione walked the curve of the lazy river with Theo and Draco trailing a half-step behind. Water lapped lazily at her calves; the tile was warm. S
he stopped in the privacy of a blind corner where a giant frond curled over the path like a curtain. The noise of the park dropped to a hush, the three of them suspended in steam and citrusy light together.
“Thank you,” Theo said, quiet enough the air hardly had to move to carry it. “For… all of it.”
Draco’s gaze softened. “Don’t thank us yet, the day’s not over,” he murmured, and if his smile held promises, it also held fondness so fierce Hermione felt it in her knees.
“We should go soon, our hours are nearly up,” she said, which was not at all what she meant. He swallowed.
“Soon,” Draco agreed. He didn’t touch her, not really—just the brush of his fingertips at her hipbone, just the lean of his body into her space like a whisper.
The bond thrummed hot and taut, then softened again as they stepped apart.
Harry’s laugh broke the spell; Ginny’s cheer followed, followed by Pansy declaring that she would be stealing the cabana robes because “they match my aura.”
They gathered by the exit where their wands lay in a neat row on a lifeguard’s chair. Towels transfigured back to cloaks. Ginny’s hair crackled with residual magic, and Harry looked ten years younger.
Theo stood between Hermione and Draco, lighter than when he’d woken; she could feel it—a looseness at the edges of his mind that wasn’t fatigue, wasn’t drink, was simply freedom.
“Best birthday,” he declared. “I’m insufferably grateful. Thank you all for coming. This was really special for me.”
“Insufferably is your natural state,” Pansy said warmly, and hugged him so hard his toes left the tile. “You can pay me back by organizing my donor seating chart for the gala.”
“Happy to risk my life,” he said into her shoulder.
Blaise swept a bow. “Old man. Happy day.”
“Old?” Theo protested. “Excuse you—”
“Don’t engage,” Hermione advised, smiling into his side.
Ginny slung her bag over her shoulder. “We owe you a rematch, Malfoy. Pick your sport.”
Draco’s eyes glinted. “Croquet. Quietly vicious.”
“Ugh, of course,” Harry groaned. “Rich people are always good at that.”
They moved toward the charm-sealed doors. The banner gave a last polite twinkle, then rolled itself into a neat scroll that Pansy pocketed.
At the threshold, Theo paused and looked back. Pools winked like coins; the slides gleamed.
He breathed in once, slow, as if he could bottle this air and keep it for the days when the world frayed again.
Hermione took his hand as the doors unlatched. “Ready?”
“Not remotely,” he said, grinning. “Let’s go home.”
The floo at the park was a polished stone mouth ringed in bronze. They stepped one by one into its cool, echoing throat. Pansy and Blaise vanished first in a whirl of emerald. Ginny and Harry followed, promises of brunch and broomstick rides hanging in their wake.
At the end, only the triad lingered, damp and spell sun-drowsy and buzzing in the soft afterglow of laughter.
Draco touched two fingers to Theo’s wrist, gentle as a vow. Hermione slid her palm along the back of Draco’s hand and laced them together.
“Private gifts,” Theo reminded them, voice gone velvet.
Hermione’s answering smile was all kinds of wicked and sweet. “At home,” she said.
“Then let’s go” Theo murmured, and tugged them both toward the fire.
The green took them, warm as breath. The waterpark’s hum fell away. Nott Manor’s hearth received them with a familiar sigh.
They laughed once more in the doorway—quiet, private, full of the day’s sunlight—and disappeared into their rooms to decompress and wash off.
The spacious bathroom of Nott Manor glowed with the soft, flickering light of charmed candles floating above, the air thick with the soothing scent of eucalyptus bath oils steaming from the filled bath.
Theo stood under the open shower’s charmed rainhead, water cascading like a gentle tropical storm over his lean, honeymoon tanned frame.
His birthday emotions swirled through the bond like a tidal wave of raw, heartfelt depth: a gratitude so intense it tightened his throat.
His stormy brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears of joy, his smile trembling as he leaned back into Draco’s chest, his voice thick with emotion.
"This is the best birthday of my life, my loves—feeling you both through the bond. It’s like my heart’s overflowing with how much I love you both, how much you mean to me," he murmured.
Hermione lounged in the deep tub acrossed from the shower, bubbles clinging to her curves.
"Theo, you deserve every second of this happiness—we love you so much, our perfect husband," she breathed, voice laced with pride and affection,her love for him swelling with every emotional pulse through the bond.
Draco pressed behind Theo, his cock, veined and curving wickedly, leaking pre-cum against Theo’s ass.
You’re our everything, Theo—today’s all about you, my love, celebrating the man we adore," he murmured, voice husky with devotion.
Draco aligned himself, easing in with a slow, deliberate push, the head popping past Theo’s tight ring, stretching him in a burning, loving embrace that made Theo moan, "Draco, love you—fill me, make me feel you, make this birthday unforgettable."
The bond carried the sensation to Hermione, her fingers circling her clit slow, mirroring the unhurried pace, her pussy clenching as she felt Theo’s pleasure like a phantom fullness. Theo’s vulnerability peaked through the bond, a tender openness as he surrendered to their touch, his gratitude for their love a radiant pulse that made his moans carry a worshipful edge.
Draco thrust gently at first, hips rolling in deep, loving grinds, his cock dragging Theo’s walls with exquisite frictionhands gripping Theo’s hips tenderly, pulling him back to meet each plunge.
"Gods, Theo—my love, your hot ass is gripping my cock so tight, feels like pure heaven made for me," he growled dirtily, picking up the pace, thrusts turning harder but still laced with care, balls slapping Theo’s ass with wet thwacks.
The curve of his long cock hitting Theo’s prostate with every stroke, pre-cum leaking from Theo’s girth in thick strings that mingled with the shower’s flow.
"Feel how much I love you, birthday boy—gonna fill you deep with my cum, marking you as ours on your special day," he added, voice thick with passionate devotion.
Hermione moaned softly from the tub, fingers dipping into her pussy with a wet schlick, matching their rhythm, the bond letting her feel their pulsing desire as if they were her own, her love for Theo’s birthday joy amplifying her pleasure.
"I love you both—you’re so beautiful together, Theo, happy birthday, my heart," she breathed, eyes locked on them, clit throbbing under her thumb, her chest tight with adoration for his vulnerable, radiant emotions.
Theo turned his head, capturing Draco’s lips in a deep, loving kiss, tongues tangling with shared devotion. His hand reaching to stroke his own cock, the piercing rubbing his palm as he pumped.
"Hermione, Draco—my loves, this is everything, feeling your love like this, it’s the best gift I could ever have," he panted, voice breaking with adoring fervor, the bond amplifying every wet glide and thrust.
Draco’s thrusts grew more fervent, hips snapping with passionate force, the obscene squelch-schlick of his cock reaming Theo’s ass filling the room.
"Fuck, Theo—your ass is my paradise, so tight and hot, milking my cock; gonna cum so deep in you, love, mark you as mine on your birthday," he growled, the bond broadcasting their love-soaked ecstasy to Hermione.
Her fingers plunged deeper, three now, stretching her pussy with wet squelches, her climax building as she watched, love for Theo’s birthday joy swelling her heart..
Their orgasms hit in a chained cascade—Theo first, bellowing with adoring, birthday-charged joy, thick ropes shooting from his pierced cock onto the shower floor, washed away by water, his heart soaring with gratitude and love so intense it brought fresh tears.
Draco followed, roaring "I love you!" as he flooded Theo’s ass with hot, pulsing cum, excess dripping in creamy strings.
Hermione came last, moaning their names, pussy spasming around her fingers, gushing slick into the bath, the bond uniting their bliss in a golden, love-drenched glow.
They collapsed together after, Draco and Theo joining her in the tub, bodies entwined in a wet, bubbly embrace, exchanging slow, adoring kisses. Theo’s heart was full to bursting with the profound joy of being so cherished, his emotional depth radiating through the bond like a beacon of their eternal love for him.
Notes:
So, what is Theo about to get for his birthday?! Next scene guesses!
I bet no one saw this coming actually .... =P
Chapter 121: The Gift
Chapter Text
The spacious bathroom of Nott Manor still hummed with the lingering warmth of their earlier bathroom intimacy.
The triad bond was pulsing with a radiant, love-soaked harmony for Theo that wove their emotions into a profound tapestry: Hermione’s adoring pride a glowing warmth in their hearts, Draco’s possessive devotion a steady, grounding fire, and Theo’s birthday-fueled emotions a shimmering cascade of gratitude, vulnerability, and soul-deep love that made their tattooed rings flare golden late into eh night.
They emerged from the bathroom, bodies flushed and relaxed, moving to the dressing room to slip into attire that was deliberately sexy yet intimate, a nod to the night’s celebratory mood.
Hermione donned a sheer, emerald silk chemise that clung to her curves like a lover’s caress.
Draco chose low-slung black silk pajama pants, the material draping over his lean hips, accentuating the V of his pelvis and the subtle bulge his groin.
Theo, the birthday celebrant, wore deep navy silk boxers that hugged his muscular thighs, his cock creating a tantalizing outline.
The bond thrummed with their mutual tenderness, a gentle undercurrent of desire tempered by the tender anticipation of Theo’s birthday gifts.
They settled together on the bed, sitting cross-legged in a cozy, intimate triangle, knees brushing, hands resting lightly on each other. The bond hummed with a profound, tender-soaked energy, Theo’s birthday emotions a radiant core: gratitude so deep it tightened his throat, vulnerability that bared his soul, and a love so fierce it felt like his heart might overflow.
Hermione reached under the bed, pulling out a small, elegantly wrapped package, leaning forward to brush a tender kiss across his lips, the bond sharing her love like a golden tide. "Happy birthday, my husband," she murmured, voice thick with emotion.
"These are for you—something for us to share, and something for your brilliant mind."
Theo’s heart swelled, the bond amplifying his gratitude into a radiant wave that made his smile tremble, his fingers unwrapping the package with reverent care. Inside were a pair of sleek, magical handcuffs, their silver surfaces etched with runes that pulsed faintly with binding charms, designed to hold with enchanted restraint yet no pain.
Hermione’s cheeks flushed as she explained, voice shy but warm with promise, "I thought... someday, when we’re all ready, we could try these together, Theo. I want to explore every way to be close to you both, to have excrement in new experiences."
The bond flared with his thrilled anticipation, his cock twitching slightly in his boxers as he imagined her wrists bound, her body open to his love, the vulnerability of it echoing his own. T
he second gift was a leather-bound book on famous Muggle doctors, its pages brimming with insights on integrating non-magical medicine with healing magic.
"This is for your Healer studies," she added, eyes shining with pride. "You’re so brilliant, Theo—I know you’ll weave this into your magic, making the world better, just like you do for us."
Theo’s breath caught, his love for her surging through the bond like a tidal wave, his eyes glistening with tears of gratitude, his voice trembling with raw emotion.
"Hermione, my love—these are perfect, “ he whispered, pulling her into a deep, soul-melting kiss, tongue tracing hers with adoring slowness.
"The handcuffs... gods, I dream of using them with you, love, feeling you trust me so fully, binding us all closer. And the book—it’s like you’re building my future with me, believing in me. I love you, thank you." He kissed her again.
Draco, who had been watching with a quiet, affectionate smile, grew noticeably silent, his silver eyes softening with a complex, tender depth, the bond conveying a selfless, radiant love that made Theo and Hermione pause, their hearts tightening with the weight of his emotion.
He reached beside him, pulling out a wicker basket wrapped with a silver ribbon, handing it to Theo with a steady but emotionally charged gaze, his voice low and thick with feeling.
"For you, Theo—my love, my husband," he said softly, the bond humming with his genuine, soul-deep love for Theo, a quiet promise of forever.
Theo opened it with trembling fingers, his birthday emotions swelling—gratitude, love, and a vulnerable awe—as he uncovered the contents: vials of shimmering bubble bath potions scented with lavende, mint, and chamomile, small bottles of relaxing and healing potions Draco had brewed himself, jars of soothing creams infused with calming herbs, and two sets of silk pajamas—one men’s, one women’s, both in deep navy to match Theo’s taste.
Tucked into the side was a velvet Malfoy crested envelope, which Theo opened with a racing heart, revealing a Portkey receipt for two, listed as Hermione and Theo—to Egypt, valid from mid-morning tomorrow to the following early evening, paired with a reservation for a luxury suite overlooking the pyramids and a dinner for two at a high-end restaurant near the Sphinx.
Theo’s brow furrowed, his birthday joy tinged with a vulnerable confusion as he noted the absence of Draco’s name, the bond flickering with his sudden, aching concern.
"Draco... it’s just for two? You’re not coming with us?" he asked, voice soft but trembling with emotion, his stormy eyes searching Draco’s face, the bond conveying his love and worry like a gentle tide.
Draco took a deep breath, his hand clasping Theo’s tightly, the other resting on Hermione’s knee, his voice calm and overflowing with love, the bond radiating his sincerity.
"Theo, my love—Hermione and I talked about this quite a bit the last week, and we’re both okay with it, as long as you are. I love you so much, more than I can ever express, and I’ve felt through the bond how deeply you’ve wanted to be with her fully, to share that intimate connection. If your bodies had been more compatible from the start, you’d have been intimate with her long before I joined you—you’d have taken her virginity, claimed that moment with all the love in your beautiful heart. I’m honored to have been her first, but deep down, I’ve always felt it should’ve been you, Theo, your love is so pure and foundational to us all."
He paused, squeezing Theo’s hand, his silver eyes glistening with selfless devotion, the bond pulsing with his genuine joy for them. "We’re thriving as a unit of three, and I cherish how our individual relationships strengthen that bond—keep it alive and vibrant. It’s taken time to reach this point, where Hermione’s body might be ready for you, and I want you to have this moment privately, just the two of you, to explore that intimacy without me there. The Portkey’s far enough—Egypt’s distance, my research says, should mute the bond enough that I won’t feel it too strongly or likely at all, so it’s truly your moment to share together."
Theo’s heart clenched, his birthday emotions swelling to an almost unbearable depth—a gratitude so profound it brought fresh tears. His eyes spilled over, voice breaking as he struggled to respond, "Draco... I don’t have words for this. I love you so much, and this gift—it’s overwhelming, it’s everything, but if it’ll feel strange for you, we wont go without you. You’re an important part of us."
The bond pulsed with his raw sincerity, his hand gripping Draco’s tightly, fingers trembling, the golden ring blazing with his love, his birthday joy now a soul-deep reverence for their trust and unity.
Draco shook his head gently, a warm smile breaking through, his voice steady with unwavering conviction.
"It’s not about feeling left out, Theo—I’m truly happy for you both, and the bond shows it, doesn’t it? This is your moment with Hermione, to share something sacred, something that’s been waiting for you. I’ll be here, waiting to hold you both when you return, ready to hear every detail if you want to share, but this is for you two to cherish privately I think."
He leaned in, kissing Theo softly, lips lingering with tender promise, then turned to kiss Hermione. The bond was weaving their love into a golden thread that bound them closer, Draco’s selflessness a radiant heat in the bond.
Hermione’s eyes shimmered with emotion, her hand covering Draco’s on her knee, her voice soft but resolute, carrying the weight of her love.
"Theo, I’ve thought so much about this, and I’m happy with Draco’s decision, we talked it through together before he offered this to you. I want this with you, our moment, now that we’re ready, I want to at least try with you. It’s a gift for your birthday, from our love for you. If we all agree later, I’m open to sharing those memories in a pensive, so Draco can have it too, if that’s what we all want in the future." The bond flared with her love and trust.
Theo nodded, tears streaming freely now, his emotions cresting into a profound, soul-deep gratitude for their love and trust, his voice choked with raw feeling as he pulled them both into a tight, trembling embrace.
"If you both are absolutely sure about this. I accept it, my loves—this is... the most beautiful gift, more than I could ever dream. I love you both so much, with everything I am."
His words carried the weight of his heart, the bond amplifying his vulnerability and love into a radiant glow that wrapped them all. They sank into the bed, bodies entwining in a warm, tangled heap together.
Hermione nestled between them, her head on Theo’s chest, Draco’s arm draped over her waist, Theo’s hand resting on Draco’s hip, their legs interlaced under the silk sheets.
The bond hummed happily, a serene, golden glow of love and unity, their rings pulsing softly as they exchanged lingering kisses.
Theo’s lips brushing Hermione’s forehead, Draco’s nuzzling Theo’s temple, Hermione’s hand tracing both their faces. Whispers of "I love you Theo" and birthday wishes filled the air, their voices soft and reverent, lulling them into a peaceful sleep, the manor’s quiet cradling their intimate feelings.
Notes:
I know this will probably be a controversial decision for readers but it felt right to me.
Thoughts...?
Chapter 122: With Love
Chapter Text
The manor was steeped in early light, the air full of the quiet that only follows a night spent tangled between laughter and sleep.
Draco was already awake when they came down; he stood by the hearth, jacket perfectly buttoned, pale hair loose at his nape. Steam coiled from the mug in his hand. Calm radiated the bond.
Hermione caught the flicker of something in his expression—wistful pride, a hint of loneliness he tried to hide beneath decorum.
“Your portkey leaves in ten,” h said, setting his cup aside. “And yes, before you ask, I double-checked that your itinerary doesn’t strand you in the Sahara.”
Theo grinned. “Always so thoughtful.”
Draco’s mouth curved faintly. “Someone has to keep you from dying of enthusiasm.”
Hermione stepped forward, touched his sleeve. “We’ll only be gone one night. Don’t get too used to the quiet.”
“I’ll endure,” he murmured, and then, softer, “Enjoy it, both of you. You’ve earned this.” His eyes lingered on hers—steady, kind. “Don’t worry about me.”
Theo clasped his shoulder, a silent exchange that carried history. “We’ll bring you something absurd from a street market.”
“I expect nothing less.”
Hermione hugged him—brief but full, her cheek against linen and warmth. Draco froze for a heartbeat, then exhaled and wrapped his arms around her, gentle. “Go,” he said. “Before I start behaving sentimentally.”
Theo took her hand, the portkey—a small bronze scarab—ready between them. Green light flared. Draco’s form blurred and vanished as the manor fell away.
The pull of the portkey was violent, a rush of heat, the world folding into color. They landed with a jolt on pale stone steps, the air instantly alive with sun and spice. Cairo opened around them like a mirage—noise, movement, brilliance.
Hermione laughed, breathless. “Merlin, it’s hot.”
Theo blinked against the brightness, hair already curling. “You mean perfect.”
He rolled his sleeves up, revealing tanned forearms she found herself admiring far too much.
All around them the city pulsed with life, vendors calling in melodic Arabic, children chasing enchanted kites shaped like phoenixes, the shimmer of wards keeping dust from hovering too thick.
Theo reached for her hand. “Ready to explore?”
“Lead the way, birthday boy.”
“Still my birthday week, technically,” he said, mock-solemn.
“Which means you have to indulge me.”
She arched a brow. “Define indulge.”
He smirked. “You’ll see.”
They wandered through winding alleys that spilled into markets—a kaleidoscope of brass lamps and shimmering scarves, spells flickering in every doorway.
Hermione stopped at a stall selling spell-carved scarabs. One of them shifted in her palm and winked.
“It’s enchanted to bring luck,” the shopkeeper said, smiling.
Theo paid before she could protest. “You’ll need luck with me around.”
She slipped it into her pocket, heart warm. “It’s beautiful.”
So was he, in this light—sun-kissed skin, eyes gone almost green-brown.
When he caught her staring, he only tilted his head. “You’re thinking something dangerous.”
“Just admiring,” she said lightly.
“Mutual,” he murmured, stepping closer until the heat between them thickened with something other than the desert. For a breath, the world shrank to the space between their mouths.
Then the muezzin’s call rose over the rooftops—long, lilting—and the moment broke. They both smiled, flustered, and moved on.
By late afternoon, they found the Nile. Theo conjured a light shawl for her shoulders. They sat on the bank, feet dangling above the water.
Hermione leaned into him. “Thank you for bringing me.”
He brushed a damp curl from her cheek. “You should thank Draco, not me. You needed to see the world again. To just… breathe.”
She rested her head against his shoulder. The bond hummed quietly—contentment layered with something molten beneath. They couldn’t feel Draco.
When she looked up, his gaze had gone dark with affection. She reached for his hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist, a small, reverent thing that still made his breath catch.
Theo smiled faintly. “You’re dangerous, Granger.”
“I know.”
Dusk painted Cairo rose and copper. Lanterns bloomed one by one along the streets, and the sounds of the city softened into laughter and music.
Their hotel loomed at the edge of the pyramid district—a restored palace overlooking the river.
Inside, cool air scented with jasmine wrapped around them. The lobby shimmered with gold filigree, mosaic floors depicting ancient runes of protection. A fountain murmured under a canopy of enchanted vines at the center.
Theo caught her waist as they walked toward the desk, his fingers tracing a lazy circle just above her hip. “You realize,” he murmured, “we’re technically on foreign soil. Which technically means the Ministry can’t track us.”
Hermione rose on her toes and met him halfway—soft, warm, tasting of desert air and laughter. The kiss wasn’t long, but it carried all the things they hadn’t said since leaving the manor.
When they pulled apart, the clerk behind the desk was politely pretending not to stare.
“Checking in?” the woman asked in lilting English.
Theo’s voice was steady, amused. “Yes. For night.” He glanced at Hermione, eyes full of promise. “Under Nott or Malfoy.”
The clerk’s brow twitched, but she only nodded and handed over their keys.
Hermione took his hand again as they turned toward the grand staircase. Outside, the night glowed through the arched windows; inside, their bond pulsed soft and sure, leading them upward.
The world was warm, vast, alive—and so were they.
Their suite occupied the entire top floor of the villa-hotel, It was a space suspended between history and dream. The mahogany door opened with a rush of cool, perfumed air and golden lamplight that poured across cream-colored marble floors veined with rose quartz.
Directly ahead, a wall of enchanted glass framed the Nile below, distant sails tracing slow silver arcs n the water.
To the left, a sunken sitting room lay half-drowned in cushions the color of pomegranates and sand. Every surface gleamed with carved brass and mother-of-pearl: low tables scattered with candlesticks, vases spilling jasmine and orange blossom.
The air tasted faintly of spice and salt.
An archway led to the bedroom — vast, with a canopy of gauzy white fabric that rippled in the enchanted breeze. The bed itself was enormous, layered in cream linen and embroidered silk.
Behind it stretched a carved mural of constellations inlaid with lapis and obsidian, the stars glowing softly as the light dimmed.
The suite’s magic had been tuned for lovers: the temperature perfect, the lamps shifting from amber to rose with every sigh of wind.
Through another archway, the bath area gleamed: a circular sunken pool tiled in turquoise mosaics, steam curling lazily upward, rose petals floating on the surface.
Hermione stood at the center of it all, awestruck. “Theo,” she whispered, “this is… it’s like something out of a fairy tale.”
Theo set down their bags, eyes roaming the space with the satisfaction of someone who had hoped it would take her breath away — and it had.
“Good, Draco always knows how to get luxury.” he said, slipping behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Because that was the point.”
Their reflection shimmered in the glass doors leading to the terrace, where lanterns had already begun to glow.
Outside waited a private balcony with a small table, two chairs, and a view that seemed to stretch all the way to the desert’s edge.
They changed slowly, Hermione chose a dress the color of deep wine — sleeveless, silk that clung when she moved and caught the lamplight in soft ripples.
Her curls were pinned half up, leaving loose tendrils at her neck. A pair of delicate drop earrings — rubies and gold filigree — finished her look.
She went barefoot until the last moment, enjoying the cool marble under her feet before slipping into gold-strapped sandals.
Theo appeared from the adjoining room fastening the cuffs of a pale linen shirt, the first few buttons undone, sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. Sand-colored trousers, and a dark belt matched the polished leather of his shoes.
When he looked up, his expression softened into something that made her pulse trip. “You’re…” He searched for the word and failed gracefully. “Unfair.”
She smiled, stepping close enough to adjust his collar. “So are you.”
He caught her wrist briefly, pressing his thumb to the fluttering vein there. “Dinner?”
“Before I change my mind and we never leave this suite.”
His grin crooked, wicked and fond all at once. “Tempting. But the city’s waiting.”
Hand in hand, they stepped out into the corridor, the door closing behind them with a quiet charm-click. The scent of jasmine followed as they descended toward the street with Cairo’s night air rising up to greet them, hot and sweet, full of promise.
The luxury suite overlooking the pyramids in Egypt was a haven of opulent serenity.
Theo and Hermione had just returned from their private dinner near the Sphinx, a candlelit affair where they’d shared whispered dreams over fragrant koshari and spiced wine, their hands entwined, the triad bond thrumming with a potent mix of love, anticipation, and Hermione’s quiet anxiety.
They had moved from the bathroom—where Theo had eased her tension for the last hour in the jasmine-scented tub with soothing massages and gentle finger-play, stretching her with four fingers to prepare her, into the bedroom, a sanctuary of deep green silk sheets and soft candlelight.
Theo laid Hermione on the sheets before him, their golden rings glowing brighter as he settled between her thighs, his cock now hard and daunting—7 inches, wrist-thick, veins bulging like knotted ropes, the apadravya piercing glinting menacingly in the candlelight, pre-cum beading at the tip in sticky, glistening pearls.
He had lubed her generously with charmed oils from Draco, the slick warmth easing her tension, spreading it over her pussy lips and entrance with reverent fingers, massaging it into her folds until they gleamed, the bond sharing her nervous anticipation as a tight pulse.
He kissed her deeply, whispering, "Tell me you’re sure, my heart—I’ll stop anytime."
She nodded, eyes teary with love and fear, "I’m sure, Theo—I want you, just go so slow. I love you."
He cast the contraception charm with a kiss to her lips and murmured love.
The process of entering her was a prolonged, emotionally charged ordeal, drawn out over what felt like an eternity, each moment a delicate dance of patience, love, and trust, as her body struggled to accommodate his massive girth.
Theo aligned himself, the blunt, flared head of his cock nudging her entrance with agonizing slowness, the slick oil glistening as it coated them both, her pussy lips parting slightly under the immense pressure, the sheer width of his head—thicker than her wrist,—straining her rim before even breaching.
The pressure making her gasp sharply, a flicker of nervous anticipation tightening her muscles.
He paused, not even inside yet, his thumb circling her clit in soft, soothing strokes to spark pleasure, lips brushing her forehead as he whispered, "Breathe, my love—just the tip touching you now, so gentle. I’m here, I love you. Ready for the first push?"
The bond pulsed with her courage, her voice trembling, "Yes, Theo—slow, please. I’m scared it’ll hurt too much."
The initial push was excruciatingly intense—his head pressing forward ever so slowly, the blunt tip forcing her pussy lips to stretch taut around him, the apadravya piercing’s metal edge catching her inner rim with a sharp, scraping drag that felt like a white-hot blade carving her open, the burn radiating through her pelvis like molten fire.
Her gasp turned to a soft cry, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red crescent marks as tears welled and spilled down her cheeks.
"Theo—it hurts so much, it’s too big, I feel like I’m tearing in two," she whimpered, voice breaking with pain and determination, her body trembling beneath him, the bond sharing her discomfort like a tight, aching knot in his chest, though her love for him pulsed stronger, urging him on.
Her pussy clenched spasmodically around just the tip, slick and lube mingling, the stretch so intense her inner walls quivered in protest.
He froze instantly, the head barely notched inside, kissing her tears away with tender presses of lips to her cheeks, eyelids, his voice trembling with love and concern.
"I’m here, my darling—breathe with me, I love you so much. It’s okay, we’ll go slow; tell me if it’s too much, and I’ll pull out right away."
His thumb intensified on her clit, rubbing in firm, soothing circles to spark pleasure through the pain, the soft friction building a counterpoint of warmth as he held still, letting her adjust to just the head’s intrusion, the piercing’s cool metal a constant, scraping pressure against her inflamed rim.
"You’re so brave, my love—taking me like this, so tight and perfect around it. Does it hurt too bad? We can stop, my heart—I’d never want to cause you more pain than you can bear." The bond conveyed his adoration and worry, his free hand stroking her thigh in slow, calming circles, the room filled with their heavy breaths.
"It hurts, Theo—like fire, the stretch is pulling me apart" she sobbed softly, voice shaky but resolute as she tried to breathe through it, the bond pulsing with her pain and trust.
"But I’m okay, I want to keep going. I love you—slowly, please, just a little more."
He nodded, kissing her lips tenderly, tongue tracing hers with adoring care to distract from the ache.
"You’re my everything, Hermione—taking me so well, my brave love. Feel that stretch? It’s you opening for me, letting me love you deeper. Just breathe, darling—tell me when you’re ready for more."
He held the pose for long minutes, her entrance stretched taut around his head, the piercing’s metal unyielding against her inflamed rim, wetness gushing more as her body fought to adjust, his thumb’s clit-rub sparking warmth that mingled with the burn, turning it to a strange, intense pleasure that made her hips twitch slightly.
After a few moments of breathing exercises and tender kisses—his lips on her forehead, cheeks, neck, whispering, "I love you, my angel, you’re so perfect"—her body began to relax, the clench easing fractionally, her voice steadier, "Okay... a little more, Theo—I think I can."
He pushed forward another fraction of an inch, the girth stretching her walls further, veins now pressing against her inner tissues, making her cry out again, a sharp lance through her pelvis as her muscles spasmed in protest.
"Fuck—hurts like it’s splitting me inside," she gasped, body tensing, but she clung to him, "Don’t stop—I’m fine, I want you, love you."
He froze again, kissing her tears desperately, voice trembling, "You’re incredible, my angel—holding still now, breathe, feel my thumb on your clit, sparking that good feeling to help the burn. I love you so much, just a bit more in you."
He waited, longer this time, thumb rubbing her clit in firm, soothing circles, pleasure building to counter the ache, her slick flooding more until she nodded, "More... slowly, Theo—tell me how it feels for you."
"It feels like heaven, love—your pussy’s so hot and tight, hugging me like it never wants to let go, every flutter driving me wild," he whispered, voice thick with emotion, pushing another tiny fraction, the girth forcing her walls to part even further, the piercing scraping deeper like a blade against her raw insides, making her arch, "It’s so much, Theo—the piercing’s like a knife, hurting bad," but her hips rocked slightly, urging him, the bond sharing her resilience.
He paused, kissing her neck, "You’re doing it, my love—gods, you’re perfect, taking me inch by inch. How’s the burn now? Easing a little? I need to hear you, my brave wife."
"Still burning like fire, but... the pleasure’s there too, your veins... they’re rubbing something good. Another inch, please—I want to feel you deeper," she panted, tears drying as pleasure began to mingle more, the bond pulsing with her determination.
He inched forward, the girth's veins dragging her inner walls with agonizing care, the stretch a prolonged agony that made her cry out louder, but her slick gushing to lubricate, pleasure blooming faintly through the burn.
"You’re halfway, my darling—you’re incredible, your pussy so wet and loving around me, I can feel you adjusting, opening for me," he choked, pausing to let her breathe, thumb working her clit faster, sparking electric pleasure that made her walls flutter, easing the burn.
"Tell me, love—how’s it now? The pain lessening? You’re taking me so beautifully." She breathed deeply, nodding, "Yes... a little less, the fullness is starting to feel good—keep going, Theo, I love you."
Another fraction, the veins pressing harder, the piercing dragging her depths, pain lancing but pleasure growing, her cries softening to moans as he paused again, "You’re my world, Hermione—taking my head and shaft so well, so tight and perfect. Feel that? Your pussy’s gushing more, helping me slide. Does it hurt too bad now, or is the pleasure winning?"
"Hurts a bit, but the pleasure’s there—the piercing... it’s hitting deep, good deep. More, Theo—slowly," she gasped, voice breaking but resolute, hips twitching to encourage him, the bond pulsing with her love.
He pushed another inch, the girth forcing her walls to yield wide, the piercing scraping her inner walls, but the pleasure from his clit-rub and the fullness began to overpower, her slick flooding in response.
"Almost three-quarters, my love—gods, you’re perfect, so brave for me," he whispered, tears spilling as he held, kissing her, "How’s it now, darling? The burn easing into pleasure?"
"Yes... it’s turning good, Theo—hurts but I want the rest, love you," she panted, and he inched forward, the veins raking her fully, piercing nestling deeper, pausing with each sob, whispering, "You’re my everything, taking me so beautifully—tell me how it feels, my heart."
"It’s splitting me, Theo—your cock so thick, the piercing scraping so deep—but it’s good, I can feel you filling me so amazingly fully," she sobbed, smiling through tears, the bond pulsing with her love and desrire.
He pushed the final inch over long, tender minutes, pausing with each cry, kissing her tears, whispering, "You’re incredible, my angel—almost there, so tight and loving," until he was fully buried, balls pressed against her ass, the piercing nestled deep, her pussy stretched to its absolute limit, quivering around his massive girth, , the burn intense but mingled with profound fullness and pleasure.
They both cried softly, the emotional weight overwhelming—his gratitude for her trust, her love through the pain, the bond flaring with their raw, soul-deep connection, golden rings blazing.
"I’m all in, my heart—fully in you, gods, it feels incredible, better than I ever imagined, I love you so much," Theo choked, tears in his eyes as he held still, letting her adjust, his thumb circling her clit to keep pleasure flowing.
"Does it still hurt, my love? Tell me—we can stay like this, just feeling each other."
"It hurts, but it’s good too—I feel you so deep, Theo, filling me completely," smiling through tears, her hands clutching his back, nails leaving faint red trails, the bond pulsing with their love.
"Make love to me, please—I’m ready. Love you." Theo nodded, his own tears spilling, his heart swelling with adoration and awe at her resilience, the bond a radiant glow of their shared intimacy.
He began moving, gentle rocks at first, the drag of his massive girth and piercing slow and careful, her walls gripping him like velvet fire, the lingering pain easing into a profound fullness.
"You’re my everything, Hermione—feel me loving you, so full of me, every inch wrapped in your warmth," he murmured, voice thick with emotion, his thrusts deliberate, shallow at first, barely shifting the piercing to avoid overwhelming her, each motion a tender caress inside her stretched channel, his thumb intensifying on her clit, rubbing in slow, firm circles to build a steady fire, the friction sparking warmth that countered the fading burn.
Hermione moaned softly, the pain now a faint echo beneath the swelling pleasure, her hips rocking to meet his gentle rhythm, the bond sharing their love.
"Theo—it’s starting to feel so good, your cock is everywhere, love you," she gasped, her hands sliding to his hips, urging him to continue, the stretch now a delicious ache that sparked with every slow glide.
He kissed her deeply, tongue tracing hers with adoring slowness, whispering against her lips, "You’re incredible, my heart—taking me so perfectly, your pussy so tight and loving around me. Does it feel better now, darling? Tell me how you want it."
His thumb pressed harder on her clit, circling with rhythmic insistence, the dual sensations of his gentle thrusts and clit-rub building a symphony of pleasure, her slick flooding more, her moans growing louder, more blissful.
"It’s good, Theo—still a little sore, but the pleasure’s stronger, your piercing... it’s hitting something amazing," she panted, voice breathy with trust, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, the bond pulsing with her growing ecstasy.
He deepened his thrusts slightly, still gentle but longer, the veined girth dragging her walls with exquisite friction, the apadravya piercing scraping her G-spot with each careful rock, sending sparks of pleasure that made her moan louder, the pain now fully transformed into a profound, pulsing bliss.
"Gods, love—you’re so wet, gushing around me, making it so easy to love you like this," he murmured, tears glistening as he watched her face, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure, lips parted in soft gasps.
"I’m gonna make you cum, my angel—slow and deep, let you feel every bit of my love inside you."
He adjusted his angle, tilting his hips to ensure the piercing grazed her G-spot consistently, each thrust a deliberate, loving glide, the stretch now a perfect blend of fullness and pleasure, her walls fluttering in eager spasms.
He kept the rhythm steady, unhurried, each thrust a deep, loving plunge, the piercing dragging her G-spot with relentless precision, his thumb circling her clit faster, pressing just hard enough to spark electric jolts that built her higher, his free hand cupping her breast, thumb rolling her nipple in sync with his thrusts, amplifying the sensation.
"Feel that, darling? My cock filling you, that piercing kissing your sweet spot—gonna build you up so slow, make you cum so hard for me," he whispered, leaning to kiss her deeply, tongue tangling with hers, swallowing her moans as his thumb worked her clit in firm, rhythmic swirls, the dual stimulation pushing her closer to the edge.
Hermione’s moans grew vocal, "Theo—yes, right there, love you so much," her hips rocking harder, chasing the rising tide, the bond sharing her building climax like a radiant wave, her pussy clenching tighter as pleasure overtook the last traces of pain.
"You’re so beautiful, my love—your pussy’s hugging me so tight, creaming all over my cock; gods, I feel you getting close," he murmured, his thrusts deepening just a fraction, the piercing scraping her G-spot harder, the stretch now pure ecstasy, her slick gushing in warm floods that soaked them both.
"Let go for me, Hermione—cum around me, let me feel you shatter, my perfect love."
His thumb pressed harder on her clit, circling with relentless precision, the friction sparking electric jolts that pushed her to the brink, his thrusts maintaining their gentle, loving rhythm, each glide a caress of her depths, the piercing amplifying every sensation.
Her climax built, her moans turning to desperate gasps, "Theo—oh gods, I’m gonna cum, love you!"
Her body tensed, then unraveled in a profound, rippling orgasm—walls convulsing around his girth.
Theo’s own climax followed, triggered by her clenching heat, a low, guttural groan of her name as he spilled hot, pulsing ropes deep inside, the piercing amplifying each jet against her walls, the bond uniting their ecstasy.
"I love you, Hermione—gods, you’re my everything," he choked, collapsing onto her, still joined, their bodies slick with sweat and release, crying and kissing with desperate tenderness, lips and tongues tangling in a shared vow of love.
They held each other tightly, whispering "I love you" as the bond wrapped them in a warm, undying embrace.
Theo cradled Hermione against his chest, her head tucked under his chin, curls spilling over his skin under the light silk sheet, her pussy sore—a tender, manageable ache from the intense stretch of his massive girth and piercing, softened by the profound pleasure of their join climax.
The bond pulsed with their shared emotions—his gratitude for her trust, her love through the pain, both their hearts swollen with intimacy.
Theo reached for the wicker basket Draco had gifted him for his birthday, its contents tailored for this moment: vials of shimmering bubble bath potions, small bottles of relaxing and healing potions, jars of soothing creams, all brewed by Draco’s skilled hands, their scents of lavender and chamomile filling the air as he opened them with reverent care.
"My heart, my love—let me take care of you now, make you feel perfect after giving me so much," Theo murmured, voice thick with emotion, eyes glistening as he kissed her forehead, the bond radiating his devotion like a warm tide.
He poured a vial of healing potion into his palm, its cool, tingling essence glowing faintly, and gently massaged it into her inner thighs, and gently into her entrance, his fingers coming back lightly blood streaked, the potion’s magic seeping in to ease the tender ache.
"This is Draco’s love for us both—every drop crafted to soothe you. How’s the soreness, darling? Still okay, or too much?" His touch was feather-light, the bond sharing her relief as a soft hum, his concern palpable.
Hermione sighed contentedly, her body melting into his touch, the faint soreness in her pussy—a gentle throb, nothing sever after easing under the potion’s warmth.
"It feels wonderful, Theo—the potion’s cooling the ache, making it just a soft reminder of you inside me," she whispered, voice soft and laced with love, her hand resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat.
"It hurt so much at first, your girth... it was like fire splitting me open, the piercing scraping so raw, but you were so gentle, so patient—I felt so loved, even through the pain. It’s just faintly sore now, like a memory of how full you made me."
Her eyes shimmered with tears, the bond pulsing with her gratitude and adoration, her fingers tracing his jaw.
"How was it for you, my love? Feeling me like that, finally?"
Theo’s heart clenched, tears welling as he leaned to kiss her lips softly, lingering with adoring tenderness, his fingers moving to apply a soothing chamomile-scented cream next, massaging it gently around her pussy lips, avoiding direct pressure on her sensitive entrance but easing the stretched skin with careful, loving strokes.
"Gods, Hermione—you were incredible, my brave wife," he choked, voice trembling with emotion, the bond radiating his awe.
"Feeling you stretch around me, so tight and warm, every inch a gift of your trust—it was like our souls merged, the bond making every moment so vivid. It’ll probably hurt a bit the next few times we try, love—your pussy’s still adjusting to my girth, until your body gets used to it, like it did with Draco’s cock over time. But I’ll always go slow, prep you with all this love, make it feel good."
His fingers worked the cream in slow, loving circles, the soothing magic sinking into her skin, her faint soreness fading further, the bond sharing her comfort. "Did I go slow enough tonight, my heart? Was the pain bearable because of the pleasure?"
"You were perfect, Theo—so patient, every pause and kiss made me feel so safe," she murmured, tears spilling as she cupped his face, thumb brushing his cheek, the bond pulsing with her love.
"It burned like nothing else, your veins and piercing stretching me beyond what I thought I could take, but your care turned it into something beautiful. I felt you so deep, filling me completely—it was worth every second of pain to share that with you. And knowing it might hurt a bit next time... I’m okay with that, because it’s you, and I trust you’ll make it feel good again. You and Draco will take care of me, I know that."
Her voice trembled, the bond radiating her love and trust, her fingers interlacing with his, their rings glowing brighter. "Draco’s potions are amazing, aren’t they? I can feel the soreness fading, like he’s here holding us too."
Theo nodded as he reached for a relaxing potion, pouring it into his palm to massage into her lower back and hips, where tension lingered from her efforts, the potion’s calming magic seeping in with his gentle, kneading pressure.
"Draco’s heart is in every one of these—he made them for us, for this moment, knowing how much we’d need them," he whispered, voice thick with gratitude, his hands soothing her muscles.
"Your body will adjust to me, love—just like it did with Draco, learning to take his cock without pain, molding to me over time with lots of prep like this. Feeling you cum around me tonight, your pussy squeezing me so tight, gushing like that—it was like our bond became everything, our love in every pulse. Was the pleasure worth the pain, my love? How’s the soreness now?"
His eyes searched hers, the bond conveying his concern and adoration, his fingers lingering on her hips, easing every trace of tension he could find.
"It’s just a faint ache now, Theo—nothing bad, just a reminder of you loving me so deeply," she murmured, voice soft and emotional, her hand sliding to his, squeezing gently, the bond radiating her comfort and love.
"The pleasure was... overwhelming, once the pain faded. Your piercing hitting that spot inside, your thumb on my clit—it made me feel so connected to you, so loved. I’m ready for it to hurt a bit next time, knowing you’ll be this gentle, making it good until my body’s used to you These creams, the potions—they’re like Draco’s arms around us, helping me feel perfect after this."
Theo’s tears fell freely, his heart swelling with love as he pulled her closer, applying the last of the soothing cream to her inner thighs, massaging it in with reverent care, the bond pulsing with their shared intimacy.
"I’m more than okay, my angel—I’m whole, because of you," he choked, kissing her cheeks, her lips, tasting her tears. "Feeling you take me, trusting me through that pain, it’s the greatest gift I’ve ever had. Your pussy so tight, so loving around me—I felt our bond in every moment, our love stronger than anything."
He set the basket aside, pulling her fully into his arms, their bodies molding together under the silk sheet, legs entwining, his hand stroking her back as the bond hummed with their unity. "Is the soreness okay now, my heart? Anything else I can do to make you feel good?"
"Just this, Theo—holding me, loving me like this," she whispered, nuzzling his chest, the faint soreness now barely a whisper, a tender reminder of their connection wrapped in the warmth of his care.
"I love you so much, Theo—this was perfect, even the pain, because it was with you. I feel so close to you now, closer than ever, and I know my body will learn you, like it did Draco, with time and your love."
Her voice trembled, the bond radiating her love like a golden wave, her fingers tracing his ring, their connection a tangible glow.
They lay entwined, whispering soft words of love and gratitude—"You’re my everything, Hermione," "I love you forever, Theo"—the faint soreness a testament to their shared journey, the potions and creams easing her into perfect comfort.
As they drifted to sleep, bodies melded together, the bond hummed happily, their golden rings pulsing softly, sealing their love in the quiet, moonlit serenity of the suite.
Notes:
Thoughts...?
Think it'll impact their bond now that this has happened?
Draco's reaction when they get home?
Chapter 123: Sharing
Notes:
Draco has bene so mature about this whole thing, and emotionally vulnerable... I'm proud of him.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The sun crept through gauzy curtains, giving a unreal fantasy feel to the suite. Hermione woke first, curled against Theo, the air still perfumed with sandalwood and salt from the night before.
His arm was heavy around her waist, his breathing even, and for a while she only lay there, tracing slow circles over the back of his hand.
Everything felt softer—her skin, the light, even the pulse of the bond thrumming gently beneath her ribs. It felt more steady, settled, like it was purring.
It wasn’t just affection anymore; it was a type of knowing. A deep, wordless understanding that hummed through every shared breath.
When Theo finally stirred, he blinked at her with the dazed smile of someone who’d found something precious.
“Morning,” he said, voice rough with sleep.
She smiled back. “Morning.”
Neither of them moved to get up. They just looked at each other, the silence threaded with deep meaning. They snuggled closer, a passionate make-out session evolving.
By the time they made it out of bed, the Nile was a sheet of untouched glass. The hotel staff had arranged breakfast on their balcony—silver trays of fruit, flaky bread still warm, a pot of coffee that steamed in the early heat. A lazy enchantment kept everything cool and shaded form the rising heat.
Theo sliced open a fig and offered it to her.
“We could stay here forever, you know.”
She laughed softly. “You’d miss the chaos of the hospital within a week. And Draco might be a bit cross.”
He pretended to think about it. “Fine. Two weeks then.”
He fed her a piece of fig; juice ran down her wrist, and he brushed it away with his thumb before licking it absently. It was such an relaxed gesture of tenderness that her breath caught.
Hermione leaned back in her chair, coffee mug between her palms.
“You know,” she said, “it still feels strange to be completely happy still. I keep waiting for the world to remind me it doesn’t last. No peace has ever lasted in my life before.”
Theo’s gaze gentled. “Then we’ll just keep reminding it that it does, it can stay.”
After breakfast they ventured into the city—wandless, disguised only by sunglasses and the effortless ease of internatonal anonymity.
They walked hand in hand through Khan el-Khalili’s market, pausing to watch floating carpets weave above the stalls, the smell of saffron and incense everywhere.
Theo haggled cheerfully with a vendor for a carved alabaster cat, pretending outrage when the man named his price. Hermione laughed until she cried; in the end, they overpaid and received two cats instead, one in each color. Theo swore he was going to present Draco with the jade one.
They spent the early afternoon at the Egyptian Magical Museum, marveling at animated hieroglyphs that reenacted ancient charms. Theo stood behind her as she translated, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder.
“You realize you’re the only person I know who makes dead languages sound romantic and sexy,” he murmured.
She nudged him with her elbow. “You’re insufferable.”
“You adore me.”
“Unfortunately.”
By early twilight, they’d climbed to the hotel’s rooftop garden, where vines wrapped around marble pillars and lanterns glowed soft orange. Below them, Cairo glittered like an endless spell.
Theo poured them both a glass of chilled white wine and leaned against the railing beside her. “If we weren’t due back tonight” he said, “I’d take you out on the river at night. Lanterns, music, romance, dancing… everything.”
She smiled, turning to face him. “Then we’ll have to come back. And bring Draco.”
He kissed her temple, lingering. “Deal.”
The city lights reflected in her eyes as they stood together—two threads of the same bond, humming quietly.
The grand entrance hall of Nott Manor was bathed in the warm, amber glow of enchanted chandeliers that floated like captured stars above. The air carried the faint, comforting scent of aged pine wood, beeswax polish, and the subtle lavender from the fresh bouquets on side tables—a familiar embrace after their day in Egypt.
The portkey had deposited Theo and Hermione there with a soft whirl of magic, the desert heat still clinging to their skin, the triad bond immediately surging with Draco’s presence like a warm, welcoming tide.
But beneath it lurked his anxiety—a subtle, twisting undercurrent through the bond, like a knot of worry in their chests, his silver eyes searching theirs as he strode forward from the shadows of the staircase. He was clad in a simple black robe, hair slightly disheveled as if he’d been pacing for hours.
"Welcome back, my dears," Draco said softly, his voice steady but laced with that underlying tension, the bond amplifying his concern as he pulled them both into a tight embrace, kissing Hermione’s forehead first, then Theo’s lips with a lingering press that spoke of restrained longing.
"I felt basically nothing, like my research said it would be, but gods, the wait was agony. Tell me—how was it? Are you both okay?"
His hands trembled slightly on their backs, the golden ring on his finger glowing brighter as the bond shared Hermione’s tender soreness and Theo’s profound emotional fulfillment, Draco’s anxiety spiking like a sharp pang before softening with relief at their smiles.
Hermione leaned into him, her curls brushing his chest, the faint ache between her legs—a gentle reminder of Theo’s girth.
"We’re more than okay, Draco—it was beautiful, emotional... everything it wa ssuppossed to be," she whispered, voice thick with love, squeezing his hand as the bond conveyed her gratitude for his selflessness, a warm wave that eased his worry.
"Let’s go to our chambers—talk over tea. I missed you so much."
Theo nodded, his eyes still shining with the afterglow of their intimacy, the bond radiating his deep love for them both, a vulnerability that made his voice crack slightly. "Yes—tea by the fire. I need to hold you both, Draco. You gave us something priceless."
They moved together up the grand staircase, arms linked, the manor’s quiet halls echoing their footsteps, the bond a living thread of shared emotions.
In their private chambers, the fire crackled merrily in the massive hearth, casting a cozy, flickering light over the sheepskin rug spread before it.
Draco summoned a tea service with a wave of his wand—fine china cups filled with steaming chamomile laced with honey, the calming aroma filling the room as they settled on the rug.
Hermione was in the middle, leaning against Draco’s chest with Theo’s arm around her waist, their legs tangled comfortably, the golden rings glowing softly as the bond hummed with unity.
Draco sipped his tea, his silver eyes fixed on them with tender intensity, the bond still carrying faint echoes of his earlier anxiety like a lingering shadow.
"Tell me everything, you feel comfortable sharing—from the moment you arrived. I want to hear it all, feel it through you."
His voice was soft, vulnerable, the bond conveying his genuine curiosity and relief that they were home, safe and happy.
Hermione started, her voice warm and emotional, snuggling closer to Draco as Theo’s hand stroked her thigh gently.
"The Portkey took us straight to a main plaza—it was breathtaking, overlooking the pyramids, the sunset turning everything golden. We had ana amazing afternoon in the markets, and the dinner was… just wow. We were both so nervous, Draco—me especially. Theo was so patient, starting in the tub with massages, easing me with his fingers... talking me through it all."
She paused, her hand squeezing Draco’s.
"He stretched me slowly with his fingers, making sure I was ready, whispering how much he loved me. It was so intimate, so loving—I felt safe, even scared."
Theo leaned in, kissing her temple, his voice thick with emotion as he continued, eyes glistening.
"She was incredible, Draco—brave beyond words. I asked if she was sure, told her we could wait, but she wanted it, loved me through the fear. Draco, I don’t know how you did it that first time with her, gods, when I aligned... gods, the first push, her pussy stretching around my head—it hurt her, the burn from my girth and the piercing scraping her raw. I felt so terrible hurting her, so guilty. I almost ditched the effort there, but she kept urging me on. She cried, Draco—told me it felt like fire tearing her, but she kept saying she was okay, wanted more. I froze so many times, kissed her tears, rubbed her clit to ease it, whispering how much I loved her, how perfect she was taking me."
His voice broke, tears spilling as the bond pulsed with his gratitude and awe. "Inch by inch, over what felt like forever—her walls fighting every bit, she was hurting but urged me on, saying she loved me, that she wanted all of me. When I finally bottomed out... gods, we both cried, the connection was so emotionally deep, feeling her so full of me."
Draco’s eyes shimmered with tears the feelings amplified through the bond, his arm tightening around Hermione, the bond flooding with his relief and love, a profound warmth that wrapped them all.
"You both... I’m so relieved it worked out, that it was beautiful despite the pain. I was so nervous she wasn’t ready enough and that you’d both come back disappointed or hurt. I felt basically nothing, just a very hint of your love shining through occasionally. Hermione—did the pleasure eventually win over?"
Hermione nodded, tears spilling as she kissed Draco’s cheek, voice trembling with remembered emotion.
"It did—the pain was really intense at first, like being split apart, but once he was fully in, staying still... it shifted suddenly. The fullness was overwhelming, but good, Theo so deep inside me. When he started moving, slow rocks, the piercing hitting my G-spot... gods, the pleasure built, erasing the hurt. His thumb on my clit, his kisses—it was like our souls connected. I came so hard, feeling him fill me completely."
She turned to Theo, cupping his face. "You were perfect, my love—your care made it everything."
Theo’s tears flowed freely, his heart aching with love as he kissed her palm, voice choked. "I love you both so much—Draco, your gift made this possible." The bond surged with his vulnerability and gratitude.
Draco smiled through his own glassy eyes, kissing them both softly.
"I’m relieved it was okay—that the pain didn’t overshadow the love. I promise, next time we try, I’ll help make it even better—I’ll be there, prepping you together, easing every step. We’ll take it slow as a trio, turn any hurt into pure bliss."
His voice was steady with devotion, the bond radiating his happiness and love, his hand interlacing with theirs.
They sipped tea in comfortable silence, the fire crackling softly, sharing more details togetehr—Hermione’s initial cries, Theo’s pauses and whispers, the emotional release when he was fully in—the bond weaving their words into a tapestry of intimacy.
"It may hurt a bit still the next few times," Draco added gently, "your body adjusting to his girth like it did mine, but we’ll make it tender, make you ready."
Hermione nodded, "I know—with you both, it’ll be perfect every time."
Theo pulled them closer, "I love you both—let’s rest now." They curled together on the rug, bodies entwined, the bond a warm, unified glow of devotion and relief.
Notes:
So much more plot to develop, gah I'm so excited.
Chapter 124: Spa and Spells
Chapter Text
The spa was all magic and scent a few days later. There was a haze in the air, lavender steam curling through the air, enchanted pools bubbling quietly beneath mosaics of pink quartz and magical moonstone.
Hermione and Ginny had taken over a private suite for the morning, surrounded by trays of tea, tiny vanialla cakes, and jars of potions that promised to make their skin glow.
A house-elf in a tiny white uniform wrapped warm towels around their shoulders before disappearing with a polite pop.
“This,” Ginny said, leaning back into the massage chair with a sigh, “is the only reason to have friends who can afford a private spa day.”
Hermione laughed. “You know perfectly well it was the spa who insisted on donating the service when they heard it was for the opening of the Muggle Help Center. I just accepted.”
“Still counts as clever networking.” Ginny cracked one eye open. “And speaking of clever networking… how’s Theo?”
Hermione nearly choked on her tea. “Excuse me?”
Ginny’s grin turned feline. “Don’t you ‘excuse me’ me. You two disappear to Egypt for an overnight of ‘cultural exploration,’ and you come back glowing. It doesn’t take a Seer to figure that one out.”
Hermione groaned softly, sinking lower into her chair. “You are relentless.”
“Relentlessly curious,” Ginny corrected. “I’m married, not dead. Some of us have to live vicariously, you know.”
“I’m not giving you details.”
“Just a few! Was it at least good?”
Hermione blushed, her voice dropping despite the charm of privacy around the room. “It was… more than good. It was right. It hurt …. A lot, but it was so emotionally satisfying, I can’t even explain it.”
Ginny’s expression softened, the teasing replaced with quiet warmth. “That’s how you know, isn’t it? When it feels like the world finally turns around you.”
Hermione smiled faintly, tracing a finger through the condensation on her teacup. “Yes. I never imagined anything could be so natural. Like we’d been waiting to exhale for so long, and finally could.”
Ginny sighed dreamily. “Merlin, that’s disgustingly romantic. Harry barely manages to remember the difference between a bubble bath elixir and a Quidditch soak potion.”
Hermione snorted. “It’s endearing.”
“It’s messy,” Ginny said, laughing, “and I adore him anyway.”
They were both silent for a moment, watching the steam rise in lazy spirals. Then Ginny said quietly, “We’ve been talking about children lately.”
Hermione turned toward her. “Oh?”
Ginny nodded, eyes fixed on the surface of the tea. “The Ministry’s deadline is… it’s there, hanging over us. Two in five years. Harry wants to wait until after the next Quidditch season. I want to too, honestly. I’m not ready to hang up my broom just yet.”
Hermione tilted her head. “You don’t have to justify that, Gin.”
“I know,” she said with a small smile. “But it’s hard not to feel like every choice is political now. The moment a witch marries, everyone’s counting months until she announces something.”
Hermione’s expression gentled. “They count because they can’t imagine women choosing their own time to stand up to the Ministry.”
Ginny smiled wryly. “And you? You’ve already got the entire Prophet debating whether you’re pregnant because your fingers glow in public.”
Hermione groaned, covering her face. “Don’t remind me. Draco nearly hexed the owl who brought that edition.”
They both burst out laughing.
As the day went on, they were scrubbed, charmed, polished, and perfumed until they glowed like newly minted Galleons. Between laughter and gossip, there were stretches of quiet — the easy silence of women who didn’t need to fill it.
When they were finally sitting side by side having their nails charmed to a soft rose shimmer, Ginny nudged her gently.
“I’m proud of you, you know,” she said.
“Everything you’ve built — the center, the legislation, the life you’re making. I don’t think eleven-year-old us could’ve imagined this.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “I couldn’t have done any of it without all of you.”
Ginny smiled, squeezing her hand. “That’s friendship. We get each other through the madness.”
Hermione looked at her friend, eyes bright. “You do that better than anyone.”
The charm light glittered on their freshly done nails as they sat together — two women who had fought through wars and whispers to reach this kind of peace.
And for the first time in weeks, Hermione let herself feel proud of the political changes she was making.
The early March sunlight spilled across the newly restored front garden of the Granger home — now transformed, with brass plaques and flowering hedges marking its rebirth as ‘The Granger Center for Muggleborn Family Integration and Assistance’.
Hermione stood at the end of the walkway, a bouquet of soft pink tulips for the mantle trembling slightly in her hands. The house looked the same as in her childhood memories — pale stone walls, deep blue door, bay window with lace curtains — yet it pulsed with new purpose.
Theo and Draco flanked her, both in crisp dress robes — Theo’s a deep navy with silver threading, Draco’s charcoal with an emerald tie. Hermione wore cream robes that shimmered faintly in the morning light, her curls pinned with a small pearl comb courtesy of Mrs. Malfoy’s encouraging owl that morning.
“You’ve done something extraordinary here,” Theo said quietly, his hand brushing hers.
Draco nodded, looking at the house as though it were a spell come to life. “It’s exactly as you described dreaming of it. Only… better.”
Hermione smiled faintly, eyes going glassy. “It feels strange. Familiar and new all at once. Like my parents might walk down that path any minute.”
Theo’s voice softened. “Maybe in a way they already have. They’de be really proud of this.”
By midmorning, the garden was full. Reporters from The Daily Prophet mingled with officials from the Department of Magical Integration, Muggleborn families clutching pamphlets, and several Hogwarts professors.
Harry and Ginny arrived hand-in-hand, Ginny radiant in pale minty green. Luna and Neville appeared soon after — Luna already showing a gentle curve of her pregnancy, draped in periwinkle silk that caught the sunlight.
Mrs. Weasley wept openly the moment she saw the sign over the door, and hugged Hermione so hard that Theo had to gently pry them apart so she could breathe.
Kingsley Shacklebolt himself arrived last, tall and commanding in his deep violet robes. He clasped Hermione’s shoulder warmly yet formal. “You’ve given us something we’ve needed for a long time, Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott. A bridge between worlds.”
Hermione smiled. “That was the idea.”
When it was time, a small platform charmed from polished oak appeared before the crowd.
Hermione stepped up, her heart thrumming as dozens of faces turned toward her — witches, wizards, muggleborns, halfbloods, and the curious few muggles standing near the edge of the wards.
“Thank you all for coming,” she began, her voice steady. “Many of you know this was once my childhood home. I grew up here before I ever heard the word ‘magic.’ For eleven years, this was my whole world. And when I learned about Hogwarts, I didn’t just step into a new life — I left one behind.”
A hush fell. Draco’s gaze met hers from the front row — steady, proud through the bond.
“For years, I believed I had to choose between those worlds. But standing here now, I know we don’t have to. Magic shouldn’t divide us — it should connect us. That’s what this center is for: to help families like mine find their way through the wonder and confusion of discovering magic. To make sure no child — and no parent — feels lost.”
Theo’s throat tightened watching her, pride bubbling in the bond profusely. She glowed — not with magic, but with conviction.
Hermione finished quietly, “Welcome to the Granger Center. May it always be a home for hope to those who need it.”
The crowd erupted into applause. Harry whooped, Luna clapped dreamily, and Mrs. Weasley waved a handkerchief like a flag.
Draco and Theo joined her at the entrance, standing close enough that their shoulders brushed. Together, they raised their wands and cast a soft severing charm on the golden ribbon stretched across the door. It fluttered to the ground.
Inside, the house had been transformed: the sitting room now held welcoming desks and comfortable chairs; the dining room was an intake area for new families; her old bedroom upstairs was an office filled with pamphlets, resource scrolls, and Muggle learning materials.
Hermione ran her hand over the banister as they walked through.
“I used to sit right here doing homework,” she murmured. “Dad would bring me tea. Mum would remind me not to stay up too late.”
Draco’s hand brushed her shoulder. “They’d be proud. You’ve turned memory into purpose.”
Theo smiled. “Into magic of its own.”
That afternoon, tables appeared on the lawn for refreshments. Ginny brought bottles of her family’s apple cider; Luna had charmed the napkins to fold into origami phoenixes. Pansy arrived late, sweeping up the walk in silver robes and declaring, “If I don’t get a tour from the founder herself, I’ll hex the next reporter who mentions my name in relation to charity.”
Hermione laughed, tugging her friend’s hand. “You can give the next speech, then.”
Pansy smirked. “Not without champagne.”
Reporters hovered near, eager for quotes. One called out, “Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott! What’s next after this success?”
Hermione smiled at the crowd, then at her husbands.
“We keep building bridges,” she said. “One spell, one home, one heart at a time. We prepare the wizarding world for a revolution of equality and peacetime.”
The wind lifted her curls, and the faint glow of the triad bond shimmered on all three of their hands as they stood together in the sunlight — a quiet, living testament to everything they’d survived and everything they were still becoming.
The sun was just beginning to dip below the rooftops when the crowd started to thin for home. Reporters were packing up their quills and cameras, and the enchanted lanterns along the path glowed soft gold.
Hermione stood near the gate, saying her last goodbyes to Kingsley and Luna. Draco and Theo lingered only a few paces behind, fully relaxed for the first time all day.
“I’ll be home soon,” Hermione said, smiling as she adjusted the bouquet someone had pressed into her hands. “Just need to see to a few things before we close up.”
Theo’s brow creased. “We’ll wait—”
She shook her head gently. “Go on, both of you. You’ve been playing host with me all day.”
Draco hesitated, but the warmth in her smile finally eased his instinct to protest.
“Five minutes,” he said, squeezing her hand before following Theo toward the edge of the wards.
It happened in the quiet after. The street had gone still, the hum of magic from the wards faint beneath the sound of her own breathing. Hermione turned toward the door, reaching for the lock charm—
A sharp crack split the air.
A masked figure apparated in the street — cloaked, wand raised, the silver mask unmistakable even in the dim light. The serpent emblem on the sleeve marked him as one of the old guard’s protégés, the twisted next generation of Death Eaters the aurrors had been warned were rising.
“Granger!” the man spat, voice distorted by enchantment. “Blood-traitor’s pet witch. Come out to play! You filthy little swine, meddling in things that you have no business in. I’m going to end that once and for all now!”
Hermione barely had time to raise her wand before the first curse sizzled past her shoulder, exploding against the ward line. She fired back a disarming spell, her heart hammering, but he ducked and sent another hex that shattered the gate.
The full on panic in the bond brought Theo and Draco running. They apparated from the corner of the lane — Theo’s robes snapping behind him, Draco’s wand already lit with a shield charm that flared bright blue around Hermione.
Theo skidded to her side. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine—just—watch out!”
The assailant fired again; Draco countered, his spell cracking through the air like lightning. For a few blinding seconds, it was chaos — green and gold and red light colliding midair, shattering the night into sparks.
Theo darted forward, aiming for the attacker’s wand hand. “Stupefy!”
The figure staggered but didn’t fall. With a curse, he disapparated — the echo of it leaving the air tasting of smoke and old hatred.
For a moment, there was only silence. Hermione stood in the middle of the street, wand still raised, trembling with adrenaline. Draco was beside her in an instant, his hands checking her arms and shoulders as though he didn’t quite believe she was unhurt.
“Did he touch you?” he demanded, voice rough.
She shook her head. “No, I—Draco, I’m fine.”
Theo ran a diagnostic charm over her anyway, his healer instincts overriding her words. The gilded light swept down her frame, coming back clean.
“No injuries,” he confirmed softly.
Draco exhaled like a man surfacing from deep water. His hand lingered at the back of her neck. “If I hadn’t walked away when you told me to—”
“Stop,” she said, voice gentle. “You both came back in time. That’s what matters. I was doing fine on my own anyway.”
Theo’s wand hand still trembled slightly. “He had no right to be inside the wards. They were stable—”
“Someone must have helped him break through,” Hermione said, frowning. “A Death Eater’s protégé, by the look of it. Maybe the same ones who vandalized the center’s first draft plans last month.”
Draco’s eyes darkened, steel under the darkening sky.
“Then they’ve just declared themselves our problem.”
They apparated back to Nott Manor under doubled wards, silent until they were standing inside the safety of their sitting room. The bond thrummed faintly between them — the echo of fear and relief passing back and forth.
Theo reached for her hand. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
Hermione nodded. “Shaken. Not broken. Seen worse, I swear.”
Draco’s jaw was tight. “You shouldn’t have been out there alone.”
“I know it was silly on a day like today in a newly warded place,” she said quietly. “And I promise I won’t be again.”
He hesitated, then leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead — brief, fierce, full of all the things he couldn’t yet say. Theo’s hand settled on her shoulder beside his. Between them, she felt the warmth of their magic steadying her heartbeat.
Hermione exhaled. “Whoever sent him, they didn’t win. The center opened. People came. They saw what we’re building.”
Draco’s mouth curved in a grim smile. “Then we make sure they never tear it down.”
By the time the Aurors appeared in the manor’s entry hall, the fire had burned low and the smell of smoke still clung to Hermione’s hair.
Kingsley himself stepped through the Floo, broad-shouldered and grave, trailed by two younger officers who looked pale at the sight of three of Britain’s most famous war survivors waiting for them.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice even but urgent.
Hermione explained as calmly as she could: the apparition, the mask, the duel, the disappearance. Theo filled in the defensive details, Draco pacing behind them like a storm barely contained.
Kingsley listened, then said quietly, “He was bold to try it in a public warded street. We’ll trace the magical signature. It may takea few days.”
Draco’s laugh was sharp. “Days? He could be halfway across Europe by then.”
Kingsley met his glare steadily. “You’ve every right to be angry. But we’ll find him, Draco. Let the law do its work.”
Hermione placed a hand on Draco’s arm. “Please. Let them.”
For a long moment he said nothing, and then—“Fine. But I’ll be reinforcing every inch of those wards there myself and here at the manor.”
Kingsley gave her a look that carried both sympathy and warning. “You know he means that literally.”
“I do,” she said softly. “And I think, for now, that’s all right.”
When the Aurors left, the room felt enormous in the sudden silence.
Notes:
What's going to happen next you think?
Chapter 125: Flickers
Chapter Text
An hour later Draco still stood by the window, motionless in his formal robes from the ceremony, hands braced on the sill. His shoulders trembled—not from cold, but from everything he’d been holding in.
“The moment I heard the hex,” he said, voice low and shaking, “I thought—Merlin, I thought—”
He broke off, the words dissolving into a sound that wasn’t quite a sob and wasn’t quite a laugh.
Theo crossed the room first, resting a steadying hand on his back. “She’s here. She’s all right.”
Draco shook his head. “I left her alone for five minutes and it was stupid.”
Hermione stepped forward until she was beside them both. “Draco, look at me.”
He did—and she could see the fear raw behind the gray of his eyes. “I can’t lose you,” he whispered. “Either of you. Not after everything.”
“You’re not going to,” she said gently. “But you can’t live every moment waiting for the next disaster. That’s no way to breathe.”
His hands came up, trembling, as though to touch her but afraid to. “I spent years being the monster people feared. Now I’m terrified of the world hurting the only good things I’ve got.”
Theo’s voice was quiet steel. “That’s not weakness, Draco. That’s love trying to relearn how to feel safe.”
It hit then—years of war and guilt and almost-loss—and Draco folded under it, sinking onto the couch as though his legs couldn’t carry him anymore. Hermione sat beside him without hesitation, taking his hand. Theo knelt in front of them both, a grounding presence.
Draco’s voice cracked. “When I felt the panic in the bond—when I saw the light from that curse—I thought it was happening again. I saw Astoria, the baby, the Dark Lord. The battle. I can’t—”
Hermione squeezed his hand tighter. “You didn’t lose me. You won’t.”
He bowed his head, tears slipping unchecked. Theo rested a palm over their joined hands, his own eyes wet.
“We’ll keep each other safe. That’s the point of the bond. None of us carries that fear alone anymore.”
Slowly, the shaking eased. The bond pulsed faintly between their fingers—a quiet hum of reassurance.
When Draco could finally breathe evenly again, Hermione brushed her thumb over his knuckles.
“You don’t have to guard me like treasure locked in a vault. I’m a witch who’s spent her life fighting back.”
He gave a ragged laugh. “I know. But I’m going to try anyway.”
Theo smiled faintly. “You always were a terrible listener.”
Draco managed a wry look through the remnants of tears. “Then I’ll rephrase: I’m sticking to her like glue until the bastard who tried this is caught.”
Hermione sighed, half exasperated, half touched. “Fine. But if you’re going to follow me everywhere, you’d better learn to carry my books.”
“Gladly,” he murmured, the edge in his tone softening to something almost tender.
Theo chuckled. “And here I thought Auror protection programs were dramatic.”
Hermione leaned against them both, the warmth of the bond pulsing steady now.
“We’ll get through it,” she said quietly. “Like we always do—together.”
The fire crackled in the grate; outside, the wards glowed brighter under Draco’s reinforcement charms. Inside, the three of them sat close enough that even fear had no room left to breathe between them.
The manor was too quiet that next morning.
Faint sunlight bled through the tall windows of the breakfast room. The teapot steamed between them, untouched.
Hermione sat rigid, her hands wrapped around a cup that had long since gone cold. Theo dressed in his Healer robes to leave, leaned in the doorway, exhausted from a long night of ward checks and charm calibrations. Draco paced behind her like a caged storm—hair mussed, eyes shadowed, tension rolling off him in waves that made the air itself hum.
Finally, she broke the silence.
“I’m going back to the Center this afternoon.”
Draco stopped mid-stride. “Absolutely not.”
Theo’s shoulders sagged. He knew what was coming.
Hermione turned in her chair, jaw set. “People need to see that the attack didn’t scare us off. That it’s still safe.”
Draco’s voice sharpened. “Safe? You were hexed in your own front garden, Hermione! The same street could still be crawling with sympathizers.”
“It’s warded,” she countered. “You reinforced it yourself! And there was only a single attacker.”
He threw his hands up. “And I don’t trust my own work when it comes to you!”
The words hit the air like a curse. The bond between them flared—her anger spiking against his fear, Theo’s magic pulsing between them trying to buffer the storm. The candles on the table flickered violently, one of them bursting in a shower of wax.
“Stop,” Theo said quickly, stepping forward. “You’re both bleeding into the bond. You’re going to crack something.”
But Hermione couldn’t stop.
“You don’t get to make me a prisoner because you’re scared, Draco! I built that center for muggleborns who don’t have protection. I have to go back.”
Her righteous anger shattered a mirror in the hall with a loud crack.
His reply was quieter, almost broken. “And if the next one doesn’t miss?”
Her throat tightened. “Then I’ll face it. Like I always have.”
He recoiled, “You can’t survive ever situation by pure luck and determination, don’t be stupid!”
Wine glasses on the bar shelf shattered, glass shards flying acrossed the room.
“I don’t need a protector Draco, I’m not a little child. I fought in a fucking war, did more than most adults!”, her voice was getting shrill.
The wine bottles popped next, spilling acrossed the counters, trickling down to the floor leaving a pool of red.
“Just because you survived once doesn’t mean you will again! Your being stubborn with your safety for no reason!”, he roared, and the sound of the foyer chandler crashing down followed.
Her face was turning blotchy with rage, “You little ferret, I’m a powerful witch, I know how to protect myself. I was doing more powerful magic than you in my sleep at 13 than you were years later! I can take on some pureblooded fanatic is I need to!”
The house was beginning to rumble, walls shacking with both of their fury and hurt. A househelf was crying in the kitchen corner.
The air shimmered faintly—thin ribbons of blue light arcing between their glowing tattoo-rings, like static before a storm. Their magic was reacting, uncertain which emotion to follow.
Theo crossed between them, one hand on each of their arms. They were glaring at each other.
“Enough. Look at me. Both of you.”
They did—reluctantly, breathing hard. The hum of unstable energy dimmed a fraction.
Theo’s voice was low but firm.
“This bond ties our emotions together, remember? When one of us spirals, the others feel it. Right now the wards in half the manor are picking up the backlash. You both need to breath and back off, before you take the whole manor to the ground.”
Draco scrubbed a hand down his face, still trembling. “I can’t—”
“You can,” Theo cut in. “You just have to trust that she’s not walking into battle alone anymore.”
Hermione’s anger softened into weariness. “I know you want to keep me safe. But safety without purpose isn’t living.”
Theo let go slowly, watching the light between their hands fade back to a soft glow, as they both turned away from each other, heading into opposite ends of the house. The bond was uneasy with pain, fear, and lingering anger.
An hour later, they had reconvened for tea in the library at Theo’s instance, but an icy silence had developed between Hermione and Draco. Both avoided each other eyes, and pointedly ignore done another.
An owl crashed against the kitchen window, hooting impatiently. Draco opened it with a flick of his wand, muttering under his breath. The bird dropped the Daily Prophet on the table and fled the thick air.
Across the front page in shimmering ink:
<<<<<<
HEROINE TARGETED: ATTACK ON THE GRANGER CENTER
By Catriona Spence, Senior Correspondent
In a shocking turn only hours after the triumphant opening of The Granger Center for Muggleborn Family Integration, Mrs. Hermione Malfoy-Granger-Nott—war heroine and founder—was attacked by an unidentified assailant bearing the insignia of the late Death Eaters.
Eyewitnesses confirm that both Healer Theophilus Nott and Lord Draco Malfoy intervened to protect their wife, driving off the attacker before serious harm could occur.
Sources within the Auror Office suggest the attack may have been politically motivated, targeting the couple’s progressive stance on Muggleborn rights.
In a statement, Minister Shacklebolt praised the trio’s bravery: “Their unity represents the very future our world must defend.”
<<<<
The article continued on for another page, speculating on tightened security, the triad’s magical bond, and public calls for stronger protections at upcoming public events. A moving photograph captured Hermione between Draco and Theo as they apparated away—her hair wind-tossed, their hands glowing faintly as the triadic rings pulsed.
Hermione’s stomach twisted. “They make it sound like a fairy tale.”
Draco muttered darkly glaring at her, “Fairy tales have monsters too.”
Theo’s gaze softened. “But at least everyone knows you’re alive. That counts for something.”
Before she could reply, silver light spilled into the room—the familiar stag bounding gracefully across the table, scattering the newspaper’s edges. Harry’s voice followed, clear and anxious:
“Hermione, we just read the Prophet. I wasn’t on duty last night, so I only just heard. Are you all right? Ginny’s worried sick. Send word back—please.”
Hermione closed her eyes, exhaling. Then she lifted her wand, conjuring her otter, which leapt lightly into the air and swirled beside the fading stag.
Her voice, soft but steady, echoed through the charm:
“I’m safe, Harry. Tell Ginny not to worry. We’ll talk very soon—I promise. Please get yourself on the case!”
The otter twirled once, then vanished in a flash of silver.
When the light faded, Hermione slumped back in her chair, exhaustion settling in. Draco stood motionless by the hearth, the embers reflecting in his eyes.
“I don’t want to fight you,” she said finally. “Not over fear.”
He turned toward her slowly. “Then don’t make me watch you walk into danger alone.”
Theo’s hand came to rest lightly on Hermione’s shoulder. “Maybe compromise,” he suggested. “You go back tomorrow. But we go with you.”
Draco’s jaw clenched tightly then he nodded. “Fine. Together.”
Hermione looked between them—their magic still faintly pulsing through the bond, not angry anymore, just warm and alive.
She reached out both hands, one to each of them. “Together,” she repeated.
Late into the evening the master bedroom of Nott Manor was shrouded in the dim flicker of a single charmed candle on the bedside table.
The triad bond, usually a steady, hum of unity, now flickered unsteadily like a faltering heartbeat, Draco's panic a jagged, chaotic storm ripping through it, making the rings on their fingers pulse erratically, the magic strained by his raw fear of nearly losing her.
Hermione lay on the bed in a simple silk nightgown, her curls splayed across the pillow, her brown eyes soft with exhaustion but filled with understanding as she reached for Draco, who paced the room like a caged lion, his silver eyes wild and red-rimmed from unshed tears, fists clenching and unclenching as if fighting invisible enemies.
Theo sat beside her, his hand gently holding hers, his eyes watching Draco with deep concern, the bond conveying Draco's panic like a vise squeezing their hearts, making Theo's own chest ache with shared dread, his free hand rubbing soothing circles on Hermione's arm as he tried to anchor them all.
"Draco, come to us," Theo murmured softly, his voice laced with love and worry, the bond pulsing with his steadying affection to counter the storm, a gentle wave of calm pushing against the chaos.
"She's here, safe—we have her. Let us hold you, husband—feel her warmth, let it ground you. I love you both; this panic doesn't have to consume you alone."
Draco froze mid-step, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps, the bond flooding with his raw terror like a relentless wave crashing over them, making Hermione wince and Theo's eyes glisten with shared pain.
"How can I calm down, Theo? I saw her life flash before my eyes… they could have been blood—her blood on the ground, spilling like she was slipping away from me—from us," he choked, voice cracking with emotion, tears finally breaking free to track down his cheeks as he staggered toward the bed.
The ring on his finger flickering wildly with the bond's instability, the manor walls humming again at the high tension.
"Those bastards almost took her—our Hermione. I can't... I can't lose her. She's everything, Theo—ours, mine to protect, and I almost failed."
He dropped to his knees beside the bed, burying his face in Hermione's lap with a shuddering sob, his hands clutching her thighs possessively, tears soaking the silk as his body trembled.
The bond was surging his panic like a storm through them all, unsteady and chaotic, making the candle flame flicker.
Hermione cupped his face gently, lifting him to meet her eyes, tears in her own as the bond shared his emotional wreck, her voice soft but steady, laced with unwavering appreciation.
"I’m here, Draco—I’m safe, because of you and Theo. You didn’t fail; you saved me. I adore you—let me show you, let us show you we’re all still here."
She pulled him up onto the bed, her hands steady despite the bond's flicker, guiding him into her embrace as Theo nodded, his hand stroking Draco’s back tenderly.
"We’re all here, Draco—feel her, feel us. The bond's unsteady because of your fear, but our unity will steady it. I love you—let us worhsip her together, make it real again."
The bond pulsed with Theo's calming affection, a counterwave to Draco's storm, his presence a loving anchor as he helped Draco strip piece by piece into a pile on the floor.
Draco’s cock sprandg free as Theo rolled his boxers down his legs for him, head already leaking pre-cum in shiny beads from the emotional intensity.
Draco climbed onto the bed slowly , pulling Hermione into his lap with desperate gentleness, the bond pulsing with his possessive need to reclaim her, to affirm she was alive and theirs.
He kissed her fiercely, tongue plunging deep with desperate passion, hands roaming her body as if mapping every inch to ensure she was whole, whispering against her lips between kisses, "I need to be inside you, Hemrione—feel you around me, know you’re mine, ours."
He hastily cast the contraception charm with a murmured word, a soft blue glow enveloping her abdomen, the magic a brief, steadying light amid the bond's flicker. T
hen, with Theo's help, he eased her nightgown over her head, exposing her breasts—his mouth latching onto one with a possessive groan, sucking hard as his fingers parted her folds, finding her wet and ready despite the day's trauma.
Through the bond they could all feel her desire sharing her arousal like a soothing wave against his panic.
Theo knelt beside them, his hand stroking Hermione’s hair tenderly while the other cupped her other breast, thumb rolling her nipple gently, his voice soft with love, "Let me help you protect her, Draco—feel us all connected, feel our bond strong and unbreakable. She's ours, safe in our arms."
He positioned Hermione on her back, parting her legs with reverent care as Draco knelt between her legs. Theo took Draco in hand and aligned him, the head nudging her entrance with a slick glide, the bond pulsing with Draco's desperate possessiveness.
Draco thrust in slowly at first, the head piercing her in a swift thrust, her walls clenching tight and hot around him, the stretch a deep fullness that made her moan, "Draco—yes, take me, I'm yours."
He bottomed out with a possessive groan, "Gods, Granger—you’re so tight, hugging my cock like you never want to let go—feel me filling you, knowing you’re safe, ours forever, no one can take you from me."
Theo's presence helped steady the bond, his loving touches—a hand on Draco's shoulder, another stroking Hermione's thigh—infusing calm into the chaos.
"I love you both—let this heal us, my hearts, she's ours, safe and protected forever."
Draco began thrusting, slow but deep, each slide in and out a deliberate drag, the curve hitting her G-spot with precision.
"Fuck, Hermione—your pussy’s heaven, so wet and perfect for me, taking my cock like the l goddess you are—mine to claim, ours to fill," Draco growled, voice rough with emotion, tears in his eyes as he pounded harder, hips snapping with passionate force, the bond steadying with each thrust, his panic easing into possessive claiming.
"We almost lost this—lost you—but you're here, clenching around me, alive and ours; gods, gonna fill you deep, mark you inside with my cum, prove you're mine forever."
Hermione cried out, "Draco—I safe, I’m here, take me!" her hands clutching his back, nails raking as pleasure built within.
Theo kissed her deeply, then Draco, the three sharing affection through the bond as Draco’s thrusts turned fervent, balls slapping her ass with wet thwacks, her walls fluttering.
The climaxs hit—Hermione first, spasming around him with a scream; Draco roaring as he flooded her with hot spurts; Theo stroking himself to release against her thigh.
Draco collapsed, clinging to her desperately, tears soaking her shoulder as he whispered "Safe, ours forever" over and over, the bond stabilizing but his panic lingering in faint waves.
Theo, concerned, held them both, whispering reassurance as Draco fell asleep still buried inside her, his grip unyielding, the bond humming with devotion and lingering unease.
Notes:
Is this going to be enough to restabilize their bond magic?
Let me know your thoughts in the comments.
Chapter 126: Speaking TRUTH
Chapter Text
Hermione woke to sunlight spilling across the silk sheets, the scent of spring rain sneaking through the slightly open window.
The other third of the bed was cold.
Draco was gone.
For one breath, panic flared — a mirrored echo through the bond that felt like a hollow ache in her chest. Then Theo stirred beside her, blinking sleepily, his healer’s reflexes kicking in even half-dreaming.
“He’s fine,” Theo mumbled, voice rough with sleep. “I can feel him. He’s…moving. Focused, I think.”
Hermione exhaled shakily. “Focused?”
Theo yawned. “That’s his version of furious sometimes.”
He pushed himself upright, raking a hand through his hair. “He’ll come back once he’s convinced himself he can keep you wrapped in ten layers of dragonhide with a bow.”
Hermione tried to smile but it faltered. “I don’t want him blaming himself for what happened.”
Theo gave her a look — gentle, knowing.
“He’s Malfoy. Guilt is his favorite armor.”
It was nearly an hour later when the wards whispered to her that Draco was home.
Hermione was in the study by then, pretending to read correspondence from Kingsley’s office about the investigation but really just waiting for that soft pulse of magic that always preceded him through the wards.
The doors opened with more force than usual. Draco strode in, his cloak still damp, his hair disheveled from wind and haste. His eyes—silver stormlight—found hers instantly.
“Where were you?” she asked, rising.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small velvet box, setting it on the table between them.
“I went to Gringotts,” he said simply with an intense gleam in his eyes.
Theo had joined them by then, leaning against the doorframe.
“Let me guess,” he said dryly. “Shopping for another layer of overprotection?”
Draco shot him a dirty look but flipped open the box anyway. Inside, nestled on deep green velvet, lay an intricate silver pendant—filigree shaped like two entwined serpents forming a circle, set with a tiny emerald at the center that glowed faintly.
“It’s an heirloom,” Draco said.
“It belonged to my grandmother. It’s charmed to deflect low to mid-level hexes automatically. Higher spells will still hit—but slower, weaker. It’s keyed into blood and intent.”
Hermione stared at it, throat tight. “Draco, I can’t—”
“You can,” he interrupted, voice low but unyielding.
“And you will. I should have given it to you the day we were matched.”
Theo came forward, studying it with a healer’s caution, casting a few investigative spells. “Those charms are old magic,” he murmured. “Protective, not restrictive. It’s blood magic, but not evil. It’s safe.”
Draco met Hermione’s gaze intently.
“Please. I need to know something in this world can stand between you and another curse if I can’t.”
Something in his tone—raw, unguarded—broke through her protest. Slowly, she lifted the chain from the box. The emerald light pulsed once as her fingers brushed it, the old runes aligning to her magic.
“It’s warm,” she said softly.
“It recognizes you,” he murmured.
Theo grinned faintly trying to break the mood.
“Even the heirlooms are charmed to flirt, apparently.”
Hermione huffed a small laugh and fastened the chain around her neck. It settled against her collarbone, humming softly in time with the bond.
Draco reached out instinctively to adjust it—his fingers brushing her skin, lingering a fraction longer than necessary. The contact sent a flicker of warmth through all three of them via the bond: protective affection, worry, and love tangled together like threads of a braid.
Theo broke the silence first. “So, now that the protective jewelry’s sorted, what’s the plan for today? I’m not on call till evening again.”
Hermione hesitated. “I still need to go back to the Center.”
Draco’s jaw tightened, but this time, he didn’t argue.
Instead, he drew a slow breath and said, “Then we all go.”
Hermione blinked with annoyance. “All three of us?”
Theo nodded. “Makes sense. Public unity. Plus, the bond’s steadier when we’re together. Less risk of emotional magic flaring up again.”
Draco added, quietly, “And I’ll feel better seeing the place myself with eyes on you.”
Hermione’s chest ached—not from frustration this time, but from affection so fierce it startled her.
“All right,” she said finally. “Together.”
They apparated just outside the wards of The Granger Center a little after noon. The building—her childhood home transformed—stood pristine again.
The scorch marks from the duel were gone, replaced with the faint shimmer of new defensive runes etched into the front gate.
A few aurors patrolled nearby, nodding respectfully as they arrived. Ron was amongst them. Their eyes met, and he nodded with a faint smile before looking away.
Inside, the entryway smelled of polish and lavender. The walls gleamed freshly repaired, photographs of the grand opening already hung. Staff witches paused to wave before tactfully returning to their work—though their glances lingered with admiration.
“They fixed everything more securely,” Hermione said softly, her fingers brushing the new charms along the doorframe.
Theo smiled. “Looks like you built something that wants to live.”
Draco stayed silent, eyes scanning every corner like a hawk. His magic flickered faintly around him—restless, protective—but when Hermione turned toward him, it gentled.
They moved together through the halls, checking each room, their magic harmonizing almost instinctively. When Draco reinforced a ward, Theo stabilized it; when Hermione traced a rune, the air hummed brighter.
By the time they reached her office, the tension between them had eased into quiet unity.
Hermione sank into her chair, smiling faintly.
“You know,” she said, “it feels different when we work side by side like that. Stronger.”
Theo leaned against her desk. “That’s the bond syncing.”
Draco nodded slowly. “It’s feeding off collective intent. Protection, unity—”
“…Love?,” Theo finished softly.
Hermione met his gaze, warmth blooming across the link. “Maybe.”
Draco’s lips curved slightly, the smallest smile breaking through the storm still shadowing his features.
He reached out, brushing the pendant where it lay over her heart. The emerald shimmered faintly brighter, reflecting in her eyes.
For the first time since the attack, she felt safe—not because she was guarded, but because they were whole together.
By the time they returned to Nott Manor, twilight had draped itself across the estate.
The wards shimmered faintly as they stepped through—Draco’s runes pulsing a soft silver that merged with the gold from Hermione’s charms and the green thread of Theo’s stabilizing magic.
For a brief moment, the three colors braided in the air above the gates, a quiet symbol of their unity.
Inside, the warmth of the fire welcomed them home. The air smelled of parchment and cinnamon—the elves having prepared mulled cider again to clam their nerves in the night.
Hermione slipped off her coat, the emerald pendant Draco had given her glinting against the low light.
Theo smiled faintly from the doorway. “You look like you could sleep for a week.”
“I could,” she said honestly. “But I think my brain’s too full to rest.”
Draco’s coat hit the back of a chair. “Mine too,” he admitted. “Though for different reasons.”
She gave him a questioning look, but before he could answer, an owl swooped sharply through the half-open window, scattering embers from the fireplace.
The owl’s seal gleamed unmistakably—the midnight-black wax stamped with the sigil of the Department of Mysteries.
Theo’s expression darkened. “That can’t be good.”
Draco took the letter first, breaking the seal. The parchment unfolded with a shimmer of containment charms; the ink glowed faintly blue.
<<<<<<<
To Lords and Lady Malfoy-Granger-Nott,
Upon recent assessment of magical fluctuations connected to your triadic bond, it has been determined that your follow-up evaluation is to be moved forward.
Please report to the Department of Mysteries, Level Nine, at eleven thirty tomorrow morning for immediate testing and consultation regarding bond stability and magical feedback events observed in recent days.
This summons is compulsory.
Failure to comply may result in suspension of privileges related to triadic status and forfeiture of exemption rights under the Marriage Law.
—Department Head, Division of Magical Symbiosis
(Authorized by the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt)
<<<<<
The words shimmered once, sealing themselves again.
Hermione’s heart dropped. “Tomorrow morning? It was supposed to be next week.”
Theo’s brows furrowed. “They must have detected the surge from our fight. That’s what ‘feedback events’ means. I’ll get home from my rounds around seven, so only a few horus of sleep before we have to leave for me I guess.”
Draco’s voice was sharp. “So they’re monitoring us now? How long have they been watching?”
“Since the day we registered, probably,” Theo said grimly. “They track the resonance between bonded triads—it’s part of their research.”
Hermione sank into a chair, rubbing her temples. “We didn’t break anything permanently, did we? The bond feels…normal again.”
Theo knelt beside her, his voice soft but steady. “Not broken. But bonds like ours respond to emotion. The argument probably sent a wave of instability through the magical field they monitor.”
Draco paced again, frustration radiating from him like heat. “So we’re summoned because we had a fight because I care too much?”
Hermione shot him a tired look. “Because we feel too much,” she corrected. “The two aren’t the same.”
The tension between them wasn’t angry now—it was protective, coiled with worry and affection both. The bond itself hummed faintly in the background, aware, almost sentient.
Theo rose, moving to pour cider for each of them. The simple, mundane act grounded the moment—steam curling up like a charm for calm.
“We’ll go,” he said. “We’ll tell them the truth—that we’re fine, that the fluctuations were emotional stress, not instability.”
Hermione accepted her mug, fingers trembling slightly. “And if they say otherwise?”
Draco’s gaze snapped to her. “Then we fix it. Whatever it takes.”
She smiled faintly at that—an echo of warmth through the bond that steadied all three of them.
Theo leaned back against the table, looking between them. “Tonight, no more anxiety loops. We’re aligned now, we stay that way. Tomorrow, we show them what a balanced triad looks like. You two need to relax and get some sleep while I’m out. No fighting… at all, I mean it.”
Draco’s lips twitched. “You sound like you’re prepping us for a presentation.”
“Old habits die hard,” Theo said with a tired grin. “Healer exams.”
Hermione laughed softly despite herself, the sound easing the air around them. “All right, Mr. Healer. What’s your prescription for the evening?”
“Dinner,” Theo said promptly. “Warmth. Rest. No overthinking the Unspeakables until morning.”
Draco added, “And maybe a ward around the bedroom so no more owls burst in uninvited overnight.”
Later that night, Draco and Hermione gathered in the sitting room with their plates mostly forgotten, curled together on the couch before the hearth.
The glow from the flames danced across their bond-marks, each ring faintly pulsing as though it had a heartbeat of its own.
Hermione leaned into Draco’s shoulder, the protective tension finally ebbing.
“They’re not going to separate us,” she said quietly, more to reassure herself than him.
Draco’s voice was low, rough. “They wouldn’t dare.”
She added, “They can’t—not with what our magic has become. We’ve proven we’re stable.”
The bond pulsed then, once—soft light blooming from their intertwined hands, a visible shimmer of shared emotion. For a heartbeat, all their fear and affection and exhaustion braided together, and the house’s ambient wards responded with a hum of harmony.
Hermione exhaled. “That’s what we’ll show them tomorrow. That we’re stronger together than apart.”
Draco’s thumb brushed the back of her hand. “Exactly.”
Draco leaned his head briefly against hers, kissing her nose.
“Then let them test us. I’ll be damned if I let anyone tell us this isn’t real.”
For a long time, they sat that way, the three of them—tethered by magic, by choice, by love slowly learning how to breathe under pressure.
The fire dimmed, but the bond glowed faintly brighter, steady and alive.
The early morning hours upon Theo’s arrival was thick with a potent mix of anticipation and intimacy in the master bedroom of Nott Manor, the room bathed in the soft, flickering light of a dozen charmed candles floating like fireflies around the four-poster bed.
The air was heavy with the scent of lavender incense burning lowly on the nightstand and the warm, earthy musk of their bodies as they prepared to get a nap with Theo in before leaving.
Nerves around the apportionment still hung in the bond, but the triad bond thrummed with a deeper, more personal urgency too: Hermione's desire to feel Theo fully, despite the lingering challenges of his extreme girth, Draco's loving support a steady anchor, Theo's affectionate devotion a gentle flame, their golden rings glowing softly on their fingers, the magic amplifying everything.
Draco, in loose silk pants, his lean, scarred chest bare, traced patterns on her thigh with tender fingers, his silver eyes soft with tenderness. Theo, shirtless in matching pants, his muscular frame relaxed but his stormy blue eyes intense, kissed her shoulder adoringly.
"My loves, this appointment—it's just a formality, but it feels like another step in our forever," Hermione murmured, her voice emotional, leaning to kiss Draco, then Theo, the bond pulsing with her affection like a warm wave.
Draco smiled, his hand sliding higher on her thigh, fingers brushing the edge of her nightgown.
"It is, Granger—making them see you as ours in every way, legally, magically. But now... I feel your anticipation through the bond, wife. You want Theo again, don't you?" His voice was husky but gentle, the bond sharing his supportive devotion like a protective shield.
Hermione nodded, blushing, her hand resting on Theo's chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken. "I do... I want to feel you, Theo, fully again. But I'm still scared—your girth, it's so much. Last time it hurt, even with all the prep."
Her voice trembled with vulnerability, the bond conveying her anxiety like a tight knot, her ring glowing as she looked at him with love.
Theo cupped her face tenderly, kissing her lips softly, the bond radiating his devotion like sunlight.
"My angel, I love you so much—if you're not ready right now, we wait. No rush, ever. But if you want this, I'll be so gentle, make it feel as good as possible."
He glanced at Draco, who nodded, "We'll do it together, sweetheart—I'll help ease you, make sure it's caring for all of us."
They undressed slowly, Draco easing Hermione's nightgown over her head with reverent hands, exposing her breasts—full and heavy, nipples pebbling in the cool air—kissing each one softly, "You're so beautiful, ours to take."
Theo stripped his pants, his girthy cock, apadravya piercing glinting—half-hard and daunting, kissing Hermione's shoulder, "I adore you, my heart—every part of you."
Draco cast the contraception charm, a soft blue glow enveloping her abdomen, the magic tingling reassuringly, then they positioned her on her back, legs parted, Theo between them, Draco beside, his hand stroking her thigh lovingly.
Theo lubed her generously with Draco’s brewed charmed oil, the slick warmth spreading over her pussy lips and entrance, his fingers massaging it in with slow, loving strokes, parting her folds to coat her inner walls, the bond sharing the soothing sensation.
"Feel that, my love? The oil to ease you, make it good," he whispered, kissing her inner thigh. Draco's fingers joined, two slipping in, curling gently to stretch her, "You're so tight, Hemrione— but we'll prepare you, make you ready for him."
Hermione moaned, "Yes— take your time."
Theo added two more fingers, four total now, scissoring slowly, the stretch burning but eased by the oil, "You're opening so beautifully, my angel—feel us loving you, prepping you for me."
After long minutes of gentle stretching, Theo aligned his cock, the massive head nudging her entrance, pressing with agonizing slowness, the bond sharing the tension. T
he first push stretched her taut, the girth forcing her walls to yield with a searing burn, the piercing scraping sharp, making her gasp, "It hurts, Theo—slow."
Draco's thumb circled her clit gently, "Breathe, love—you're ours, safe." Inch by inch, Theo worked in, pausing with each out cry, kissing her face, "I love you—tell me to stop if it's too much."
The stretch was intense, her pussy clenching in pain-pleasure waves, but Draco's clit-rub and Theo's loving whispers—"You're so brave, my heart"—eased it until he was fully buried, glassy eyes around all as the bond flared with their emotional connection.
Draco eased in behind Theo, his cock sliding into Theo's ass with a wet pop, "Feel us all connected."
They moved slowly, Theo's thrusts gentle in Hermione, Draco's in Theo, the bond steadying with tenderness.
Climaxs built—Hermione first, spasming around Theo; Theo following, filling her; Draco last, flooding Theo. They collapsed, clinging in affection, the bond strong once more.
Notes:
What do they want with them now at TRUTH?
Chapter 127: TRUTH in Protection
Chapter Text
The lift rattled as it descended toward Level Nine. Hermione could hear her own heartbeat louder than the gears. The bind flowed with anxieties.
Theo stood beside her, hands in the pockets of his healer robes, composed but restless. Draco was a tall wall of quiet fury on her other side—his jaw tight, wand hand flexing every few seconds.
Hermione felt the tremor of his protectiveness through their bond like a low hum against her ribs. Ever since the attack, he hadn’t strayed more than a few steps from her, even threatening to stand outside her charms classrooms.
When the grate opened, the chill of the Department of Mysteries hit them immediately—cold, dry air that smelled faintly of parchment and stale ozone. The great black doors loomed ahead, runes flickering with old power.
An Unspeakable in dark indigo robes awaited them, her face half-hidden by the standard glamour masks that blurred identity. Only the eyes—bright, sharp gray—showed through.
“Lords and Lady Malfoy-Granger-Nott,” she said, voice smooth and formal. “I’m Unspeakable Lya Vac, head of the Physical Triadic Bond Research Unit. Follow me, please.”
The chamber they entered was circular, lit by floating spheres of white light. In the center stood a raised stone dais etched with concentric runic circles that pulsed gently in response to living magic.
Draco’s hand brushed Hermione’s back automatically, guiding her forward. She almost smiled; the gesture was so instinctive now she no longer fought it.
Theo stood on her other side, eyes scanning the room with healer precision.
“Same setup as last time,” he murmured.
Vac nodded. “Yes, but your readings are…different. Considerably so.”
Hermione frowned. “Different how?”
The Unspeakable gestured for them to stand on the platform.
“We’ll confirm momentarily.”
As soon as their feet crossed the first circle, the air thickened with magic. The sigils flared gold, silver, and green—one for each of them. The colors spiraled together, forming a luminous helix above their heads that vibrated with energy.
Hermione felt the bond awaken inside her chest, warm and living. Their rings glowed brightly, and her necklace—the one Draco had given her—answered the resonance like a tuning fork.
Vac raised her wand, capturing readings from the light.
“Interesting. The frequency is elevated—nearly triple the baseline from your last evaluation.”
Theo looked at Hermione, then at Draco. “That’s not dangerous, right?”
“Not dangerous,” Vale said, “but telling. Such increases typically indicate deepened magical synchronization—emotional or physical integration among partners, also possible power fluctuations from turbulation that’s been soothed over”
Draco stiffened, glancing sharply toward Hermione.
Hermione flushed. “You mean—?”
Vac’s tone was detached, clinical. “It appears your bond was physically sealed more since the last evaluation. The magic recognizes full consummation now. It also hints at emotional tension that flared recently, but has since healed over.”
Draco’s protective energy surged immediately; she could feel it in the bond, a flare of silver lightning. “That’s not information you have any right to dissect,” he said evenly, though his voice carried an edge that made the floating lights flicker.
Vac remained calm. “It’s simply part of the data, Lord Malfoy. It confirms stability.”
Theo reached over, touching Draco’s arm before the tension could rise further. “She’s not judging. She’s measuring.”
Draco muttered, “Feels like the same thing.”
Hermione’s fingers brushed his wrist gently, sending a current of reassurance through their link. He exhaled, muscles relaxing fractionally.
Vac turned back to her readings. “Aside from the recent surge, your collective resonance is remarkably balanced. The emotional sync is near-perfect—rare for triads under six months bonded. There does seem to be a missing element though, it’s not fully emotionally dealed right now.”
Hermione’s curiosity overcame her discomfort. “What does that mean, practically?”
“It means your emotions, intentions, and magical cores are interlinked enough that one partner’s state directly affects the others. When aligned, it amplifies power. When conflicted, it destabilizes. It also means two of you are not as emotionally connected currently as the others.”
Theo nodded. “That explains the fluctuations after our fight.”
Vac inclined her head. “Precisely. Maintain harmony, and your collective magic will strengthen the longer the bond endures. But, as the fluctuations already show… getting out of harmony with each other can escalate quickly in magic bursts that are very dangerous if not controlled quickly.”
She hesitated then, as if choosing her next words carefully.
“However, there remains one outstanding requirement under the Marriage Law—procreation within five years. With the depth of your resonance, it would be advisable to begin considering conception earlier rather than later. A prolonged delay may create strain within the bond’s fertility channel.”
The words hung in the air like frost.
Draco’s temper snapped first. “Absolutely not.”
Vac blinked. “Pardon?”
Draco stepped forward, every inch the aristocrat defending what was his. “You don’t get to tell us when to start a family. We’ll have children when we’re ready—when she’s ready.”
The lights pulsed sharply in response to his emotion, and Hermione could feel both his anger and his fear interlaced beneath it.
Theo’s voice was softer but no less firm.
“We appreciate your concern, but the matter of timing is ours.”
Vac inclined her head slowly, perhaps sensing the undercurrent of power building between them. “Very well. It was merely an advisory statement.”
Hermione lifted her chin. “We’re aware of the requirements. We intend to comply within the timeframe. Not before.”
Vac studied her for a long moment, then smiled faintly behind her mask.
“Your unity is admirable. I hope you understand, Lady Malfoy-Granger-Nott—your triad bond is one of the most potent we’ve recorded in decades. It will draw attention.”
Draco muttered, “It already has.”
“Then prepare for more,” Vac replied. “Magic this powerful never stays quiet for long.”
When the evaluation ended, the Unspeakables excused themselves to process the data, leaving the triad alone in the echoing chamber.
The moment the doors shut, Draco released a breath he’d been holding since the word conception. “I hate them knowing that much about us.”
Theo rubbed the bridge of his nose. “They have to monitor something that potentially volatile. But yes, it’s invasive.”
Hermione reached for Draco’s hand.
“I didn’t like it either, but it’s done. They know we’re strong, stable—that’s what matters. Hopefully they leave us alone for awhile.”
Draco looked down at her, eyes softer now.
“I’m sorry. I just—after the attack, the thought of anyone pushing you again—”
“I know,” she whispered. “You were protecting me. You always are.”
Theo rested his hand over both of theirs, completing the circuit. “Let’s promise something now: whatever the Ministry wants, we decide what we give them. On our time. Our terms.”
Hermione nodded. “Agreed.”
The bond pulsed once—silver, green, and gold light coiling together around their hands before fading.
For the first time all morning, Draco’s shoulders eased. “Good. Because the next Unspeakable who mentions ‘conception timing’ is getting hexed.”
Theo laughed quietly. “I’ll keep the medical reports ready.”
Hermione smiled between them, warmth spreading through the bond, soothing every lingering fear.
“Then let’s go home,” she said softly. “Before they decide to measure anything else.”
Draco offered his arm; Theo took her other hand.
Together, they stepped off the dais—united, steady, and certain that whatever tests came next, they would face them as one.
The manor was quiet when they stepped out of the floo. Spring sunlight filtered weakly through the tall windows, striking motes of dust that glimmered like suspended stars.
Hermione brushed soot from her sleeve and looked at the two men she shared everything with now—both still visibly tense from the Ministry evaluation. Draco’s knuckles were white around his wand; Theo’s healer’s calm was stretched thin at the edges.
“Home,” she murmured, as if reminding all three of them what safety sounded like.
Theo exhaled. “Finally.”
Draco said nothing, just stripped off his black coat and tossed it over the settee. His movements were precise, but his shoulders were tight enough that Hermione could almost hear the strain.
Through the bond, it came as a sharp static of emotion: worry, exhaustion, protectiveness.
“Theo,” she said gently, “could you start some tea?”
He nodded and disappeared toward the kitchen. Hermione crossed the room to Draco, standing beside him until their sleeves brushed.
“You did well today,” she said quietly.
He gave a small, bitter laugh. “I nearly hexed an Unspeakable for using the word conception. Not exactly exemplary behavior.”
“You defended us.” She tilted her head, searching his face. “That’s never wrong.”
His eyes softened a little, grey melting toward silver. “It’s wrong when it comes from fear.”
Before she could answer, Theo returned with a tray of tea and three small crystal glasses of firewhisky.
“For nerves,” he said, setting it down on the low table by the hearth.
Hermione poured tea for each of them while Draco took one of the whiskies and drained it in a single swallow.
Later, the three of them sat by the fire. The tension had drained into a kind of quiet ache—the emotional aftershock of being measured and judged.
Hermione leaned back against Theo’s chest on the couch, his arm curved loosely around her waist. Draco sat on the rug by the hearth, cross-legged, one hand wrapped around a second whisky glass he hadn’t touched yet.
Firelight gilded his pale hair. For the first time since they’d returned, he looked less like the controlled Lord Malfoy and more like the man she had seen at Astoria’s grave—a man still trying to forgive himself for surviving.
Theo broke the silence.
“You haven’t stopped pacing in your head since we left the Ministry. What’s actually eating you, Draco?”
Draco stared into the fire. “They told us to think about children again.”
Hermione exchanged a glance with Theo. “That upset you?”
Draco’s voice was low, deliberate. “No. It…terrified me.”
The words fell like embers.
Theo shifted forward. “Because of Astoria?”
“Because of everything,” Draco said. He set down the glass, fingers trembling slightly. “Because the last time I tried to build a future, it cost someone their life. Because I want to be a father and I don’t trust myself not to ruin it.”
Hermione slid from the couch to sit beside him on the rug. The bond pulsed between them—her empathy wrapping around his fear, Theo’s quiet steadiness grounding them both.
“You wouldn’t ruin it,” she said softly. “You already protect everyone you care for to the point of exhaustion.”
“That’s not the same as raising a child,” Draco said bitterly.
Theo spoke then, calm and measured.
“Maybe not, but you’re already better than your father ever was. You’re aware of what you don’t want to repeat.”
Draco’s throat moved. “You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not,” Hermione said. “But it’s possible.”
He looked at her then—really looked—and she felt the burn of his gratitude and fear mixing through the bond.
For a long while, none of them spoke. The only sound was the fire and the winter wind brushing against the windowpanes.
Theo reached down and took Draco’s wrist, their bond flaring faintly in answer. Hermione rested her hand over theirs, completing the triangle of touch.
Through that simple contact, warmth traveled—Theo’s quiet reassurance, Draco’s hesitant acceptance, her own deep affection binding them together.
Draco’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“When I saw you during the attack…” He stopped, jaw tightening. “I can’t stop seeing it. That’s what the Unspeakable doesn’t understand. You can’t measure that. The fear that the person you—” He stopped short, breath catching.
“The person you what?” Hermione asked softly.
He met her gaze, eyes bright with unshed emotion. “The person you can’t lose.”
The room held stillness like glass.
Theo squeezed his wrist gently. “You love her.”
Draco looked down at the linked hands, then nodded once—barely a movement, but full of meaning. “I think I do,” he said, voice rough. “Or I’m getting there, and it’s terrifying.”
Hermione felt her heart thrum with a mix of affection and relief. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead lightly against his shoulder. “It’s not terrifying to me.”
Theo’s hand brushed the back of her neck, grounding her. “That’s what bonds do,” he murmured. “They make the fear smaller when you share it.”
Draco gave a shaky laugh, eyes closing briefly. “You make it sound almost beautiful.”
“It is,” Hermione said simply.
They stayed like that a long while—the three of them sitting close, words fading into silence. The fire burned low, painting everything in gold and amber.
Theo finally spoke, voice warm. “We’ll face whatever comes. The Ministry, the law, the deadlines. All of it. But we’ll decide when to build a family. No one else.”
Draco nodded. “Our timing. Our life.”
Hermione looked between them, her chest full to the brim with something too large for words. “Then that’s our promise.”
She offered her hand; they each took it, sealing the vow in quiet unity. The bond shimmered faintly—gold, silver, and green threads weaving together before fading again.
Outside, snow began to fall, soft and silent.
Theo leaned back against the couch, tugging them both gently toward him.
“Come on. You need sleep, Draco. And you,” he said, brushing Hermione’s curls from her face, “need to stop worrying about tomorrow for once.”
She smiled faintly. “I’ll try.”
The three of them ended the night together on the couch beneath a blanket, the fire dying low—safe, entangled, and quietly certain that whatever storms lay ahead, the bond between them was stronger than fear.
Notes:
Draco is soooooo Close to saying he loves her after the attack. But do you think Hermione is there?
Chapter 128: Breeding
Chapter Text
The sun had dipped low over the rolling hills later that night, casting a warm, amber glow through the tall windows of the conservatory.
The air was humid and alive, the faint trickle of a charmed fountain in the corner providing a soothing backdrop as Hermione, Draco, and Theo lounged on a wide, cushioned daybed piled with soft pillows.
The triad bond hummed with a playful, intimate energy, much different than the emotional carnage for earlier.
Hermione’s affectionate teasing a sparkling warmth in their chests, Draco’s possessive adoration a steady flame, Theo’s loving desire a gentle pulse that made their golden rings glow faintly in the fading light.
Hermione, in a light sundress that clung to her curves, sipped her wine and set the glass down with a mischievous smile, her hand tracing Theo’s thigh as she leaned into Draco’s side.
"You know, husbands... with all that talk of that deadline looming for conceiving, maybe we should start practicing making a baby," she murmured, voice breathy with appreciation and teasing heat.
Her fingers inched higher on Theo’s leg, feeling his massive girth stir through his trousers.
"Not for real yet—we're not ready for one at all—but imagine... feeling you both fill me up, practicing impregnating me like I'm yours to claim."
The bond surged with her affectionate desire, a warm wave that made their rings glow brighter. A stream of curiosity also flowed through, an indication that she was testing the waters of her own kinks as well.
Theo’s eyes darkened with loving hunger, his hand covering hers, guiding it to press against his hardening cock, veins starting to bulge under the fabric, the apadravya piercing a firm nudge against her palm.
"Gods, my love—you’re so perfect, teasing us like this. I love you so much—practicing making a baby with you, filling that tight pussy full of my cum till it’s dripping, but waiting till we're truly ready," he whispered tenderly, voice thick with emotion.
Draco’s silver eyes flashed with possessive passion, his arm tightening around her waist, hand sliding under her dress to brush her lace panties, feeling the damp heat there.
"Fuck, Granger—you don’t know how much I want that, practicing breeding your perfect body, stuffing you with our cum till you’re overflowing with us, but no baby yet—just our spend marking you deep inside," he growled adoringly, voice husky with restraint.
He started kissing her neck as he pulled her dress up, exposing her lace-covered pussy, fingers tracing the wet spot.
"So gorgeous—let's make you full of us tonight, practice claiming that sweet cunt as ours."
The bond pulsed with their shared desire, a golden tide of intimacy as they undressed her slowly, Draco easing the dress over her head with reverent hands, Theo unclasping her bra to free her full breasts, kissing each nipple softly, "So beautiful, my angel—every part of you made for us."
They positioned her on her back, legs spread wide, her pussy glistening in the lantern light. Theo cast the contraception charm, a soft blue glow enveloping her abdomen, the magic tingling reassuringly through her core.
"Safe and ours, love—no baby yet, but gods, practicing filling you... I love you," he murmured, settling between her thighs, his massive cock, apadravya piercing glinting—throbbing hard, pre-cum beading at the tip in shiny pearls.
He lubed her generously, fingers massaging the oil into her entrance with slow, loving strokes, parting her folds to coat her inner walls, the slick warmth making her moan, "Theo—feels so good, love you."
Draco knelt beside them, cock out leaking pre-cum—hard in his fist as he watched, his hand stroking her thigh.
"Take him slow, love—your pussy’s gonna stretch so beautiful for his girth, just let hi take you.”, thumb circling her clit to spark pleasure.
Theo aligned his cock, the massive head nudging her entrance, pressing with agonizing slowness—her pussy lips stretching taut around the tip, the girth forcing a burning yield, the piercing scraping her inner rim making her gasp, "Theo—it hurts, but I want you now, love you."
Draco’s thumb rubbed her clit faster, "Breathe, sweetheart—you’re ours, so perfect taking him, feel the pleasure building."
Inch by inch, Theo worked in, pausing with each whimper, kissing her adoringly, "I love you, my heart—tell me if it’s too much," the stretch searing as her walls fought his thickness.
"It’s so much, Theo—hurting but so good," she gasped, the bond pulsing with her trust. Once fully in, they both cried out at the sensation.
Theo began gentle thrusts, "Feel me loving you, full of me—practicing filling you up, my angel."
Draco kissed her deeply, "Your pussy’s so full of him, Granger—gonna add my cum soon, stuff you like our Lady deserves."
Theo’s thrusts built to fervent but loving slams, wet squelches filling the room, "Gonna fill you deep, love—practice pumping my cum into your womb, making you ours," he groaned, spilling inside with a loving roar.
He pulled out slowly, cum dripping out of herin thick dribbles, Draco immediately taking his place, thrusting in with a possessive groan, "Now feel me, Granger—adding my cum to his, stuffing this pussy full, practicing breeding you till you’re leaking us."
His thrusts were passionate, curve hitting her G-spot, "Your cunt’s heaven, so full already, gonna flood you more," he chanted cumming with a growl, seed mixing with Theo deep inside her.
Together they pushed the leaking cum back in with loving fingers, "Look at you, wife—stuffed with our cum, so beautiful," Draco murmured.
Theo added, "Ours forever, my heart."
In the afterglow, Hermione sighed, "That was super hot in the moment, I was so turned by you both practicing breeding me, feeling so full of your cum—but in reality, I’m definitely wanting to wait till the last moment of the deadline to conceive. I like that we explored that, and I definitely liked it in the heat of the moment, but reality would be a lot different.”
They kissed her tenderly, whispering "We respect whatever you want," the bond glowing with unity.
Notes:
... And next back to the plot =P
Chapter 129: Malfoy Possession
Chapter Text
The mid- April weather was wet and blue-grey when Hermione came down to the parlor after changing form her classes. A house-elf was already laying out the tea things: silver service polished to a mirror, lemon tarts still steaming.
Narcissa Malfoy was never late, and she was never casual.
When the floo flared green, Narcissa stepped out as if she were arriving at a Ministry reception rather than her son’s home. Her robes were charcoal silk; her hair, bound in its familiar twist, gleamed like frost.
“Lady Malfoy-Granger-Nott,” she said smoothly. “I hope I am not intruding.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “You never need to ask. I’m glad you came.”
Narcissa’s eyes softened just a fraction. “After what happened at the opening, you should not be left to answer journalists and gossip without allies.”
She sat gracefully, smoothing her robes. “How are you feeling?”
Hermione poured the tea to hide her nerves. “Physically fine. Emotionally—still sorting through it. The man got away, but… everyone survived. That’s what matters.”
“Indeed.” Narcissa stirred her cup once. “I read the Prophet article. Appalling how they focused on your dress instead of the assault.”
Hermione couldn’t help a laugh. “That’s our press for you.”
Narcissa’s expression warmed a little.
“You remind me of Andromeda at your age—clever, principled, and infuriatingly brave.”
They drank in companionable quiet for a few minutes. The fire ticked in the grate.
Then Narcissa set down her cup with a soft click.
“Draco has been… unsettled. I suspect he has not let you out of his sight since the attack?”
Hermione’s brows lifted. “He’s been protective, yes.”
A faint, knowing smile touched Narcissa’s lips.
“My dear, protective is the polite word. The men of this family—Lucius before the war, my husband’s father before him—were bred to guard what they value. Sometimes too fiercely.”
Her gaze met Hermione’s squarely. “Draco loves through vigilance. When he cannot control events, he grows frightened. And Malfoy men have never worn fear well.”
Hermione folded her hands around her teacup, thinking of how Draco had wept after the attack, of how his magic had sparked when anyone mentioned danger.
“He blames himself for everything. Even for me being targeted.”
“He was raised to think he must. Our world taught him that a Malfoy’s duty is protection, and that failure is shame.”
Narcissa’s tone held no condemnation, only weary knowledge. “It took me years to learn that devotion and possession are cousins, not twins. You must help him see that difference.”
Hermione looked up. “And if I can’t?”
“Then the bond will remind him hopefully.” Narcissa smiled again, this time gently.
“You are not fragile, Hermione. The two of you—and Theo—have already tempered him more than I ever could.”
The use of Theo made Hermione blink in surprise. Narcissa caught it and added, almost conspiratorially, “Do not think I am blind to affection when I see it. My son writes to me less now, but when he does, his letters sound… lighter. I know you’re not the only link holding them both together.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “He’s healing.”
“I hope you all are.” Narcissa reached across the table, resting elegant fingers atop Hermione’s. “You cannot erase war wounds by hiding from them. But shared tenderness can make them smaller.”
She drew back then, resettling into her composed posture.
“When you find Draco pacing like a caged dragon, tell him his mother said to stop before he drives his wife and bondmates mad.”
Hermione laughed softly. “I’ll quote you.”
“Do.” Narcissa finished her tea, eyes thoughtful.
“And one more thing—when a Malfoy man gives you jewelry meant to shield you, he is not merely being possessive. It is his language for I cannot bear to lose you. Try to hear the meaning, not the possisive habit.”
Hermione looked down at the protective necklace Draco had fastened around her throat only days ago. It shimmered faintly against her skin, warmer now that she understood.
“I think I do.”
Narcissa stood, smoothing her robes once more. “Good. Then you’re already translating him better than most ever could.”
At the hearth she paused, her voice softer than before. “Tell him I am proud of him—and of you both. And that I expect to see peace in his eyes again soon.”
Hermione nodded, throat tight. “I will.”
When the green flames swallowed Narcissa’s figure, the parlor felt quieter but not emptier—only gentler, as if some lingering fear had been named and set down.
Hermione touched the pendant at her neck, feeling the faint echo of the bond through it, and whispered to the empty room, “We’ll get there soon.”
The wards hummed softly just after sunset. Hermione, who had been curled up on the sofa with a book and her tea gone cold, looked up as the main doors of the manor opened.
Boot-steps crossed the marble.
Draco appeared in the doorway—tall, immaculate as always, but there was something frayed about the edges. The silver clasp of his cloak hung half-loose; faint circles shadowed his eyes.
“Long day?” she asked.
He exhaled, a low huff that could have been laughter or fatigue.
“If you consider six hours of bureaucrats arguing over seating charts a day, then yes.”
He set down his case, shoulders sinking a fraction.
“The Ministry seems determined to make sure every conversation I have is either condescending or infuriating.”
Hermione rose, crossing to him. “Then it’s officially evening now—no more Ministry talk allowed.”
He tilted his head, weary amusement flickering across his features. “Is that an order, Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott?”
She smiled. “A very kind one.”
For a moment he just looked at her, as if memorizing the way the firelight traced along her hair. The tension in the bond softened; what had been a sharp pulse of irritation faded into something quieter, like the tide turning back.
They settled near the hearth with tea and a decanter of something amber-gold that Draco poured into crystal glasses. The manor’s silence wrapped around them like a blanket.
Hermione waited until his first sip before saying, “Your mother stopped by this afternoon.”
That drew his eyes up at once—sharp, alert. “She did?”
“She was… kind. Concerned.” Hermione hesitated, then met his gaze. “She wanted me to understand the Malfoy way of caring for people.”
Draco’s mouth curved in a faint, self-mocking line. “I dread to ask what that entails.”
“She said you all have a habit of guarding what you care for until it feels like possession.”
He stilled, the glass hovering halfway to his lips. “That sounds like her.”
“She also said it’s not a flaw so much as a language,” Hermione continued gently. “That when you give protection, it’s how you say I can’t bear to lose you.”
For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the faint clink of the fire shifting on the grate.
Draco’s hand lowered. “She told you that?”
“She did. And she told me to remind you to stop pacing before you drive us mad.”
That coaxed a startled laugh out of him—real, warm, weary. He set the glass aside and leaned back in his chair, eyes closing briefly.
“Merlin, she would.”
Hermione smiled, but her voice softened. “She’s proud of you, Draco. She said so.”
The laugh died away. When he opened his eyes again, they were bright in the firelight. “She never says that easily.”
“She meant it,” Hermione said simply. “And so do I.”
He studied her for a long moment, the guardedness slipping from his expression.
“You keep saying things that are entirely too kind for the world I grew up in.”
“That’s the point,” she replied. “We’re trying to make a new one, all of us, together.”
A faint shimmer of feeling moved through the bond—gratitude, cautious warmth, the faint ache of someone learning to accept tenderness without bracing for pain.
Draco leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “When I came home that night after the attack, I thought if I held you too tightly you might disappear. I’m worried I scared you off a bit.”
Hermione reached out and covered his hand with hers. “You didn’t. You anchored me.”
He turned his palm upward, lacing their fingers together. The fire painted both their hands in gold.
“I’ve spent so much of my life trying to atone,” he said quietly. “But with you and Theo—it feels like living instead.”
She felt the bond hum in response, gentle and electric. “Then that’s what we’ll keep doing.”
He looked at her—open, unguarded—and a soft smile tugged at his mouth. “You sound like my conscience.”
“Someone has to.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty; it was filled with the rhythm of the fire and the faint echo of their joined breathing. He brushed his thumb along the back of her hand, a small motion that carried more tenderness than any declaration.
“Thank you,” he said finally.
“For what?”
“For staying. For seeing past the parts of me that even I can’t forgive yet, that are unsavory to you.”
Her eyes met his, steady and warm. “That’s what affection looks like, Draco. It doesn’t erase the past. It chooses the person despite it.”
His breath caught; he held her gaze for a long time. Then, slowly, he leaned forward until their foreheads touched—just that single point of contact, quiet and deliberate.
The bond pulsed once, bright and steady, like a heartbeat shared.
They stayed there until the fire burned low, talking in murmurs about small things—what Theo might be doing on his night shift, what seedlings to plant come later spring—mundane topics that felt domesticly tranquil.
When she finally rose to go, Draco caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. It was light, almost reverent.
“Tell my mother she was right next time you see her,” he murmured. “About everything.”
Hermione smiled, her heart full. “I will.”
The wards hummed softly again as she left the room, and for the first time since the attack, the manor felt at peace.
Notes:
Do you think she's really let go of her ideology or is her kindness to Hermione a smokescreen for something else?
Chapter 130: The Mundane Morning
Chapter Text
The next morning, Hermione was already in the kitchen when she heard the floo flare. The familiar low thud of boots followed—Theo, finally home from his healer rotation.
He looked exhausted but content: his dark curls mussed, uniform wrinkled, eyes warm as he found her standing by the tea set.
“You’re up early,” he said, voice still rough from sleep deprivation.
“I wanted to greet you.” Hermione smiled, crossing to him. “And to make sure you actually eat something before you collapse.”
He grinned crookedly and let her fold herself into his arms. “You sound like every nurse I’ve ever worked with.”
“I take that as a compliment.”
When Draco entered moments later, dressed in dark slacks and a crisp white shirt with his sleeves rolled, he paused in the doorway. The tension and fear that had clouded him for days was noticeably gone. His hair was slightly disheveled, but his expression—open, faintly amused—made Hermione’s stomach warm.
Theo noticed it too, raising a brow. “You look less like a man ready to hex the Ministry and more like someone who’s actually slept.”
Draco smirked. “Blame your wife. She’s annoyingly good at telling me the things I need to hear and cuddling in the night.”
Hermione rolled her eyes fondly. “I’ll take that as gratitude.”
Theo looked between them, reading something in the air that made his smile soften. “You two made peace fully now, then?”
“We did,” Draco said simply, and there was weight in the quiet honesty of it.
Hermione reached for her cup of tea, her hand brushing Draco’s wrist as she did. The faint hum of their bond—steady, warm—filled the air like invisible light.
Theo’s eyes flickered at the sensation. “The bond feels different this morning,” he murmured. “Lighter.”
Hermione nodded. “It does.”
“Then we should celebrate that with breakfast somewhere that isn’t covered in parchment or potion bottles.”
Draco’s mouth curved. “A foreign concept.”
“I was thinking a Muggle café in the local village,” Hermione offered. “Fresh air. Good coffee. Anonymity.”
Theo groaned happily. “Merlin bless coffee.”
Draco hesitated, then nodded. “If you handle the ordering, Granger, I’ll attempt to blend in.”
She smiled. “We’ll make a Muggle of you yet.”
The morning was crisp but not cold, April sunlight filtering through pale clouds that promised rain later.
They chose to apparate just beyond the edge of a small Muggle town Hermione had visited before—stone cottages, a church steeple, a few shops just opening for the day.
Draco adjusted his jacket as though the concept of blending in was a personal challenge. Theo laughed softly. “You look like you’re about to offer to buy the café instead of have breakfast there.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Draco replied dryly.
Hermione looped her arm through his. “You’ll do fine.”
They passed by a small florist’s stall, the scent of roses mixing with fresh bread from a nearby bakery. The simplicity of it—people walking dogs, shopkeepers unlocking doors—was grounding in a way none of them expected. No one stopped them or stared, no media taking pictures.
Theo slowed to glance at a little boy helping his mother carry a bag of apples. “I forget how normal life can look,” he said softly.
Hermione followed his gaze. “That’s the world we’re trying to protect,” she murmured. “Both of them.”
Draco’s fingers brushed hers briefly, his expression unreadable but thoughtful. “And one day,” he said quietly, “maybe they’ll stop being two worlds entirely.”
The café they picked was small, tucked between a bookstore and an antique shop. Its windows fogged from the warmth inside, and the air smelled of espresso and sugar.
They drew curious glances when they entered—Hermione with her wild curls and purposeful stride, Theo in rolled-up sleeves and healer’s stiff posture, Draco unmistakably aristocratic even in casual clothes—but it wasn’t unfriendly curiosity.
They found a booth near the window. Hermione slid in first, Draco beside her, Theo across from them.
When the waitress arrived, Hermione ordered easily for all three—two coffees, one tea, and an assortment of breakfast plates heavy on toast and fruit.
Draco studied the menu in faint bemusement. “They charge extra for oat milk. Muggles really will monetize anything.”
Theo snorted. “Says the man whose family sold peacock feathers as wand polishers.”
Hermione choked on her tea trying not to laugh.
Draco gave them both a long-suffering look, then sighed. “I walked into that, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” Theo said, grinning. “Spectacularly.”
Breakfast arrived—eggs, toast, marmalade, and coffee strong enough to wake the dead, which Theo drank greedily. Conversation drifted easily: small things, teasing remarks, future plans.
Theo was describing an experimental healing salve when Hermione noticed Draco quietly breaking apart his toast and sharing bits of it with a small bird perched on the outside ledge of their window.
The gentleness of it—the man who had once been taught never to show softness, quietly feeding a sparrow—made her chest ache in the best way.
She smiled. “You’re going to spoil him.”
“He’s earned it,” Draco murmured, watching the bird tilt its head.
Theo followed her gaze, his expression fond. “You realize he’s officially domesticated now, right? You’ve officially tamed him.”
Draco arched a brow. “If that’s what peace looks like, I’ll take it.”
Hermione leaned her cheek on her hand, watching the two men tease each other gently in the sunlight. The bond pulsed like a shared heartbeat, warm and steady.
For once that week, there was no shadow of the Ministry, no deadlines, no whispers of attack or fear—just coffee, laughter, and the rarest thing of all for them: normalcy.
When they stepped out again, the air smelled faintly of rain. Draco slipped his hand into Hermione’s; Theo reached for her other.
They walked through the cobbled streets like that—quiet, steady, unhurried. A few Muggles glanced their way and smiled without recognition, just seeing three people who looked happy.
At the edge of the village, Hermione looked up at them both. “We should do this more often.”
Theo squeezed her hand. “We will.”
Draco’s gaze softened, a hint of humor behind the warmth. “Assuming the Ministry doesn’t issue an edict banning Muggle pastries.”
Hermione laughed. “Then we’ll start a rebellion. Powered by croissants.”
The sound of their laughter carried down the road as they disapparated back to the manor, leaving behind only the faint shimmer of displaced air—and the echo of three lives learning, at last, how to be ordinary together.
Notes:
Anyone have ideas for the Orphan Gala ball theme?
Chapter 131: Domestic Chicken
Chapter Text
It had been Hermione’s idea to accept Ginny’s spontaneous owl:
“Harry’s cooking (yes, really!!!), I know Theo’s working, and I refuse to eat the results without witnesses. Come and prepare a poison antidote. Come for dinner. Please.”
Draco had looked dubious at first, standing beside the fireplace in his black button-down as she read it aloud.
“You’re sure Potter won’t mind me invading his home again?”
Hermione smiled. “He invited you last time, Draco.”
“He also invited me to duel him once, so forgive me if I don’t take Gryffindor generosity at face value.”
“You’re coming with me,” she said firmly, tugging on her cloak. “And you’re going to behave.”
He arched a pale brow. “I always behave.”
“Mostly,” she countered, eyes sparkling.
When they stepped out of the floo into the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, the smell of roast chicken and strong garlic hit them. Ginny appeared from behind a cloud of steam, wand in hand, cheeks flushed.
“Finally! I thought you two had decided to elope somewhere scandalous instead.”
Draco smirked. “Sorry to disappoint.”
Harry came in behind her, carrying a bottle of wine and looking both proud and slightly terrified. “Dinner’s edible, I think.”
“That’s all anyone can ask,” Hermione joked.
They settled around the kitchen table—Draco and Hermione on one side, Ginny and Harry opposite. The candles flickered low, throwing soft light over mismatched plates and the silver gleam of old Black family cutlery.
Ginny poured wine all around, raising her glass. “To future peace, and to Hermione surviving another week of the Ministry’s invasive nonsense.”
Draco clinked his glass gently against hers. “And to Potter for not burning down our ancestral home in the process of dinner.”
Harry gave him a long, patient look. “It’s early yet, Malfoy.”
Hermione laughed, the tension in the room easing instantly. “This is already better than half the Ministry galas.”
“Less champagne, more sincerity,” Ginny said with a grin.
Dinner unfolded comfortably. Harry’s roast was actually quite good all things considered, and the conversation drifted easily—from Quidditch schedules to the Orphans’ Gala plans to small bits of gossip about mutual friends.
Draco was quieter than usual, but in that thoughtful way he had when he was observing rather than judging.
Every so often, his hand brushed Hermione’s under the table, grounding them both in the steady pulse of their bond and driving her slightly mad.
It was Ginny, of course, who brought it up.
“So,” she began, sipping her wine and smirking, “did either of you read The Daily Prophet this morning?”
Hermione groaned. “Ginny, please don’t—”
But Draco, already suspicious, leaned back in his chair. “What did they print this time?”
Harry reached into his jacket and produced a folded paper, sliding it across the table with a grin.
“Apparently, you two were seen at a Muggle café. Sharing toast. Scandalous stuff.”
Ginny chimed in, reading aloud dramatically:
‘The newly bonded Triad was spotted yesterday morning enjoying breakfast in a quiet Muggle village—hand-holding, smiling, and, according to eyewitnesses, “looking disgustingly happy.” Sources suggest the glow of their bonding rings was visible even in daylight. Are we witnessing the beginning of Britain’s most powerful magical union—or simply the world’s most photogenic breakfast date?’
Hermione covered her face with both hands. “They can’t possibly have an eyewitness everywhere.”
“They can,” Draco muttered. “They’re vultures with quills.”
Harry grinned. “You should’ve seen Rita Skeeter’s face when she realized someone else scooped her story before her. I think she nearly hexed her Quick-Quotes Quill.”
Ginny leaned forward, grinning wickedly.
“Honestly, it’s one of the nicest things they’ve written about you three. You could’ve been photographed mid-row and they’d have called it ‘passionate domestic debate.’”
Hermione peeked out between her fingers, laughing despite herself. “That’s disturbingly true.”
Draco shook his head, but there was a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
“I suppose I should be grateful it wasn’t the usual nonsense about our alleged ‘dark intentions with you.’”
Harry’s tone softened. “People are seeing the difference now. You showing up with Hermione—not hiding, not fighting—helps more than any speech I could give.”
Draco glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity.
“Careful, Potter, or I’ll start to think you actually like me.”
Harry smirked. “Don’t push your luck.”
As the evening wound down, Ginny charmed the dishes clean while Harry and Draco sat at the table nursing their second glasses of wine. Hermione leaned against the counter, watching the two men with a small smile.
They weren’t friends, not really—not yet—but they were something gentler now. Mutual respect, perhaps. A truce turned habit.
“So,” Ginny said lightly, “Theo’s missing all this domestic bliss for a shift?”
Hermione nodded. “He’ll be home late. I’ll bring him leftovers if you don’t mind. You know this is how the apprenticeship is… he doesn’t mean to be working so much.”
“Tell him I owe him a rematch at Exploding Snap,” Harry said.
Draco raised a brow. “He’s been practicing, Potter. You’ll regret that.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Hermione shook her head, laughing. “You two sound like brothers-in-law already.”
Ginny smirked. “Give them another year and they’ll be teaming up against the rest of us.”
Draco pretended to shudder. “A terrifying prospect.”
But when Hermione reached across to take his hand as they prepared to leave, he didn’t pull away. The faint shimmer of their bond hummed between them—subtle but warm.
Outside, the night was clear and sharp with cold. The stars hung low over London, glimmering against the black rooftops.
They walked together in silence for a while, Hermione’s hand tucked in Draco’s arm. The lights of Grimmauld Place faded behind them as they made their way toward a safe apparition point.
“You did well tonight,” she said softly.
He glanced sideways at her. “Did I?”
“Yes. You were kind. Even when Harry teased you.”
Draco’s lips curved slightly. “I can be civil. On special occasions.”
“Breakfast in Muggle towns and dinner with the Chosen One. You’re becoming dangerously well-adjusted to me married to the muggle side of the Golden Trio.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” he murmured, and she laughed.
When they stopped beneath the lamplight, he brushed his thumb over her gloved hand, his tone soft. “Thank you for making normal things feel possible again.”
Hermione smiled up at him. “That’s what love’s for, Draco.”
He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple—no heat, just quiet connection—and whispered, “Then I’m learning.”
They disapparated together into the still night, leaving behind the sound of city traffic and the faint echo of laughter carried on the London wind. They threw off their cloaks at home, and headed for a quiet evening for post-dinner drinks in Draco’s study.
Draco’s private study in Nott Manor was a cozy enclave of intellectual intimacy, its walls lined with towering bookshelves filled with ancient tomes on potions, charms, and Muggle philosophy—Hermione's additions blending seamlessly with the Malfoy and Nott family heirlooms scattered on the shelves.
The room was bathed in the glow of a charmed fire crackling in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the plush leather armchairs and a wide, velvet chaise longue where Draco and Hermione lounged together on the quiet evening.
The air carried the faint scent of aged parchment and Draco's pine cologne, mingled with the herbal tea steaming from mugs on a side table. Theo wasn’t’t expected home still for hours, leaving them alone, the triad bond humming softly with their shared contentment.
Draco, in an unbuttoned shirt revealing his lean, scarred chest and loose trousers, traced idle patterns on her thigh with his fingers, his silver eyes soft with affection as he looked at her.
"Hermione, we've been exploring so much together so far—your body, our desires," he murmured, voice a low, loving rumble, his hand sliding higher to brush the hem of her slip.
"Tell me, what do you want to try next? What's been on your mind sexually? I want to know every filthy thought in that brilliant head of yours."
Hermione blushed, her hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart, the bond sharing her shy curiosity like a warm spark.
"I... I don't know, Draco. There's so much, but I'm not sure. Everything we've done has been amazing, but I haven't thought of specifics really." She bit her lip, eyes meeting his with trust and curiosity.
Draco smiled, kissing her forehead tenderly, his fingers lingering at the edge of her panties.
"Then that's your homework, Granger—think about it, explore those thoughts, and let me know. I want to make every fantasy come true for you, my little wife."
His voice was gentle, but his eyes darkened with desire.
"In the meantime... there's something I've been curious about trying with you. A bit of a schoolboy fantasy I’ve had for a long time. Would you be willing to try spanking? Just to see if you like it. I promise to be gentle at first, and stop right away if it's not for you. I respect you too much to push if it’s something you don’t want, but gods, the thought of my hand on that perfect ass..."
Hermione hesitated, her cheeks flushing deeper, the bond pulsing with her nervous intrigue.
"Spanking? I don't think I'll like it—it sounds... painful, not in a good way. But... I'm willing to try, for you. I trust you, Draco. Just go slow, okay?"
Draco's eyes softened with tenderness, pulling her into a deep kiss, tongue tracing hers with slow passion before guiding her over his lap on the chaise, her ass raised slightly, the silk slip riding up to expose her lace panties.
He rubbed her cheeks gently at first, warming the skin with his palm, the bond sharing his affectionate care.
"You're so brave, Granger—my perfect girl, trusting me like this. I’ll listen to you—tell me to stop anytime if you don’t like it."
His hand came down in a light smack, the sound a soft thwack against her lace-covered ass, the sting mild but surprisingly, making her gasp, a faint pink blooming under the fabric.
"Draco—that... tingles," she breathed, surprise in her voice, the bond sharing her curiosity as he rubbed the spot soothingly.
He smiled, voice husky with desire, "Good tingle, Granger? Feel my hand claiming this ass, so perfect and mine."
Another smack, slightly harder, the impact sending a jolt through her core, her pussy clenching with unexpected heat, slick gathering in her panties.
"Fuck, wife—your ass jiggles so beautifully for me, taking my hand like a good girl. I adore you—gonna spank this pretty bottom till it's pink and hot, make you drip for me."
He alternated cheeks, smacks building in intensity but spaced out, each thwack echoing with a sharp crack, her skin reddening under the lace, the sting turning to a burning warmth that spread to her pussy, her clit throbbing with each hit, moans escaping as she rocked her hips.
"Gods, Draco—it hurts kind of but... feels good too, I’m getting so wet," she moaned, shock in her voice, the bond pulsing with her surprised arousal. Her ass arching up from his lap for more, slick soaking her panties in a dark patch.
Draco groaned, his cock hard now against her belly, rubbing the reddened skin affectionately between smacks.
"That's my girl—your pussy’s dripping from my spanks, loving the burn, so fucking hot for me. Your ass taking my hand so red, gonna spank you till you cum like the perfect wife you are for me."
He pulled her panties down, exposing her pinkened ass, smacks now direct on bare skin, the crack louder, sting sharper, each one sending shockwaves to her clit, her pussy clenching empty, slick trickling down her thighs in shiny trails.
"Look at that ass, red and mine—feel it, Granger? My hand marking you, making you soak, gonna spank this naughty bottom till your pussy cums without a touch."
Hermione cried out with each smack, the buildup intense, her ass burning hot, the pain-pleasure pushing her higher, "Draco—yes, harder, I don’t how but—I’m close!"
Shock flooded her as her body tensed with another stroke of his hand, orgasm crashing from the spanking alone, pussy spasming with gushing, her moans vocal and surprised.
Draco halted, rubbing her ass soothingly, his voice awed, "Fuck, sweetheart—you came from my spanks alone? So responsive, my perfect girl—I’m shocked, didn’t expect you to like it so much. Gods, you really are perfect."
He pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply, both surprised by her reaction, the bond glowing with their shared passion and discovery.
Notes:
Anyone hoping for the trio to try anything sexually specifically?
Chapter 132: Ice, Ice Baby
Chapter Text
Hermione woke early, sunlight not yet visible. The house was quiet—Theo was sound asleep having just gotten in before dawn from his healer rotation. The stillness of the manor made her uneasy in ways she hadn’t felt before the attack.
She found Draco downstairs, already dressed: black slacks, crisp shirt, the faint glint of the protective runes etched into the cufflinks he’d been discreetly wearing since that night.
“You don’t have to come every day,” she said gently as she poured tea.
“I do,” he replied without looking up from the newspaper. “You’re not walking around alone.”
Hermione sighed. “Draco—”
He folded the paper, meeting her eyes with the quiet certainty that always cut through argument.
“Humor me, Granger. Call it penance. Or possessiveness. Whichever makes it easier to tolerate.”
Her heart softened despite herself. “You know I can take care of myself.”
“I do,” he said quietly, standing to take her cloak from its hook. “But knowing and trusting the world not to hurt you again are not the same thing.”
She hesitated, then allowed him to drape it around her shoulders. His fingers brushed the back of her neck in an absent-minded gesture of care more than control.
“All right,” she said finally. “But you’re not coming in the classroom.”
Draco’s mouth quirked. “I’m not suicidal.”
The marble-floored atrium of the Charms Mastery Institute was bustling—students hurrying through enchanted glass doors, parchments floating overhead with schedules. Hermione had always loved this place; its smell of ink and old wood felt like purpose.
Until now.
Because standing just outside Classroom B3, in all his aristocratic poise, was Draco Malfoy—silent sentinel, posture sharp, gaze cutting through the crowd like a ward spell made flesh.
A few students slowed as they passed, whispering behind hands.
It was even more embarrassing than previous days when most students were doing self-study or on-the-ground project work and haden’t been filling the halls.
“Is that him?”
“The Malfoy from the papers?”
“Didn’t they say they’re bonded? All three of them? A triad? Kind of weird.”
Hermione’s stomach tightened, but she lifted her chin. She’d survived worse than gossip.
Professor Armitage, her Charms Master for the class today, stopped in mid-conversation when he spotted Draco. His silvered brows arched in visible surprise.
“Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott,” he said in his measured baritone. “You’ve brought company?”
Draco inclined his head politely. “Only a guard dog, sir. Won’t make a sound.”
The professor’s lips twitched, almost despite himself. “Let’s hope so. My classrooms don’t accommodate aristocratic dramatics.”
Hermione glared at Draco, who had the audacity to look amused. “He’ll stay outside,” she promised.
“Very well. But if I hear hexes in the corridor, I’m deducting points from your next exam Hermione.”
Inside, the air shimmered faintly with advanced levitation charms. Hermione’s wand danced through the motions—precise, sure. She tried to lose herself in theory, but every so often she felt it: the faint pulse of their bond beyond the door. Draco’s presence, calm but coiled, like the hum of restrained magic.
When she laughed at a student’s joke, the bond gave a brief flicker of warmth—approval, maybe, or relief that she was smiling.
When someone dropped a charm and a loud bang echoed through the room, she felt a spike of tension from him—sharp, protective.
She wanted to be exasperated. Instead, she found it oddly grounding, that unspoken tether humming between them like a heartbeat she hadn’t realized she’d missed.
When class ended, Hermione stepped into the hallway, feeling twenty pairs of eyes follow.
Draco stood as she emerged, straightening instinctively. The sight of him—tall, composed, the faint glow of his wedding-bond ring glinting—made her classmates fall abruptly silent.
One braver student, an older prior-Ravenclaw she’d often partnered with, cleared her throat. “Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott, will he… be here every class?”
Hermione gave a diplomatic smile. “Just until the Ministry stops putting targets on my back.”
Draco’s eyes softened slightly at her choice of words.
Another student, this one from a prominent half-blood family, asked warily, “Is it true? The… triad bond?”
Draco’s tone was even. “True enough. Though you’ll find we’re less scandalous in person.”
The former Ravenclaw blinked. “You sound different than I expected.”
“Do I?” he murmured. “Good. Means I’m improving.”
A ripple of nervous laughter went through the group before they scattered down the corridor.
Hermione turned to him. “You handled that better than I expected.”
“Tempting as it was to hex someone for staring,” he said, lips twitching, “I’m trying this new thing where I behave like a functioning adult.”
She laughed, the tension easing. “It suits you.”
They took lunch outside, under the shadow of the fountain that hummed with gentle protective charms. Draco transfigured the bench into a cushioned seat before she could protest.
“Overkill,” she teased.
“Necessary precaution,” he countered.
“Against splinters?”
“Against you pretending you’re fine when you’re not.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled. He watched her as she unwrapped a sandwich, the winter light catching the soft curls framing her face.
“Does it bother you,” she asked quietly, “that people stare like this?”
“I’m used to it,” he said. “I’m less used to them looking at you because of me.”
Hermione’s expression softened. “They’re not just seeing you. They’re seeing what’s possible when things change.”
His hand brushed hers on the bench. “You always say things that sound like they belong in history books.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was,” he said, voice low.
When she returned to class, Draco took up his silent watch again. This time, fewer whispers followed. A few students even nodded politely as they passed him.
Inside, Hermione found herself more focused than she’d been in weeks. The fear from the attack hadn’t vanished, but the weight of it had lessened—replaced by something steadier.
By the time class ended, she stepped into the corridor smiling. Draco’s shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly when he saw her.
“All in one piece,” he said.
She lifted an eyebrow. “Disappointed?”
He smirked faintly. “Immensely.”
She laughed as they walked toward the exit, their footsteps echoing softly through the marble halls.
Outside, the spring sun was beginning to dip, turning the sky to gold. Draco’s hand brushed her lower back as they walked through the warded gate, the touch protective but gentle.
“Thank you,” she said after a moment.
“For what?”
“For letting me do my work. For not arguing.”
He exhaled. “I’m trying to learn when to stop fighting battles you’ve already won.”
She glanced up at him, eyes soft. “That might be the most Slytherin way you could say I’m proud of you.”
Draco’s lips quirked. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”
The wind tugged at her cloak, and without thinking, he reached up to fix it at her shoulder. The motion was simple, domestic—but when she met his gaze, something in it lingered.
“Draco…” she began, voice barely above a whisper.
He smiled faintly. “Go on, Hermione.”
“Thank you for watching my back,” she said.
“Always,” he murmured. And she knew he meant it—not as a promise of ownership, but of partnership.
As they disapparated back to Nott Manor, the hum of their bond was steady and calm—a silent understanding between them.
By the time they arrived back at Nott Manor, the last traces of sunlight had faded into a violet dusk. The air smelled faintly of rain, and the manor’s enchanted sconces flickered to life as they stepped through the front hall.
Draco loosened the cuffs of his shirt with an uncharacteristic sigh.
“You’ve survived another day of academic brilliance. I’ve survived an entire afternoon of restraining my temper. We should both be rewarded.”
Hermione smiled, unpinning her cloak. “With food, you mean.”
“And wne,” he added.
They separated briefly to change before dinner. Hermione into a soft knit dress in plum. Draco into a charcoal sweater and dark trousers.
The domestic ease of it, the small rituals of comfort they’d built together, soothed the lingering tension of the day.
When they met again in the parlor, Pudding was sprawled on the rug, purring like an idling motor. Draco bent down, scratching behind her ears.
“She likes you,” Hermione said softly.
“She’s the only woman in this house who doesn’t argue with me,” he replied, smirking.
The familiar sound of the floo interrupted them—green flames bursting to life as Theo stepped out, still in his healer robes, hair mussed, exhaustion etched into his sharp features.
Hermione’s expression brightened immediately. “You’re home early.”
“Miracle of miracles,” Theo said, hanging his robes on the hook near the fire.
“We had a lull in the ward tonight, so they cut me loose. I figured I’d take advantage before they changed their minds.”
Draco handed him a glass of wine. “You look like you’ve wrestled a dragon.”
Theo took it, sinking into the nearest chair. “Close. A group of St. Mungo’s interns and one very irritable Hippogriff in recovery.”
They gathered in the informal dining room, preferring it to the cavernous formal hall.
Dinner had already been laid out by the elves—roast chicken, garlic potatoes, and buttered vegetables. The atmosphere felt comfortably familiar with forks clinking, fire crackling, the steady hum of magic pulsing quietly in the background. Harmoney.
Theo began to relax as he ate, color returning to his face. “So—tell me about your day. Did Draco survive the hordes of adoring Charms students?”
Hermione gave him a look that was both fond and exasperated. “Barely. I think my classmates are more curious about the man standing guard outside than the lesson on levitation field dynamics.”
Draco snorted softly. “I behaved.”
“He did,” Hermione admitted with a faint smile. “Mostly.”
Theo chuckled, clearly pleased to see them getting along.
“Good. The last thing we need is the Prophet writing ‘Malfoy Defends Wife from Rogue Quills in Charms Corridor.’”
Draco arched a brow. “Don’t tempt them.”
For a while, conversation drifted toward lighter things—the upcoming Orphans’ Gala, Ginny’s latest Quidditch match, the hints of spring beyond in the orchard.
But then Theo’s tone shifted—quieter, thoughtful. “Actually… something strange happened today. And it’s been bothering me since I left the ward.”
Hermione set down her fork. “Strange how?”
Theo leaned back slightly, fingers tracing the rim of his glass.
“We had an emergency transfer from Hogwarts. A seventh-year student. Collapsed during afternoon Transfiguration.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Collapsed? Were they hurt?”
“No. That’s the odd part.” He exhaled.
“There were no physical injuries. No curses. No lingering magical residue. But when they ran a core diagnostic… the readings were abysmal. The student’s magical core has weakened dramatically—almost as if it’s… draining itself.”
Draco frowned, his analytical mind immediately engaged.
“That’s not possible. A core doesn’t just fade.”
“I know,” Theo said. “But this student couldn’t perform a single basic charm by the time they arrived. Even Lumos fizzled out.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed in concern. “Has this happened before?”
Theo hesitated. “Not recently. There were a few recorded cases after the war—survivors whose cores were destabilized by extended exposure to Dark energy or… trauma.” His voice softened. “But this student wasn’t even in the country till after the war ended.”
Hermione exchanged a look with Draco—both unsettled.
“Do they know what caused it?” she asked quietly.
Theo shook his head. “The mediwitches are running tests. I tried stabilizing the energy channels, but it’s as if the magic is withdrawing from the student’s body on its own.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “That sounds deliberate. Or magically contagious.”
Theo nodded slowly. “That’s my worry. And if it is connected to a spell or artifact, Hogwarts could have a much bigger problem.”
The air around the table thickened with unease. Hermione reached across, resting a hand over Theo’s. “You did everything you could. If anyone can figure it out, it’s you.”
He smiled faintly at her faith. “Let’s hope so.”
Dinner ended quietly, their earlier laughter replaced by the subdued rhythm of thought. Draco poured the last of the wine, leaning back in his chair as the fire crackled low.
“Strange,” he murmured. “Hogwarts was supposed to be safer now. And yet something always finds its way through the cracks.”
Hermione reached over, gently tracing the back of his hand with her thumb. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
Draco’s gaze lingered on them both—affection and protectiveness mingling in his eyes. “You two are insufferably optimistic.”
“Someone has to balance you out,” Hermione teased.
Theo smirked. “Exactly. We’re the hope. You’re the brooding realism.”
Draco gave a soft huff of amusement, then glanced toward the window where rain had begun to fall in thin silver lines.
“Then let’s hope the world gives us both reason to be right.”
Later, as they lingered in the parlor, the bond between them pulsed quietly—steady, warm, but faintly electric.
Hermione leaned against Draco’s shoulder while Theo sat opposite, the fire painting soft gold across his features.
For a moment, no one spoke. The world outside seemed far away.
Then Hermione’s voice broke the silence, thoughtful. “Do you ever feel it, when something’s wrong? Beyond the three of us, I mean. Like the bond stretches further than it should?”
Theo glanced up, brow furrowed. “Sometimes… at the hospital, when a patient’s magic destabilizes momentarily. I can’t tell if it’s empathy or something else.”
Draco nodded slowly. “The bond hums differently when danger’s near I think. As if it’s attuned to more than us.”
Hermione looked from one to the other. “Maybe what you felt with that student wasn’t coincidence, Theo.”
He tilted his head, considering. “You think it’s connected?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’ve learned not to dismiss instincts. Especially now.”
Draco’s hand covered hers, grounding her. “Then we’ll keep our eyes open. Together.”
Theo met his gaze, nodding in quiet agreement.
An hour later the luxury bathroom in the triad's suites at Nott Manor was a haven of opulent relaxation.
The air was thick with steam scented by lavender and eucalyptus oils bubbling from the massive tub filled with charmed water that maintained a perfect, soothing warmth.
It was just Theo and Hermione, Draco occupied in his study poring over family accounts, the triad bond humming softly with his focused contentment from down the hall.
Hermione sank deeper into the tub, her curls pinned loosely atop her head to keep them dry, strands escaping to frame her face, her naked body submerged up to her shoulders,
Theo lounged opposite her, his lean, muscled frame relaxed against the tub's edge, water lapping at his chest, his eyes fixed on her with adoring warmth, his cock resting heavy against his thigh.
The bond pulsed with their shared tranquility, Theo's affectionate contentment a gentle wave washing over her, Hermione's relaxed joy a soft glow in his chest.
"You look like a goddess in this light, my love," Theo murmured, voice low and tender, reaching to trace a finger along her collarbone, dipping into the water to brush the swell of her breast.
"I love these quiet moments with you— just us, no rush, feeling your love through the bond like a warm embrace."
Hermione smiled, her hand finding his under the water, interlacing their fingers, the ring's glow brightening slightly.
"I love them too, Theo—you make me feel so cherished, so safe. Draco's busy with those dusty ledgers, but I can feel his contentment—it's nice, knowing he's close by too.”
She shifted closer, her leg brushing his thigh, the water rippling around them, her eyes sparkling with flirtation.
"Though... I wouldn't mind if you made it a little less relaxing," she teased, her free hand trailing up his arm, fingers dancing over his bicep.
Theo's eyes darkened with loving desire, a soft chuckle escaping as he pulled her onto his lap, water sloshing gently.
"Oh, my angel—you want me to turn you on? Tease this beautiful body till you're aching for me?" he whispered, voice husky with affection, his hands sliding down her back to cup her ass, squeezing softly as he kissed her neck, lips trailing slow, loving kisses along her pulse point, feeling it quicken under his touch.
"I love you so much, Hermione—every curve, every sigh you make is mine to treasure."
His fingers dipped lower, brushing her outer lips under the water, parting them gently to feel her warmth.
Hermione moaned softly, arching into his touch, her hands tangling in his dark hair.
"Yes, Theo—tease me, make me wet for you. I love you—your touch always feels so perfect."
The bond pulsed with her rising desire, a warm spark that made Theo's cock stir against her thigh, thickening slowly, the piercing a cool nudge through the water.
He kissed her deeply, tongue tracing hers with adoring slowness, then pulled back with a loving smile. With a smirk he summoned a thick slow-melting icicle with a flick of his wand.
"Let's play a little, my love—feel this on your body, teasing you till you're dripping," he murmured, voice tender, pressing the cool tip to her collarbone, draggig it slowly down her chest, the chill making her gasp as water droplets formed from the melting ice, trailing cold paths over her heated skin.
"Think of it love—this icicle's like my cock, cool at first but warming with your heat."
He circled her nipple with the icicle, the cold making it pucker hard, a sharp contrast to the warm bath, her moan vocal as he switched to the other.
"Gods, your nipples are so responsive, love—hardening for me, begging for more."
Hermione shivered, her pussy clenching with need, "Theo—that cold... it's turning me on so much."
He trailed the icicle lower, over her belly, dipping it into the water to circle her clit above the surface, the chill shocking her swollen nub, making her buck with a cry.
"Feel that, my angel? Teasing your clit like my piercing would, cold and hard against your hot little button," he whispered lovingly, pressing the icicle against her entrance. He slide it in slowly with her giving out a loud cry, her walls clenching around the cold intrusion, the melt mixing with her slick in creamy streams.
"Fuck, Theo—it's so cold inside, stretching me, melting... ," she gasped, hips rocking as he thrust the icicle gently, the chill turning to pleasure as it melted, water dripping from her pussy in cool rivulets.
"Imagine my cock like this, love—sliding in, filling you deep," he murmured, voice thick with love, pumping faster as the icicle shrank, her moans growing, the bond pulsing with her arousal.
"I love you—cum for me, my heart, let me feel you shatter around it."
She came with a scream, walls spasming as the last of the icicle melted away, gushing into the water.
Theo summoned the water-resistant lube Draco had brewed—thick and slick, charmed to stay effective in water—and coated his cock generously, the lube glistening on his girth as he aligned with her entrance.
"I love you, my angel—ready for me? Gonna slide in slow, fill you with my cock," he whispered, pushing the head in slowly, her pussy stretching taut around his thickness, the piercing scraping her walls with a burning drag. "
Fuck, love—you’re so tight, taking me so well," he groaned lovingly, inching deeper, pausing to kiss her.
"Feel me, my heart—deep inside you, loving you."
He thrust gently at first, building to passionate slams, wet squelches echoing, "Gods, your pussy’s heaven, love—so wet and perfect, clenching my cock like you never want to let go."
Hermione cried out, "Theo—yes, love you, fuck me!"
After long passionate rocking together, they came together, Theo spilling hot ropes deep inside with a loving roar, collapsing in kisses, the bond glowing with unity.
Down the hall they heard Draco cum with a loud groan.
Notes:
Thoughts...?
Chapter 133: Art and Tacos
Notes:
I love all these domestic scenes with them teasing Draco.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The house was unusually still for a weekday morning. Hermione was gathering her books into her bag. Draco was half-dressed and pacing with tea in hand.
The tranquility shattered when a Ministry owl swooped in, landing with an almost military precision on the breakfast table in front of Theo.
He frowned immediately; St. Mungo’s seal, marked Confidential.
He broke it open with one long finger.
<<<
Healer Nott,
Following your consultation yesterday, additional scans on the Hogwarts patient indicate total dissipation of measurable magical core activity. Readings suggest the subject’s innate magic has become untraceable rather than simply diminished. Cause remains unknown. Recommend escalation to the Department of Mysteries.
– Senior Healer Gravesa.
>>>>
Theo read the words twice, the room seeming to tilt slightly around him. “Gone,” he murmured aloud, running a hand through his hair. “Not dormant—gone.”
Draco appeared in the doorway, coat half on, frowning. “What’s gone?”
Theo slid the letter toward him. “The boy’s magic. Not suppressed. Vanished.”
Draco’s gray eyes darkened. “Magic doesn’t just vanish.”
“I know.” Theo rubbed the back of his neck.
“But this isn’t like burnout or curse trauma. It’s like… something extracted it.”
Draco turned to leave with Hemrione.
Theo watched him go, a muscle twitching in his jaw, and whispered under his breath, “Let’s hope it’s not catching.”
By the time the fireplace flared green that early afternoon, the mood of the house had softened again. Hermione emerged from the floo brushing soot from her cloak, cherry pie in hand, cheeks pink from a quick after class chat over at The Burrow with Mrs. weasley.
Draco stood in the parlor waiting—he always seemed to be waiting for her now, anxious since the attack, hovering but trying not to smother.
Theo followed a few minutes later, tired-eyed but smiling, and pressed a brief kiss to her temple. “You survived another day of charms mastery?”
“Barely,” she said, laughing softly. “But I think Professor Wren is starting to tolerate Draco camping outside the classroom.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “I was guarding, not camping.”
Hermione smirked. “With the number of students sneaking peeks at you through the door, I’d call it a spectacle, not security.”
That earned a laugh even from him—and it felt good. It felt normal.
When Hermione suggested a stroll into Muggle London, Draco’s initial reaction was predictably wary.
“I can blend in fine, thank you very much,” he said, pulling on an all-black coat that made him look like he’d stepped out of a designer magazine rather than heading to a museum.
Theo, more relaxed, added with a grin, “If you can resist hexing anyone who looks at her too long, we’ll call it progress.”
They apparated near the Thames and walked the rest of the way. The art gallery was quiet, filled with soft echoes and the faint smell of varnish and stone.
The trio moved slowly through the exhibits, the hush pressing around them in a kind of peace they rarely found anymore in the wizarding world.
Hermione lingered before a portrait of a woman reading in a sunlit window. Her curls caught the light from the glass ceiling, and Draco found himself watching her instead of the painting.
“She looks a bit like you,” Theo murmured, standing beside her.
Hermione tilted her head. “She’s calmer than I ever am.”
“You have your moments,” Draco said quietly from behind her, and the softness in his voice made her turn.
His gaze was steady, gentle, and for once without that edge of fear or jealousy—just a quiet understanding. She smiled, small but real, and turned back to the painting.
In the next room, Theo reached out, brushing his fingers against hers as they paused before a sculpture—a swirl of marble and motion, three forms intertwined but distinct.
“It reminds me of us,” he said.
Hermione arched a brow. “Because it’s complicated?”
“Because it’s holding itself up by balance,” Theo replied. “One piece off-center and it would fall.”
Draco, standing a few paces away, studied the sculpture too. “It’s beautiful,” he said, his voice low, “but it looks fragile.”
Hermione stepped closer to him, close enough that the warmth of her arm brushed his coat. “Not fragile,” she said. “Just… carefully built.”
He looked down at her hand near his, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for it but didn’t.
Theo watched the almost-touch between them and smiled faintly, not with jealousy but rather quiet amusement.
“Careful,” he said softly. “You’ll start to like each other too much.”
Draco snorted. “Impossible.”
But his eyes stayed on her.
They left the gallery as the sun dipped behind the skyline, the sky a wash of lavender and fire.
Hermione looped her arm through Theo’s, and Draco fell into step on her other side, his hand occasionally brushing hers.
The bond hummed quietly between them—not urgent, just present—a faint awareness of shared warmth, shared calm.
“Do you ever think,” Hermione asked softly, “that we’re learning how to be normal again finally?”
Theo smiled. “If this is normal, I’ll take it.”
Draco didn’t answer right away. He looked ahead, expression unreadable, then finally said, “You make it feel possible.”
Her heart clenched.
The three of them stood on a bustling Muggle street corner, the air rich with spice and grilled corn.
Hermione was already halfway through her second taco when Draco looked down at the paper plate in his hands as though it were a volatile potion.
“This,” he said slowly, “is the most structurally unsound food I’ve ever encountered.”
Theo grinned. “That’s the point. You have to tilt it—see?” He demonstrated, expertly flipping the taco up toward his mouth and taking a neat bite.
Draco eyed him suspiciously. “That looks ridiculous. You look uncouth.”
Hermione muffled a laugh.
“It tastes amazing, though. Come on, you can’t claim to have experienced Muggle culture until you’ve eaten street food.”
He sighed as if preparing for martyrdom, angled the taco gingerly, and bit in.
A cascade of shredded lettuce and salsa immediately spilled onto his sleeve.
Theo nearly doubled over. “Merlin’s sake, you’ve defeated Death Eaters but lost to a tortilla!”
Draco dabbed at his arm with a napkin, affronted dignity intact.
“There’s no conceivable way to eat this gracefully.”
Hermione, still laughing, offered him a lime wedge. “That’s the beauty of it. You’re supposed to get messy.”
He gave her a long-suffering look, then took another cautious bite. His expression shifted—the brief flicker of surprise and reluctant pleasure.
“…All right,” he admitted, chewing. “It’s…acceptable.”
“Acceptable?” Theo echoed. “That’s practically a rave review.”
Hermione grinned. “We’ll make a Muggle out of you yet.”
Draco wiped his hands fastidiously, but there was warmth behind the drawl.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. One culinary humiliation per day.”
They tossed their napkins into the bin, Hermione slipping her arm through each of theirs as they walked away.
Behind them, the vendor shouted a cheerful “Come again!” and Draco muttered, “Not likely,” while secretly glancing back at the grill with mild curiosity.
By the time they stepped back through the manor’s gates, twilight sky had deepened to indigo blackness.
The house-elves had filled the fireplaces and turned down the lamps so that the hallways glowed amber and soft. Hermione slipped off her shoes at the door, sighing.
“I’d forgotten how loud London feels until you come back here.”
Theo hung his coat beside hers.
“Loud and grey. I think the marble sculpture was the brightest thing in the city.”
Draco set his gloves on the table, pretending indifference though a small, tired smile pulled at his mouth. “You two sound like sentimental tourists.”
Hermione shot him a grin over her shoulder.
“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy yourself. You were staring at that impressionist painting for a full five minutes.”
“I was analyzing the brushwrk,” he replied, deadpan.
Theo leaned in, voice conspiratorial.
“Sure you were. The artist’s model was wearing about as much fabric as a snitch.”
That earned a rare flush of color in Draco’s pale cheeks. Hermione laughed outright, the sound echoing down the corridor.
They ate in the small dining room instead of the grand hall—a quiet light meal of roasted vegetables, wine, and the kind of easy talk that comes when everyone is relaxed.
Draco poured the wine, his movements graceful but cautious; Hermione and Theo exchanged glances, silently plotting.
“Theo,” Hermione began, casual as she buttered bread, “did you know Draco refuses to admit he actually likes Muggle art?”
Theo’s eyes lit with mischief. “Is that so? I thought I saw him nearly buying a postcard.”
“I was not—”
“Maybe we should hang one in his study,” Hermione continued innocently. “Something tasteful. A landscape perhaps.”
Theo pretended to consider. “Or the painting of the model.”
Draco groaned, head dropping briefly into his hand while they dissolved into laughter. “You two are insufferable.”
“Admit it,” Hermione teased, “you adore us for it.”
He looked up, meeting her eyes across the table. “Unfortunately, that may be true.”
The admission—quiet, genuine—hung between them longer than the laughter did.
Theo broke the moment with a light toast. “To being insufferable and adored anyway.”
Their glasses clinked.
After dinner they migrated to their private suite parlor, wineglasses in hand. The fire snapped, shadows moving across the shelves of old books.
Hermione curled into the corner of the sofa, Theo lounging opposite her, Draco on the rug with his back against the hearth.
Hermione watched him, the fire gilding the pale strands of his hair, and felt a tug of affection. “You look comfortable there.”
He tilted his head back to look at her. “That’s because you two have been tormenting me all day. I’m regrouping.”
Theo smirked. “You’ll need more than regrouping if you think we’re finished.”
Draco’s brows arched. “Should I be concerned?”
Hermione leaned forward, chin resting on her knee. “Only that you’re outnumbered.”
Theo added, “And out-witted.”
Draco made a show of offended dignity, rising to his feet. “Then I surrender. What are your terms, my captors?”
Hermione tried to hide her smile behind her glass. “Simple. You sit here—” she patted the sofa between them “—and stop brooding.”
He hesitated, but the teasing warmth in both their faces left no room for retreat. He sat. Hermione tucked a throw over their laps, and for a while they simply watched the fire together deep in thought.
Theo watched them for a beat, then leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “See? Balance,” he murmured, eyes half-closed. “Just like the sculpture.”
Draco shot him a sidelong look, but the corner of his mouth lifted. “Maybe you’re right.”
The fire popped, sending up a spark that flickered before fading. The three of them sat together in its glow—no drama, no danger—just the rare, sweet feeling of equilibrium.
Notes:
Still looking for theme ideas for the upcoming gala!
Chapter 134: The Note
Chapter Text
The morning had started perfectly ordinary.
Hermione had woken to a spring breeze coming through the curtains, Draco still half-asleep beside her, his hand draped loosely over her waist.
Theo had already left for the early healer shift, and for once there’d been no owls, no alarms—just quiet all morning.
By midmorning, she and Draco were walking through the iron gates of The Granger Center, their footsteps crunching over a pebbled driveway together.
Children’s laughter drifted from the courtyard where volunteers were unpacking toy donations.
“It looks good,” Draco said, holding the door open for her. “You’ve built something solid here.”
She smiled up at him. “It’s strange, isn’t it? That this used to be my childhood home.”
His expression softened. “It doesn’t feel haunted by memories anymore.”
They moved through the foyer, Hermione nodding greetings to the staff who were still decorating a corner with spring garlands. Everything looked perfect—until they reached her office.
Hermione slid the key into the lock. It resisted, gritty, as though someone had forced it before. A twinge of unease rippled through her chest.
“Draco,” she murmured.
He was already stepping forward. “Move back.”
He opened the door. The sight on the other side stole her breath.
Papers were scattered across the floor like fallen feathers. A bookshelf had been overturned, its contents broken spines and glass.
Her framed photograph of her parents was shattered, the picture beneath it slashed cleanly in half.
At her desk, a sheet of parchment weighted by a plucked quill waited in the center.
You should have stayed gone, Mudblood.
Hermione felt the word like a slap.
Draco’s face drained of color, then flushed an angry, dangerous red.
“Whoever did this,” he said tightly, “was inside for a while. This isn’t a smash-and-grab. It was thought-out.”
He flicked his wand, scanning for wards or hexes. Nothing. Just the hollow echo of violation.
Hermione sank onto the edge of the desk, shaking, hands gripping the wood.
“I thought it was over. After the attack… I thought nit was a one off…”
He crouched in front of her, taking her cold fingers. “You are safe now. I’m here. They’re already long gone.”
Within twenty minutes, the office was crawling with Ministry personnel. Uniformed Aurors set perimeter wards while forensic teams moved through with steady wands.
Harry arrived in a rush of green flame, hair windswept, tie crooked.
“Hermione!” he said, striding forward. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” Her voice cracked. “Just shaken.”
Draco stood stiffly at her side, arms crossed, wand still visible in his sleeve.
“We’ll find who did this,” he promised, scanning the chaos. “No magical residue anywhere. Whoever it was, they masked themselves well.”
He frowned at the slashed photo on the floor.
“Same signature as the wand traces from the attack—non-magical intrusion, cloaked by untraceable charms. We’re dealing with someone who knows both worlds.”
Draco’s voice was sharp. “And clearly obsessed with her.”
Harry shot him a look but nodded grimly. “We’ll post Auror surveillance at the Center whenever someone is working. And I’ll have Kingsley authorize extra protective runes on the outer gates of the manor.”
Hermione managed a whisper. “Thank you.”
Harry squeezed her shoulder gently. “Go home. We’ll finish here. I’ll send word tonight.”
Outside, the sky had darkened though it was barely noon. Hermione let Draco steer her through the crowd forming outside the room, his hand firm at her back, guiding her toward the floo grate in the lobby.
The noise of the Aurors faded into static behind them.
As the flames flared around them and the manor’s calm swallowed them again, Hermione exhaled shakily.
Draco didn’t speak, just pulled her close, holding her there longer than usual. She felt the tremor in his hand against her spine—rage and fear mixed.
“I shouldn’t have let you come here,” he said against her hair.
She pulled back, meeting his eyes. “Don’t be silly. This isn’t your fault, Draco.”
“It feels like it,” he admitted. “Everything I touch seems to put someone in danger.”
“Stop,” she said firmly. “You protect me. That’s all you’ve done since the day we were matched.”
For a moment, neither moved. Then the fireplace flared again—Theo’s return from St. Mungo’s.
Theo stepped into the parlor still in healer’s robes, immediately catching the tension in the bond. “What happened?”
Draco started to answer, but Hermione spoke first.
“My office was vandalized. There was a note.”
Theo’s face hardened. “Bloody hell.”
Draco turned, already pulling his cloak from the stand.
“I’m going back out. I want to talk to Harry, see the report myself.”
Theo caught his arm. “Draco—”
“No. Someone broke into her office, threatened her, and the Ministry still doesn’t know how. I’m not sitting here.”
Hermione stepped between them, touched his sleeve. “Please don’t do anything reckless.”
He met her gaze, jaw tight. “Reckless would be doing nothing.”
Then, softer: “I’ll be back soon.”
The fire swallowed him in green flame.
Notes:
Is Draco about to have another full on break down over her safety?
Chapter 135: The Unsaid Apology
Chapter Text
The next few weekdays passed in tense silences, and frustrating dead ends. The Ministry was no closer now than they had been the day it happened to figuring out who the intruder was.
Draco was vigilant, accompanying Hermione everywhere she went, much to her increasing annoyance.
The manor had not known real peace for days.
Since the break-in at the Granger Center, Draco had transformed the place into a fortress. Extra wards shimmered faintly at the windows, and two house-elves rotated nightly patrols of the gardens.
Hermione could feel his vigilance—the way he lingered in doorways, shadowed her when she left for class, and appeared in every corridor just as she thought she’d gotten a moment alone.
At first she told herself it was sweet.
By the third day, it was suffocating.
Even the bond hummed differently now—tight, strained, as if her own anxiety was reverberating back through the tether and amplifying his.
That Friday afternoon, she found him in the library surrounded by stacks of parchments—Luxembourg portfolios, she assumed—his sleeves rolled up, hair mussed, a furrow carved between his brows.
“Draco,” she began carefully, “we need to talk about this weekend.”
He looked up immediately. “Yes. You’re coming with me.”
It wasn’t a question.
Hermione folded her arms. “No, I’m not. You’ve got business meetings, and Theo’s working. I’ll be fine here.”
His quill clattered onto the desk. “Fine? The last time you said you’d be fine, someone broke into your office and left a death threat.”
Her stomach twisted—but she stood her ground. “You can’t keep me locked away every time something terrible happens.”
“I’m not locking you away,” he said sharply. “I’m keeping you alive.”
Their bond flared—heat under her skin, the sharp spike of his fear bleeding through. She could feel how real it was: the panic that something might happen again, the guilt that he hadn’t stopped it the first time. But underneath it all was anger, and that hit her own nerves like a spark to tinder.
“You’re not my jailor, Draco!” she snapped.
He stood, towering over the desk now, voice rising. “And you’re not invincible, Hermione!”
The air in the library crackled, the lamps flickering.
Their bond pulsed hot and erratic—like three heartbeats falling out of rhythm. She could sense Theo far away at St. Mungo’s, his magic tugging distantly in concern though he couldn’t have known exactly why.
Hermione took a step closer, trembling. “You can’t keep treating me like I’m breakable—”
“You are breakable!” Draco’s voice broke on the word. “Do you have any idea what it felt like, finding that note? Thinking I could lose you, that someone might take you from me the way Astoria was taken?”
His breath hitched. “I can’t— I won’t go through that again.”
For a moment she faltered, the raw grief in his eyes cracking her own anger.
Then the chandelier above them shivered—magic reacting to the imbalance. A book slid off a shelf, another followed, until parchment rustled in a breeze that wasn’t there.
“Draco,” she whispered, “you’re losing control—”
“So are you!” he threw back.
And he was right. Her power had begun to answer his unconsciously, the bond feeding on their emotions until the room glowed faintly around them, a trembling golden light linking their rings like threads of fire.
The moment felt endless—then everything went still.
The chandelier burst, scattering harmless sparks that drifted down like snow.
Draco stared at her across the mess. His breathing was ragged, his shoulders tight with restraint.
“This—this bond reacts to every bloody emotion,” he said hoarsely. “We’re supposed to keep it balanced, and all I ever do is tip it toward chaos.”
Hermione’s anger ebbed away, replaced by an ache that was older than fear. She crossed the room and put her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her.
“You’re not the only one in this bond,” she said softly. “You don’t have to carry it alone.”
His eyes closed, lashes trembling. “Then why does it feel like I’m the only one who can stop it from hurting you?”
“Because you care about me,” she whispered. “And caring isn’t supposed to feel safe all the time.”
The bond steadied, the angry heat receding into a low, steady hum. She could feel Theo’s distant relief through it, a gentle pulse that helped pull them both back to center.
They stood there in silence, surrounded by scattered books and glass, until Draco finally exhaled. “You’re really not coming with me?”
“I can’t,” she said, calmer now. “You’ll be gone a bunch in meetings, and I have to keep working on my charms theory paper, and help at the Center. But I’ll ward the house, and Theo will be home a bit to check in.”
He looked like he wanted to argue again, then just rubbed a hand over his face. “You’ll owl me twice a day.”
“I will.”
“And you’ll wear the necklace.”
“I already am,” she said, tugging it gently so he could see the faint silver gleam at her throat.
Something in him broke then—not in anger, but in surrender. He reached out, his thumb brushing her jaw. “You drive me mad, you know that?”
She smiled faintly. “You’re not exactly easy yourself.”
That earned a breath of laughter, shaky but real. “Merlin help us all.”
By the time Theo returned late that afternoon, the library had been restored, and Hermione was curled up on the sofa with a blanket, her ring faintly aglow again—steady, balanced.
Theo crouched beside her.
“I felt it earlier,” he murmured. “Like a storm that passed through.”
“It did,” she said quietly. “But we’re okay now I think.”
From upstairs, she could sense Draco pacing, his presence a quiet burn through the bond. She smiled faintly.
“He’ll be impossible tomorrow.”
Theo chuckled. “He’s impossible every day.”
Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder. “We’re all impossible.”
Theo kissed her hair, the bond thrumming between all three of them like a heartbeat that—despite everything—was still whole.
The manor was still half-asleep when Hermione woke.
Gray light filtered through the curtains, cool and uncertain, like the breath between storm and calm.
Beside her, the space in the bed was already empty—Draco had risen before dawn. She could sense him downstairs, the faint hum of his magic pacing through the study.
The bond tugged faintly in her chest, warm and anxious all at once.
She sat up, drew the covers around her, and watched the dew crawling along the windowpanes. The events of last night flickered through her mind—the shattered chandelier, the bond flaring out of control, the way he had looked at her afterward as though he were terrified of himself.
He’d tried to keep his distance after that, likely sleeping in his own room for what little remained of the night.
But she could feel him through the tether.
Theo was gone again, on a short shift at St. Mungo’s, his distant presence steady and reassuring—his way of grounding them even from afar. That quiet sense of him gave her courage.
She got out of bed, dressed simply, and packed a small bag.
Draco was bent over the hearth in the study, reviewing travel parchments, when she appeared in the doorway. His coat was thrown over the chair, his tie half-done, eyes rimmed red from exhaustion.
He looked up sharply when he saw the bag slung over her shoulder.
“What’s that?”
Hermione smiled softly. “My overnight things.”
For a long heartbeat, he didn’t speak. He just stared, as though the meaning hadn’t quite settled. Then his expression cracked—relief first, then disbelief, then something raw that caught in his throat.
“You’re coming with me?” His voice was hoarse. “I thought—after last night—you didn’t want—”
“I don’t want to fight anymore,” she said simply.
“And honestly, you’re right about one thing: it’s safer if I’m not alone. Theo’s working mostly anyway, and… I could use the time away, too.”
He stepped toward her slowly, almost as if afraid she might vanish.
The bond pulsed warm and steady now—Theo’s faint approval humming at the edges, distant but felt. He seemed relieved that the two of them had found balance again.
Draco brushed a hand through his hair and exhaled shakily. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
Hermione reached out, resting a palm against his chest. “I think I do.”
They found Theo in the kitchen shortly after, summoned through the floo by Draco’s impatient call before they left. He appeared still in his healer robes, tired but smiling faintly.
“So you talked him down?” he asked, eyebrow raised at Hermione.
She gave a small laugh. “Something like that.”
Theo glanced at the bag over her shoulder, then back to Draco, who looked uncharacteristically bashful. “Ah,” he said knowingly. “So she’s going with you.”
“Apparently, yes,” Draco murmured, voice quieter than usual. “She surprised me.”
Theo stepped forward and touched Hermione’s cheek gently.
“Good. I’ll feel better knowing one of us isn’t worrying sick. And you”—he turned to Draco—“keep her safe. Try not to get yourselves arrested for hexing reporters or foreign officials.”
Draco gave a humorless half-smile. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”
Theo leaned forward to kiss Hermione’s temple, then clasped Draco’s shoulder. “Send me a Patronus when you land.”
They both nodded. The bond thrummed with three shared heartbeats—uneasy but synchronized, like a lullaby after chaos.
They stepped outside onto the dew covered lawn. The portkey glimmered on the stone bench—a small bronze coin etched with the Malfoy crest.
Draco reached for her gloved hand.
“You’re sure?” he asked softly, almost reverently. “It’s dull, mostly business meetings and paperwork. You’ll be bored.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “I just want us to stop living like we’re one step away from falling apart over stupid fights.”
His jaw clenched as emotion welled in his eyes. For a moment, words failed him. Then he bent his head, pressing his forehead to hers.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “For trusting me again.”
She smiled faintly. “We’re married, Draco. Trust is sort of part of the arrangement.”
He huffed a shaky laugh, the tension bleeding from his shoulders. They touched the portkey together—and with a rush of magic, the manor vanished.
They landed in the marble foyer of a stately hotel overlooking the frosted city. A chandelier glittered overhead, sunlight refracting off crystal and snow outside the tall windows.
Hermione stumbled slightly; Draco steadied her, his hand lingering at her waist longer than necessary.
“Welcome to Luxembourg,” he murmured.
Her eyes roamed the space—warm gold light, polished floors, the faint scent of pine smoke. “It’s beautiful.”
He nodded absently, still looking at her. “You make everything look that way.”
She flushed and glanced away, pretending to study the front desk while the bond hummed bright, steady, and embarrassingly pleased.
She settled onto a sofa to read, while Draco prepped for his meetings at the desk nearby.
Hours later, when his business meetings had ended for the day, Draco returned to find her still reading by the fire in their suite. He paused in the doorway, something soft crossing his face—a kind of awe he rarely allowed himself to show.
“You came, and your still here” he said again, quietly, as if testing the reality.
Hermione smiled. “You already said that.”
“I’m still trying to believe it.”
He sat beside her on the sofa, close but not touching, the firelight flickering across his profile.
“I know I can be overbearing,” he admitted. “I just… I panic when I think of losing you.”
“I know,” she said gently. “And I panic when I think of losing myself.”
Their eyes met, the honesty between them stretching out like a fragile thread that somehow held.
“I don’t want to live in fear anymore,” she whispered.
“Then we won’t,” he promised.
She leaned into him, and he wrapped an arm around her, holding her as the city lights shimmered through the window. Through the bond, Theo’s warmth pulsed very faintly from abroad—a steady heartbeat of reassurance and love from home.
After room service of a creamy potato cheddar soup with crusty bread, and a fruit tart for dessert, they fell asleep together, tangled under the thick hotel duvet.
Hermione stirred, half-dreaming, as a slow, wet heat bloomed between her thighs.
Draco’s tongue dragged languidly up her slit, parting her folds with deliberate reverence, the flat of it lapping at her clit in unhurried circles.
She gasped awake, hips twitching, fingers instinctively threading into his tousled hair. The bond pulsed with his quiet devotion—no words, just the slick sound of his mouth on her, the cool night air kissing her nipples as they hardened under the sheet.
“Draco—” she breathed, voice thick with sleep and sudden need.
He hummed against her, the vibration sending a jolt through her core, tongue flicking faster now, teasing her entrance before sliding back to suck her clit gently.
Two fingers slipped inside, curling slow and deep, coated in her juices, stretching her with loving ease.
The wet slide of his fingers and the soft slurp of his mouth filled the silence, her thighs trembling as pleasure coiled tight.
Her orgasm rolled through her in quiet waves—no scream, just a shuddering sigh, pussy clenching around his fingers as she came.
Draco licked her clean with tender strokes, then crawled up, pressing a soft, salty kiss to her lips.
“What?” she murmured drowsily.
He smiled faintly. “Just making sure you’re still here.”
Her hand sought his, fingers intertwining. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He kissed her knuckles, voice low and reverent. “Good.”
The bond hummed softly between them—balanced, warm, alive as they both drifted back off to sleep.
Notes:
Love to hear from readers in the comments to know people are still reading this =P
Chapter 136: To Be Loved
Notes:
Away from England and the danger something stirs.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sunlight spilled into their hotel suite, soft and golden, catching on the white linen sheets. Hermione woke to the faint clink of expensive bone china and the scent of coffee.
Draco stood by the window in a pressed black shirt, his hair still damp from the shower, setting out breakfast on the table near the window—eggs, croissants, fruit, and strong espresso.
“You made breakfast?” she murmured, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.
He turned, lips twitching. “Technically, I ordered it. But I arranged the plates. That counts as effort.”
Hermione smiled, padding over to the table. The view outside stretched across the cobbled streets of Luxembourg City, the rooftops shining under the early spring sun. “You’re spoiling me.”
Draco poured her coffee and passed it across the table. “You deserve it. Especially after agreeing to this trip.”
She met his eyes as she accepted the cup. “It’s not a hardship, Draco. It’s… nice, actually. Quiet.”
The bond hummed faintly—contentment, affection, relief. It wasn’t the frantic pulse of fear anymore; it felt warm, even. She could feel Theo’s very distant steadiness too, like a heartbeat miles away but still part of them both.
They ate in companionable silence for a while. When she reached for a croissant, Draco caught her hand briefly, thumb brushing over the glowing ring on her finger.
“It’s steadier now,” he said quietly. “The bond.”
Hermione nodded. “We’re steadier this morning.”
He smiled—a small, private thing. “Let’s keep it that way.”
After breakfast, they descended into the marble corridors of the Malfoy Investments branch office, located inside an elegant townhouse off Place Guillaume II.
Draco’s business façade slid into place the moment they stepped through the door—shoulders straight, expression impassive, the polished heir once more.
He ushered her toward a smaller adjoining study lined with French windows. “My meeting’s through there,” he said, nodding toward the mahogany doors. “You can use this space. I’ll only be an hour. Or two, I swear.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “I brought work.”
She settled at the desk with her stack of Charms mastery research to condense for her paper due next week, quill scratching softly while muffled voices echoed from the next room.
The space was serene, scented faintly of citrus and parchment, and for a moment she felt almost normal—just a scholar, not the most known witch in Europe tangled in a magically bound triad.
Her thoughts drifted to the bond—how Draco’s emotions brushed faintly at the edge of her awareness. Focus. Determination. Irritation—he must be negotiating. Then, beneath it, a flicker of warmth sent from Theo.
She smiled to herself, shaking her head.
By noon, Draco’s voice rose in the corridor, curt goodbyes and the sound of footsteps retreating. The office door opened, and he appeared—tie loosened, exhaustion softening his edges.
“Finished?” Hermione asked, setting her quill down.
He leaned against the doorframe, eyes roaming over her papers. “If you ever want a side job writing contracts for me, I could use that attention to detail.”
“Flattery, Mr. Malfoy?” she teased.
He straightened, offering his hand.
“Come on, Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott. I’m liberating you from essays. There’s an entire city outside that’s been very patient.”
She hesitated, then smiled, slipping her hand into his. “Where are we going?”
He smirked. “You’ll see.”
They started in the city center, winding through the cobbled streets of Luxembourg’s old quarter. The air smelled faintly of fresh bread and spring rain.
Hermione’s hand brushed Draco’s occasionally as they walked, a simple touch that sent little ripples of warmth through the bond.
He showed her the golden-roofed palaces and narrow alleys filled with shopfronts, then led her into a small art gallery tucked between two cafés.
Inside, sunlight streamed across oil paintings and sculptures—some wizarding, some Muggle. The owner, recognizing Draco, greeted them in rapid French.
“You didn’t tell me you spoke French,” Hermione said, surprised.
He shrugged, faintly smug. “My mother insisted I learn for diplomacy. It’s occasionally useful… for impressing brilliant witches, for instance.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. “You’re impossible.”
“Admit it works.”
“Sometimes,” she allowed.
They wandered next toward the Adolphe Bridge, its massive stone arches spanning the deep valley below. The wind was cool, the view breathtaking—green hills, rivers glittering like glass. Hermione leaned over the railing, hair whipping around her face.
“Beautiful,” she said softly.
Draco stepped closer behind her, hands gripping the railing beside hers. “It is,” he said, but his gaze was fixed on her, not the view.
The bond stirred—soft, gilded, alive. He could feel her contentment, her trust.
She could feel his awe, his quiet fear of breaking something precious. For a long moment, they just breathed together, the wind tugging at their clothes.
“I’m glad you came with me,” he said finally. “I don’t say that enough.”
She glanced up at him, eyes shining. “You’re saying it now… again”
He smiled faintly. “It still amazes me, sometimes, that you chose to stay… in all of this crazy the Ministry forced on you.”
“Of course I stayed,” she said. “We all did. That’s what this bond means.”
His hand brushed hers, fingertips lingering. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not,” she said honestly. “But it’s worth it.”
They stopped at a café along the river, sharing pastries and wine while the world drifted by. Draco looked uncharacteristically relaxed, one hand draped casually over the back of her chair.
“So what did you think of your first Malfoy business trip?” he asked, eyes glinting.
She smirked. “The meetings sounded dreadful, but the company’s excellent.”
He chuckled softly. “Careful. You’re going to ruin my reputation as an arrogant snob.”
“You’ll recover.”
Their laughter mingled with the warm evening air, and for once the bond between them felt exactly as it should—balanced, radiant, full of promise. Hermione reached across the table and brushed his hand lightly, tracing the faintly glowing ring at his finger.
“Thank you for today,” she said.
He tilted his head. “For what?”
“For letting me see this side of you.”
He looked at her for a long time, something unspoken flickering behind his eyes—want, affection, the ache of something deeper forming.
They returned to the suite later, pleasantly tired. Draco poured pre-dinner wine while Hermione changed into soft robes, then joined him on the balcony where the city glittered beneath them like starlight.
He handed her a glass. “To… surviving Luxembourg.”
She smiled, clinking her glass against his. “To not fighting for once.”
The night air carried warmth, and the magic between them settled like a calm tide. He reached for her hand, thumb stroking the inside of her wrist.
“Tomorrow we go home,” he said quietly. “Back to Theo, to the noise. But tonight feels… different.”
Hermione turned toward him, meeting his gaze. “It feels right.”
The bond pulsed—a quiet heartbeat of shared emotion: relief, closeness, something edging toward love. Neither spoke again, but they stood there for a long time, watching the lights below and feeling, finally, like equals.
Evening draped itself over Luxembourg like a velvet cloak, and the city glittered beneath them—golden lights scattered across the hills, the faint hum of conversation rising from the streets below.
Draco had chosen a rooftop restaurant near the old fortifications, where enchanted glass panels shielded them from the cool spring air but left the panoramic view untouched. A single table stood near the edge, candlelight flickering across fine china and two half-full glasses of white wine.
Hermione sat across from him, the soft city glow reflected in her eyes.
“You outdid yourself this time,” she said, smiling. “You’ve set the bar impossibly high for Theo now.”
Draco chuckled under his breath, swirling his wine. “Good. He’s competitive—it’ll keep him on his toes.”
Their laughter faded into a comfortable silence. The faint strains of a violin from the dining terrace below drifted around them, romantic without trying too hard. It felt… peaceful.
Hermione leaned her elbows on the table. “Hard to believe we’re going home tomorrow, I’ll miss the peace here.”
“Harder to believe you agreed to come with me in the first place,” he replied softly. His tone carried something wistful—grateful, almost reverent.
She tilted her head. “You thought I’d let you leave angry?”
“I thought you’d had enough of me hovering.”
“I had,” she said, smiling. “But I realized hovering can mean ‘I care.’ It’s your love language, apparently.”
He laughed quietly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Dinner came and went in quiet elegance—local lamb with honeyed potatoes, a bottle of Bordeaux that Draco insisted on selecting, dessert too rich for either of them to finish.
But beneath the calm surface, Hermione could feel it—the tremor through the bond. His magic wasn’t restless like anger; it was anxious, stretched thin.
When he poured more wine, his hand wasn’t quite steady.
“Draco,” she said softly. “You’ve been distant all evening. What’s wrong?”
He froze, eyes on his glass. “Nothing.”
“Don’t do that,” she said gently. “Not with me.”
The bond pulsed faintly—her concern brushing against his fear. His jaw tightened. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, very quietly:
“I keep thinking something’s going to happen to you.”
Hermione blinked, taken aback. “Draco…”
“No, listen.” He set the glass down hard, crystal clinking.
“The attack at the Center, the break-in—every bloody time I think it’s over, there’s something new. And every time, it feels like I’m back there again—watching someone die and not being able to stop it.”
Her chest constricted. “You’re talking about the war… about Astoria?”
“I’m talking about you,” he said sharply, then exhaled, pressing his fingers to his eyes. “Merlin, I’m making a fool of myself.”
“You’re not,” she whispered. “You’re scared.”
He laughed bitterly. “Of course I’m scared. You’re—” He broke off, shaking his head. “You’re everything I never thought I’d deserve.”
She rose quietly and moved to his side of the table, sliding into the chair beside him. The bond thrummed softly, steadying as her hand found his on the table.
“Draco,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve already saved me more times than you know. But I don’t need you to be my shield. I just need you to be my partner.”
His eyes glistened. “What if I can’t be both?”
“Then we’ll figure it out together,” she said firmly. “That’s what we do.”
For a long moment, he just looked at her—really looked—like he was memorizing her face. Then his fingers laced with hers, trembling slightly.
“You make it sound so easy,” he murmured.
“It’s not,” she said with a soft smile. “But you’re worth the effort.”
That broke something in him. The wall he’d kept up for years cracked, and his breath came out uneven.
“This is—Merlin, it’s so damn hard, Hermione,” he said quietly. “Because I’ve realized recently that I—”
He stopped, swallowing hard. The words hovered on his lips, terrified of their own weight.
She squeezed his hand. “Say it.”
He met her gaze, pale eyes shining with something raw and unguarded. “I love you.”
The words were a confession, a surrender, a promise all at once.
For a heartbeat, she couldn’t breathe. Not from shock—she’d known it—but because hearing it out loud pulled the truth out of her own chest.
The bond flared warm and bright, thrumming between them like golden threads in her veins.
“I know,” she said softly. “I’ve known for a while.”
He looked stunned. “You—”
“I love you too,” she whispered. “And I think maybe I did even before I wanted to admit it.”
He blinked rapidly, like the words didn’t fit in his world yet. “You—Hermione—”
She cut him off with a small, shaky smile. “Don’t overthink it.”
He let out a disbelieving laugh, the tension breaking at last. “I always overthink everything.”
“Then stop,” she murmured.
The city lights reflected in his eyes as he reached for her face, thumb brushing her cheek. She leaned into the touch instinctively, her heart pounding in her chest.
“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, so close she could feel his breath.
She nodded. “Completely.”
He kissed her.
It wasn’t frantic or hungry—it was slow, reverent, the kind of kiss that felt like the air shifted around them.
The bond surged, flooding with warmth and belonging. For the first time, Draco’s love didn’t feel like fear or protection; it felt like home.
When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless, foreheads resting together.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.
She smiled softly. “Maybe not. But you have me anyway.”
He laughed quietly, and she felt the echo of it through their connection—the first real, unguarded joy he’d let himself feel in weeks.
They stayed there long after the plates were cleared, her hand still in his, watching the stars over the old city walls. Every so often, he would glance at her as though making sure she was real.
When they finally rose to leave, the bond between them was warm and quiet—like a heartbeat shared between two souls finally, finally in rhythm.
And for the first time since the attack, since the fear and the fighting, Hermione felt it too.
They were safe.
Together.
Notes:
Finally, right?!
Chapter 137: Home
Chapter Text
When the green flare of the floo faded, Nott Manor seemed to exhale. The familiar scent of stone and wood, the echo of magic in the halls, it all felt grounding after the restless hum of travel.
Theo was already waiting in the parlor, sleeves rolled up, a cup of tea untouched beside him. The moment Draco and Hermione stepped through the hearth, he looked up—and the tension in his shoulders eased.
“You’re back.”
The words were simple, but the relief behind them made Hermione’s throat tighten. She smiled and brushed soot from her sleeve.
“We are. In one piece.”
Theo’s eyes lingered on them a moment longer. He didn’t need to ask what had changed; he could feel it.
The bond that connected the three of them was quieter now—steady, stronger, warm, no longer the jagged current of fear that had filled the manor before they left.
“You both feel different,” he said softly.
Draco hesitated, then nodded once. “Better,” he admitted. “Balanced, maybe.”
Theo’s answering smile was small but genuine. “Then the trip was worth it.”
They moved together through the house—the ordinary motions of arriving home: dropping cloaks by the door, calling to the house-elves for tea.
It was quiet, the kind of quiet that only comes after chaos has burned itself out.
In the kitchen, Hermione unpacked the gifts she’d brought—a tin of spiced tea from Luxembourg, and a stack of new stain resistant parchment for Theo’s notes.
Draco poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, watching them both with a tired kind of affection.
For the first time in weeks, no one felt like they had to guard the other or argue.
Theo broke the silence. “While you were gone, the house felt wrong,” he said. “Empty. But now—” he trailed off, searching for words.
Hermione supplied them gently. “Now it feels whole again.”
He nodded. “Exactly.”
Later, they gathered in the library, a fire burning low. The three of them sat clos, Draco stretched out on one end of the couch, Hermione between them, Theo’s hand resting lightly over hers.
No one spoke for a long time. The bond itself filled the space between words: calm, steady pulses of shared emotion.
Draco finally said, “Luxembourg reminded me what it’s like not to live in fear all the time. To breathe.”
Theo’s gaze softened. “You needed that. Both of you did.”
Hermione looked at the flames, her voice low. “I think we all did. It’s been nothing but noise since the Center attack. It felt good to just… exist.”
The fire popped, for a moment they sat in silence again, and in that stillness, the bond hummed like quiet magic in their veins—a steady rhythm, warm and happy.
When the hour grew late, Theo leaned back and said, “Tomorrow will come fast. The Ministry, the Center, the world again.”
Draco gave a faint, weary smile. “Let it. Tonight, it’s just us.”
Hermione nodded, a soft sound of agreement. She drew her knees up on the couch and let her head rest against Theo’s shoulder.
Draco reached out and tucked a loose curl behind her ear—a simple, unthinking gesture of care.
No one needed to speak; the silence was enough. In it was everything unsaid: I missed you. We’re safe. We love eah other. We’ll face whatever comes next together.
The clock ticked softly, the fire dimmed, and the warmth between them filled the space that fear had emptied. Eventually Draco pulled them up and off to their rooms.
Candlelight flickered across the deep burgundy silk sheets on the four-poster bed and the polished mahogany furniture. The air was scented with the faint, comforting aroma of mint from a smoldering incense stick on the nightstand, mingling with the warm, natural musk of their bodies as Hermione, and Theo lounged together.
The triad bond hummed with a loving, sensual energy. Hermione’s affectionate curiosity a gentle spark in their chests, Draco’s possessive adoration a steady flame. Theo’s tender devotion a soft pulse that made their golden rings glow faintly.
Draco was absent for the moment, stepping out to handle a quick owl from the Ministry, leaving Theo and Hermione alone, the bond sharing Draco’s brief contentment from outside without intrusion.
Hermione lay back against a pile of pillows, her silk robe loosely tied, the fabric parting slightly to reveal the curve of her breasts and the smooth expanse of her thigh.
She smiled at Theo, who knelt between her legs, his lean, muscular body bare, his wide cock hard and throbbing, pre-cum beading at the slit in shiny droplets.
The piercing, a bold choice Theo had made years ago, was a focal point of their intimacy lately, its sensations a unique discovery Hermione had been growing fond of.
"Come here, my love," Hermione murmured, voice breathy with affection, pulling him down for a deep kiss, tongue tracing his with slow passion as her hand tried to wrap around his girth.
Her thumb brushed the cool metal of the barbell, feeling it shift slightly under her touch.
Theo groaned into her mouth, the bond pulsing with his love like a warm tide, his hips rocking gently into her hand.
"Gods, Hermione your killing me…" he whispered lovingly, kissing down her neck as he untied her robe, exposing her breasts to the cool air, nipples pebbling hard.
He took one into his mouth with adoring sucks, tongue swirling the peak, while his hand parted her thighs, fingers dipping into her slick folds.
Her pussy was already dripping for him, walls clenching around two fingers as he curled them slowly.
"I love you so much—feel how wet you are for me, ready for my cock." He aligned himself, the massive head nudging her entrance, pressing with deliberate slowness.
The bond shared her building sexual tension as her pussy lips stretched taut around the tip, the girth forcing her walls wide, the apadravya piercing's metal bar scraping her inner rim with a sharp, tingling drag that made her gasp, "Theo—it’s so intense, that piercing... feels good already."
Theo paused just inside her, the head notched, his breath ragged with love as the sensations hit him—the warm, velvet grip of her pussy clenching around his pierced head, the barbell shifting slightly with each flutter of her walls, sending electric tingles through his glans like sparks from a spell.
"My angel, I love you—feel that piercing inside you? It's like it's alive, scraping your walls so gently, making every inch more sensitive for me," he murmured filthily but tenderly, inching forward.
The barbell was dragging along her inner tissues with a slow, metallic friction that amplified every sensation—the cool bar warming rapidly in her heat, vibrating subtly with his pulse, sending jolts of pleasure up his shaft like firecrackers.
"Fuck, love—your pussy's hugging the bar so tight, that drag... it's heaven, making my head throb harder, loving you deeper."
Hermione moaned, her hands clutching his back, the bond sharing his sensations like echoes.
"Theo—yes, the piercing... it's so good, love you so much," she panted, hips rocking to take more, her walls yielding as he pushed deeper, the barbell's bar gliding along her G-spot with a sharp, a metallic rub made her cry out in a wimper.
"Gods, my love—your G-spot's rubbing the bar just right, it's like electricity shooting through my cock, making me feel every flutter of you," he groaned lovingly, thrusting slow and deep.
The piercing dragged back and forth with each glide, the metal warming to her body temperature but retaining a slight cool edge that contrasted her heat, heightening the friction for both.
As they built rhythm, Theo's thrusts turned fervent but loving, the piercing scraping her depths with each plunge, sending waves of intensified pleasure through his cockhead, his veins bulging against her walls in throbbing counterpoint.
"Fuck, love—the way your pussy's clenching around the bar, it's making me feel everything twice as intense, that scrape... gods, I love you, gonna cum so hard for you," he panted, voice thick with emotion, kissing her deeply as her climax hit first.
Her walls convulsed in rippling spasms around his girth, the piercing amplifying the squeeze into electric jolts that pushed him over too, spilling hot ropes deep inside with a loving roar.
They collapsed, entwined, whispering "I love you" as the bond glowed with unity.
Notes:
So much plot coming soon.
Chapter 138: Witch Weekly
Chapter Text
The house was still, the kind of calm that comes only when everyone feels content.
Draco had risen early and brewed tea; Theo shuffled in next, still half-asleep from his healer shift, and Hermione followed, hair loose from sleep and eyes warm.
No one spoke at first. The quiet hum of the bond between them was enough—gentle reassurance, calm after weeks of strain.
Then an owl swooped through the open window, scattering toast crumbs and feathers. The letter dropped neatly onto the table, bearing the seal of the Department of Magical Family Affairs—and, trailing behind, a glossy issue of Witch Weekly.
Theo raised a brow. “Well. That looks promising.”
Draco groaned. “Or catastrophic.”
Hermione sighed, breaking the wax seal on the top letter.
The parchment was heavy, the language as dense and polite as only Ministry bureaucracy could make it.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Ministry of Magic – Department of Magical Family Affairs
Notice of Scheduled Evaluation
To: The Honorable Malfoy–Granger–Nott Triadic Household
Pursuant to Section 9, Article 12 of the Triadic Registry Act, this letter serves as formal notification that your next compliance evaluation is scheduled for May 1st at 10 o’clock a.m., Conference Chamber B, Level Two, Ministry of Magic.
Attendance of all bonded parties is required. Please bring any relevant documentation regarding magical stability and shared household records.
We remind you that evaluations are a standard procedure to ensure the health and balance of magical unions.
Respectfully,
Baldric Tull,
Senior Clerk, Department of Magical Family Affairs
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Hermione skimmed the signature, exhaling. “That’s sooner than I expected.”
Theo nodded. “They must have pushed everyone’s schedule forward again. They’re obsessed with ‘bond stability.’ ”
Draco leaned back, arms folded. “As long as they don’t try to measure our happiness with a clipboard, we’ll survive.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “That’s not how the Ministry works, Draco. They’ll try anyway.”
Hermione unfolded the magazine next. The front page shimmered with a moving photograph: she and Draco stepping out of a marble-fronted café in Luxembourg, both smiling, Draco holding the door for her. In looping gold script:
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Malfoy and Granger Abroad: Politics, Peace, or Personal Escape?
By Celestina Marsh, Special Correspondent
Sightings this weekend in Luxembourg confirm that Britain’s most discussed magical trio spent a quiet few days abroad—though only two members, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, were seen publicly.
Witnesses report the pair appeared “comfortable and companionable,” taking in the city’s historic quarter and sharing afternoon tea overlooking the Alzette River. Whether this trip was a diplomatic excursion or simple respite remains unconfirmed, but sources close to the Malfoy estate describe the triad as “stronger than ever” after a turbulent winter.
When asked about their bond, one Ministry insider hinted that “something about the trio’s magic seems unusually harmonious,” sparking speculation that the fabled glow seen around their joined hands may be evidence of advanced bonding, maybe further confirmation of a suspected pregnancy?
Whatever the truth, observers agree on one point: the Malfoy–Granger–Nott household continues to redefine what stability and devotion look like in modern wizarding Britain.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Theo read the piece over Hermione’s shoulder, smirking. “ ‘Redefine stability.’ That’s nicer than what they called us last month.”
Hermione pressed her lips together, half amused, half exasperated. “They’re fishing for gossip. It’s not terrible, though.”
Draco reached across the table, brushing his fingers over hers in quiet reassurance. “You look radiant in that photo. At least they captured that truth.”
She felt a warmth rise in her chest—the affection in his tone, the calm between them after so much turmoil. “I suppose if they want to write about something, I’d rather it be peace than panic.”
Theo lifted his cup in mock toast. “To peace, then. And to surviving public interest with dignity intact.”
Draco clinked his cup against Theo’s. “To dignity—what’s left of it.”
Hermione laughed softly, the sound breaking the last of the tension that had lingered since their trip.
When breakfast ended, Draco gathered the letters and said quietly, “We’ll face the evaluation together. All of us.”
Theo nodded. “Together’s the only way this works.”
The three of them lingered a moment longer at the table, sunlight catching the faint sheen of the rings on their fingers—a visible reminder of their promise to move forward as one, whatever the world might say.
It was Ginny’s idea—“a quiet dinner, just us,” she’d written in the owl.
By the time Hermione, Draco, and Theo arrived, the old Weasley annex smelled of roasted garlic and bread. Ginny and Harry greeted them at the door, Harry already grinning with that half-mischievous look that meant he’d read the paper.
“Congratulations on making front-page Witch Weekly again,” he said before coats were even hung.
“You’re practically the royal family of magical Britain.”
Draco gave him a dry look. “That’s horrifying, Potter. Take it back.”
Harry laughed, ushering them toward the table.
Dinner was cozy—simmering stew, good wine, Ginny’s chatter filling the spaces between courses. The conversation flowed easily: Harry talking about Auror recruits, Theo answering questions about the Healing program, Draco listening with careful amusement.
But inevitably, Ginny produced the folded magazine from the counter. “All right, Hermione,” she said, “spill it. How was Luxembourg?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Lovely until a journalist decided our lunch was international news it seems.”
Harry flipped to the article, reading aloud in mock-dramatic tones:
“ ‘Sources describe the trio as stronger than ever after a turbulent winter,’ ” he quoted.
“ ‘Their harmonious bond continues to capture the imagination of the wizarding public.’ ”
He set it down and looked up, smirking. “You three harmonious?”
Theo pretended offense. “We’ve been known to be civilized. Occasionally.”
Draco raised his glass. “Once or twice, under supervision.”
Hermione’s laughter broke the teasing edge.
“You’re all insufferable,” she said, smiling despite herself.
When plates were cleared, Harry grew more serious. “I heard about your evaluation notice. Kingsley says they’re tightening timelines and monitors again. You doing all right with it?”
Theo nodded slowly. “We’ll manage. It’s just… invasive, you know? They treat bonds like experiments.”
Hermione traced a fingertip along the rim of her glass.
“It’s frustrating. But if we cooperate, we keep control of the story.”
Draco leaned back, voice calm. “And if we don’t, they’ll invent one for us.”
Harry replied, “You all seem to be handling it well.”
The compliment sat between them like something fragile but real. Draco inclined his head in quiet acknowledgment.
Ginny changed the subject gracefully. “So, how’s the house after everything? You three look… lighter.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “We’re finding balance. It’s not easy, but it’s good.”
Theo added, “We even had a morning with no disasters. That’s progress.”
Everyone laughed. The warmth in the room deepened—the sort of laughter that comes from shared survival, not comedy.
Later, when coats were on and good-nights exchanged, Harry clasped Draco’s hand. “Keep her safe, yeah?”
Draco’s answering nod was quiet but steady. “Always.”
Outside, the evening air smelled of rain. Hermione looked between the two men beside her—their hands brushed as they Apparated home—and felt the familiar pulse of the bond hum softly in her chest.
Whatever the world said tomorrow, tonight they were steady. Together.
Notes:
Can harry and Draco ever be real friends?
Chapter 139: Parental Stipends
Chapter Text
By late afternoon that weekend, the fire in the manor’s grand library had been stoked to a cheerful roar, filling the carved-oak room with amber light.
Hermione had set out tea, sandwiches, and a tray of little treacle tarts from the kitchen elves.
The heirs began to arrive one by one: Neville and Luna first—she was glowing softly, her light blue robes brushing against her growing belly—then Harry and Ginny, followed by Blaise, who came with a file folder thick with Ministry notes.
Draco and Theo had cleared one of the long study tables and arranged chairs in a semicircle. They wanted the meeting to feel less council chamber, more conversation.
When everyone was settled, Hermione smiled across the table. “All right, gentlemen—and Luna—since our last proposal passed,” she couldn’t help the hint of pride, “what shall we tackle next?”
Neville leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about something that’s… a bit personal.”
Luna placed her hand on his arm and nodded encouragingly.
He continued, “We’re lucky, Luna and I. Between my inheritance and the greenhouse contracts, we’ll manage when the baby comes more than fine. But some of our friends—other couples bound under these Ministry timelines—aren’t so lucky.”
Theo frowned. “You mean the financial strain?”
“Exactly,” Neville said. “If the Ministry is requiring people to have children by a deadline, they should help with the cost. Housing, healthcare, nursery expenses—all of it. I’ve heard stories of couples falling into debt just trying to be half-way ready to welcome a baby. It’s wrong.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed in thought. “You’re right. They’ve created a mandate without infrastructure. The least they could do is provide stipends or tax relief.”
Blaise gave a thoughtful hum. “I could get data from the Treasury office—birth rates, cost averages. We’d need figures to back it.”
Harry leaned back. “It’s smart politics, too. Public sympathy’s shifting toward families under pressure. Kingsley might support this.”
Ginny added, “And it helps the Ministry look like they’re fixing their own mess. Which they’ll love.”
Luna smiled serenely. “It would make the world softer for the little ones they’re so determined to bring into it.”
Draco, who had been quiet, finally spoke. “A family-aid stipend for mandated unions,” he said, almost tasting the phrase. “It’s practical, and it’ll resonate. The pure-blood blocs will resist at first—anything that costs money—but even they’ll see it stabilizes society.”
Theo nodded. “We can frame it as ‘magical population sustainability support.’ Bureaucrats love long names. MPSS.”
That earned a round of laughter.
Once the idea was on the table, the group shifted easily into strategy mode.
Blaise spread charts across the table, and Harry summoned a roll of parchment. Hermione began drafting bullet points in her precise hand.
“We’ll need sponsorship from at least three houses initially to bring it to the table with Wizengamot seats,” she said.
“Longbottom, Malfoy, Potter,” Draco listed. “That’s already three. Then the rest of you can support it once we introduce it. Do some wining and dining behind the scenes.”
“Perfect,” Hermione said, jotting it down. “Theo, can you work out a projected cost analysis from the Healer Guild’s numbers on birth costs and first year care? That’ll help justify the budget request.”
Theo nodded. “Give me two days.”
Ginny glanced between them. “You lot are terrifyingly efficient,” she teased. “Do you even rest?”
Hermione smiled. “Occasionally. Between Ministry crises, dogging The Prophet, and doing homework.”
Later, when the parchment drafts were rolled up and tea cups replaced by butterbeer, the conversation softened. The fire crackled.
Neville looked at Luna, who was gazing dreamily at the flames. “I just want our child to grow up in a world that makes sense,” he said quietly. “Not one that punishes people for following orders.”
Hermione’s heart squeezed. She reached across the table to squeeze his hand. “We’ll make sure of it, Neville. This is the kind of change that lasts.”
Theo added, “You’re doing what leaders are supposed to do—turn personal experience into policy.”
Draco gave a short nod of agreement. “And it’s the sort of thing that reminds the public why we’re here.”
As the evening wore on, laughter and conversation filled the corners of the room.
Luna told a story about baby names she’d dreamt—names that apparently came to her in the pattern of Roman constellations. Ginny and Blaise debated Quidditch. Harry and Draco, improbably, ended up talking about security wards.
Amid the gentle noise, Hermione caught Theo’s eye across the room. The flicker of understanding passed between them—how far they’d all come, how the work they did together mattered.
Draco caught the same look, his expression softening. “You realize,” he said quietly to her when the others were leaving, “you’ve turned my library into a government office.”
She smiled, reaching for his hand. “A productive one.”
He brushed his thumb over her knuckles, voice low. “You do make chaos look elegant.”
Theo rejoined them, slipping an arm around Hermione’s shoulders with a smirk. “And you secretly love it, Malfoy.”
Draco’s answering smile was small but genuine. “Maybe I do.”
The warmth between them hummed like the fire’s last embers—steady, familiar, and full of possibility.
The next morning, Nott Manor’s smaller green drawing room was already fragrant with bergamot and lilac when the guests arrived.
Narcissa Malfoy swept in first—elegant as ever in emerald and silver robes—followed a few minutes later by Pansy Parkinson, whose pea green heels clicked against the parquet floor like punctuation marks to her commentary.
“Honestly, Granger,” Pansy announced, flopping into a chair without waiting to be offered one, “every time I come here the elves are too efficient. One of them just tried to iron my cloak while I was still wearing it.”
Hermione smiled with patient amusement. “They’re enthusiastic about guests.”
“And about gossip,” Pansy countered, eyes bright. “They probably already know more about this new legislation idea than the Daily Prophet.”
Narcissa’s pale brow lifted, though her tone remained gracious. “I am quite interested to hear it from its source, myself.”
Hermione poured tea for both women before sitting opposite them. “It’s something we discussed at the heirs’ meeting yesterday. Neville Longbottom proposed it, actually. We’d like the Ministry to provide stipends or assistance for couples required to have children under the marriage mandates.”
“That’s rather practical,” Narcissa said, stirring her tea with delicate precision.
“Pure-blood families once managed such expectations through dowries and endowments. If the Ministry insists on controlling lineage, they should provide equivalent support.”
Pansy snorted. “Merlin, I agree with your mother-in-law. Mark the date.”
Hermione hid a laugh. “Neville pointed out that not everyone is financially prepared to raise children on command. It’s not right to mandate families without giving them the means.”
“Quite,” Narcissa said.
“You’ll find allies for that argument among the old families too. They dislike interference—but they like subsidies even more.”
Pansy leaned forward conspiratorially. “And it’ll make all the sentimental newlyweds adore you. Imagine: Hermione Granger, patron saint of parental stipends.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “That’s not the goal.”
“No,” Narcissa said softly, “but it may be the outcome. You’re doing what the Ministry ought to have done—thinking like a mother before there are children.”
The comment landed heavier than Narcissa perhaps intended.
Hermione set her cup down, fingers trembling slightly. “We’re not there yet. Any of that. The three of us decided we’d wait.”
“Prudent,” Narcissa murmured, though her gaze lingered. “But you’re aware of the deadlines.”
“I’m aware,” Hermione said quietly. “We all are.”
For a few moments the only sound was the clink of china and the faint hum of the winter wind outside.
Then Narcissa said, “Draco has seemed… calmer at his last visit yesterday. More centered. I take it you’ve had some success easing his mind since Luxembourg.”
Hermione flushed faintly. “We’ve all been working on balance in the bond.”
Pansy smirked into her teacup. “That’s one way to say it.”
“Pansy,” Narcissa said mildly, “please don’t tease. You’re ruining the suspense.”
“Oh, come on,” Pansy said. “Everyone can feel the difference between those two now. It’s like walking into a charged atmosphere. I swear the last time I hugged him, my hair stood on end.”
Hermione covered her face with one hand.
“That’s the bond, not—whatever you’re implying.”
Narcissa’s eyes softened. “It pleases me to see my son finding love. He carries so much guilt, Hermione. I hope you know how much he relies on your steadiness.”
“I do,” Hermione admitted. “And I rely on his honesty. It’s… been an adjustment, learning how to trust one another without losing ourselves.”
Pansy tilted her head. “You make it sound almost romantic.”
Hermione gave her a look. “It is romantic. Just not in the way you mean.”
Narcissa folded her hands elegantly in her lap. “You always remind me of Andromeda, in some ways,” she said quietly. “She too used to believe love could reform anything—family, tradition, even old war wounds. I used to think her naïve.”
Hermione smiled gently. “And now?”
“Now,” Narcissa said, eyes bright with something close to fondness, “I think she was right.”
Pansy dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Well, this has all gotten terribly sentimental. Should we discuss fashion next? Or the fact that the next Witch Weekly issue is apparently about to print a ‘Top Ten Modern Magical Marriages’ list?”
Narcissa sighed. “Merlin preserve us.”
Hermione groaned. “Please tell me we’re not on it.”
“Oh, you’re number one,” Pansy said cheerfully. “The cover has your faces already enchanted to sparkle.”
By the time tea ended, laughter had replaced the awkward undercurrents. Narcissa stood, smoothing her gloves. “Do tell my son I approve of this stipend proposal. He’ll need to prepare his arguments carefully if he intends to sway the conservative bloc.”
“I will,” Hermione promised. “Thank you, Narcissa.”
“And Hermione,” Narcissa added, pausing at the door, “whatever anyone says about you two—or three—don’t let it trouble you. Some bonds are meant to challenge what came before.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “That means a lot, truly.”
When they’d both gone—Pansy leaving lipstick on her teacup and calling, “Try not to reform society too quickly, darling!”—Hermione sat alone for a long while, staring into the flickering firelight.
The room smelled faintly of roses and bergamot, and somewhere in her chest could feel the faint pulse of the bond—Draco’s steady focus at the Ministry, Theo’s distant calm from St. Mungo’s.
Notes:
What other things should the heirs work on?
Chapter 140: The Wrong Man
Notes:
I love this scene, been waiting for the right moment to work it in.
Now seemed good that everyone has admitted their love, and her trust in Theo is well established.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was evening, everyone just home after a long day out at work, in meetings, and in classes. Hermione sat cross-legged on a plush ottoman, a heavy Muggle philosophy text open in her lap, her curls spilling over a loose sweater that slipped off one shoulder.
Draco was sprawled in an armchair nearby, his long legs stretched out, a potions journal balanced on his thigh.
Theo leaned against a library ladder, shirt unbuttoned to reveal his toned chest, a charms treatise in hand, his eyes flicking up occasionally to steal glances at Hermione, the triad bond humming with their shared, relaxed intimacy.
Hermione closed her book with a soft thud, her cheeks flushing as she set it aside, the bond pulsing with a nervous spark of anticipation. She stood, smoothing her skirt, and crossed to Draco, her bare feet silent on the rug.
"Draco," she murmured, voice low but steady, her hand resting on his knee as she leaned close, "I've been thinking about that... homework you gave me. What I want to try next."
Her eyes met his, vulnerability and desire mingling, the bond sharing her courage like a warm spark.
Draco’s silver eyes lifted, intrigue flashing as he set his journal aside, his hand covering hers, thumb brushing her knuckles.
"Oh, lovey—finally ready to confess your filthy desires?" he teased, voice husky with affection, leaning forward to kiss her wrist, the bond pulsing with his curiosity.
"Tell me, Granger—what’s got that brilliant mind of yours so worked up and nervous to ask for?"
Hermione bit her lip, her blush deepening, but her voice held firm. "I... I want to try being tied up. You binding me, while you... take me." The words tumbled out, her heart racing, the bond sharing her nervous excitement like a tight knot.
Draco’s eyes widened, a slow grin spreading, but before he could respond, Theo’s low chuckle broke the silence, followed by Draco’s own laughter, uncharacteristically rich and unrestrained.
The sound hit Hermione like a splash of cold water, her stomach twisting with sudden insecurity, the bond flickering with her embarrassment.
"I—I take it back, forget I said anything," she stammered, stepping back, her hands twisting together, eyes dropping to the floor.
Draco was on his feet in an instant, catching her wrist gently but firmly, pulling her against his chest, his laughter fading into a tender smile as he cupped her face.
"No, sweetheart—don’t you dare take it back," he murmured, voice soft but commanding, kissing her forehead to soothe her insecurity, the bond pulsing with his tenderness.
"We’re not laughing at you, wife. It’s just..." He glanced at Theo with a pointed, playful smirk, "you’re asking the wrong man."
Theo’s chuckle deepened, his eyes glinting with mischief as he set his book aside, stepping closer, the bond sharing his eager anticipation.
Hermione’s brow furrowed, confusion mingling with her lingering embarrassment. "What... what do you mean?"
Theo’s smile was slow, predatory, and utterly adoring as he closed the distance, his hand brushing her curls back from her face.
"Draco’s good at many things, but tying up partners with silk scarves, edging them till they’re begging, screaming, cumming so hard they see stars? That’s my specialty." His voice was low, filthy with love, the bond surging with his desire, making her gasp softly.
"I’ve been dying to tie you up, love—those pretty wrists, your ankles, spread wide for us, teasing you till you’re a mess of need. I just didn’t want to push you for that, if you weren’t interested."
Hermione’s eyes widened, her insecurity melting into shocked arousal, the bond pulsing with her curiosity and heat.
"You... you’re into that?" she breathed, her gaze flicking between them, Draco’s conspiratorial grin confirming it.
"Theo, will you... do it to me? Tie me up, edge me, please?"
Theo’s eyes darkened with hunger, his hand sliding to her waist, pulling her close.
"Oh, my heart, I love you—yes, I’ll bind you, tease you till you’re dripping, make you cum so hard you forget your name."
Draco kissed her neck, whispering, "I’m going to watch, Granger—stroke myself to you helpless and writhing for him."
The bond flared with their shared desire, a golden tide of love and lust.
They moved to a wide, cushioned chaise near the fire, Theo summoning a bundle of deep crimson silk scarves from a drawer, their fabric shimmering in the firelight.
Hermione’s clothes were shed slowly—Draco easing her sweater off, kissing her shoulders; Theo unclasping her bra, lips brushing her nipples as they pebbled hard, "So perfect, my love—gonna tie these beauties up for me."
Her skirt and panties quickly followed, leaving her naked, pussy already glistening with arousal, lips puffy and pink, clit swollen with need.
Theo positioned her on her back, legs spread wide, wrists above her head, binding them to the chaise’s frame with soft silk scarves, the knots firm but gentle, her arms stretched taut, breasts thrust up.
He tied her ankles next, spreading her thighs extra wide, securing them to the chaise legs, her pussy fully exposed, dripping in anticipation, the bond pulsing with her vulnerable excitement.
Draco settled in an armchair across from them, trousers open, cock leaking pre-cum—in his fist, stroking slowly as he watched, "Fuck, love—you’re so beautiful tied up, pussy spread for Theo, all ours."
Theo knelt naked between her legs, his own cock, piercing glinting—hard and throbbing, but untouched for now, his focus on her.
"I love you, my angel—gonna tease this pussy till you’re begging," he murmured, voice tender with filth, leaning to drag his tongue slowly up her slit, lapping her slick with adoring strokes, avoiding her clit to build the edge.
Her hips bucked, "Theo—please, love you," but he pulled back, kissing her inner thigh, "Not yet, my heart—gonna make you ache for it."
Theo summoned a charmed feather, its tip soft but tingling with magic, trailing it over her nipples, making them harden painfully, circling each peak until she whimpered. Then it trailed down her belly to hover just above her clit, the faint magical buzz making her pussy clench empty, wet and gushing in desperate need.
"Feel that, love? Teasing your clit without really touching, making this pussy drip for me," he whispered, the feather brushing her outer lips, her moans growing frantic as he brought her to the brink, her hips straining against the scarves, "Theo—I’m close, please!"
He stopped, kissing her thigh, "Not yet, my angel—gonna edge you till you’re sobbing for release."
Theo’s fingers joined, two slipping in with ease, curling slow against her G-spot, thrusting just enough to spark intense pleasure, her walls fluttering as slick coated his hand.
"Your pussy’s so tight, love—clenching my fingers, begging for more," he murmured, adding a third finger, stretching her with a burning fullness, pumping faster until her moans turned desperate, "Theo—fuck, I’m gonna cum!"
He pulled out abruptly, licking her slick from his fingers with a loving groan, "Taste so good, my love—not yet, gonna make you crazed for it."
Draco stroked himself faster, "Gods, Theo—her pussy’s gaping, dripping for you, my perfect girl."
Theo’s tongue returned, latching onto her clit with soft, slow licks, sucking gently as two fingers thrust deep, curling hard, the wet squelches obscene as her slick pooled on the chaise.
"Feel my mouth, love? Sucking this clit, gonna make you shake," he growled tenderly, bringing her to the edge again, her body trembling, scarves creaking as she strained, "Theo—please, I need it!" He stopped, blowing cool air on her throbbing clit, making her sob with need, "Not yet, my angel—your pussy’s so wet, so ready, but I love you too much to let you cum easy."
Next, Theo summoned a small, charmed vibrator, its tip buzzing faintly, pressing it lightly against her inner thigh, trailing it closer to her clit but never touching, the vibrations teasing her sensitive skin.
Suddenly, his fingers thrust four deep, stretching her wide, her slick frothing around them.
"Imagine this on your clit, love—buzzing till you break, but not yet," he whispered, pumping slow and deep, her walls spasming as she neared climax, "Theo—I can’t take it, please!"
He pulled the vibrator away, fingers withdrawing, kissing her pussy lips softly, "You’re so beautiful, my heart—edged and dripping, gonna make this orgasm shatter you."
Theo’s mouth returned, tongue flicking her clit in rapid, loving strokes, three fingers thrusting fast, curling against her G-spot with precision.
"Your pussy’s begging, love—so close, feel it building," he murmured, pushing her to the brink again, her cries desperate, "Theo—I’m there, don’t stop!" He pulled back at the last second, kissing her thighs as she sobbed, "Fuck, Theo—please, I need to cum, help me!"
Draco’s strokes matched her desperation, "Look at her, Theo—tied and sobbing for it, pussy so wet, our gorgeous wife."
Out of a desk drawer, Theo summoned a chilled, charmed glass wand, its surface cool and smooth, trailing it over her overheated skin. It went first down her breasts, circling her nipples until they ached, then pressing it lightly against her clit, the cold shock making her pussy clench hard, walls dripping in response.
"Feel this cold on your clit, love? Teasing you, making you throb," he whispered, sliding the wand along her folds, dipping just inside her entrance 2 inches in without thrusting, her hips bucking wildly against the restriants.
He added two fingers alongside, thrusting slow and deep, the contrast of cold wand and warm fingers driving her mad, "Theo—gods, it’s too much, I’m so close!"
He stopped, pulling both away, kissing her inner thigh, "Not yet, my angel—your pussy’s weeping for me, gonna make you cum harder than ever before."
Theo’s tongue and fingers returned in a relentless assault—tongue lapping her clit in firm, swirling strokes, four fingers thrusting deep and fast, stretching her wide, slick frothing in obscene squelches as her walls spasmed.
"You’re so close, love—feel your pussy gripping me, begging for release," he growled, pushing her to the absolute edge, her body shaking, scarves straining, "Theo—please, I can’t hold it, please let me, I love you!"
He stopped again, blowing cool air on her clit, her sobbing raw with need, "One more, my heart—gonna make this the best yet."
After the seventh edge, Hermione was a trembling, sweat-slicked mess, her breasts heaving, nipples painfully hard, pussy throbbing with desperate need, the bond a frenzy of her desperate love.
Theo finally relented, tongue latching onto her clit with firm, relentless sucks, four fingers thrusting deep and fast, curling hard against her G-spot.
"Cum for me, my love—let go, it’s time" he growled, the bond flaring with his devotion.
Her orgasm exploded in a powerful upsurge, a screaming, shattering release, pussy spasming in violent waves, squirting clear floods that soaked Theo’s face, chest, and the chaise, her body arching against the scarves, "Theo—oh my Merlin!"
Draco came with a groan, spilling over his fist, eyes locked on her clenching empty pussy. "Fuck, love—so perfect."
Theo untied her gently, pulling her into his arms, Draco joining to cradle her, kissing her tears of release away, whispering, "We love you" the bond glowing with unity as they held her close.
They settled back on the chaise, Hermione nestled between them boneless, her body still trembling with aftershocks.
Draco kissed her temple, voice soft with awe, "Granger, that was... gods, seeing you tied up, edged till you broke by our husband—it was the hottest thing I’ve ever watched. I felt every pulse of your pleasure through the bond, it made me cum harder than I thought possible." The bond shared his adoration, a warm wave wrapping her.
Theo stroked her hair, his eyes glistening with love, "My angel, you were breathtaking—taking every edge, trusting me to push you like that. I love you beyond words; feeling you shatter, knowing I gave you that... it’s everything."
Hermione smiled, still catching her breath, her voice shaky but warm, "I was so nervous at first, especially when you laughed, but... gods, it was incredible. I didn’t expect to love it so much—the helplessness, the teasing, the way you made me wait till I was desperate. I felt so loved, so taken care of, so yours, even when I was begging. I love you both—thank you for making it so perfect."
The bond pulsed with their shared love, a golden glow of unity as they kissed her softly, holding her close, the fire crackling as they basked in the afterglow, their connection deeper than ever.
Notes:
Theo's kinkier than maybe Hermione thinks =P
Chapter 141: Ministry Banter
Chapter Text
The trio arrived at the Department of Regulation of Magical Unions shortly before ten.
The corridors were already buzzing upon their arrival, since the winter’s headlines, everyone in the Ministry seemed to know who they were and wanted a glimpse.
Hermione walked between the men, chin high, eyes straight forward.
She wore simple navy robes and her engagement band glimmered faintly along with the glowing ring showing their completed bond. Draco’s posture was as taut; he scanned every face they passed as though expecting a threat.
Theo, calm but alert, kept a hand at the small of Hermione’s back in silent reassurance, sending calming waves at Draco through the bond.
When they reached the interview chamber, the same Unspeakable form their very first visit to the Department of Mysteries was waiting. He was thin, and watchful, with a quill hovering above a blank parchment.
“Mrs Malfoy-Granger-Nott,” he greeted. “Mr Malfoy. Mr Nott. Please sit.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “We’re here. Let’s make this brief.”
The Unspeakable flicked his wand; the parchment shimmered, lines of golden runes appearing.
“Your bond has stabilized,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Significantly. Our sensors registered a magical resonance spike in mid-March, then another in April.”
Theo folded his arms. “Those were… milestones.”
“Indeed.” The man’s tone was careful, as though he were addressing something volatile.
“It’s rare to see a triadic bond reach full synchronization this quickly. Frankly, it makes the Department nervous.”
Hermione frowned. “Nervous how?”
“Because,” he said, “when all three cores are attuned, the bond amplifies the participants’ magic exponentially. Uncontrolled, that kind of triad could bend protective wards, disrupt standard spell matrices—”
Draco’s voice came out low and dangerous.
“Are you accusing us of being dangerous because we function properly in a bond that we had no say over?”
“Just merely… noting the risk.”
Hermione leaned forward, her calm cutting through the tension.
“We’ve been working hard to stabilize the bond precisely so there isn’t risk. We are balanced. What the Ministry should be nervous about are the laws forcing people into unions without support.”
Theo gave her a small proud glance; Draco’s hand brushed hers under the table—silent solidarity.
The Unspeakable hesitatd befre consulting his notes.
“Your readings also indicate the bond has been… fully consummated. That satisfies the magical completion requirement. However, the reproductive clause remains. You have until February 10 next year to produce at least one child, or the Ministry can petition to dissolve—”
Hermione cut him off, her tone crisp. “We are aware of our deadline.”
He blinked at the interruption. “Then may I ask why no conception without contraception intervention attempts have been recorded? It seems you were using the charm until recently, when the prevention potion started to be detected.”
Draco’s silver-grey eyes flashed. “That is none of your concern.”
“It is the Ministry’s concern—”
Hermione’s voice rose, controlled but unmistakably sharp.
“You will not dictate when or how our family is built more than the law already does. We’re fulfilling every legal requirement currently. The rest is private. Not your concern or the Ministry’s.”
The quill stuttered mid-stroke, as though even the magic recording the meeting faltered under the combined weight of her fury and Draco’s glare. Theo exhaled slowly through his nose, grounding the room again.
The Unspeakable cleared his throat. “Very well. But understand—non-compliance affects the magical equilibrium of a triadic—”
“We understand,” Hermione said. “What you don’t understand is that coercion damages that equilibrium between us far more.”
There was a long, taut silence. Then the Unspeakable scribbled a note and muttered, “Fine. I’ll report that the bond remains stable and compliant for now, and that you are refusing to discuss a pregnancy. Go.”
Outside the chamber, the air in the atrium felt clearer, brighter. Hermione let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
Theo reached over, adjusting the strap of her satchel with an easy touch.
“You handled that better than I did,” he said. “I was seconds from hexing him.”
“You’d have been third,” Draco muttered darkly. Then, softer, “You shouldn’t have to defend yourself like that, love.”
Hermione turned toward him. “It’s defending all of us,” she said gently. “I won’t let them make this something ugly.”
He studied her for a long moment, then nodded. The edge of fury in him softened into something protective, almost tender. He brushed his thumb along her jaw, careful of the onlookers poking heads out of offices nearby.
“I know. I just—can’t stand them talking to you like you’re an experiment or brood hippogriff.”
Theo’s voice was mild but honest. “She’s stronger than any of us, Draco. Let her fight when she wants to. We both know what she wants.”
A faint smile tugged at her lips. “I’d say that’s the secret to surviving me.Just let me be right and do things my way.”
They left the Ministry shoulder to shoulder, the morning light glinting on the faintly glowing bands around their fingers. Hermione noticing how people in the hall stepped aside for them—not out of fear exactly, but out of awe. The Ministry’s most closely watched triad wasn’t crumbling; it was thriving, and the public was watching.
When they reached the fountain in the atrium, Draco squeezed her hand. “Next time they call us in,” he said, “we should just go in with a written statement saying we’re good, hand it to them, and leave.”
Theo nodded. “Agreed. No more letting them think they’re the ones in charge.”
Hermione looked between them, the warmth of the bond thrumming faintly in her chest like shared heartbeat.
“Good,” she said. “Because I’m done letting anyone else decide what our future looks like.”
Together, they stepped into the green swirl of the floo, vanishing back toward home—united.
By the time the floo deposited them back into the Manor’s marble foyer, the tension of the Ministry still clung to their moods.
The house elves had already lit the sconces, and the fires to try to chase away the early May morning chill. A spring rain pattered faintly outside; it made everything feel quieter, more private.
Hermione sighed and loosened her cloak. “I think I could sleep for a week. Those meetings always really drain me.”
Theo brushed past her, loosening his collar. “Lunch first, then you can think about a nap. You barely ate breakfast.”
Draco was silent for a long moment, standing with his back to them as he stared into the fire burning low in the hall hearth. His shoulders were drawn tight, the set of his jaw still sharp from anger.
Hermione stepped closer, placing a hand lightly on his arm and kiss to his shoulder.
“Hey,” she said softly. “It’s over. We survived another one.”
His voice came low and rough. “You shouldn’t have had to.”
They ended up in the informal parlor, where Theo uncorked a bottle of wine and poured three glasses. The room was warm and intimate; the rain made soft percussion against the windowpanes.
Pudding, curled on the rug by the fire after making her rounds to everyone for a pet.
Theo raised his glass with a wry smile. “To surviving bureaucracy.”
Hermione laughed, the tension easing from her shoulders. “To surviving Draco’s temper.”
That earned her a glare—but softened by amusement. “Careful, Granger,” he said. “I’m starting to think you enjoy provoking me.”
She met his eyes across the rim of her glass in challenge. “Maybe I do.”
The air changed—charged, subtle, that particular current that had grown between them since Luxembourg.
Theo caught it too; he leaned back in his chair, watching them with a knowing smirk over the edge of his glass, quiet amusement dancing in his gaze.
Draco slammed his tumbler down with a sharp clink, the crystal flaring in the firelight, his silver eyes blazing with predatory hunger.
“Get your arse up, Granger. Now.”
Hermione’s pulse thundered, but she smirked, sipping her wine with maddening slowness before rising, her silk blouse clinging to her curves, skirt hugging her hips.
“Bossy tonight, Malfoy? What’s next, a written decree?”
Theo’s laugh was low and filthy, his hand already resting on the thick bulge straining his trousers. “Keep pushing him, love—bet he’ll have you screaming his name before you finish that next sentence.”
Draco stalked around her, like a panther closing in, stopping inches behind her, his breath scalding her ear.
“That mouth of yours, Granger—been begging for my cock all morning,” he snarled, voice dripping with raw, filthy intent, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.
“Every time you sass me, I picture ramming you against this wall, splitting that tight cunt wide till you’re screaming who owns you.”
Hermione arched her back, pressing her ass against his rock-hard cock throbbing through his trousers.
“All talk, Malfoy. I’m still waiting for you to do something about it.”
Theo groaned, stroking himself faster.
“Fuck, love—you’re gonna get it now. Draco, take that pussy—make her feel every inch.”
Draco spun her to face the parlor wall, her palms smacking the cool paneling as he slammed his body against her back, his cock grinding into her ass with a lewd thrust.
“No what, Granger? No cock to shut you up?” he growled, yanking her skirt up to her waist in one brutal tug, exposing her lace panties soaked through already.
“Look at this—fucking drenched, you little tease. This cunt’s begging for me, isn’t it?”
He ripped her panties down, the lace tearing with a sharp rip, baring her glistening pussy—lips puffy, pink, and dripping, clit swollen and pulsing form their banter.
“Impress me, then, Malfoy,” she taunted, voice shaking with need, pushing her hips back. “Or are you all threats and no—”
Theo cut in, voice rough. “Careful, love—Draco’s gonna fuck you so hard you’ll forget how to talk if you keep pushing him like this.”
Draco dropped to his knees, spreading her cheeks wide to expose her slick-drenched cunt, the pink inner walls glistening, slick drooling in thick strings down her thighs.
“Fucking perfect, Granger—this pussy’s ours,” he snarled, tongue spearing into her without mercy, lapping her slick with obscene, wet slurps, sucking her clit so hard her knees buckled till his fist clenched around her waist.
He unceremoniously thrust three fingers inside, stretching her wide immediately, curling viciously against her G-spot, pumping with brutal speed.
“Taste like fucking heaven, Granger—your cunt’s choking my fingers, so tight and wet for me.”
Hermione’s head slammed back against the wall, her scream raw. “Draco—fuck, that’s—too much, this isn’t fair!” she gasped, trying to keep her banter but failing as her pussy clenched in anticipation.
“Too much? I’ll show you too much.” Draco growled, pulling back, his chin dripping with her juices.
“You’re gonna take my cock now, Granger… all of it—gonna fuck this pussy till it’s stuffed deep with my cum.”
He stood, freeing his cock—head flushed purple and leaking pre-cum—slapping it against her ass with a wet thwack that made her whimper.
“Beg for it, love—beg for this cock to ruin you. Tell me you want it.”
“Fuck you, Malfoy—make me,” she shot back, hips grinding back desperately, her pussy clenching empty.
Theo’s laugh was dark, his strokes now frantic. “Oh, she’s done for, Draco—look at that cunt, dripping like a faucet. Fuck her till she’s screaming your name, mate. She wants it so bad.”
Draco gripped her hips tighter, lifting one of her legs to hook over his arm, spreading her wide, and slammed in to the hilt in one savage thrust, her pussy stretching lewdly around his girth as he bottomed out, balls smacking her ass.
Hermione screamed, the unprepared stretch burning, her walls clamping tight around his veined length, the curve grinding her G-spot instantly.
“Fuck, Granger—your cunt’s a fucking vice, sucking me in like it’s starving,” he roared, hips pistoling with brutal force, slamming her against the wall so hard the old wood paneling creaked.
Her breasts bounced wildly with the forse, nipples scraping the rough surface through her blouse.
“Draco—gods, you’re nearly splitting me, so deep!” she moaned, nails clawing at the wall, but her hips met his thrusts.
“Harder, you can do better than this!”
“Harder? You greedy little wife,” Draco snarled, one hand tangling in her curls to yank her head back, teeth sinking into her neck as he fucked her harder, each thrust a punishing slap-slap-slap of skin, his cock dragging her walls raw, the curve battering her G-spot relentlessly.
“This pussy’s ours, Granger—feel my cock owning you, stretching you till you’re wrecked. Gonna cum so deep you’ll taste me still tomorrow.”
Theo stepped closer, his cock, piercing glinting— fully freed of boxers and throbbing in his fist, his free hand pinching her clit hard.
“Fuck, love—look at you, pinned and fucked senseless, pussy creaming all over him,” he growled, voice thick with love.
“Scream for him, love—tell him how much you love him and this cock breaking you.”
“Draco—yours, love you—fuck me more!” she wailed, her pussy fluttering wildly, the bond a frenzy of love and lust between the triad.
Draco’s thrusts turned nearly feral, hips slamming with bone-jarring force, “Cum for me, Granger—milk this cock, squirt all over it like the perfect wife you are for us!”
Theo’s fingers rubbed her clit viciously, “Do it, love—drench him, show us who owns this cunt!”
Her orgasm exploded at Theo’s comand, pussy convulsing in violent spasms, squirting hot, clear floods around Draco’s cock, soaking his thighs, her scream raw and shattering, “Draco—yours!”
Draco growled, thrusting deep and stilling, flooding her with thick, pulsing ropes of cum, “Take it, Granger, take all of it—my cum stuffing your cunt, marking you for us, fuck, I love you!”
Theo kissed her tear-streaked cheek, then Draco’s jaw, “Fucking perfect, loves—ours forever.”
They eased her down to the floor gently, Draco still buried deep as he deflated, holding her against the wall, whispering “Ours” and “I love you” as slick and cum dripped down her thighs, the bond glowing gold, sated and momentarily unbreakable.
Hermione let out a giddy satisfied laugh, “Thanks boys, I really needed that…”.
After dinner that evening, they lingered by the fire. The table was cleared, the wine mostly gone. The firelight gilded Draco’s hair in soft amber, and Hermione, curled into one end of the sofa.
Theo was stretched out on the rug near Pudding, long legs crossed, expression content.
Hermione turned her gaze to Draco. “You were incredible today,” she said quietly. “I mean both at the Ministry… and later. You always are when it comes to protecting us, and knowing what I need before I even do.”
He gave a small shake of his head. “I just—can’t stand them talking to you like that. As if you’re property. And you seemed so tense still when we got home… you needed some relief.”
The words hung there, heavier than the wine, softer than the firelight.
She smiled, shy and warm. “You know,” she said, “when you’re not threatening bureaucrats, you can be rather sweet.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” he said dryly. “I have a reputation.”
Theo smirked. “It’s ruined already.”
The rain picked up outside, wind sighing against the windows. Hermione stood and crossed to the piano in the corner, running her fingers over the polished keys. “I used to play as a child,” she said absently. “Badly.”
Draco came up beside her, the faint scent of oak and smoke clinging to him. “I doubt that. You don’t do anything less than perfect.”
Theo’s voice drifted from the hearth. “You should show us.”
Hermione turned, laughing. “Not tonight. I’d rather listen to the storm.”
Draco’s gaze didn’t leave her face. “It suits you,” he said softly. “Storms.”
Theo looked up, grinning. “He’s getting poetic again.”
“Shut up husband,” Draco muttered, but he was smiling now.
Hermione reached out, tracing the faintly glowing band on his finger.
“You know,” she said, “they were right about one thing today. The bond is stronger than it has been before. I can feel both of you so precisely even when you’re in other rooms.”
Theo rose and joined them, his voice quieter. “It’s like breathing together now, isn’t it?”
She nodded, looking between them—Draco’s restrained intensity, Theo’s steady calm—and felt the warmth of them through the connection like threads woven through her chest.
They ended up tangled together on the sofa, the way they always seemed to fit now: Hermione between them, her head against Draco’s shoulder, Theo’s arm draped across the back.
They talked in low voices—about the stipend proposal, about the next Wizengamot session, about what they’d ask the elves to cook for dinner tomorrow.
At one point, Draco’s hand slipped down to hers and he laced their fingers together without thinking. The bond pulsed once, softly, like a heartbeat shared between three.
Theo yawned, stretching lazily. “I could get used to nights like this.”
Hermione smiled up at him. “No Ministry. No paperwork. Just us.”
Draco’s tone turned teasing. “And here I thought you lived for paperwork.”
“I live for peace,” she said. “And the Ministry isn’t making that easy.”
Later, when the fire had burned low, they finally rose to go upstairs. Draco paused at the foot of the stairs, looking back at her—hair loose, robe half slipping from one shoulder, laughter still in her eyes.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“For what?”
“For reminding me that fighting doesn’t have to be the only way I know how to protect someone. For letting me take care of you earlier the only real way I can right now when everything is so uncertain.”
Her throat tightened. “You’re learning.”
Theo’s hand came to rest at the small of her back. “We all are.”
The three of them ascended the stairs together—slow, tired, content—leaving behind the fading light of the fire and the rain still whispering against the windows.
The rain had stopped sometime before dawn, leaving the world outside washed clean and bright.
Sunshine spilled through the high windows of the breakfast room at Nott Manor, glinting off the silver coffee service and the ripples in Draco’s newspaper.
Hermione padded in barefoot, her curls still damp from her shower and an oversized Weasley jumper hanging past her hands and knees.
Theo was already seated at the table, hair mussed, a mug of tea in hand and a parchment half-covered in patient notes spread before him.
“Morning,” she murmured, sliding into the chair beside him.
Theo smiled, voice still low with sleep. “You’re up early for someone who swore she’d sleep till noon.”
“I changed my mind,” she said, reaching for the coffeepot. “And the smell of blueberry scones bribed me up.”
Across the table, Draco lowered the Daily Prophet slowly, eyes flicking up. “You’ll want to read this before you get crumbs on it.”
Hermione frowned, taking the folded paper from him.
The headline read:
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
TRIAD LEADS REFORM TALKS — MARRIAGE LAW UNDER REVIEW?
By Amelia Featherstone, Political Correspondent
The Ministry’s most talked-about triad — Malfoy, Granger-Nott, and Nott — appeared yesterday at their scheduled evaluation and left the Department of Mysteries buzzing.
Sources close to the Department describe the trio’s magical bond as “formidably stable and unusually potent.”
At the same time, new whispers from inside the Wizengamot suggest that the trio’s growing political influence may soon bear legislative fruit. Heir Neville Longbottom and his wife, Luna Lovegood, have reportedly joined their colleagues Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini in backing a proposal that would provide government stipends for couples required to bear children under the Marriage Law.
The initiative — believed to be inspired by Mrs. Malfoy- Granger-Nott herself — could mark the first major revision of the post-war legislation since its enactment.
When asked for comment, Minister Shacklebolt praised the group’s “dedication to building a more humane system,” while refusing to address questions about whether the Triad’s own magical resonance played a role in the law’s stability.
If influence and unity continue to define the Malfoy-Granger-Nott household, the wizarding world may be watching not only a marriage, but a movement.
>>>>>>>>>>>
Theo leaned over Hermione’s shoulder as she finished. “Well,” he said, “at least no one accused us of toppling society this time.”
Draco snorted into his coffee. “Give them a week.”
Hermione set the paper down and rubbed at her temples. “I was hoping for one morning without our names in print.”
Theo reached for the jam, unconcerned. “It’s not all bad press. They called us stable.”
Draco arched a brow. “That’s the nicest insult we’ve gotten in months.”
Hermione laughed softly despite herself. “I suppose so.” Then, quieter, “They actually printed my proposal correctly, but didn’t credit Neville. That’s something annoying.”
The tension of the previous day seemed to have drained away overnight. Theo reached across the table to pluck a blueberry off her plate, earning an indignant look.
“Hey,” Hermione protested.
He only grinned. “You’re too distracted to defend your breakfast.”
Draco reached for another paper. “He’s right, you know. You’ve been staring into space.”
“I was thinking,” she said primly.
“Dangerous habit,” Draco murmured.
Theo chuckled. “Merlin, she married us both and still puts up with this. She must be crazy.”
Hermione shot him a sidelong smile. “Barely.”
A sharp tapping at the window interrupted them. Theo rose to let in a tawny owl carrying a letter sealed in red wax. It landed neatly by Hermione’s plate and extended its leg.
She broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. Harry’s handwriting.
<<<<<<<<<<<
Hermione, Draco, Theo —
Read the Prophet this morning.
Bloody brilliant. The stipend idea’s already sparking conversations at the Auror Office. Kingsley says it might reach debate by June if the new heirs keep pushing.
I’m proud of you — of all of you.
Feels like, for the first time in a long while that change isn’t just a hope, but something really happening.
Love,
—Harry
P.S. Yes, Draco even… you.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Hermione’s smile softened as she read. “He’sso proud of us lately.”
Draco looked faintly smug. “I’ll take a compliment from Potter once in my life.”
After breakfast, they wandered out onto the terrace. The air was cool and damp, carrying the scent of new grass. Hermione leaned against the stone balustrade, closing her eyes for a moment.
Draco came up behind her, his hand resting lightly on her back. “We made it through another round of media,” he said quietly.
Theo joined them, folding his arms and gazing out at the morning light spilling over the gardens. “And made the front page doing it.”
The three of them stood there together, their matching glowing bands glinting faintly in the May sun. The bond hummed — warm, alive, and steady — as the wind swept across the lawns.
Notes:
I think Draco and Hermione could really drive each other wild with the banter they're both capable of.
How are we expecting the new stipend bill to go?
Chapter 142: Restricted Section
Notes:
A few of you have asked for a scene like this with a library fantasy... so here you go ;)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The faint crackle of the fire in the hearth added a cozy, rhythmic hum, blending with the distant chirp of birds in the manor’s gardens of spring.
Theo was absent, off at a medical potion consultation in Diagon Alley at an apothecary, leaving Hermione and Draco alone, the triad bond thrumming with a gentle, anticipatory intimacy.
Hermione sat curled in one of the armchairs, her legs tucked beneath her, dressed in a loose, cream-colored sweater that slipped off one shoulder to reveal the delicate curve of her collarbone.
Her curls were loose, cascading over her shoulders in a wild frenzy as she fidgeted with a worn copy of Hogwarts: A History, her fingers tracing the spine nervously, her cheeks flushed with a mix of shyness and determination felt in the bond.
Draco lounged in the opposite chair, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal the scarred expanse of his chiseled chest, silver eyes fixed on her with a potent blend of curiosity, love, and a flicker of vulnerability, a glass of firewhisky dangling from his fingers.
The bond pulsed with her nervous energy, drawing his attention like a magnet, his heart aching with the need to understand her.
“Granger,” Draco murmured, voice low and teasing but softened with unwavering affection, setting his glass down with a gentle clink on the table, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
“You’ve been twitching like a first-year caught with a contraband potion all morning, love. That book’s not that fascinating, is it?”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze intense but warm, a playful smirk tugging his lips .
“Come on, out with it—what’s got that brilliant mind of yours spinning? I can feel you buzzing through the bond, and it’s driving me mad.”
Hermione’s fingers tightened on the book, her blush deepening to a rosy crimson, but she met his eyes, her brown gaze shimmering with trust and a spark of courage.
“Draco,” she began, her voice soft but steady, though it trembled with nervous excitement, “I’ve been thinking about our role-play with Theo—the scarf thing. It was... gods, it was intense, exhilarating, like I was giving him everything and he was holding me through it. I felt so close to him, to both of you, even with you watching from afar.”
She paused, biting her lip, her heart racing as the bond pulsed with her openness. “I want to explore more like that—with you. I’m curious about... pushing boundaries, playing with power dynamics, maybe something naughtier, filthier. I want to know what fantasies are buried in that Slytherin soul of yours? Be honest with me, please—I need to know all of you.”
Draco’s eyes widened, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his fac, fingers interlacing with a gentle squeeze, their rings glowing brighter as the bond flared with his adoration and a flicker of nervous vulnerability.
“Fuck, Granger,” he murmured, voice husky but trembling with raw emotion, his thumb brushing her knuckles in slow, grounding circles, his silver eyes searching hers with an intensity that laid him bare.
“You have no idea what it does to me, hearing you say that—trusting me with your desires, wanting to dive into this with me. My heart’s bloody pounding.”
He paused, swallowing hard, his usual confidence tempered by a rare openness, the bond sharing his nervous excitement like a warm tide.
“You want my fantasies? Gods, Hermione, they’ve always been about you for a decade—your fire, your defiance, the way you surrender when you let go. It’s not just about control, though fuck, I crave that—it’s about you giving me your trust, letting me push you, hold you, love you through every second of it.”
Hermione’s breath hitched, her pussy tingling with a rush of slick, the bond pulsing with her curiosity and arousal, her hand squeezing his tighter.
“Control?” she whispered, leaning closer, her voice soft but insistent, eyes sparkling with love and intrigue.
“Tell me more, Draco—what does that look like for you?”Her sweater slipped further, baring more of her shoulder, the bond a warm bridge of trust.
Draco’s grin turned predatory, but his eyes glistened with vulnerability, his voice dropping to a low, intimate growl that sent shivers down her spine.
“Alright, love—brace yourself, because I’m laying it all bare,” he murmured, his free hand tracing the air as if painting the scene, his gaze never leaving hers.
“I’ve always had this... need to have you completely mine, not just in bed but in a scene where you give me everything—your body, your defiance, your pleasure. I want to tease you until you’re trembling, punish you until you’re begging, worship you until you’re sobbing.”
He paused, his voice trembling with emotion, “Picture Hogwarts, Granger—the Restricted Section, past curfew, the air thick with dust and danger. You, sneaking around with that bloody know-it-all swagger, thinking you’re untouchable, getting caught by me, the smug prefect with a wand and a mission to discipline you.”
Hermione’s eyes widened, her pussy clenching hard, the bond a fucking inferno of her arousal and stunned recognition.
“Draco,” she breathed, her voice trembling with excitement, her hand gripping his so tightly her knuckles whitened, “keep going—I’m listening.”
He leaned closer, his voice a filthy, love-soaked whisper, “I’d have you pinned against the shelves, your skirt hiked up, that perfect arse bare for me. I’d spank you red for breaking rules, each smack making your pussy drip, teasing you with my fingers until you’re sobbing for my cock. Then I’d fuck you senseless on a table, books falling around us, making you mine in the one place you always ruled, where you’d have to stay quiet so Filch doesn’t hear you screaming my name.”
His eyes burned with love, vulnerability raw, “It’s not just the filth, Granger—it’s you trusting me to take you there, to hold you through it, to love you more than anything.”
Hermione’s breath caught, her eyes glistening with shared desire, the bond a radiant wave of their connection.
“Draco,” she whispered, voice breaking with emotion, leaning so close their foreheads touched, “I’ve had that exact fantasy. The Restricted Section, sneaking in, heart pounding, knowing I shouldn’t be there... and you catching me, all prefect arrogance, dragging me to a table, bending me over, fucking me so hard I can’t think, trying to stay quiet so we don’t get caught.”
Her cheeks flushed crimson, but her smile was bold, her eyes sparkling with love. “I’d fight you at first, call you a smug git, but I’d want it—want you to punish me, own me, love me there. I want that with you, Draco—let’s fo it tonight.”
Draco’s breath hitched, his cock hardening instantly against his trousers, the bond flaring with excitement.
“Fuck, Granger—you’re my fucking sexual soulmate,” he whispered, voice breaking with raw, heart-baring love, pulling her into his lap, their lips crashing together in a deep, desperate kiss.
“You’ve been dreaming of me catching you, spanking that naughty arse, fucking you in the library?” he murmured against her lips, his hands sliding under her sweater, cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing her hardened nipples through the fabric, sparking a moan.
“Gods, love—I’ve wanked to that image for years, you bent over, skirt up, pussy dripping, begging amongst the stacks.”
Hermione moaned into his mouth, her hips grinding against his hard-on, slick soaking through her shorts in a warm flood. “Yes, Draco. I’d fight you, call you names, but I’d be so wet for you, wanting you to take me.”
The bond pulsed with their shared vision, their hearts racing.
“Tonight, Draco—Hogwarts uniforms, Restricted Section, you as the prefect, me breaking curfew. Make it real, let’s do it.”
Draco’s grin was pure love and sin, his voice trembling with emotion, “Nott Manor’s library, love—tonight, we’ll live it. I’ll punish you, Granger, spank that arse, fuck that pussy, give us what we’ve both been dreaming about.”
They kissed again, slow and deep, hands roaming, her sweater slipping further, his fingers teasing her nipples before he rose, and headed outside with a wink at her.
The transfigured Restricted Section of Nott Manor’s library was a perfect illusion of forbidden desire, its towering shelves of chained, leather-bound tomes rattling faintly with magical wards, the air cool and thick with the dusty scent of ancient parchment, ink, and the sharp, musky tang of Hermione’s arousal.
Moonlight streamed through high, arched windows, casting silvery streaks across the heavy oak tables and the creaking floorboards.
Hermione, in her Gryffindor uniform—pleated skirt hiked to mid-thigh, white blouse tied to bare her midriff, red-and-gold tie loose, stood pinned against a bookshelf, a stolen tome clutched to her heaving chest, her curls wild.
The triad bond was a roaring inferno of shared lust and love—Hermione’s defiant, needy submission a molten spark, Draco’s possessive, punishing devotion.
Draco, in his Slytherin prefect’s uniform—black robes tailored to his lean, muscular frame, green-and-silver tie crisp, prefect badge glinting, wand tucked into his belt—loomed over her.
“Granger,” he snarled, voice a low, authoritative, his hand gripping her wrist above her head, the stolen book falling to the floor with a thud.
“Out past curfew in the Restricted Section again? You never fucking learn, do you, you naughty little witch?” The bond flared with his arousal, his cock throbbing as her scent flooded his senses.
Hermione’s breath hitched, her eyes wide with feigned defiance but sparkling with desperate need, her pussy clenching.
“Malfoy—Prefect Malfoy,” she corrected, voice breathy but sharp, pushing her chest against him, nipples hard through her blouse.
“I was just... researching. You wouldn’t understand, you arrogant git.” The bond pulsed with her playful submission, her pussy throbbing under her skirt, begging for his touch.
Draco’s grin was pure sin, his free hand yanking her skirt higher, bunching it at her waist to expose her lace panties—drenched, clinging to her puffy lips, the fabric translucent with slick.
“Research, Granger? Breaking rules while dripping for trouble?” he growled, voice thick with love and control, ripping her panties down to her thighs with a sharp rip, the lace tearing, baring her glistening pussy.
“Look at this—fucking soaked, you filthy girl. This pussy’s begging for punishment, isn’t it?”
He slapped her ass hard, the smack sharp and echoing, her cheek reddening instantly, the sting sparking a jolt straight to her clit, making her gasp, “Malfoy—fuck, you can’t just—!”
“Oh, I fucking can, Granger,” he snarled, spinning her to face the oak table, bending her over it with a firm hand between her shoulder blades, her breasts smashing into the wood, her as thrust out, skirt a crumpled band around her waist.
“You’re mine to punish tonight, you rule-breaking little witch,” he growled, his hand coming down again—smack-smack-smack—each slap harder, her ass blooming red, the sting searing but sparking white-hot pleasure, her pussy gushing with each blow.
“Fuck, Granger—your arse looks so pretty red, pussy creaming for your prefect,” he snarled, voice raw with love, spanking her again, the smack making her sob, “Malfoy— harder!”
The bond was a fucking inferno, her pain-pleasure flooding his chest, his cock leaking pre-cum in a steady drip.
He paused, his hand rubbing her reddened cheeks, soothing the sting with slow, possessive circles, his voice dropping to a filthy whisper, “You love this, don’t you, Granger? Sneaking around, getting caught, your pussy empty wanting to be filled.”
His fingers slid between her thighs, parting her slick lips, two fingers thrusting into her pussy, curling hard against her G-spot, pumping with brutal speed.
“This cunt’s mine—breaking rules, begging to be fucked raw,” he growled, adding a third finger, stretching her wider. Hermione’s moan was raw, “Malfoy—fuck, I’m yours, punish me!” her hips bucking.
Draco’s free hand yanked her tie, pulling her head back, his lips grazing her ear, “Scream quieter, Granger—don’t want Filch hearing how much you like this,” he snarled, his fingers thrusting faster, curling relentlessly, her pussy spasming.
“Gonna punish this cunt till it’s stuffed full with my cock, till you’re sobbing my name.” He slapped her ass again—smack-smack—the sting pushing her closer, her pussy clenching hard, “Malfoy—please, fuck me!”
Draco freed his cock—slapping it against her reddened ass with a wet thwack, the sound making her whimper.
“Beg for it, Granger—beg your prefect to fuck this naughty pussy,” he growled, teasing her entrance, the head nudging her slick lips, parting them but not entering, her pussy clenching desperately.
“Malfoy—fuck me, please, I’m yours!” she moaned, voice breaking with need, hips pushing back. He thrust in to the hilt with a single hard thrust, her pussy stretching tight around his girth, his balls smacking her ass as he bottomed out.
“Fuck, Granger—your cunt’s choking me, so tight and wet,” he roared, hips moving with punishing force, the slap-slap-slap of his thrusts echoing in the room.
“Take it, you filthy rule-breaker—my cock punishing this pussy,” he snarled, one hand gripping her tie to pull her head back, the other spanking her ass—smack-smack—each slap sparking pleasure, her pussy squirting around him.
“Malfoy—I’ve been bad, harder!” she screamed, voice raw, the bond a fire of her love and submission.
He fucked her harder, the curve of his cock battering her G-spot, her walls trembling.
“Your cunt’s mine, Granger—gonna fuck you till you’re dripping my cum, till you never break curfew again,” he growled, his thrusts relentless, her cunt screaming for release.
Her orgasm crashed like a tidal wave, pussy spasming violently, squirting hot floods around his cock, soaking the table and floor, her scream raw, “Draco—yours, love you!”
He thundered, thrusting, spilling his cum deep inside, “Mine, Granger—my cum filling your cunt, love you!”
They collapsed against the table, panting, Draco still buried in her, kissing her neck, “Perfect, love—my perfect girl.”
The bond glowed with their love, as they tried to catch their breaths.
The door creaked open, and Theo stepped in, his Healer’s robes slightly rumpled from a long day at St. Mungo’s, his dark hair tousled.
His cock pressing tight against his trousers—twitched with interest, the bond sharing the echoes of their earlier passion.
“Well, well,” he murmured, voice warm but teasing, kicking off his boots and shrugging out of his robes to reveal his lean, muscular frame, a playful smirk curling his lips.
“I was in the middle of a bloody potion consultation, and the bond starts pulsing like a fucking fire alarm—desire so thick I nearly dropped a cauldron. What in Merlin’s name did you two get up to while I was slaving away? Spill it, loves—I felt you both from Diagon Alley.”
Hermione’s cheeks flushed crimson, a shy giggle escaping as she buried her face in Draco’s chest, the bond radiating her embarrassed arousal like a warm spark.
Draco’s grin was pure Slytherin smugness, his hand sliding to squeeze her ass, sparking a soft moan.
“Oh, Theo,” he drawled, voice dripping with satisfaction, “our brilliant little Gryffindor here confessed a fantasy, and let’s just say we made it very real in the library.”
He kissed Hermione’s temple, his eyes glinting with love. “Caught her sneaking into the Restricted Section past curfew—prefect’s duty to punish, you know.”
Theo’s laugh was rich, his eyes widening with delight as he climbed onto the sofa next to them, settling on Hermione’s other side, his hand brushing her thigh, the bond flaring with his playful curiosity.
“The Restricted Section? You kinky bastards,” he teased, voice thick with affection, leaning to kiss Hermione’s cheek, his lips lingering as he inhaled her scent—sweat, slick, and Draco’s cum.
“Merlin, love, I felt that bond screaming—your pussy must’ve been wrecked. Tell me everything, my heart—what did this smug prefect do to you?”
Hermione’s blush deepened, but her smile was bold, her voice soft but laced with love as she peeked up at Theo, the bond pulsing with her vulnerability.
“Draco... he caught me ‘breaking curfew’ in the library—Hogwarts uniforms, the whole thing,” she murmured, her hand tracing Draco’s chest, fingers brushing a scar.
“He pinned me against the shelves, spanked me until I was dripping, then bent me over a table and fucked me so hard I could barely stay quiet. It was... gods, Theo, it was perfect. I felt so his, but I missed you there, love.”
Theo’s eyes darkened with lust and love, his cock hardening against his trousers, the bond a fucking inferno of his arousal and adoration.
“Fuck, my angel,” he growled, voice trembling with playful jealousy, kissing her deeply, tongue tangling with hers, tasting Draco’s lingering claim.
“You two playing prefect and naughty Gryffindor without me? I’m wounded, love—my poor cock’s jealous it didn’t get to punish that pussy too.”
He nipped her lip, his hand sliding to her thigh, brushing the faint red marks on her ass, sparking a whimper.
“Spanked you red, did he? Bet this cunt was gushing, begging for his cock.”
Draco’s laugh was low and smug, his hand squeezing Hermione’s ass harder, “Oh, she was, Theo—Granger’s pussy was a fucking flood, dripping down her thighs before I even touched her. Had her screaming ‘Malfoy’ so loud I thought Filch would really show up.”
His voice softened with love, kissing her shoulder, “But she was perfect, took every spank, every thrust, gave me everything. Our girl’s a bloody dream.”
Theo’s grin was wicked, his fingers teasing higher, brushing her pussy lips—still slick with their combined release, puffy and tender—making her gasp.
“Gods, love—your cunt’s still dripping with mess, so fucking perfect,” he murmured, voice thick with love, kissing her neck.
“Next time, I’m joining—prefect Nott catching you both, maybe spanking him for letting you get away with it.” He winked at Draco, the bond pulsing with his playful lust.
“Bet you’d love that, Granger—both your prefects punishing you, cocks stretching that pussy till you’re sobbing.”
Hermione moaned, her pussy clenching, the bond a radiant wave of her love and arousal.
“Theo—Merlin, yes, I’d love that,” she whispered, voice trembling with emotion, pulling him into a kiss, then Draco, their lips meeting in a messy, love-soaked tangle.
“I love you both—so much. Tonight was... us, but I want you there next time, Theo, all of us.”
They curled around her, whispering filthy praises—“Our naughty Gryffindor,” “Perfect pussy, perfect love”—the bond a warm, glowing symphony as they drifted into a shared, intimate nap, hearts bound in their unbreakable love.
Notes:
Anything else fantasy wise anyone is hoping for?
Chapter 143: Good Press, Bad Omens
Notes:
The young heirs are at it again... and so is our attacker.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The house felt alive today — bustling, conversational, tense but hopeful.
Hermione moved briskly through the corridor, a stack of parchments pressed to her chest.
“The figures from the Treasury Office still don’t align with what Kingsley told us,” she said as she entered the library, where Theo and Blaise were arguing good-naturedly over projected budget numbers.
“The Minister always rounds up,” Blaise said lazily, his chair tilted back. “It’s a politician’s disease.”
Theo ran a hand through his hair, grinning despite himself. “If this bill passes tomorrow, we’ll all have to start thinking like politicians.”
Draco looked up from where he stood by the fireplace, his expression calm but his sleeves rolled up, showing the black ink of his watch against pale skin. “Heaven help us all when that happens.”
Neville, sitting cross-legged on the rug surrounded by parchment rolls, laughed nervously. “I still can’t believe we’re actually doing this. If we pull it off, families will get help—real help—for once.”
Hermione smiled softly, setting down her notes. “We will, Neville. It’s sound policy and morally right. That’s a rare combination.”
“You sound like McGonagall,” Theo teased.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
After a full group lunch, Luna proposed tea.
“The men are radiating anxious energy, it’s not good for the baby” she said serenely, standing in the doorway with her wand tucked behind her ear. “It might be catching.”
Pansy rolled her eyes but followed. “Fine. I could use a break from listening to them turn parchment into confetti.”
Hermione laughed, and the three women settled in the sunroom, the table between them filled with teacups, lemon biscuits, and a vase of wildflowers Luna had conjured — they were blue and silver and oddly seemed to hum faintly.
Pansy poured herself tea, sniffed it suspiciously. “Please tell me this isn’t one of your herbal experiments, Luna.”
“It’s calming,” Luna replied. “For nerves and fertility.”
Hermione choked on her sip. “Fertility?”
“Oh, yes,” Luna said matter-of-factly. “You’ll thank me later.”
Pansy gave her a look. “And why, exactly, do I need help with that?”
Luna tilted her head, dreamy and certain all at once. “Because you’ll have a baby sooner than you think.”
Pansy froze mid-sip sputtering. “Excuse me?”
Hermione’s eyes twinkled. “Luna, that’s… quite the prediction.”
“It’s not a prediction,” Luna said serenely. “It’s more of a knowing. Magic hums differently around people who are about to become mothers.”
Pansy muttered something unrepeatable under her breath, color creeping up her cheeks. “Well, if that’s the case, maybe your tea is cursed.”
Hermione laughed softly, shaking her head. “Only you would accuse Luna of witchcraft at a tea table.”
When the laughter died down, Luna turned her wide eyes toward Hermione, her tone soft but steady.
“And you, Hermione, are glowing too—but it’s not motherhood yet. It’s something else.”
Hermione frowned, setting down her cup. “What do you mean?”
Luna smiled as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “You and Draco are in love now. But the three of you haven’t fully joined together yet. Someday, but not soon I think.”
The words hung in the air like incense — delicate, heavy, impossible to ignore.
Pansy’s jaw dropped. “Luna!”
“What?” Luna blinked innocently. “It’s true.”
Hermione’s cheeks flushed. “We’re… we’re fine, Luna. We are in love with each other. And…. Um we’ve all consummated.”
“Oh, I know,” Luna said, sipping her tea. “You’re all fine. Just not complete.”
Hermione exchanged a helpless look with Pansy. “Do you have any idea what she means?”
Pansy leaned back, smirking. “No, but I’m sure it’ll drive you mental trying to figure it out.”
Hermione sighed. “It already is.”
Luna smiled dreamily, glancing toward the window where the sunlight was catching the snow melting on the glass. “Don’t overthink it. The bond always finds balance in its own time.”
The sound of laughter from down the hall broke the quiet. “That’ll be the boys,” Pansy said, rising with her cup. “Bet five galleons they’re arguing about which family name goes first on the parchment this time.”
Hermione followed, amusement replacing confusion. “Last time, Theo insisted alphabetical order was the only fair method.”
“That’s the most Theo thing I’ve ever heard,” Pansy said with a snort.
When they stepped back into the library, they found exactly that — the men gathered around the table, parchment floating midair, everyone talking over one another.
Blaise was laughing. “If you think Malfoy-Nott-Longbottom- Black fits neatly on a legal bill header, you’re mad!”
Draco, unbothered, countered coolly, “It has dignity.”
Neville looked utterly lost but good-natured. “Couldn’t we just use initials?”
Theo pointed his quill like a weapon. “No abbreviations. This is history, not homework.”
Hermione exchanged a look with Pansy. “They’re worse than first years.”
“They’ve been inhaling ink fumes,” Pansy agreed, smiling despite herself.
Luna drifted past them, humming. “Don’t worry, they’ll settle. Great things always get noisy before they take shape.”
When everyone had gone home and the manor was finally quiet, Hermione found Draco and Theo sitting on the sofa by the fire, parchment and plans strewn across the table. They both looked up when she entered — tired, but content.
“How’s our fearless leader?” Theo asked with a lazy grin.
Hermione smiled softly, sitting between them. “Ready for tomorrow.”
Draco brushed his fingers against hers. “So are we.”
The bond between them pulsed softly — a shared thrum of nervous energy, pride, and affection.
Tomorrow would be chaos.
Tonight, there was happy harmony with the bond humming.
The morning broke gray and cool, rain whispering faintly over the cobblestones outside Nott Manor. The triad dressed again in coordinated shades of emerald, black, and silver — a silent statement of unity and quiet defiance.
Hermione smoothed the front of her robes, the crest of both the Malfoy and Nott families embroidered subtly beside her Charms Mastery pin.
Theo adjusted his tie, while Draco straightened his cufflinks — silver serpents twined with ivy leaves.
“Ready?” Theo asked softly.
Hermione took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”
Draco offered her his arm. “Then let’s make some history.”
They Apparated into the grand atrium of the Ministry. It was buzzing with reporters, owls, and the low murmur of anticipation. Gold lettering on a hovering banner above read:
“WIZENGAMOT VOTE: FAMILY STIPEND PROPOSAL, SPONSORED BY THE HEIRS’ ALLIANCE.”
Photographers surged the moment they appeared, flash spells illuminating the marble.
“Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott! Do you truly believe this bill is fair to childless couples?”
“Heir Malfoy, are you confident the vote will pass?”
“Theo Nott, how does it feel to be part of the youngest coalition in Wizengamot history?”
Draco’s expression cooled instantly — his politician mask snapping into place. “We’re confident compassion is the future of our world,” he said smoothly, guiding Hermione forward. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, the floor awaits.”
Theo leaned in to whisper as they passed through the press. “We should start a betting pool on which paper prints the worst headline tomorrow.”
Hermione laughed softly. “That’s one way to fundraise.”
The circular chamber of the Wizengamot was already half full — black robes, family crests, and murmured conversations filling the air. Ancient magic hummed through the room like static.
Kingsley Shacklebolt, regal and composed, stood near the central dais speaking quietly with Neville, Blaise, and Harry. When he saw the triad approach, he smiled faintly.
“Excellent timing,” Kingsley said. “Your presentation begins in ten minutes.”
Hermione nodded. “Thank you, Minister.”
Neville looked pale but determined, Luna beside him radiating serene calm. “I hate this part,” he muttered to Theo. “Waiting.”
Theo clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll do fine. You’ve got a teacher’s voice — no one can argue with that.”
Pansy was chatting animatedly with Blaise near the visitor gallery, while Luna had brought along a handful of small glittering stones, placing them on the railing “to align the chamber’s aura.”
Draco, Hermione, and Theo took their seats behind the sponsor’s table. Hermione organized the parchment copies of their bill — The Family Stability and Welfare Provision Act — neatly in front of her.
She exhaled slowly. Draco’s hand brushed hers under the table. “You’ve got this,” he murmured.
Kingsley’s voice rang through the chamber. “The Wizengamot will now come to order. The first matter on today’s docket: Proposal 71-B- 7A, the Family Stipend Act, sponsored by the Heirs’ Alliance.”
Hermione stood first, her voice steady though her heart pounded.
“Esteemed members of the Wizengamot — as you know, the Marriage Law was created to rebuild a world shattered by war. But in seeking to restore numbers, we have forgotten people. The financial strain of compliance has left families vulnerable — those who did not ask for this law, yet must live by it.”
A ripple of murmurs filled the chamber.
“Our proposal,” she continued, “is simple: for every child born or adopted under Marriage Law compliance, the Ministry will provide a stipend and medical coverage for the first five years. This is not charity. It is responsibility. If we ask our citizens to rebuild, we must support them as they do.”
When she finished, there was a quiet moment — and then polite applause from several benches, Harry’s and Neville’s among them.
Draco rose next. His tone was sharp, eloquent — honed from years of his father’s drawing-room politics, now wielded for something good.
“This bill is not about indulgence. It is about stability. Without it, we risk breeding resentment — and resentment, as history has shown, breeds revolt. The next generation deserves more than fear and forced duty. They deserve dignity.”
A few older members shifted uncomfortably, but several nodded grudgingly.
Theo spoke last — quiet, thoughtful, disarmingly sincere. “I’ve seen what happens to families under pressure. At St. Mungo’s, we patch them up when the stress becomes too much. It shouldn’t take a healer’s ward to remind us to care for our own.”
There was a murmur of agreement from the younger members in the back.
Then came the rebuttals.
Lord Flint, one of the older pureblood members, rose from his bench, robes rustling. “Idealistic nonsense,” he sneered. “Our coffers already fund too many unnecessary social reforms. Next you’ll want to pay Muggles for existing.”
Hermione’s jaw tightened, but Draco’s hand brushed her wrist — a silent warning not to rise to it.
“Lord Flint,” Draco said icily, “it’s rather telling that the idea of families not starving sounds idealistic to you.”
Flint went red, muttering something about “upstart heirs.”
Madam Bulstrode spoke next, more measured but no less resistant. “Who determines need? The Ministry cannot sustain such handouts. If people cannot afford children, perhaps they are unfit for them.”
Hermione stood again, calm but fierce. “And yet you still supported the law forcing them to have children. Which is it, Madam? Should they comply or be punished for noncompliance?”
That earned her applause — from Luna, from Harry, even from a few of the older members who’d softened since the war.
Theo leaned toward Draco and murmured, “She’s terrifying when she’s logical.”
Draco’s lips curved faintly. “That’s why we married her.”
After hours of debate, speeches, and amendments, the chamber fell silent for the vote. Kingsley raised his wand.
“All those in favor of passing the Proposal — aye.”
A wave of wands lit the air — Harry’s, Neville’s, Blaise’s, Draco’s, Theo’s — and dozens more.
“All opposed?”
A smaller cluster glowed red. The old guard: Flint, Bulstrode, Yaxley’s uncle, a few others.
Kingsley’s gaze swept the room. “The ayes have it. Proposal passes with majority approval.”
Applause erupted, echoing off the marble. Neville exhaled audibly, looking stunned and glad he didn’t even have to publicly argue for more votes.
Blaise slapped Theo on the back, nearly spilling his ink bottle. Luna clapped politely and announced to no one in particular, “Balance restored.”
Hermione felt tears sting her eyes. Draco caught her hand and lifted it briefly, letting the light catch the silver bond-mark on her finger. “We did it again,” he whispered.
She turned to Theo, who was grinning in relief. “You were brilliant,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
Hermione laughed, the sound bright and disbelieving. “We were brilliant.”
Outside the courtroom, the press had gathered again, waiting for a statement. Kingsley urged them forward.
Hermione, Draco, Harry, Neville, Blaise, and Theo stood before the flashing lights. She cleared her throat, voice steady.
“Today, the wizarding world took a step toward compassion. This bill is not the end of our work, but the beginning of what we can build together. We rebuild not just through magic — but through kindness.”
The crowd erupted in applause. A reporter shouted, “Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott, how does it feel to make history in so many ways every day?”
Hermione glanced between the men beside her, her smile soft and knowing. “It feels,” she said, “like the world is finally learning how to heal.”
That night, the Nott Manor glowed with quiet celebration. Harry and Ginny arrived with wine, Luna brought enchanted lanterns that bobbed along the ceiling, and Pansy had somehow procured a cake shaped like a Wizengamot gavel.
Draco stood near the fire, glass in hand, watching Hermione laugh with Neville and Luna. Theo joined him, bumping his shoulder lightly.
“She’s incredible,” Theo said.
Draco smiled faintly. “I know.”
As Hermione crossed the room to join them, the bond between the three thrummed — strong, luminous, alive. The world was still uncertain.
But tonight, they’d changed it.
Together.
The next day moods were cheery acrossed the breakfast table of Nott Manor.
The air smelled of toast, coffee, and the faint trace of parchment ink. Hermione sat curled in a dressing gown between Draco and Theo, the three of them still bleary-eyed from a night that had lasted far too late — toasting with their friends, reviewing amendments, some shared passion, and finally collapsing together in their suite.
Now, owls were swooping through the high kitchen windows one after another, dropping envelopes and rolled newspapers onto the table with a flutter of wings.
Theo eyed the growing pile. “We’re going to need another table if the press keeps this up.”
Draco gave a dry smirk. “That’s what happens when you topple half the Wizengamot’s old guard before breakfast.”
Hermione unrolled the first copy of The Daily Prophet, the bold headline stretching across the top in gleaming ink.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
“New Generation Ushers in a Kinder Era — Family Stipend Bill Passes by Narrow Margin”
LONDON, MINISTRY OF MAGIC — For the first time since the passage of the controversial Marriage Law, the Wizengamot has approved sweeping reform to support families it forced into being.
Yesterday’s tense vote ended with a slim but decisive victory for the Family Stability and Welfare Provision Act, sponsored by the self-styled “Heirs’ Alliance,” a coalition of young post-war leaders including Heir Theodore Nott, Lord Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, Heir of the Longbottom Estate, Blaise Zabini, and Harry Potter (Black house seat).
The measure guarantees a government stipend and full medical coverage for every child born or adopted under the Marriage Law for their first five years.
In a speech hailed as one of the most stirring since the war, Hermione Malfoy-Granger- Nott, the Muggleborn war hero and Charms scholar, addressed the Wizengamot:
“If the Ministry asks citizens to rebuild our world, it must also help carry the weight. Compassion is not weakness — it is the foundation of justice.”
Sources inside the chamber report that even several elder pure-blood families abstained rather than vote against the measure — a silent admission that the tide of public sentiment is turning.
When asked for comment afterward, Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt said simply, “This is the first step toward repairing not only our population, but our conscience.”
A photograph on the front page showed the young coalition leaving the chamber arm-in-arm, Hermione smiling brightly between her husbands, the three bond-rings on their hands gleaming faintly in the enchanted light.
Though a few traditionalists grumbled that “the world’s gone soft,” most citizens appear heartened. “It’s about time someone looked out for ordinary witches and wizards,” said one Diagon Alley shopkeeper.
If this is the future of wizarding politics, the Prophet concludes, perhaps it is in better hands than we feared.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Hermione blinked, rereading the final line. “They actually… like us.”
Theo grinned, pouring himself coffee. “You sound shocked.”
Draco leaned over her shoulder, eyes lingering on the moving photograph of them exiting the Wizengamot together.
“I look rather dashing for a man who nearly hexed Lord Flint halfway through the session.”
“You looked dignified,” Hermione corrected, nudging him. “There’s a difference.”
<<<<<
“Power, Passion, and Politics: The Golden Trio of Hearts Leads a New Age”
Last night’s celebrations at Nott Manor sparkled as brightly as the bond rings on the triads hands. But the real fireworks came earlier in the day, inside the Ministry itself, when the wizarding world’s most intriguing bond — Hermione Granger-Malfoy-Nott, Draco Malfoy, and Theodore Nott — helped pass the Family Stipend Bill, ushering in hope for thousands of families.
The trio, sometimes dubbed “The Triad of the New Era,” appeared at the session in coordinated emerald, silver, and black — a fashion statement many interpreted as a blend of their respective houses: intellect, ambition, and resilience united.
Witnesses described an “undeniable harmony” between them as they spoke in turn, finishing one another’s arguments like a perfectly rehearsed dance.
And yet, even the professional façade could not hide what our sources describe as a “warm, magnetic energy” between them — the kind that makes one wonder whether love itself has become the new magic driving the Ministry forward.
When asked after the vote whether personal emotion interfered with political duty, Hermione Granger-Malfoy-Nott replied: “Empathy isn’t interference. It’s how we make laws that matter.”
Witch Weekly salutes the triad not only for their policy work but for their example: proof that love — in all its forms — can indeed change the world.
(Side note: No, dear readers, there is still no confirmed pregnancy at this time — though the gleam on Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott’s ring was “positively radiant,” according to one onlooker.)
<<<<<<<<<<<<
Theo whistled. “You’d think Witch Weekly would explode if they ever ran out of adjectives.”
Hermione laughed softly, setting the paper down. “They actually didn’t insult my hair once. I might frame this.”
Draco folded his copy carefully, his tone low but affectionate. “They finally see you as more than the war heroine. They see us — what we’re building.”
Theo leaned back in his chair, eyes warm. “I’ll drink to that.”
They did — clinking coffee mugs instead of wineglasses, because it was still early and they were trying to be respectable adults. The bond between them thrummed lightly — steady, content, the faint golden shimmer at their joined hands bright in the morning light.
The peaceful moment didn’t last.
A sharp tap-tap-tap at the kitchen window drew Hermione’s gaze. Another owl — unfamiliar, mottled gray — hovered impatiently, a black ribbon tied around its leg.
Theo frowned immediately. “That doesn’t look like a press owl.”
Draco’s hand twitched toward his wand. “Don’t open it until I check it.”
Hermione nodded, stepping aside as Draco flicked his wand. The letter detached and floated toward the table, the wax seal snapping open mid-air.
A faint whiff of burnt metal filled the room — protective hexes neutralizing themselves under his spell.
The parchment unfolded. The handwriting was jagged, angry, slashed in black ink. Hermione read it aloud, her voice quiet but steady.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Stay out of the way, Mudblood Granger.
You think changing a few laws makes you safe? It doesn’t.
You’ve dirtied your blood further, and soon the world will remember who you really are.
Next time, your protectors won’t be fast enough.
— A Friend of the Old Ways
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Silence.
The letter drifted down onto the table like a dead leaf.
Theo’s chair scraped back. “I’m going to have the owl traced right now.”
Draco’s expression had gone as white and cold as marble. “No tracing is going to help. I want the handwriting analyzed first. Whoever this is knows how to mask magical signatures. We’ll have to think smarter.”
Hermione’s hands trembled, but she forced a calm breath. “It’s not the first threat I’ve had.”
“It’ll be the last if I can help it,” Draco said sharply, his voice taut with fury and fear.
Theo touched Hermione’s shoulder gently. “We’ll double check the wards, change the apparition routes, everything. You’re not taking any extra chnaces in public without us at all anymore, and all our friends you visit need to double down on their wards too.”
Hermione looked between them, eyes glistening. “I don’t want to live in fear.”
Draco reached for her hand, his thumb brushing the ring that marked their bond. “Then we’ll make sure fear lives in them instead.”
The bond pulsed between them — hot, protective, fierce — a promise unspoken but understood.
Outside, the gray owl vanished into the distant sky.
Inside, the triad sat together in silence, surrounded by half-eaten breakfast and cooling tea — the glow of their rings faint but unwavering.
Notes:
Hermione needs more girl time with friends I think, she hasn't seen a lot of them lately.
Chapter 144: Falling Softly
Chapter Text
The morning sun hung lazily over Wiltshire when Draco insisted, once again, on escorting Hermione to her Charms Mastery classes.
It had become a familiar rhythm between them: her protests that she could handle herself, his dry reminders about “the last time she walked alone into danger,” and Theo’s indulgent smile as he kissed her forehead before leaving for his healer’s shift.
The ride through the floo network to the Charms Academy was quiet, but the air between Hermione and Draco was no longer heavy with tension as it once had been over his protection.
Instead, there was a quiet fondness — the kind that hums beneath conversation.
“You don’t have to stay outside the classroom every day,” Hermione said as they walked down the marble hallway.
Draco’s mouth quirked. “You say that every morning, and yet I find myself here every afternoon, still alive and uncursed. So I must be doing something right.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled. “You’re ridiculous.”
He looked down at her, voice dropping just slightly, softened by something real. “And you love me for it.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Unfortunately, yes.”
He laughed — low and genuine — before brushing his lips over her knuckles like a man in an old painting, and she ducked into her classroom to the amused looks of her classmates.
From the hall, she could still feel his presence through the bond: steady, protective, and just a little smug.
After her morning lessons ended, Draco offered his arm with a small bow. “Lunch with Pansy and Blaise, wasn’t it? Merlin help us all.”
Hermione linked her arm through his. “You know you enjoy Blaise’s company. He makes you feel normal.”
“I assure you, Granger,” he said dryly as they apparated to the Zabini estate gates, “nothing about Blaise Zabini has ever been normal.”
The Zabini estate was sprawling and warm, with Mediterranean charm — terracotta courtyards, sunlight spilling through stained glass, the faint scent of rosemary drifting in from the spring gardens.
Pansy met them at the front door in a flowing green dress, her black hair swept up in lazy curls, looking like she’d stepped straight out of a magazine cover. “Hermione, darling!” she squealed, wrapping her arms around her. “And Draco! Blaise, come claim your rival!”
Blaise appeared behind her, smirking, cue in hand. “I told you I’d have to keep him entertained somehow. Hermione, come save me from my wife’s dramatics.”
Draco smirked, leaning close to Hermione. “You see? Entirely unhinged.”
After polite chatter, Blaise and Draco disappeared to the billiard room, leaving Pansy and Hermione in the garden conservatory with a sunlit table full of tea, delicate sandwiches, and raspberry tarts.
For a few minutes, they spoke about the Ministry vote, about how proud they were of Neville’s idea, about Luna’s increasingly odd pregnancy cravings.
Then Pansy leaned back, crossed one leg elegantly over the other, and fixed Hermione with a grin that meant trouble.
“So,” she said casually, stirring her tea. “Married life with two of the most attractive men in the country. How ever are you surviving? Sore?”
Hermione nearly choked on her biscuit. “Pansy!”
“Oh, don’t you ‘Pansy!’ me,” she teased, laughing. “It’s a fair question! The press won’t stop printing glowing articles about your bond — literal glowing, apparently — and you look positively radiant these days.”
Hermione tried to hide behind her teacup. “We’re happy. It’s… complicated, but we’re finding our rhythm.”
“Complicated,” Pansy repeated knowingly. “That’s one way to describe it. You do remember I’ve known both of them since we were twelve, yes? I could write a manual on their bad habits.”
“I’m fairly certain Draco would hex you for even trying.”
“True,” Pansy mused, eyes twinkling. “But Theo wouldn’t. He’s a gentleman through and through — though I suppose even gentlemen have their… moments.”
Hermione flushed scarlet. “Pansy—”
“I’m only saying,” she continued, delighting in Hermione’s embarrassment, “if you ever find yourself a bit overwhelmed trying to keep up with both of them — or if one of them gets a little too cautious — I’m an excellent resource for advice. Consider me your… marital consultant.”
“Marital consultant,” Hermione repeated, incredulous.
“Precisely! I could help you plan out what to wear and how to back them loose their co—”
“Stop talking.” Hermione buried her face in her hands, laughing despite herself.
Pansy grinned wickedly. “You love me.”
“I tolerate you.”
“That’s Slytherin for love.”
They both dissolved into laughter, the tension melting away into the easy rhythm of friendship.
When Draco and Blaise returned from the billiard room — both smug, both claiming victory — Hermione and Pansy were still laughing so hard they could barely breathe.
Draco raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Do I even want to know?”
“Absolutely not,” Hermione said quickly, trying to compose herself.
Pansy smirked. “We were discussing… strategy.”
Blaise chuckled. “That’s what you call it now?”
Hermione stood, cheeks still pink. “Thank you for lunch, Pansy. Truly. It was—”
“Educational?” Pansy supplied sweetly.
“Mortifying,” Hermione corrected.
Draco, utterly lost but amused, took her hand. “Whatever it was, it seems to have improved your mood.”
Hermione met his gaze, warmth rising in her chest. “It did.”
As they said their goodbyes, Pansy whispered conspiratorially in Hermione’s ear, “Remember, darling — confidence is everything.”
Hermione gave her a mock glare but couldn’t help smiling as Draco led her toward the floo. “One day, Pansy, you’re going to make me hex you.”
Pansy grinned. “Oh, I count on it.”
On the way home, Draco studied her amused expression. “Do I want to know what you two talked about?”
“Absolutely not,” she said primly.
He gave her that small, knowing smile. “Then I probably already know.”
Hermione laughed softly, resting her head against his shoulder as the fireplace glow carried them home.
Hermione had been a tempest all afternoon, her period bringing vicious cramps and bloating, yet also maddening horniness, the bond broadcasting her annoyance and need like a crackling wildfire.
Theo, fresh from a grueling morning at St. Mungo’s, had found her curled on the bedroom bed, a heating charm pressed to her belly, snapping at him for asking what was wrong.
Draco, finishing estate matters, joined them, the bond’s turmoil pulling him in. “I’m achy, horny, and bleeding,” Hermione had admitted, voice sharp but vulnerable, “and I’m driving myself mad.”
Theo, unfazed, had murmured, “My heart, I’m a Healer—blood’s nothing. Let me love you.”
Draco, eyes glinting with love, added, “Your blood’s natural, Granger—your pussy’s perfect, period or not.”
Convinced, they led her to the shower, the bond a molten tide of their love melting her resistance.
The glass-walled shower was a steamy, intimate haven, scalding water cascading from the rain showerhead, the marble floor slick and warm under their feet, steam curling around their naked bodies like a lover’s gentle embrace.
Hermione’s curls were plastered to her sweat-slicked skin with steam, her thighs trembling, the bond a warm, liquid glow of her desperate need and trust.
Theo and Draco were bare, their bodies gleaming with water and sweat—Draco’s lean, scarred frame, his 8.5-inch cock half-hard, veined and curving, head leaking pre-cum in slow beads; Theo’s sexy build, his 7-inch cock wrist-thick, apadravya piercing glinting, resting heavy against his thigh.
Theo pulled her under the water first, his touch exquisitely gentle, his hands cradling her face as he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her lips.
“My perfect angel, our heart,” he whispered, voice thick with love, his eyes glistening with emotion as he lathered a soft, lavender-soaped cloth, washing her shoulders with slow, worshipful strokes, the warm suds sliding down her breasts in foamy rivers.
“You’re so sexy, love—achy, needy, but still mine, still ours. Let us take care of you, ease every pain, love every inch of you.”
His cloth glided over her breasts, circling her nipples softly, sparking gentle shivers, the soap rinsing away as water cascaded over her curves, soothing her cramps with its warmth.
Hermione’s sigh was soft, her body melting into his touch, her eyes glistening with love, “Theo... you make me feel so safe, love you,” she whispered.
Draco pressed against her back, his touch equally gentle, his hands cupping her hips, lips brushing her neck, “Our perfect wife, Granger—let us love you through this,” his voice soft with devotion, the bond pulsing with his protective care.
Theo’s cloth slid lower, cleaning her belly with slow, soothing circles, the warmth easing her bloating, then to her pussy, parting her lips with tender reverence to rinse the blood, his fingers brushing her clit softly, sparking a tender gasp.
Draco’s fingers slid lower, two thrusting into her pussy, curling gently against her G-spot, the stretch warm and sparking pleasure, slick and blood mixingdown his hand.
“Feel our love, Granger—every touch for you,” he whispered, voice raw with love, pumping slowly, her pussy fluttering. Theo’s fingers rubbed her clit, “You’re our everything, my angel,” his voice trembling with love. Her first orgasm was gentle but profound, pussy fluttering around Draco’s fingers, tinted spurt, her moan love-soaked, “Draco—Theo—love you!”
Theo’s tenderness quickly shifted to fierce love, his cock thrusting into her pussy, her walls clenching tight, slick and blood coating him in creamy, tinted floods that dripped down his balls, washed away by the shower stream.
“My angel—feel my piercing loving you, rubbing your soul,” he murmured, voice thick with devotion, hips moving slowly at first, the piercing dragging across her G-spot with deliberate, tender strokes, its cool metal warming in her heat, sparking gentle, electric jolts that made her pussy flutter.
Hermione’s moan was soft, “Theo—your piercing, it’s so perfect, love you,” her hands cuping his face, the bond a warm symphony of their love.
Draco pressed against Theo’s back, his cock slick with charmed lube, nudging his ass with a possessive snarl.
“Gonna join you both, mate—make this a chain of our triad,” he whispered. His voice was trembling with love, thrusting into Theo with a slow thrust, his cock stretching Theo’s ass, the bond flaring with their shared intimacy.
Theo’s groan was tender, “Draco—love you, fill me,” his thrusts into Hermione deepening gently, the piercing scraping her G-spot with loving precision.
The chain was intimate, their movements synchronized—Draco’s slow, deep thrusts into Theo, Theo’s piercing grazing Hermione’s G-spot, water cascading over them.
The intensity escalated, Theo’s thrusts turning fierce, “Fuck, my heart—your pussy’s eating my piercing, feel it fuck you apart?” he roared, hips slamming with punishing speed.
“That piercing’s owning you, love—grinding your G-spot till you’re screaming,” he whipered, twisting his hips to angle the barbell harder, slow, grinding circles that sparked electric fire, then rapid, punishing thrusts that pounded her walls.
Hermione’s screams were wild, “Theo—your piercing, it’s killing me, love you!” her hands ripping at his hair, nails digging bloody crescents, her breasts bouncing violently.
Draco’s thrusts into Theo matched, his cock battering Theo’s prostate, “Take it, Theo—your ass is mine, fucking her bloody pussy for me,” he roared, hands clawing Theo’s hips, fingers bruising as he pounded harder, , his balls slapping Theo’s ass in a primal rhythm.
“Love you both—wrecking your ass with my cock,” he snarled, spanking Theo’s ass—smack-smack—the sting syncing with Theo’s thrusts, pushing the piercing deeper into Hermione, her pussy spasming, squirting in forceful spurts.
Minutes stretched into an eternity of intensity, Draco varying his thrusts—slow, grinding plunges that sparked Theo’s prostate, making him groan and thrust deeper into Hermione, the piercing dragging her G-spot in torturous, slow circles that built her pleasure to a fever pitch.
“Fuck, loves—your bodies are mine,” Draco bellowed, spanking Theo’s ass around his cock. Theo’s piercing twisted in Hermione’s pussy, scraping her G-spot in relentless patterns—slow drags that made her sob with need, rapid flicks that sparked electric fire, deep nudges that ghosted her cervix.
Theo’s voice was raw with love, “My angel—your cunt’s screaming for me, feel it own you, love you,” his hips slamming, her pussy convulsing. Draco’s thrusts into Theo were feral, “Love you, Theo—your ass milking me, fucking her bloody cunt,” his cock battering Theo’s prostate.
Theo’s free hand clawed Hermione’s breast, pinching her nipple, “Cum for us, my heart—let this pussy explode,” his voice trembling with devotion.
Draco’s hand reached around Theo, fingers slamming into Hermione’s clit, rubbing with brutal speed, “Take it, Granger—your pussy’s ours, gonna make you squirt till you break,” he growled.
Hermione’s orgasm was epic, pussy convulsing in violent, soul-shattering spasms around Theo’s cock, the piercing amplifying the spasms into electric, apocalyptic jolts that tore through her core.
Theo bellowed, his cock pulsing, spilling thick, hot ropes deep in her pussy, the piercing throbbing with each jet, “My angel—take my cum, love you!”
Draco’s orgasm followed, his cock flooding Theo’s ass, “Fuck, Theo—mine, love you!” the chain shuddering as they came together, the bond a radiant, love-soaked explosion.
They eased apart slowly, water rinsing their mess, Theo’s cock slipping from Hermione with a pop, Draco’s from Theo.
They soothed her with bloat and cramping potions, washing her pussy gently, kissing every inch—lips, nipples, clit, pussy—whispering, “Our perfect girl, period or not,” the bond a radiant embrace as they curled up in bed, hearts bound in their bloody, intimate love.
At Hermione’s request, they’d all changed into something comfortable: Theo in an old green Henley and joggers, Draco in dark slacks and a soft black jumper, Hermione in an oversized rose sweater that wen tto her knees.
The fire in the dining room crackled, wine glasses shimmered with candlelight, and for the first time in days, they all looked… content and satisfied.
Hermione slid into her seat between them, the tips of her fingers brushing Theo’s as Draco poured wine into each of their glasses.
“No dress robes tonight,” Hermione said, smiling softly. “Just us.”
“To surviving another week,” Theo offered warmly.
They clinked their glasses together, the soft chime echoing in the firelight.
The first course passed easily — grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, with the bottle of deep red wine from the Malfoy cellars. Conversation wound through light topics: Pansy’s latest outrageous luncheon gossip, Blaise’s new apple wine business venture, Luna’s pregnancy updates, and Ginny’s victorious match last weekend.
Draco was describing a particularly pompous Undersecretary who’d accidentally set his quill on fire during a budget hearing yesterday when Theo, who’d been quiet, finally looked up from his plate.
“I wanted to ask you both about something strange that happened at work.”
Hermione’s expression softened. “Rough day?”
Theo nodded slightly. “Odd more than rough. Do you remember that half-blood seventh year from Hogwarts — the one who came into St. Mungo’s last month with a nearly depleted magical core?”
Draco frowned. “The one who couldn’t produce a single spark even under diagnostics? Yes. You said he hadn’t shown signs of spell exhaustion or dark curse interference.”
Theo nodded again, swirling the wine in his glass. “They still haven’t found the cause. And this morning, another student came in — a muggleborn sixth-year girl. Same symptoms. Completely untraceable magical signature, just like her core is suddenly gone. The Healers checked everything — blood curses, potion interference, curses, core disruption from trauma — nothing. It’s as if their magic simply… vanished.”
Hermione set down her fork, her brow furrowing. “That’s impossible. Magical cores don’t just disappear without cause. There’s always a trace — residue, leakage, something.”
“I know,” Theo said quietly. “But this is the second case in less than two months. I spent most of the day with the lead Healer running through every diagnostic charm we have. It’s like the magic itself was absorbed or… drawn out.”
Draco leaned forward, his tone measured. “You’re thinking it’s not natural.”
Theo hesitated. “I don’t know. But I can’t shake the feeling something’s targeting them — both muggleborn and half-blood students. And if that’s true, it’s not just a medical mystery. It’s something darker. I’m worried there is an artifact at Hogwarts that they’re coming into contact with that’s stripping their magic.”
The three of them sat in thoughtful silence for a few moments, the fire popping softly in the background.
Hermione’s fingers tightened around her wineglass. “You don’t think it’s someone experimenting with magic suppression again, do you? Like what happened during the war — the spells that registered muggleborns?”
Draco’s jaw tightened, eyes flicking toward her. “If it is, they’re bolder than anyone I’ve met in years. The Ministry’s wards should detect any large-scale drain of magical energy.”
Theo nodded grimly. “They should. But they haven’t.”
Hermione glanced between them, her expression troubled. “Could this be connected to those threatening letters? Maybe whoever’s behind that—”
Draco immediately cut her off, voice sharper than intended. “Absolutely not. I’m not letting you near this theory, Hermione.”
She blinked, startled by his tone. “Draco, I’m not saying I’m going to investigate—”
Theo arched a brow. “You’re thinking about it.”
Draco gave a low groan. “Merlin help us. Of course she is.”
Hermione glared at both of them, exasperated. “I’m a researcher, not reckless.”
Theo gave her a fond, crooked smile. “You’re Hermione Granger. Reckless is practically a given.”
That earned a reluctant laugh from her — and even Draco’s irritation softened into something tender.
“Let the Ministry handle it,” he said at last, more gently this time. “If it spreads beyond Hogwarts, I’ll bring it up to my department head directly again. I really think there’s an artifiact there that’s doing this. I’m going to tell them to do a sweep of the school for dark objects.”
Hermione sighed, but nodded. “Fine. But promise me you’ll keep me informed.”
“Promise,” Draco said immediately, and Theo added his quiet agreement beside him.
The heaviness in the room gradually faded as dessert appeared — fresh fruit, custard, and a second bottle of wine. They let the conversation shift back to lighter things: upcoming Ministry sessions, Pansy’s planned summer gala for war orphans, and the possibility of taking a short trip somewhere quiet once the spring term ended for Hermione.
Theo leaned his head back against his chair, eyes soft with exhaustion. “You know, for a trio cursed with bureaucracy, assassination attempts, and magical anomalies, we’re doing rather well.”
Draco snorted softly. “Speak for yourself, Healer Nott. I’m beginning to feel my grey hairs coming in early.”
Hermione reached across the table and brushed his hand, smiling faintly. “They’d look distinguished on you.”
Theo raised his glass toward her with a grin. “Flattery and affection in one sentence. Remind me to note that in the bond journal.”
Draco gave him a half-hearted glare. “You’re insufferable.”
Theo chuckled, setting his glass down. “And yet you love me for it.”
Draco’s expression softened; Hermione could feel through their connection the pulse of warmth beneath his sarcasm.
“I suppose I do,” Draco murmured.
Later, after the plates were cleared and the fire dimmed low, the three of them moved to the sitting room with tea. Hermione curled against Draco’s shoulder on one end of the couch, Theo lounging beside them, one arm draped casually over the back.
“Two students,” Hermione said softly. “It’s not coincidence.”
Theo nodded. “No. But I’ll look into it quietly. You both have enough to worry about with all your already dping.”
“Still,” Draco said, gazing into the flames. “If whatever this is reaches beyond Hogwarts…”
Hermione reached for both their hands, squeezing gently. “Then we’ll face it. Together.”
The word lingered in the air — an unspoken promise, warm and certain despite the unease curling beneath it.
For a moment, none of them spoke, content to sit in the glow of the hearth, their fingers intertwined, the magic of their bond humming softly — steady, alive, and undeniably theirs.
In ther suite, the lamps were turned low and the hearth was alive.
Hermione’s oversized sweater wrapped her in cozy warmth; Draco’s black jumper carried the faint scent of smoke and bergamot; Theo’s Henley clung to him, sleeves pushed to the elbow. Pudding hopped to the bed, circled twice, and made a neat fluffy comma of herself.
Hermione poured them each a little more wine. “We can either keep thinking about the Ministry and St. Mungo’s,” she said, handing out the glasses, “or we can be selfish for an hour and think about… us.”
Theo took his glass, eyes warm. “Voting selfish.”
“Seconded,” Draco said, but his gaze stayed on her like a vow.
They talked first—soft, elliptical things. How the stipend vote felt like a door opening. How Draco had stopped clenching his jaw quite so hard in crowded rooms. How Theo’s laugh came easier, even on days that smelled like antiseptic and fear for Hermione’s safety. Hermione listened and then spoke, the words settling in the space like falling snow.
“We keep saying ‘together’,” she said. “It still feels like magic every time.”
Theo, from the armchair: “It is magic.”
Draco, from the hearth: “And a choice. Every day.”
She set her glass down and crossed to Draco, lifting his hand. The bond-ring glimmered faintly where flame met silver. “You scare me sometimes,” she said softly. “How fiercely you love. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so… seen and proetected.”
A muscle moved in his throat. “It’s… new to me too,” he admitted. “Wanting softness more than control. Wanting you to be happy more than I want to be right.”
His mouth quirked, self-mocking, then gentled. “And I want you, Hermione. The cleverness, the stubbornness, the light you won’t let the world take. I want all of it.”
The kiss that followed wasn’t urgent—it was deep and steady, like two truths fitting. The ring pulsed a soft heat against her finger in time with the beat in her ears.
Theo didn’t look away. He didn’t make a joke. He only watched with an expression that said “finally,” and the bond rippled—Draco’s anchored intensity braided with Theo’s quiet devotion until Hermione felt held from two sides at once.
She crossed to Theo next, he sat forward, elbows on knees, and she climbed into the circle his body made without thinking, knees bracketing his thighs. His hands didn’t grab; they cupped—one at her waist, one at the nape of her neck, patient as breath.
Her fingers slid along his jaw, feeling the long day in the rasp of stubble. “You’re always steady for me. Even when you’re tired. Especially then.”
Theo’s voice went low. “I don’t know any other way to love than to show up.”
Her breath hitched. “Say that again.”
He did, softer: “I’ll show up. For you. Every time.”
She kissed him, and he kissed her back with a reverence that made her bones loosen. No hurry. No proving. When they parted, she didn’t move away. His forehead rested against hers, and the room seemed to narrow to the three of them and the whisper of the fire.
Behind her, Draco exhaled the kind of breath a person lets out when they’ve reached a logn drawn conclusion.
“Come here,” Hermione said, reaching a hand toward Draco without leaving Theo’s lap.
Draco obeyed, kneeling on the rug beside the chair, one palm sliding over Theo’s shoulder in easy familiarity that once would’ve startled her, now only warmed.
The bond hummed—three frequencies aligning—and for a heartbeat she felt it all at once: Draco’s protective heat, Theo’s steadfast glow, her own answering spark that braided them together.
“I need to say something,” she told them.
She took Draco’s hand in one of hers and Theo’s in the other. “I’m in love with you both so deeply.”
She glanced between them, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. “Head over heels, with both of you. In different ways, the same way. It doesn’t divide—it multiplies. You don’t take from each other in me; you make more of me.”
Theo’s fingers tightened on hers, a spark arcing through the band. Draco’s eyes went bright and unbearably tender.
“Say it again,” Draco breathed, as if the words themselves fed him.
She smiled through sudden tears. “I love you.”
Theo’s answer was immediate, sure. “I love you, Hermione.” He lifted their joined hands and kissed her knuckles like a promise.
Draco’s voice roughened. “I love you,” he said, and then, to Theo, surprising himself with the ease of it, “I love you, too.” His thumb pressed once into Theo’s shoulder; Theo’s hand lifted, covered Draco’s where it rested, and the bond sang—a low chord that felt like home.
They moved to the bed not because the scene needed it, but because the night invited it—the sort of invitation that means rest here, be here.
Hermione sat back against the pillows and drew them with her: Draco on the right, Theo on the left, their bodies an open parenthesis that closed around her without trapping.
At some point Draco tucked the sweater fully off her shoulder with two fingers like he was revealing art; at some point Theo brushed a thumb over the edge of her smile like he was memorizing it for a long shift.
In the quiet, she felt them—felt them: the ache in Draco that was relief and claim, the glow in Theo that was devotion and ease. And under it, her own answering swell.
“Loe you,” she whispered, though none of them were going anywhere.
“Always,” Theo answered.
“Obviously,” Draco muttered, and then ruined his own composure by kissing her temple like a boy who’d won something he never thought he’d deserve.
They talked long into the night in the way people do when the dark is kind—low, honest, almost without secrets.
Draco admitted he still woke sometimes certain the world would try to rip one of them away; Hermione told him that fear didn’t make him weak, it made him careful, and that care was a love language.
Theo admitted he sometimes felt like he had to be the stabilizer and worried he might forget how to drift; Hermione told him that steadiness was a superpower, not a cage.
“And you?” Draco asked, thumb tracing the line of her wrist. “What scares you, witch?”
“That I’ll fail you,” she said, very softly. “That I’ll be asked to be more than I am.”
Theo’s mouth curved; Draco’s eyes softened. “You already are more than you think,” Theo said.
“And exactly enough,” Draco added.
She laughed brokenly. “Terrible combination. I’m going to be insufferable.”
“Already are,” Draco said, affection saturating the words.
“Good,” she decided, and kissed them both—quick, decisive, sealing.
They lay like that until the house settled and the night gathered them up. And just before sleep hit them, the softest confessions landed once more in the dark—quiet, ordinary, perfect:
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
Notes:
Little foreshadowing.... guesses about what's going on with the Hogwarts students?
Chapter 145: Pies and Dark Skies
Chapter Text
The crooked outline of The Burrow always looked as though it had grown from the ground itself—every wonky window glowing with home.
The smell of bread, cinnamon, and woodsmoke wrapped around Hermione, Ginny, and Luna as they stepped through the door.
“Girls!” Molly Weasley beamed, cheeks flushed pink from the oven heat. “Perfect timing, the dough’s risen beautifully. Hands washed and wands ready!”
Ginny kissed her mother’s cheek before rolling her sleeves up. “Don’t say I never help,” she teased, summoning flour to the table with a practiced flick.
Hermione smiled, tying one of Molly’s aprons around her waist. “What are we making today?”
“Everything,” Molly declared. “There’s a wedding anniversary coming up in Ottery St. Catchpole, so I promised pies and puddings—and I could use extra hands for the tarts. I also want to make a few extras of everything for our Sunday family brunch. I’m expecting a ful house, and you lot all better brings your husbands this week! ”
Luna twirled toward the pantry, humming softly. “I always think flour is like moon dust—it makes people glow.”
Molly laughed. “If it keeps you from hexing the dough, Luna dear, think of it however you like.”
The kitchen filled with chatter and bursts of laughter. Hermione rolled out pie crusts while Luna placed flower petals—violet and calendula—into the pastry tops, explaining that they were good for alignment.
“Alignment of what?” Ginny asked, skeptical.
“Oh, everything,” Luna said serenely. “Body, mind, soul, planetary energies. You never know when Venus will need pie.”
Ginny snorted, “Harry’s lucky Venus didn’t need pie on our wedding day; Mum would’ve lost her mind.”
Molly swatted her lightly with a dishcloth. “You two behave or I’ll make you both scrub cauldrons.”
Hermione giggled softly. Flour dusted her curls, and her wand hovered several dough balls in perfect symmetry above the table.
By mid-afternoon, the table was crowded with pastries and steam rising from enchanted teapots. Molly left them to “girl talk” while she tended to the chickens.
Luna cupped her tea with both hands, eyes dreamy. “I’ve decided the baby will be born under water.”
Hermione’s eyes went wide. “You’re serious?”
Luna nodded, as though discussing something as ordinary as toast. “Neville and I found a spring-fed pond behind the greenhouses at the estate. The water’s enchanted by the old tree roots—very fertile magic. It sings if you listen closely. I think it will welcome a child kindly.”
Ginny choked on her tea. “A pond birth?”
“It’s the gentlest way,” Luna said simply. “And there’s a waterfall—it’s good for transitions. The baby can hear both earth and water. We’ll charm it warm, of course if needed, but that time of year it could still be warm enough naturally. I invited a healer, three fairies, and an otter.”
Hermione smiled despite herself. “Of course you did.”
Luna tilted her head. “Don’t laugh, Hermione. Water remembers things—it’s one of the best keepers of love.”
Hermione’s gaze softened. “I would never laugh at you, Luna. I think it’s beautiful. Wild, but beautiful.”
The mood mellowed as they began shaping biscuits. Hermione’s mind kept circling back to what Theo had told her—the Hogwarts students with vanishing magical cores. She hesitated, then said quietly:
“Have either of you heard anything about what’s happening at Hogwarts? Some of the older students have lost their magic completely.”
Ginny frowned, her hands pausing over the dough. “Harry mentioned St. Mungo’s getting reports. It’s terrifying, Hermione. Kids just… empty.”
Luna nodded, her pale eyes thoughtful. “Magic doesn’t vanish,” she said softly. “It hides. Sometimes it retreats into the soul if it’s frightened.”
“Frightened?” Hermione echoed.
“Yes,” Luna said, brushing flour off her palms. “If magic feels caged or shamed, or if something ancient is unbalanced in the world. Like a Nargle’s nest in the ley lines—an interruption of flow. You can’t erase what’s woven into a person. But you can silence it.”
Hermione’s brows furrowed. “That would explain the readings Theo’s seen… their cores are still there, just unreachable, maybe drained.”
Ginny looked uneasy. “You think it’s deliberate?”
“I don’t know yet,” Hermione admitted. “But someone—or something—is doing this. And Hogwarts is the heart of our magic. If it can happen there…”
Luna reached across the table, placing her hand gently over Hermione’s. “Then you’ll find a way to heal it. You always do. But be careful, Hermione. When the universe starts closing doors, sometimes it’s to protect you.”
Hermione blinked. “That’s… cryptic, even for you.”
Luna only smiled, her expression somewhere between wise and otherworldly. “That’s how prophecy works. It bakes best at low heat.”
By the time Molly returned, the kitchen looked like a battlefield of sweetness. Dozens of pies cooled on racks. Ginny was licking chocolate off her thumb. Hermione was laughing again, lighter, her curls wild and streaked with flour.
“You girls look like you’ve fought a duel with dessert,” Molly teased.
Luna was leaning out the window, watching the sun set over the orchard. “The light looks like honey,” she murmured. “A good omen for mothers, and for healers.”
Hermione met her gaze. “For all of us, I hope.”
Luna smiled faintly. “Especially you, Hermione. The bond you share—it’s going to matter soon in ways you can’t see yet.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Merlin, Luna, don’t start with your foreshadowing again.”
But Hermione didn’t laugh this time. Something about Luna’s tone made her heart tighten—the same way it had before every storm.
The Manor was quiet when Hermione stepped from the floo. A single lamp glowed in the entrance hall, casting the faintest shimmer off the marble. She was still faintly dusted in flour, her curls smelling of cinnamon and firewood.
Theo was the first to appear, sleeves rolled to his elbows, ink smudged on one wrist. “You’re late,” he said, though his voice held only concern. “Dinner’s been kept warm.”
“Sorry,” Hermione smiled, shrugging off her cloak. “Molly wouldn’t let me leave without tasting every pie. I think I’ve consumed my body weight in sugar.”
Draco entered from the study, waistcoat undone, hair slightly mussed. “That explains the smell of pastry,” he murmured, leaning to kiss her temple before taking her hand. “And Luna Lovegood’s perfume—violets and prophecy.”
She laughed softly. “You’re not far off.”
They took their meal in the informal parlor, curled near the hearth. The bond thrummed faintly—content, if a little tired. Pudding, ever the opportunistic, pawed at Theo’s sleeve until he shared a bit of roasted chicken.
“So,” Draco drawled, “what did the women of The Burrow discuss? Knitting patterns? The latest Witch Weekly speculation about our love life?”
Hermione smirked. “Close. Baking, Luna’s water birth plans—which include fairies and an otter—and… something far more interesting.”
Theo raised a brow. “That combination already sounds dangerous.”
“Luna said something about the Hogwarts students losing magic.” Hermione leaned forward, elbows on knees. “She said their magic isn’t gone. It’s hiding. Like it’s frightened.”
Draco frowned. “Magic doesn’t get frightened. It’s energy—instinctual, not sentient.”
Hermione shook her head. “But she’s right about one thing—magic responds to emotion, to trauma. What if something is happening to these students that’s forcing their cores into dormancy?”
Theo’s healer’s mind was already spinning. “If that’s true, then the readings would make sense I guees. Their cores aren’t destroyed—they’re locked down and deminished. It would explain why nothing I’ve tried is working.”
Draco rubbed his jaw. “Leave it to Lovegood to give us the only theory that doesn’t sound completely mad.”
“It’s not mad,” Hermione said softly. “It’s… hopeful. If it’s hiding, it can be found.”
Theo met her gaze. “You want to go to Hogwarts, don’t you?”
“I do,” she admitted. “But I think maybe curse breakers would be best to sweep the place for dark magic or objects.”
Draco’s hand closed over hers, firm but gentle. “Then we don’t let you go alone if it comes to that. But, let’s let the experts handle it for now.”
Silence followed, heavy but not suffocating. The bond between them pulsed faintly, like three heartbeats finding rhythm. Draco’s thumb brushed the back of her hand; Theo leaned closer, shoulder to shoulder with her.
Hermione felt it again—the faint sharing of emotion. Concern from Theo, fierce protectiveness from Draco, and her own quiet determination. They blended until she couldn’t tell whose heartbeat belonged to whom.
“It’s growing stronger,” Theo murmured, noticing the faint glow at their fingers.
Draco’s voice softened. “Maybe because we’re finally starting to move in sync.”
Hermione smiled, though her chest tightened. “Or because the bond knows something’s coming.”
Later, after dinner, the three of them lingered by the fire with mugs of cocoa—Draco pretending his wasn’t laced with brandy.
The conversation drifted to lighter things—Luna’s planned pond birth, Pansy’s inevitable gossip—but the shadow of Hogwarts lingered at the edge of thought.
Theo stretched, exhaustion tugging at his eyes. “I’ll have to head to the hospital early tomorrow. If the readings on that sixth-year are the same, we might be seeing a pattern.”
Draco nodded. “Keep us posted.”
Hermione reached for his hand as he rose. “Don’t overwork yourself.”
Theo smiled down at her, pressing a kiss to her curls. “Impossible, Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott.”
After he left, the room quieted again. Draco leaned back, watching the firelight dance against her skin. “He’s right, you know. If something’s draining magic that’s not a singular object, it won’t stop with Hogwarts.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I can feel it, even now—the imbalance Luna spoke of.”
They didn’t need more words. The fire burned low, the bond pulsing faintly between their joined hands, and outside the manor windows, the first edge of a storm rolled across the horizon.
Hermione was already awake when the light crept into the Manor’s tall windows. The storm from the night before had left everything wet—the gardens below glistened, the cobblestones slick with dew.
In the bed beside her, Draco was half-asleep, one arm thrown over his eyes, the faint lines of worry still visible even in rest.
She slipped from under the blankets, reaching for her robe. When she passed his side of the bed, his hand caught her wrist without opening his eyes.
“Where are you going so early?” he murmured, voice still gravel from sleep.
“To make tea,” she said softly. “I didn’t sleep much. I kept thinking about what Luna said.”
That made him open one gray eye. “Of course you did. My wife can’t leave a mystery unsolved—not even in her dreams.”
Hermione smiled faintly and kissed his forehead before heading downstairs.
By the time Draco came down, the dining room smelled of toast and early rain. Hermione sat with a book open in front of her, quill in hand, though she hadn’t written a word.
The tap of claws at the window made them both turn. An official St. Mungo’s owl pressed against the glass, feathers ruffled from wind.
Draco crossed the room in two strides and untied the letter. The seal was green with the Healer’s insignia, Theo’s quick, precise handwriting scrawled across the front:
Urgent — Third Case, Hogwarts Student, half-blood. Coming home soon. — Theo
Hermione’s stomach sank. “Third?” she whispered. “Already?”
Draco’s expression darkened. “He said he’d alert us if the pattern continued.”
She rose, pacing. “Three students now—one Muggle-born and now two half-blood. This isn’t random.”
“Eat something first,” Draco said quietly, setting a hand on her shoulder. “If Theo’s coming home soon, we’ll need our heads clear.”
Hermione managed a bite of toast, but the food turned to dust in her mouth.
It was nearly noon when Theo appeared in the floo, exhausted but upright. His healer’s robes were wrinkled, dark crescents beneath his eyes.
Hermione was already halfway across the room before he could speak. “Is it true? Another case?”
Theo nodded grimly, setting down his satchel. “Yes. A sixth-year boy—half-blood. Magical core reading: completely untraceable. Just like the others.”
Draco leaned against the mantel, jaw tightening. “Was there anything different about him?”
“He’s from Ravenclaw. Smart, talented. But he’d been struggling with his spells for weeks, apparently. The morning before they brought him in, he fainted during Charms practice. When he woke, his wand wouldn’t respond at all.”
Hermione’s hands clenched. “And nothing physically wrong?”
Theo shook his head. “Nothing. Magical diagnostics come up blank. It’s as if his core’s folded in on itself—like it’s gone dormant or withdrawn entirely. Luna’s description was… disturbingly accurate.”
They moved into the library—the safest place for their collective thinking. Books spread across the long mahogany table: Magical Pathology, Energetic Curses, Core Maladies of the Twelfth Century.
Draco was pacing, restless energy sparking around him. “Someone’s causing this. Cores don’t just vanish. Something’s being drained from them.”
“Or suppressed,” Hermione said. “If it’s fear-based or linked to trauma—”
“Then it’s psychological magic?” Theo cut in. “But that wouldn’t affect the readings this drastically.”
Hermione looked up sharply. “A contagion spell. Emotional resonance transference—like an enchantment that feeds on collective fear maybe.”
Theo frowned. “But that would mean the caster has to connect to every victim emotionally. That’s not a single hex—it’s something ritualistic.”
“Something ancient,” Draco added quietly.
Still, none of them spoke for a long moment, each silently listening to the soft, shared pulse of their intertwined magic, now just a touch too quick—like an anxious heartbeat.
Finally, Theo sank onto the sofa, rubbing his temples. “I’ve already written to McGonagall requesting a full list of magical anomalies at Hogwarts this term. If this continues, the Ministry will have to intervene, and I don’t trust them to handle it properly.”
“They’ll try to hush it,” Draco muttered. “Like they always do when something threatens their illusion of control.”
Hermione crossed to Theo, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Then we’ll make noise they can’t ignore.”
Draco’s gaze flicked between them—protective, proud, and worried all at once. “And what happens if they come after you next for it? You’ve already made enemies since founding the Center.”
Hermione turned to him, eyes steady. “Then we’ll face it together, just like we’ve faced everything else.”
The tension in the room didn’t lift, but the bond steadied—a mutual pulse of trust and determination.
By evening, the manor had gone quiet again. Theo had retreated to his study to file reports to St. Mungo’s; Draco stood by the window, staring into the garden where the wind bent the first spring blossoms.
Hermione joined him, sliding her arm through his. “He’s scared,” she said softly.
Draco nodded. “We all are.”
She tilted her head against his shoulder. “But we’re not alone.”
He exhaled, tension easing slightly. “No. And that’s the only reason I can breathe right now.”
Outside, thunder rolled again in the distance. Inside, their joined hands glowed faintly under the dim light, three rings pulsing like small, living hearts—steady, warning, unbroken.
Notes:
Any theories on what's happening to the students?
Chapter 146: The Risk at Hogwarts
Chapter Text
Theo had left before dawn, a note left on the breakfast table in his precise, healer’s script:
“Long day ahead. Two Hogwarts cases to monitor and a Ministry briefing. Don’t wait up. I’ll send word before dinner.”
Hermione folded the parchment, tucking it beside her teacup. She had been planning to go to the Granger Center, but Draco’s suggestion came mid-morning, as he stood in the doorway to the parlor with his sleeves rolled and a rare spark of lightness in his gray eyes.
“Care to assist a Malfoy with his domestic duties?”
She looked up from her stack of correspondence. “What sort of duties?”
“Potions,” he replied simply. “We’re running low on half the household stores, and the elves will ruin another cauldron if I let them try again. I could use a capable assistant.”
Hermione smiled. “You mean you want someone competent to keep you from setting something on fire.”
He smirked faintly. “I was hoping for better company than a house elf. You’ll do.”
The chamber beneath Nott Manor was dim but beautifully appointed — a wide, circular room lined with shelves of labeled jars and glass phials, each perfectly organized.
The smell of crushed herbs and faint smoke filled the air. A long table of polished oak stood at the center, holding an assortment of ingredients — bundles of dried mint, powdered pearl, sprigs of lavender, and the shimmer of ground moonstone dust.
Hermione ran her fingers along the edge of the cauldron. “This feels familiar,” she said softly. “Except you’re less terrifying than Snape ever was.”
Draco arched an eyebrow. “Don’t be so sure. I’ve been told my standards are brutal.”
She laughed under her breath, lighting the cauldron flame with a flick of her wand. “Then I’ll just have to impress you.”
“You already do.”
His tone was quiet, almost lost under the sound of the bubbling potion, but the air between them shifted — a subtle pull, the bond humming faintly with warmth.
Hours passed easily. They moved in rhythm, their movements instinctive — Hermione crushing valerian root while Draco measured precise drops of tincture. They spoke softly, filling the space with small conversation and laughter.
Hermione labeled vials as they cooled, glancing at him from across the table. “You’re good at this. Better than I remembered.”
“Flattery from you, Granger? Careful, I might get used to it.”
“Don’t push your luck.” She smiled faintly. “Did you always enjoy brewing?”
Draco paused, stirring counterclockwise, eyes distant. “Always. It was the first subject that ever made sense. Potions isn’t about control — it’s about balance. Every ingredient changes the next, every reaction ripples. Snape used to say that brewing was like… listening. You don’t force the potion; you coax it.”
Hermione nodded, watching the slow swirl of smoke above the cauldron. “He said something similar in class once once. I never forgot it.”
Draco’s expression softened. “He was my godfather, you know. One of the only adults who treated me like I wasn’t just a Malfoy name. He taught me how to think — not just obey.”
She set her quill down, hearing the quiet ache beneath his words. “You loved him.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “In the only way a boy like I was could love someone like him. He terrified me, inspired me, and… disappointed me, all at once. I used to think he was invincible. Then I watched him die for everything he believed in, and I realized he was the bravest man I’d ever known.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “He died protecting you, Hary, the next generation.”
Draco looked up sharply — not offended, but pained. “I know. And I still don’t know how to live with that.”
Hermione reached across the table, brushing the back of his hand. “You honor him every time you choose differently than he had to.”
The touch lingered longer than either intended.
By late afternoon, several finished vials glowed softly in rows along the cooling rack.
Draco held up one of the smaller bottles, faintly pink in hue. “Your monthly potion,” he said, handing it to her. “Brewed stronger this time just in case, don’t worry no side effects.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, fingers brushing his as she took it. “You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” he interrupted. “You shouldn’t have to think about buying things like that. Not when the world’s already asking enough of you.”
Hermione’s gaze softened. “You’re better at taking care of people than you think.”
He gave a humorless smile. “Perhaps. I just wish I could’ve done it sooner.”
“For whom?”
He hesitated, then: “For everyone I failed — my mother, Astoria, Snape, you, Theo, Pansy, even my father in some twisted way. I thought strength meant distance. But Snape taught me that protection isn’t cold. It’s quiet. It’s doing the work that no one sees.”
She leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper. “You’d make a good father some day if you’ve already internalized all that.”
Draco froze — startled, caught between embarrassment and tenderness. “You think so?”
“I know so,” she said simply. “You have patience when you try, precision, and a good heart deep down. And you listen. That’s all a child needs really.”
He exhaled slowly, a small, wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Someday, maybe. I’d like to teach them to brew — to stand beside me like this, measuring crushed starlight, dinced nettle, and powdered courage. Teach them to make something greater than the mere sum of the parts.”
Hermione blinked at him glassy eyed, her chest warm. “You’re not supposed to make me cry in the potions lab, Draco.”
He chuckled softly, dabbing an eye. “It’s a first for me too.”
They brewed until sunset — headache draughts, calming infusions, a few phials of Fever Elixir… common household potions for the three of them to have on hand after lng days.
When they finally doused the cauldron flames and cleaned their workspace, Draco leaned against the counter, watching her tidy the final jars.
“You’re rather good company for a day of brewing,” he said lightly.
Hermione smiled. “You only say that because I didn’t blow anything up.”
He reached for her hand again, voice low. “No, Granger. I say that because I haven’t felt this… ease in working with someone else in a long time.”
Her fingers tightened around his. The bond thrummed softly — calm, steady, safe.
“Then maybe that’s Snape’s final lesson,” she said quietly. “That peace can come from creation, not destruction.”
Draco’s thumb brushed over her knuckles, his gray eyes searching hers. “And from love that’s earned, not inherited.”
The words lingered between them, tender and heavy. Then he smiled faintly and said, “Come on, my lady brewer. Dinner awaits — and Theo will be insufferable if he learns we brewed all day without seeing the outside.”
Hermione laughed as he extinguished the last light in the chamber, her heart lighter today. The scent of herbs and smoke followed them up the stairs, a quiet echo of everything they’d mended — and everything they were still learning to be.
The grandfather clock struck seven when the green flare of the floo broke the quiet. Hermione and Draco were already seated in the dining room, candles throwing soft light over the table, the scent of roasted lambchops and thyme filling the air.
Theo stepped out looking bone-tired—hair rumpled, healer’s robes dusted with ash, and eyes shadowed from lack of sleep. Hermione was up in an instant.
“Finally,” she murmured, pressing a mug of tea into his hand before he even sat.
Draco quirked a brow. “If you don’t eat soon, Nott, you’ll fade into a ghost.”
Theo managed a smile. “I’ve seen enough of those at work this week.”
He slid into his chair, steam from the tea rising as Hermione ladled lentil soup into a bowl for him. The small domestic rhythm—the clink of silverware, the creak of chairs—felt like a balm after the week they’d had.
When he’d eaten enough to look human again, Theo set his spoon down and exhaled. “Two more cases at Hogwarts,” he said quietly. “Both showing the same complete loss of core trace. The first boy’s stable medically, but he still can’t light a wand. The girl—well, we’re not sure if she’ll recover at all, she’s slipped into a coma.”
Hermione’s face paled. “Five now,” she whispered. “And no pattern? No link?”
Theo shook his head. “Nothing obvious, besides the lack of purebloods impacted. Age range varies a bit, they’re all 5th-7th years, Houses vary mostly- all houses but Slytherin so far.. But… there is one thing.”
Draco leaned forward, voice tense. “What?”
“Their magical auras, right before the readings vanish—they spike. It’s like their magic flares in panic … or in fight mode before it disappears. Whatever’s happening isn’t generally very slow. It’s sudden. Only one of them seem to fade over the course of a few days.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “Something or someone’s triggering it. They’re getting exposed to a cause…”
Hermione pressed a hand to her temple. “Then we’re dealing with intentional magic—something meant to extinguish or suppress cores.”
Theo nodded. “I’ve requested access to the school wards for next week. If there’s a magical residue … maybe dark magic remnants from the final battle…causing it, I’ll find it. I’m bringing Bill, and a few other dark objects experts.”
Draco’s tone softened. “Be careful. Whoever’s behind this won’t want to be found.”
Theo met his eyes. “You too. Both of you.”
Dinner wound down with quieter talk—mundane things like Ministry paperwork, an article Hermione had written for The Daily Prophet about muggleborn resource centers in North America as an inspiration, and the upcoming Wizengamot spring session stillr emaining.
When the plates cleared, Draco stood, brushing a hand over Hermione’s shoulder as he passed. “I’ll be in the study,” he said. “Try not to plan any more world-saving initiatives until morning.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “No promises.”
Theo smirked. “We’ll drag you into it either way.”
Draco snorted but the corner of his mouth twitched before he disappeared down the corridor, the soft click of the study door signaling his retreat.
Later, in their shared suite, the air was gentler—scented with pine from the enchanted hearth and the faintest warmth of candlelight. Theo sat on the edge of the sofa, unbuttoning his sleeves, while Hermione folded a throw blanket over the armchair.
The easy quiet of the room felt like its own kind of safety.
“You really should rest,” she said softly. “You look like you’ve been awake for a week. They’re running you ragged the last few months… all these shifts.”
“Feels like it,” he admitted, sinking back. “But sitting here helps. You help.”
Hermione smiled faintly, settling beside him. For a moment they simply sat, her hand resting over his. The bond pulsed between them—gentle, steady, grounding.
After a few minutes, Hermione said, “You know his birthday’s in two weeks.”
Theo groaned softly. “Merlin, don’t remind me. He’s going to insist he doesn’t care, and then be offended when we don’t do enough.”
Hermione laughed quietly. “Exactly. Which means we’ll have to plan something that feels effortless but secretly isn’t.”
Theo tilted his head, thoughtful. “He’s been wound too tight lately, worrying about you. Maybe we need to get him out of the country for a few days. Somewhere there won’t be so much pressure and scrutiny.”
“Somewhere he can’t think about ministry work or stare out windows considering ways to protect me?” she teased gently.
“Exactly.” Theo smiled, the warmth of it chasing away his exhaustion. “A long weekend, just the three of us. No politics, no Ministry, no reporters. Somewhere warm. Maybe the Amalfi Coast?”
Hermione’s eyes lit slightly. “Sunlight, sea air, and no one to interrupt us? That sounds perfect. But, what about somewhere even further… more removed… like the Gold Coast or Cape Verde?”
Theo watched her face, the way her tension eased when she laughed. “Let’s look into a few places and arrange the porkey paperwork next week. We’ll make it a surprise. He won’t be able to brood his way through that.”
“He’ll try,” she said with fondness. “But maybe he deserves to be ambushed with happiness for once. Maybe we could have a small friends dinner for him here before we leave.”
Silence settled again—comfortable, full of shared understanding. Hermione rested her head on his shoulder; Theo’s arm curved around her without thought.
“You know,” she murmured, “I think he’s starting to feel it.”
Theo’s brow furrowed. “Feel what?”
“The way we do,” she said softly. “The bond—the connection. He’s letting it in now instead of fighting it all the time like before.”
Theo’s lips curved into a small, tired smile. “Then maybe, finally, we’re balanced.”
The candles burned low; outside, rain whispered against the glass.
Hermione turned her face slightly, pressing a quiet kiss to his shoulder. “Goodnight, Theo.”
He closed his eyes, breathing in her scent. “Goodnight, Hermione.”
And somewhere down the hall, behind a closed study door, Draco Malfoy stared at an unfinished letter to his mother, the faint glow of the bond warming his heart—proof that even when apart, none of them were ever truly alone.
Notes:
Anyone have ideas for Draco's birthday?
Chapter 147: Gathering Family
Notes:
Draco gets embarrassed... and they spend some time with the Weasley's.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The owl arrived very early—just after dawn, tapping the glass of their bedroom window while the three of them were still half-awake.
Hermione unrolled the letter, reading aloud while Theo and Draco looked on:
My dears,
It’s been far too long since I’ve had you all to myself. The weather will be lovely today. Come for brunch in the garden—fresh air, good tea, and no reporters.
I promise, Hermione, you will not have to step a single foot into the Manor if you prefer not to.
With love,
Narcissa Black-Malfoy
Theo sipped his tea. “That sounds more like a summons than an invitation.”
Draco sighed, rubbing his temple. “That’s because it is. Mother’s been itching to ask questions since the Ministry’s last report., I’ve been cleverly heading off her owls lately.”
Hermione folded the parchment carefully. “Still… she’s trying, Draco. We should go.”
Draco’s jaw flexed once before he nodded. “Fine. But I’m hiding the wine before she starts telling stories.”
Theo smirked. “Oh no, I’d like to hear those.”
They flooed directly into the rear conservatory—Draco’s request—stepping out into the wide marble terrace that opened straight onto the gardens.
The sight was breathtaking in mid-May: manicured hedges, the glint of a fountain, and rows of blooming hellebores and narcissus. A long table had been set under a willow, laid with silver china and a canopy charm that diffused the sunlight.
Narcissa rose from her chair the moment they appeared, elegant as ever in dove-gray robes and a matching hat.
“There you are,” she said, smiling genuinely as she embraced Draco. “I was beginning to think I’d have to send a search party to retrieve you.”
He kissed her cheek, murmuring, “You already sent one, Mother. It was spelled parchment.”
Narcissa turned to Hermione and Theo with surprising warmth. “Lord Nott. Hermione, my dear—it’s good to see you again under calmer circumstances this time.”
Hermione smiled politely. “Thank you for inviting us. It’s beautiful here.”
“I thought the garden would suit you,” Narcissa said. “Lucius always insisted on dining indoors, but I prefer the smell of the earth. Reminds us we’re mortal.”
Theo gave Draco a look that said, She’s already started, and Draco mouthed back, Behave.
The first half hour went surprisingly well. Narcissa had instructed the elves to serve everything family-style—platters of scones, tea sandwiches, sugared fruit. The sunlight filtered through the willow leaves, dappling the table in gold and green.
Hermione was beginning to relax when Narcissa set her teacup down and said, far too pleasantly, “So. How is ….. Ministry compliance coming along?”
Theo choked slightly on his tea. Draco muttered, “Mother.”
“What?” Narcissa said, wide-eyed. “I’m merely inquiring about your legal obligations as an established triad. It’s natural for a parent to be curious about when she’ll have grandchildren.”
Hermione smiled thinly, setting her fork down. “We’re meeting all expectations so far, Lady Malfoy, but we don’t plan to expand the family anytime soon.”
Narcissa tsked. “My dear, you’ll find there’s never a convenient time for children. Magic has its own seasons. You might as well yield gracefully.”
Draco groaned. “Mother, please don’t start planning names again.”
Theo leaned forward conspiratorially. “Names?”
“Oh yes,” Narcissa said, utterly delighted. “When Draco was ten, he swore he’d have two sons—Scorpius and Rigel—and train them both to duel before their first birthdays.”
Hermione blinked back laughter. “Did he really?”
“He drew up lesson plans,” Narcissa said solemnly. “Charts, schedules—he even made Lucius duel a dummy in the garden for practice. Nearly set his robes on fire.”
Draco’s ears flushed pink. “I was a very… ambitious child.”
“You were a menace,” his mother corrected fondly. “And when he was eight, he declared he’d marry Pansy Parkinson and make her wear emerald robes every day because he liked how the color looked next to his hair.”
Theo choked on his drink this time, laughing. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Hermione hid her grin behind her napkin. “Oh, that explains everything.”
Draco glared at all three of them, but the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
She continued, “And don’t even get me started on the plush drago he brought everywhere… Sir Scales if I remember correctly…”.
When the laughter faded, Narcissa studied them over the rim of her cup. “You three have built something remarkable already. I can feel the calmness you radiate to each other… the warmth. You understand that, don’t you?”
Hermione looked up, surprised by the gentleness in her tone.
Narcissa went on, “It’s not what I expected for my son, but… it suits him. He’s calmer now. Softer.” Her eyes glimmered with affection and quiet pride. “That’s what love is supposed to do. Merlin knows this family has had far more than enough of everything else other than love over the years.”
Draco reached across the table to squeeze his mother’s hand. “You truly approve, then?”
“I do,” she said simply. “But don’t mistake approval for leniency. The law still expects an heir eventually, and while I disagree with the law’s cruelty, I’d rather see you prepared than cornered.”
Theo’s expression softened. “We’re aware, Lady Malfoy. We’ll handle it when it’s time.”
Hermione nodded. “We want a family, someday. Just… not yet.”
Narcissa inclined her head, as though conceding a point in a chess match. “Then I’ll hold my tongue. For now.”
After brunch, Narcissa insisted on showing them the rose garden, claiming the blooms were at their best. As they walked, she pointed out each bush like a cherished memory—one planted for Draco’s first birthday, another for the day he received his Hogwarts letter.
When they reached a small marble bench near the back, she smiled wistfully. “He used to hide here after dance lessons, you know. Thought I couldn’t find him.”
Draco looked embarrassed. “You always did.”
“I had a mother’s instincts.” Her gaze softened. “You were such a solemn little boy. Always trying to be older than your years.”
Hermione glanced at him, seeing the faint sadness behind his smirk. “He still does that sometimes.”
Narcissa laughed softly. “Then he needs people around him who remind him how to be young and actually enjoy life. I’m grateful he has you both.”
Narcissa insisted on sending them home with a basket of Draco’s favorite childhood pastries and a promise of a “proper family manor elf cooked dinner soon.”
At the floo, she hugged each of them in turn—Theo, then Hermione, and finally her son.
When she reached up to straighten his collar, she whispered, “You’re happy, Draco. I can see it. Don’t let fear steal that from you.”
He nodded, jaw tight with emotion. “I won’t, Mother.”
And when the green flames carried them home, Hermione glanced at him, seeing the complicated mix of pride, love, and lingering ache in his eyes. She slipped her hand into his, lacing their fingers together.
“Your mother’s… remarkable,” she said softly.
Draco exhaled a faint laugh. “She’s terrifying, but yes—remarkable.”
Theo slung an arm around them both as they stepped out of the floo. “Well, at least she didn’t hex us into promising children by Christmas. I call that progress.”
Hermione laughed, leaning into them as the manor’s warmth closed around them. “Progress indeed.”
When they returned to the manor, the bond was smoldering sensuality.
The air was rich with the polished scent of aged wood, the delicate sweetness of jasmine from a vase of fresh blooms on the mantel, their bodies buzzing from a lively brunch with Narcissa, where her tales of Draco’s childhood—his stuffed dragon “Sir Scales,” a potion mishap turning his hair pink, and kitchen raids for sweets—had left them laughing for hours.
The triad bond thrummed with a vibrant, playful intimacy—Hermione’s amused, simmering arousal a sparkling, molten warmth in their chests, Draco’s flustered pride a smoldering flame, Theo’s teasing adoration a pulsing heartbeat that made their golden rings glow faintly.
Hermione flung herself on the chaise longue, a vision of relaxed sensuality, her sage-green sundress clinging to her curves, the hem riding high on her freckled thighs. Her full breasts pressed against the fabric, as she watched Draco and Theo banter, her thighs pressing together, sparking electric jolts through her clit.
Draco was sprawled in an armchair, his tailored shirt unbuttoned to reveal his scarred, chiseled chest, trousers clinging to his lean hips. Theo leaned against the fire mantel, his robes discarded to reveal a fitted linen shirt and trousers, his eyes dancing with teasing affection.
Theo pushed off the mantel, sauntering toward Draco with a wicked, playful grin, his voice a low, teasing drawl laced with love.
“So, Draco—Sir Scales, was it?” he murmured, eyes sparkling with amusement, the bond pulsing with his adoration.
“Did you cuddle that dragon, whispering dreams of world domination, or was it a ploy for extra treacle tarts?” His hand brushed Draco’s knee, a flirty graze that sent a spark through the bond, Hermione’s pussy clenching in anticipation of the sparks in the bond.
Draco’s cheeks flushed, but his silver eyes narrowed with defiant mischief, a smirk tugging his lips.
“Careful, Nott,” he growled, voice playful but edged with love, leaning forward, their faces inches apart. “Keep teasing, and I’ll have you begging for this dragon, love.” His hand grabbed Theo’s wrist, pulling him closer, their lips brushing in a fleeting, electric kiss, the bond filling with their desire.
Hermione’s arousal was quickly becoming a wildfire, her body trembling, her clit throbbing like a live wire.
“Merlin, you two,” she murmured, voice thick with need, her hand sliding under her dress, brushing her soaked panties, sparking a sharp gasp.
“Keep going—I’m... fuck, I’m so turned on,” she admitted, summoning a charmed vibrator—a sleek, silver bullet humming with magic.
Draco shoved Theo onto the chaise beside Hermione, pinning him with a possessive snarl, their cocks brushing as they ripped each other’s pants off, sparking raw, guttural groans, the bond a blazing tide of their love.
“You’re mine, Theo—teasing bastard,” Draco boomed, voice dripping with love, lubing his fingers with a quick charm, the slick glistening as he thrust two into Theo’s ass, stretching him wide, sparking a low, “Fuck, Draco more!”
Theo’s hips bucked, his cock—wrist-thick, apadravya piercing glinting—leaking pre-cum in sticky drops, his ass clenching around Draco’s fingers, the bond pulsing with his pleasure.
Hermione’s vibrator buzzed harder, her pussy soaking her dress beneath her, her scream raw, “Fuck, you’re gorgeous—love you both!”
Draco’s fingers pumped faster, adding a third, stretching Theo’s ass wider, Theo’s moans feral, “Draco—fuck, stretch me, love you!” Draco’s silver eyes blazed, “Your ass is begging, Theo—gonna take my cock so well.”
Draco aligned his cock—thrusting into Theo’s ass with a deep hip flick, stretching him wide, the veined girth filling him completely, pre-cum and lube mixing around his entrance.
“Take it, Theo—your ass is fucking me so nice,” Draco roared, hips moving with punishing force, the slap-slap-slap of his balls against Theo’s ass a primal rhythm.
Theo’s moans were raw, “Draco—fuck, your cock’s so deep!” his hands clawing anything he could grab, his ass clenching tight, pre-cum dripping down form his own taunt cock.
Hermione’s vibrator buzzed at maximum, her pussy spasming violently, her screams untamed, “Gods, loves—fuck each other, love you!”
Her clit throbbed like it would burst, each buzz sparking white-hot jolts, her pussy gushing with every thrust they made, the bond an inferno of their joint arousal.
When Draco came with a groan, Theo flipped Draco onto his back, lubing his own cock with a quick charm, the slick shimmering as he thrust into Draco’s ass harshly, the apadravya piercing dragging raw against Draco’s inner walls, scraping his prostate with cruel precision, sparking a guttural moan, “Theo—fuck, your piercing, your branding me inside!”
Draco’s hands gripped Theo’s hips, bruising them, the slap-slap-slap of Theo’s balls against his ass music to Hermione’s ears.
Theo’s thrusts were relentless, his piercing rubbing Draco’s prostate in brutal strokes—slow, grinding drags that sparked white-hot jolts, making Draco’s cock twitch and leak; followed by rapid, punishing slams that battered his inner walls, sending electric shocks through his core; deep, twisting nudges that made Draco scream, “Theo—your piercing’s fucking me apart, love you!”
His ass clenched around Theo’s girth, the piercing amplifying every thrust. Draco’s hands clawed Theo’s chest, leaving red welts, “Harder, love—wreck me!” Theo’s hips slammed faster, “Your ass is mine, Draco—feel my piercing own you,” he snarled, voice thick with love.
Minutes stretched on, Draco’s cock against his stomach leaking more pre-cum in steady flows, Theo’s piercing dragging deep inside, their bodies a single, fucking machine of love and lust.
Hermione’s vibrator buzzed relentlessly, her pussy convulsing in forceful spasms, squirting onto the chaise, her screams raw, “I’m breaking—love you!”
Theo growled, his cock pulsing, spilling thick, and hot deep in Draco’s ass, “My love—take all my cum, love you!”.
Draco came again with a guttural snarl, his cock spurting ropes across hisown chest, “Theo—mine, love you!” the bond a radiant explosion.
The triad spent the next two hours recovering and showering – separately at Hermione’s insistence they not make Mrs. Weasley mad be being late.
The air was warm and breezy by the time they reached The Burrow. A thin wisp of chimney smoke drifted above the crooked roof, and the garden hummed with the sound of bees settling for the late afternoon.
As soon as they stepped through the garden gate, the front door opened, and Molly Weasley’s familiar voice rang out, “Oh, there you are, my loves! Come in, come in—everything’s almost ready!”
Hermione barely had time to dust the pollen off from her robes before Molly was hugging her, then Theo, and finally Draco—who stood stiffly until she patted his cheek and said fondly, “You’re too thin. I’ll fix that before you leave.”
Draco muttered, “I assure you, Madam, I eat quite adequately—”
Arthur clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. “Not when Molly’s cooking, you don’t.”
Theo smirked. “That’s a threat and a promise all in one.”
The long mismatched kitchen table had been dragged into the garden, set with floating lanterns and heaping platters that smelled like heaven.
Harry and Ginny were already seated, Ginny waving them over enthusiastically. Ron gave a short, awkward smile from beside Cho, and George raised a butterbeer in greeting.
“Finally! I was beginning to think the Malfoy had you lot locked in the dungeons again,” George teased.
That earned laughter from nearly everyone except Draco, even Arthur. Ron smirked into his plate, clearly biting back a retort. Hermione nudged Draco’s knee under the table in quiet warning.
Dinner began the way it always did at the Burrow—with too much food and too many conversations at once.
Hermione and Theo found themselves seated between Ginny and Luna, while Draco had somehow the misfortune of being trapped on the far end near Percy and Neville.
Ginny leaned over as Molly floated a steaming dish of roasted turkey past them.
“You know, Hermione, I think this is the first time in months we’ve managed to get everyone together and amazingly no one’s yelling even.”
Theo raised his glass. “Give it another hour.”
Ginny grinned. “Optimist.”
Halfway through the meal, George began a dramatic retelling of how his shop’s latest prank—the reversible invisibility cloak, which sometimes made the wearer’s clothes visible but not the person—had caused chaos in Diagon Alley.
“Imagine, Mum, a dozen floating pairs of trousers screaming down Knockturn Alley!”
“George!” Molly groaned, smacking him lightly with a napkin. “You’ll be the death of me. You need to take your business more seriously!”
Across the table, Neville and Draco were chatting softly about magical plants that could be brewed into harmless glowing drinks for children.
“It’s very romantic,” Luna said dreamily, “the way the petals dissolve in the cup. Rather like how love fades if you stir too fast.”
Neville smiled indulgently. “Or if you forget to water it.”
“Exactly,” Luna said, then turned serenely toward Hermione. “You’re glowing, by the way.”
Hermione blinked. “Am I?”
“Yes,” Luna said matter-of-factly, tilting her head. “Not your skin—your magic. The three of you. You hum together now in tune, like a symphony.”
Theo nearly choked on his cider. Draco, overhearing, groaned softly. “Luna, must you narrate the metaphysics of our marriage in public?”
Luna blinked at him. “Someone should. It’s very rare, you know, to see a bond that bright so fast and still expanding.”
Hermione flushed, murmuring, “Thank you… I think.”
“Don’t worry,” Luna added serenely. “It just means you’re learning to love at the same frequency.”
Ron muttered under his breath, “Still sounds like Divination to me.”
Cho elbowed him lightly. “Be nice.”
By the time the last dish of peach cobbler vanished into the kitchen sink, the sun had dipped behind the trees and Arthur had conjured a great bonfire in the middle of the yard.
Sparks danced up toward the stars; someone had charmed the flames to shift between gold and blue.
They all gathered around in mismatched chairs and wrapped in worn blankets, the night alive with laughter and clinking bottles.
Draco stood beside Hermione, his hand brushing hers occasionally, the bond pulsing with that familiar, steady hum. Across from them, Harry was teasing Ginny about her latest Quidditch match.
“I only missed one goal,” she protested.
“You crashed into the announcer’s booth mid-throw,” Harry reminded her.
Theo chuckled. “Did you at least take out that commentator you hate?”
“That was the point,” Ginny said, grinning wickedly.
Even Draco laughed softly at that, earning a surprised glance from George. “Look at that, Malfoy can laugh. Must be the firelight.”
Theo smirked. “Or the company.”
The teasing continued easily, the group loosening as the fire crackled and the night deepened.
At one point, Hermione found herself sitting beside Luna on a blanket, the firelight painting everything in amber tones.
Luna watched the flames thoughtfully. “The world feels lighter tonight,” she said softly. “It’s nice.”
“It is,” Hermione agreed, gazing toward Draco and Theo, who were deep in conversation with Harry and Neville about more legislation ideas. “Feels… almost normal.”
Luna smiled faintly. “For a triad bound by ancient magic and hunted by half the press? That’s quite an achievement.”
Hermione laughed under her breath. “I’ll take the compliment and the peace tonight.”
“You should,” Luna said. “There’s a kind of magic in joy, too. It binds things as surely as love does.”
Hermione reached over, squeezing her hand. “You always know what to say.”
“I don’t,” Luna said simply, “I just listen to what the stars whisper.”
Later, when the fire had burned down to embers, Arthur produced his old enchanted guitar and began playing a soft, slightly off-key tune.
Ginny and Harry sang quietly, Percy and Cho slow-danced awkwardly in the grass as Ron made jokes about Percy’s two left feet, and George was making sparks in the air spell out jokes that Molly pretended not to see, but amused Angela to no end.
Theo leaned back in his chair, head tilted toward Hermione. “It’s strange,” he murmured, “how peaceful it feels here.”
Draco’s voice was quiet. “Don’t get used to it. Peace never lasts long.”
Hermione looked at him over the rim of her cup. “Maybe. But that’s why we make moments like this count… with friends and family who matter.”
He met her eyes, his hand brushing hers again—brief, steady, charged with quiet affection.
When the night grew late and the others began yawning, Molly pressed leftover pasties into their hands “for the road.”
Ron, awkward still but earnest, muttered a “Goodnight, Hermione,” before slipping back inside with Cho.
Luna hugged them all tightly. “You’ll come to the baby shower next week, won’t you? The Nargles have promised to stay away this time.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Hermione said with a smile.
As they stepped out through the gate, the bond between the three hummed gently—content, safe, alive.
Draco looked up at the stars above the crooked house. “It’s odd,” he murmured, “but I think I actually like coming here.”
Theo grinned. “That’s the firewhisky talking.”
Hermione looped her arm through both of theirs, warm between them as they disapparated into the soft pull of the night.
Notes:
What do you think Luna's baby shower is going to be like?
Chapter 148: Tea and Talk
Chapter Text
The breakfast table was already half set when Hermione entered—her curls loose, a book in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other.
Draco was sitting at the table, sleeves rolled up, absently stirring his tea with a flick of his wand while reading the Financial Prophet. Theo, still rumpled from sleep, wandered in behind her wearing one of Draco’s borrowed Quidditch shirts and no shoes.
“Morning,” Theo yawned. “Anything worth reading?”
“Not yet,” Draco said dryly, lowering his paper. “Unless you find economic projections for broomstick imports thrilling.”
Hermione smiled, about to sit, when a sharp tap-tap-tap came at the window.
A tiny snowy owl fluttered in, graceful and unhurried, dropping a thick envelope onto the table before swooping to land on the chair-back. The envelope was sealed with a familiar wax emblem—The Quibbler, embossed with silver swirls and tiny dancing stars.
Theo raised an eyebrow. “She works fast.”
Hermione opened it carefully, recognizing Luna’s looping handwriting immediately.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
My dearest glowing friends,
I thought you might like a bit of cheerful news for once! Since everyone keeps speculating about your triadic bond and nonexistent pregnancy, I decided it was time The Quibbler told the truth—or at least, my truth, which is usually better than theirs.
You looked so happy last night at The Burrow, and I think people deserve to see that. Don’t worry—no mention of babies, deadlines, or the word “consummation.” Just warmth, light, and a bit of marshmallow fire magic.
With love, lunar blessings, and no refunds,
Luna Lovegood-Longbottom
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Hermione groaned softly. “Oh, Merlin. What did she do?”
Draco, despite himself, looked amused. “I’m almost afraid to find out.”
Theo leaned forward, grinning. “You know this is going to be better than the Prophet ever manages.”
Hermione unfolded the attached Quibbler issue, the pages shimmering faintly with Luna’s trademark enchantments—half for protection, half for whimsy.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The Quibbler: “Love, Laughter, and Lumos at The Burrow”
By Luna Lovegood-Longbottom, Special Correspondent for Magical Harmony
Under a sky full of stars and the soft hum of a fire enchanted to flicker in Weasley-red and Ravenclaw-blue, the wizarding world’s most talked-about triad—Hermione Granger-Malfoy-Nott, Draco Malfoy, and Theodore Nott—spent an evening not saving the world, but simply enjoying it.
The dinner, hosted by the ever-kind Molly and Arthur Weasley, saw an impressive guest list of friends and family: the most of the Weasley clan, the Potters, the Longbottoms, and several other familiar wizarding faces. (A rare feat of diplomacy, considering the menu contained both Muggle and pureblood favorites.)
This reporter observed a rather fascinating phenomenon during the evening: the magical aura surrounding the triad visibly shimmered in sync beneath the new blood moon—an indication, some say, of balance, affection, and properly aligned emotional frequencies.
“They look brighter together,” said Neville Longbottom (husband to your humble correspondent), while roasting a marshmallow that caught fire and briefly resembled a Snitch. “You can just tell they belong.”
Even Draco Malfoy—known in his youth for frowning his way through social gatherings—was seen laughing, particularly when his marshmallow exploded. For readers wondering if this is a metaphor, it isn’t. It simply happened, and it was delightful.
Hermione Granger-Malfoy-Nott, meanwhile, shared warm conversation with Ginny Potter and myself. When asked about her current projects, she spoke passionately about The Granger Center for Muggleborn Families, and assured us she’s “taking life one day at a time,” which is what all brilliant witches say when they’re doing twelve things at once and managing beautifully.
And if anyone was still doubting that love can transform the darkest of legacies, one only had to look at Draco Malfoy by the firelight—his hand loosely brushing Hermione’s as Theo Nott poured him another drink. It wasn’t spectacle. It wasn’t rebellion. It was simply human.
There’s enough cynicism in the world. The Quibbler prefers to report on hope. And last night, there was plenty of that at The Burrow.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Beneath the article was a moving photograph: the three of them by the bonfire, Hermione laughing as Theo handed her a roasted marshmallow, and Draco—actually smiling—looking between them like he couldn’t decide which of them he adored more. The firelight made their bond rings shimmer faintly.
Theo whistled low. “Well, damn. I didn’t expect her to make us look that good and sane.”
Hermione’s cheeks were pink but pleased. “It’s… actually beautiful. And kind. She didn’t sensationalize anything. She was trying to do us a public image favor.”
Draco had gone quiet, his gaze fixed on the moving photo. “She’s right about one thing,” he murmured. “I do look happy.”
Hermione smiled softly. “That’s because you were.”
Theo leaned back in his chair, grinning. “I can’t decide if I’m more shocked that Luna wrote a balanced piece without lunar predictions or that she quoted Neville on fire.”
Hermione laughed. “Both are equally likely.”
Draco set the paper down carefully. “You know, this is the first time I’ve seen my name in print where the author actually likes me.”
Hermione reached across the table, brushing her fingers against his. “Then you can thank Luna for that. She said she wanted to give us good press.”
Theo poured more coffee, shaking his head in amusement. “I’d say she overachieved.”
Later, as the three of them lingered over breakfast, sunlight spilling across the table and the scent of toast and orange marmalade in the air, the bond hummed softly between them—a content, steady warmth.
Draco finally said, “You realize this means we’re going to get a dozen owls about it by tomorrow. The Prophet will be furious they missed the opportunity.”
“Let them be,” Hermione said lightly. “For once, we’re not defending ourselves—we’re just living.”
Theo clinked his mug against hers. “To Luna, then—the only journalist brave enough to call marshmallow explosions a metaphor for hope.”
Draco’s mouth twitched. “And to the Burrow, for proving miracles do happen.”
Hermione laughed, the sound bright and free. “And to us,” she added softly, “for learning how to just be happy together slowly but surely.”
The three mugs met in the air, the soft chime of porcelain ringing like a spell of its own—simple, human, and full of quiet, unshakable magic.
The moment was ruined though, as soon Theo left in his Healer’s robes, and Draco accompanied Hermione to Diagon Alley to entrust her with Pansy for their outing.
The cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley buzzed with mid-May warmth, the air alive with the sweet scent of blooming window-box flowers and the faint tang of fresh parchment from Flourish and Blotts.
Hermione and Pansy, fresh from a baby shopping spree for Luna Lovegood’s upcoming baby shower, had spent the morning weaving through pastel-colored aisles in a magical boutique, selecting gifts—tiny charmed booties that hummed lullabies, a crib mobile of glowing, floating mooncalves, and a soft blanket woven with protective charms.
Laden with ribbon-tied parcels, they settled into a private booth at a quaint teahouse tucked behind Gringotts, its velvet curtains drawn for privacy, the air scented with bergamot from steaming Earl Grey and the sugary warmth of fresh scones.
The faint hum of Diagon Alley’s bustle was muffled by Pansy’s expertly cast Muffliato charm, the air shimmering faintly as the spell sealed their booth, ensuring their conversation remained private. The triad bond thrummed distantly with a complex, emotional intimacy.
Hermione sat across from Pansy, her sage-green long sundress clinging to her curves. Her curls were loose, cascading over her shoulders in a wild mane. Pansy was sleek and poised in a fitted black dress that hugged her slim frame, her dark bob sharp and glossy, leaned forward with a predatory grace.
Her crimson-painted lips curved into a playful smirk, her wand resting lightly on the table, the privacy charm’s faint hum underscoring her intent to unearth every detail of Hermione’s life with Draco and Theo once and for all.
“Right, Granger,” Pansy began, her voice a low, teasing purr laced with warmth, stirring her tea with a silver spoon, the clink sharp in the quiet booth.
“We’re alone now, so no dodging like you have been for months. You, Draco, Theo—how the bloody hell does that triad work? Two cocks, one pussy. I want the filthy details, darling—don’t hold back. I’m sick of you deflecting. I’ve given you penty of time now to process it all… and your best friends wants the juicy details finally.”
Her smirk widened, her eyes locking onto Hermione’s, a spark of playful challenge in her gaze, but her tone carried a thread of genuine curiosity and care, her hand resting lightly on the table as if inviting trust.
Hermione’s cheeks flamed crimson, her fingers tightening around her teacup, the bond pulsing with her embarrassment.
“Pansy,” she stammered, her voice soft but edged with flustered indignation, “that’s... private. It’s complicated, and I’m not sure I should, the boys wouldn’t like it if—” She cut off, biting her lip, as memories of Theo’s piercing and Draco’s cock flooded her.
“It’s not like I go around sharing this stuff, Ginny and I haven’t talked about it much either… I’m not leaving you out,” she added, her voice trembling with vulnerability, her eyes darting to the table, unable to hold Pansy’s piercing gaze.
Pansy’s smirk softened, her emerald eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and affection, her hand reaching across the table to squeeze Hermione’s gently, her touch grounding, her crimson nails a stark contrast against Hermione’s skin.
“Oh, come off it, Granger,” she murmured, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial, almost tender whisper, the warmth in her tone disarming Hermione’s defenses.
“I’m not some prude, and I’m not here to judge. You know Blaise and I aren’t vanilla at all. You’re bonded to two gorgeous men—Draco, all broody and intense, and Theo, that quiet, filthy charm. The both love fiercely, but they’re both wound pretty tight too. You’re getting fucked six ways to Sunday, aren’t you? Tell me how it works with them both. I’m your friend, darling—give me some girlfriend gossip.”
Her eyes sparkled with genuine curiosity, her smirk playful but her squeeze on Hermione’s hand reassuring, a silent promise of safety.
Hermione’s blush deepened, Pansy’s warmth and the bond’s gentle hum of trust loosened her tongue, her voice trembling with vulnerability as she met Pansy’s gaze. “Fine,” she murmured, her eyes flickering with a mix of embarrassment and courage, “it’s... intense, Pansy. They’re so different, but so perfect together. Theo... gods, his cock—his piercing…”.
Pansy’s eyes sparkled with glee, “So he does have a cock piercing? The rumors at Hogwarst are true then… that must be interesting.”
“It hurt so much the first time with him, he’s really girthy too… stretched me so wide I thought I’d split in two.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“He was so gentle, though, whispering how much he loved me, guiding me through it. It burned something awful, but it was... beautiful, he’s generally really caring and gentle.”
Pansy’s eyes widened, her smirk morphing into a look of awe and intrigue, her lips parting as she leaned closer, her voice low and breathy with fascination. “Merlin’s tits, Granger—a piercing and girth? That’s... fuck, that’s hot,” she murmured, her tone laced with admiration.
“Yea, it took awhile for us to even get to a point that sex was a possibility even…” Hermione trailed off, looking down with a blush.
“And Theo, being all sweet while stretching you raw? Geez that’s intense. Go on, love—what about Draco? I bet he’s a possessive bastard in bed.” Her hand squeezed Hermione’s tighter, her crimson nails digging slightly, a playful encouragement, her gaze intense but warm, clearly captivated by the confession.
Hermione’s cheeks flamed, but she pressed on, her voice softer, more vulnerable, “Draco... he took my virginity, you know. Not what I’d planned—I always thought I’d wait to make it work with Theo, but with him... it was the honeymoon and we all really needed to come together more physically, like he needed me to be his and Theo’s. I wanted it, Pansy—wanted him to claim me, to make me his in a way I never expected. Draco would have never bene someone I imagined giving my virginity to, but it was really … magical honestly.”
She went on, “He was so intense, but so loving, holding me like I was his whole world. And of course Theo was there playing an active role too. It wasn’t just sex—it was... us, all of us, becoming one.”
Pansy’s breath hitched, her eyes gleaming with a mix of envy and affection, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, “Fuck, Granger—Draco taking your virginity? That’s... gods, I can see it, him all possessive, fucking you like you’re his everything.”
She leaned back, fanning herself playfully, her smirk returning but softer, , “You’re killing me, darling. And the bond? How does that work with two cocks? Spill more.”
Hermione’s voice trembled, “The bond... it’s like feeling them inside me, even when they’re not even with me. We feed each other our emotions. We’re getting better at controlling it, but it’s basically like a open stream between us all the time. But the hottest thing?”
Se paused, her cheeks burning, “Watching them together—Draco and Theo, fucking each other. It’s... gods, it’s so filthy, so beautiful. Their cocks, their moans, the way they love each other—it makes me burn, Pansy. Yes, it’s sexual and it does it for me, but it’s so much more than that, it’s also about the love we all share too. I can’t look away, it’s like they’re mine and each other’s, and it’s... just perfect. Like we all complete each other so well.”
Pansy’s jaw dropped slightly, her eyes blazing with awe and jealous lust, her voice a low, reverent purr, “You kinky little witch—you get to enjoy watching your boys fuck? Merlin, I’m jealous as hell.”
She laughed, a rich, warm sound, her hand squeezing Hermione’s again, “Granger, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. Their cocks, their love for each other, and you getting off on it? You’re living a bloody dream. Do they know how much it turns you on?”
Hermione nodded, her smile shy but bold, “They know—I tell them, and they love it. It’s... us, all of us, loving every part. We’ve gotten pretty decent at communicating about what we need and want now finally. It took awhile to feel ok asking each other to meet each of our needs.”
Pansy’s grin was wicked, “You’re a lucky witch, Granger—I need more tea after this.”
Hermione laughed softly, settling back as the teapot refilled itself between them.
“So,” Hermione began, “how are preparations coming for the Orphans’ Gala?”
Pansy straightened immediately, eyes lighting up with that distinctive spark of ambition.
“Splendidly. The guest list is growing by the day—half the Wizengamot, a handful of foreign diplomats, even a few international celebrities. If we play our cards right, this could raise enough to fund the orphan program for years.”
Hermione smiled. “That’s wonderful. Have you decided on a theme yet?”
“Not yet,” Pansy admitted. “I’ve been waiting to hear your input. After all, this was your brilliant idea originally with the Granger Center to turn tragedy into something useful.”
Hermione looked thoughtful. “I want it to feel… hopeful. Not like charity in the pitiful sense, but celebration. A promise that these children’s futures matter.”
Pansy tapped her finger against her teacup. “So something bright. Warm. But still elegant enough that the elite won’t feel out of place.”
Hermione nodded. “Exactly.”
“What about a rejuvenation theme?” Pansy offered. “Rebirth. Renewal. A phoenix motif—ashes to flame again.”
Hermione smiled, the idea taking root. “Rising from the Ashes. That’s perfect. Symbolic for the war orphans and still refined enough to impress your crowd.”
Pansy grinned. “You mean our crowd, darling. You’re practically pureblood royalty by association now. Own it.”
Hermione laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll settle for making sure it’s organized properly.”
Pansy leaned forward conspiratorially. “Already handled. It’ll be at my estate. Draco’s volunteered to handle the security detail, and Theo’s already pledged half the potion proceeds from his current healing project, the one that takes away spell scaring. That should more than cover the band and catering.”
Hermione blinked, surprised. “Theo didn’t tell me that.”
“He’s modest,” Pansy said with a shrug. “Or maybe he knows you’d make a speech about it.”
Hermione smirked. “Probably both.”
They began drafting notes together right there at the table—Hermione with her parchment and self-inking quill, Pansy sketching mock-ups of centerpieces on a napkin.
“Gold and white phoenix feathers for décor,” Pansy mused aloud. “Maybe a light illusion of them flying overhead throughout the night.”
“And soft candlelight charms,” Hermione added, writing quickly. “No harsh brightness—make it feel safe, welcoming.”
“We’ll have musical performances,” Pansy continued. “I’m thinking a few student ensembles from Hogwarts, maybe the Frog Choir for nostalgia points, plus a more formal band for dancing.”
Hermione smiled, her quill scratching across parchment. “We can auction off donations if we can get some more—art pieces, enchanted books, rare potion ingredients. Neville said he’d contribute a plant from the greenhouses that blooms only under moonlight.”
“Perfect,” Pansy said, jotting it down. “And I’ll bully Blaise into serving as host for the evening. He’s charming enough to loosen up donors, and no one says no to a Zabini smile. We can crakc open some of his family’s vintages.”
Hermione shook her head, laughing. “You really are terrifyingly good at this.”
“Of course I am,” Pansy said airily. “Money and guilt are the strongest magic known to wizardkind. We’ll use both.”
They laughed together, the easy rhythm of collaboration making the time pass quickly.
When their notes were finally finished, Pansy reached for her cup again, expression softening.
“You know, Granger… I really do think this gala’s going to matter. Not just for the orphans, but for us.”
Hermione tilted her head. “Us?”
Pansy nodded. “The war left too many ghosts hanging around all of us. This—” she gestured vaguely to the parchment between them, “—feels like something that lets us breathe again, makes us feel useful again.”
Hermione smiled, genuine and warm. “I think so too.”
They sat in companionable quiet for a while, sipping their tea and watching the shopping crowd lazily through the window.
After a pause, Pansy said, “Also, if I’m going to help save the future of wizarding Britain, I’m wearing something spectacular while doing it.”
Hermione laughed. “Naturally.”
“Gold silk, I think. It’ll bring out my eyes.” Pansy leaned in with a wicked grin. “And you’ll wear something I pick out. You always look like justice incarnate in white… but maybe we need something more unexpected for you this time.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, though her cheeks flushed slightly. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love me for it.”
When the clock on the wall chimed softly, Hermione gathered her parchment and notes, tucking them neatly into her satchel. “I should get going—I’ve got Charms in an hour.”
Pansy stood as well, brushing nonexistent crumbs from her skirt. “Tell your professor that the future Lady Malfoy-Nott is far too busy saving orphans to be marked tardy.”
Hermione smirked. “I’ll just tell him you were being distracting.”
“That’s my specialty.”
They hugged briefly—a habit that had grown out of months of shared secrets and teasing affection at Hogwarts—and Hermione stepped toward the door.
“Send me the finalized list of donations you secure,” she called over her shoulder.
“I will,” Pansy replied. “And remember: Rising from the Ashes. It’s more than a theme—it’s what we’re all doing.”
Hermione paused at the door, her heart warm at the sentiment. “You’re right, Pansy.”
“I usually am.”
Hermione laughed softly and disapparated into the spring afternoon, charms parchment rustling in her satchel and the faint scent of rose-vanilla tea still clinging to her robes as she mentally prepared for three hours of theory lectures.
Notes:
The gala is coming together.... what should Hermione and the boys wear?!
Chapter 149: Little Star
Chapter Text
The next few days flew by in a blur.
Hermione barely noticed the time passing — between her demanding Charms coursework, hours volunteering at The Granger Center, and nearly daily visits with Pansy to finaliz donation ledgers, and phoenix-themed invitations for the Orphans’ Gala, her calendar was a busy mess.
And now, as sunlight streamed through the morning mist on a soft May Saturday, it was time for Luna’s baby shower — the first real celebration for one of their little group since the weddings.
Hermione stood in front of her mirror at Nott Manor, smoothing the pale lilac robes she’d chosen for the occasion.
They shimmered faintly when she moved, like moonlight on glass. Her curls were pinned half-up, and a delicate silver necklace — one of the Malfoy heirlooms Narcissa had insisted she take — glinted at her collarbone.
Theo leaned against the doorframe, half-asleep, smiling softly. “You look beautiful. Luna will probably say you glow in ‘maternal sympathy.’”
Hermione laughed. “That sounds like her. Wish me luck surviving whatever this shower turns out to be.”
Draco, passing by on his way to the study, smirked. “Luck won’t save you if Lovegood decides to have guests drink from enchanted teacups again. Remember the singing sugar cubes at her bridal shower?”
She grinned. “I’ll try to stay alert.”
With a quick peck on each of their cheeks, she disapparated.
The Longbottom greenhouse was transformed into something out of a dream.
Ivy wound through glass rafters overhead, sunlight filtering through the leaves to cast green-gold light over tables covered in floating pastries and pastel tea sets.
Tiny enchanted butterflies hovered among bunches of wildflowers that Luna had likely picked herself that morning. A large banner, painted in looping, uneven script, read:
“WELCOME, LITTLE STAR!”
Ginny was the first to spot Hermione as she arrived. “There she is! We were starting to take bets on whether you’d get tied up in a meeting again.”
Speaking of Pansy — she was standing near the punch bowl, looking effortlessly glamorous in rose silk robes and a matching fascinator, clearly both impressed and mildly horrified by the whimsical decor.
“This,” she said with a dramatic sweep of her arm, “is what happens when you let Luna plan a party. I keep expecting the tableware to start reciting poetry.”
“It might,” Luna said serenely, appearing from behind a tower of gifts. Her pale blue dress fluttered around her like clouds, her slight baby bump just beginning to show.
“But they’re shy until they’ve been complimented.”
Pansy blinked. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
Luna smiled dreamily. “Always.”
By noon, nearly every woman in their circle had also arrived — Angelina, Cho, Parvati, Padma, even Professor McGonagall, who looked slightly out of place but secretly amused.
The tables overflowed with food — cucumber sandwiches shaped like crescent moons, floating cupcakes that rotated slowly in the air, and a punch that glittered faintly with harmless starlight dust.
Hermione and Ginny were roped into the first game almost immediately.
“Guess the baby’s birth date!” called out Hannah Abbott, who was serving as unofficial emcee. “Closest guess wins a bottle of enchanted bubble bath — courtesy of Pansy’s new luxury line.”
“I swear if you gave her a product that sings, Parkinson…” Hermione started.
“It hums,” Pansy corrected proudly. “Very soothing.”
Laughter rippled around the table as everyone scribbled their guesses. Luna, oblivious to the chaos, was sitting cross-legged on her chair, happily eating a floating cupcake with a spoon.
“I think she’ll come under the full moon,” Luna said serenely. “It feels right.”
Neville, who had popped in briefly to check on things, kissed her cheek. “You’d know better than anyone.”
As the afternoon unfolded, the energy shifted from silly to sweet. The gift table overflowed with pastel-wrapped boxes and ribbons charmed to look like drifting feathers.
Hermione’s gift — a soft enchanted blanket that gently adjusted its temperature to the baby’s — drew a collective awww from the crowd.
“It feels like a hug,” Luna said, stroking the fabric with obvious delight. “You always know what’s needed most.”
Cho’s gift, by contrast, made everyone laugh — a sleek enchanted pram that floated gracefully a few inches off the ground and could “repel sticky fingers and poor fashion choices.”
Ginny gave a little grin as she handed over a small wrapped package. Inside was a Quidditch teddy bear wearing tiny Chudley Cannons robes, which promptly started flying in a lazy circle around Luna’s head.
Luna clapped her hands. “Oh, this one will be friends with the Crumple-Horned Snorkack plushie I’ve been saving!”
Pansy muttered, “She’s nesting with cryptids,” under her breath, and Hermione elbowed her lightly.
Later, when the food had been picked over and most of the gifts opened, Luna insisted on a “circle of blessings.” They all gathered in a ring, hands joined, the sunlight fading into yellow through the glass ceiling.
“Every mother and every friend should have love around her,” Luna said softly, her voice echoing like a melody. “Even those of us who carry other kinds of magic.”
Hermione felt something tighten in her chest at the words — the soft hum of the triad bond flickered faintly beneath her skin, as if it could feel the sincerity of Luna’s intention.
When it was Hermione’s turn to speak, she said simply, “You and Neville are going to raise someone wonderful. The world needs a bit more of your kind of kindness in it.”
Luna smiled, luminous. “Thank you, Hermione. And you—you’re already doing the same in your way.”
Pansy sniffed dramatically. “If I cry, it’s because this hormone-filled greenhouse is messing with my mascara.”
Ginny laughed, swiping at her own eyes. “Sure, Pansy. Sure.”
As the sun sank low over the hills, the greenhouse filled with gilded light. The last of the guests drifted off, arms full of leftovers and favors that glowed faintly with Luna’s charmwork.
Hermione helped tidy the table, vanishing crumbs with a flick of her wand. Luna stood nearby, one hand resting absently over her belly.
“Will you and the boys come visit when she’s born?” Luna asked softly.
“Of course,” Hermione said, smiling. “You won’t be able to keep us away.”
“Good,” Luna said serenely. “She’ll need a godmother who believes in impossible things.”
Hermione blinked, startled. “Luna—are you—”
But Luna only smiled her distant, knowing smile. “You’ll see.”
Outside, twilight shimmered over the Longbottom estate as Hermione said her goodbyes. Ginny and Pansy disapparated just ahead of her, still teasing each other about who had won the baby-name guessing game.
Hermione lingered for a moment longer, looking up at the glowing greenhouse — laughter still spilling faintly through the windows.
Then, with a small smile tugging at her lips, she turned on the spot and disapparated home, the lingering scent of wildflowers and starlight still in her hair.
By the time Hermione stepped out of the floo, it was nearly dusk. The manor was aglow with soft candlelight, the smell of roasted garlic and herbs drifting from the kitchen.
She shook the last of the greenhouse starlight from her hair and called, “I’m home!”
Draco appeared first, coat off, sleeves rolled, a dish towel thrown over one shoulder.
“Perfect timing,” he said, sounding both relieved and pleased. “Dinner’s nearly ready.”
A moment later Theo came in from the corridor leading to his office, still in healer’s robes that smelled faintly of antiseptic and mint potion. He looked tired, but the kind of tired that came with having done something worthwhile that made him happy.
Hermione smiled at the sight of both of them—the domestic normalcy of it after the whimsical chaos of Luna’s party felt grounding. “You two cooked… yourselves?”
Draco smirked. “Theo supervised the chopping; I ensured we wouldn’t die of under-seasoning.”
Theo dropped a kiss to her temple as he passed. “He’s been insufferable about his culinary genius all evening.”
“And rightly so,” Draco muttered, turning back to the stove.
They ate together in the informal dining room, windows open to the spring air.
Hermione told them about Luna’s baby shower—the floating cupcakes, the “circle of blessings,” and how Pansy nearly hexed a singing teapot.
Draco looked amused. “Merlin, I can only imagine.”
Theo chuckled softly. “At least someone’s having uncomplicated happiness.”
Hermione reached across the table to squeeze his hand. “Long day?”
He hesitated, then sighed. “Long and strange.” He set down his fork, eyes darkening. “We had another one come in today. Same symptoms as the others.”
Draco straightened, all traces of humor gone. “Another Hogwarts student?”
Theo nodded grimly. “Yes. Fifth-year Slytherin girl—half-blood. Magical core completely untraceable. It’s like it’s vanished into thin air. No spell damage, no curse residue, nothing.”
Hermione’s stomach dropped. “That’s seven cases now.”
“Exactly,” Theo said. “And the pattern’s spreading—different years, different Houses. This isn’t a random illness anymore.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “Has the Ministry been informed?”
Theo gave a humorless laugh. “Officially, yea? They’re pretending it’s a ‘containable anomaly.’ Unofficially, the healers are terrified. No one’s ever seen magic simply… disappear.”
Hermione leaned forward, voice steady but worried. “Do you think it could spread?”
Theo rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know. But something’s draining these kids, and if we can’t find the cause soon, we may not be able to stop it. The curse teams already spent the week pillaging Hogwarts… nothing dark that could cause this was found. Bill was even consulted, and he’s not sure it’s even from a curse or object either. Luckily, the term ends soon, and student will be gone. The summer is going to be spent tearing the place upside down figuring out what or where the exposure is happening.”
Silence fell between them for a moment, broken only by the faint clink of cutlery. Hermione reached across the table again, this time linking both their hands with hers.
“We’ll help as much as we can to figure it out,” she said quietly. “Between your medical expertise, Draco’s resources, and my research access at the Ministry—we have more combined knowledge than most departments.”
Draco studied her, then exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “You realize if the Ministry continues to ignore this, we may need to go public with what we know, or force it onto the chambers floor thru the Heir Alliance.”
Theo nodded. “I’m already documenting everything. Anonymous reports for now.”
Hermione gave him a small, proud smile. “Good. I’ll start looking through magical theory texts. Maybe there’s an old precedent for this—some curse, a ritual, something that severs magical essence.”
Draco brushed his thumb over the back of her hand. “You never stop fighting, do you?”
She met his gaze with a tired smile. “Neither do either of you.”
After the dishes cleared themselves to the sink, they drifted into the sitting room. A fire crackled in the hearth; the windows reflected the soft candlelight and the pale glow from their bond-rings.
Draco poured them each a small glass of wine.
“To Luna and Neville,” he said, lifting his glass, “for proving something good can still grow in this world.”
Hermione smiled faintly and clinked her glass to his.
“And to us—for keeping it from falling apart.”
Theo leaned back on the sofa beside her, eyes half-closed. “It’s been a long week,” he murmured.
Draco, sitting across from them, watched them with quiet affection.
The glow from the fire painted his face in gold and shadow. After a moment, he reached across to tuck a curl behind Hermione’s ear, his touch light but full of care.
The air between them shifted—still comfortable, but thrumming faintly with that charged awareness that never seemed to fade.
“Tomorrow,” Draco said quietly, “I’ll speak to a few contacts in the Department of Mysteries. See if anyone’s been tracking unusual magical readings around Hogwarts.”
Theo nodded. “And I’ll re-examine the girl’s test results. Maybe there’s something we missed.”
Hermione looked between them, heart swelling with pride and fear all at once.
Later, when the fire had burned low, they lingered in the quiet. The heavy tension of earlier had softened into something warmer, steadier.
Hermione stood, stretching, and Draco rose too, setting aside their glasses. “You should rest,” he murmured.
“So should you,” she countered gently.
Theo gave a sleepy smile from the sofa. “If you two start mothering each other, I’m going to bed before it becomes a contest.”
That earned a laugh from both of them.
Draco followed her to the corridor, their steps slow, the bond humming quietly like a living thing between them.
She smiled, stepping closer for a lingering goodnight hug as she went to turn in for the night and he headed to his study, her heartbeat steady against his chest.
When they finally parted, the world outside was quiet and silvered by moonlight.
Hermione sat at the breakfast table in her dressing robe, Pudding the half-Kneazle kitten purring lazily in her lap.
The Daily Prophet lay folded beside her untouched; she was too anxious to read it yet.
Draco, already dressed for the day in an open-collared black shirt and waistcoat, was standing near the window, looking out into the gardens where dew sparkled.
Neither of them spoke much that morning — both waiting for the sound of the floo, for Theo to come home.
When the green flare finally filled the fireplace, Hermione’s head snapped up.
Theo stepped out of the flames wearing his Healer robes, dark circles under his eyes, hair slightly disheveled. His expression was grim.
“Good morning,” Hermione said softly, standing. “You’re early today.”
“Couldn’t wait to get back,” he said tiredly. “We got the results from the last round of scans on the Slytherin girl.”
Draco’s posture stiffened. “And?”
Theo hesitated, then sank into a chair at the table, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’s worse than we thought.”
Hermione poured him tea automatically, her hands steady despite the dread curling in her stomach. “Tell us everything.”
Theo took the cup, but didn’t drink right away.
“Her magical core isn’t just dormant. It’s gone.”
Draco frowned. “Gone? You said that before—”
Theo shook his head sharply. “No, I mean gone. As in—completely absent. It’s not just empty… it’s not there at all. There’s no magical signature in her at all anymore. The energy patterns we normally see in every living witch or wizard, even Squibs, are just… missing. It’s like something reached inside her and took it. She’s basically a muggle.”
Hermione felt cold spread through her. “You mean—like theft?”
Theo nodded slowly. “That’s exactly what it looks like. A clean extraction. There’s no scarring on her magical pathways, no dark magic residue, no hex burns. Just… emptiness.”
Draco’s voice was low, dangerous. “You’re telling us someone—or something—is stealing away magic?”
Theo looked at him bleakly. “That’s the only explanation that fits.”
For a long moment, the only sound was the soft crackle of the fire and the faint rustle of Pudding shifting on Hermione’s lap.
Hermione stood abruptly, pacing.
“That’s seven students from different Houses—different blood statuses. There’s no clear pattern.”
Theo nodded. “Except they’re all Hogwarts students. And all minors between 5th and 7th year.”
Draco leaned against the table, watching her with narrowed eyes. “If it’s an attack, whoever’s behind it is smart. Choosing targets from different groups keeps the Ministry from seeing a pattern.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed, her mind racing. “But what kind of magic could remove a core like that? Even soul magic doesn’t fully erase magical essence. It corrupts it, but it doesn’t take it.”
Theo finally took a sip of his tea, grimacing as though it tasted bitter. “I ran every test in the book. Whatever’s happening—it’s beyond traditional diagnostics. It almost looks ritualistic.”
Draco’s jaw clenched. “Then this isn’t just a medical anomaly. It’s deliberate...?”
Hermione stopped pacing, her eyes meeting his. “We need to find out if it’s linked to the war. If there’s some remnant of dark magic or experimentation resurfacing.”
Draco’s gaze softened slightly at the determination in her eyes. “You’re not going near it alone.”
She sighed. “I wasn’t planning to.”
Theo gave her a weary but affectionate smile. “Good. Because if you do, Draco will hex every Auror in the Ministry to get to you.”
Draco didn’t deny it.
After breakfast, they moved into the parlor where sunlight spilled across the rugs. Hermione curled up on the sofa with a book of magical anatomy Theo had brought from the hospital, though she wasn’t really reading it.
Draco and Theo stood by the hearth, talking quietly about possible sources of ritual energy theft.
Every so often, Draco’s eyes drifted toward Hermione, his protective instincts simmering just under the surface.
“You’re both worrying yourselves into knots,” she said finally, looking up. “We can’t solve this in a morning when the whole Ministry can’t do it in months.”
Theo gave a soft huff. “You’re not wrong. But it’s hard to stop thinking about it.”
She set the book aside and walked over, touching his arm gently. “You’ve been up all night. You need rest more than another theory.”
He gave her a tired smile. “I’ll nap after I shower.”
Draco glanced at him. “You look like hell.”
“Love you too,” Theo muttered, heading for the stairs.
When Theo disappeared upstairs, the room fell into quiet again. Hermione went to refill her teacup, and Draco followed, leaning in the doorway to the kitchen.
“I don’t like this,” he said quietly. “Any of it. The disappearances, the threats, the way magic itself seems to be unraveling.”
Hermione turned to face him. “Neither do I.”
Draco studied her, eyes tracing the lines of fatigue on her face. “You shouldn’t have to fight every battle, Hermione.”
She smiled faintly. “You’re sweet when you’re brooding.”
He rolled his eyes, but stepped closer, brushing his fingers over her wrist where her bond-ring glowed faintly.
“Just promise me you’ll stay cautious. Until we know more. No risks.”
She nodded. “I promise.”
For a moment they stood there, silent except for the ticking of the clock and the faint hum of their magic twining softly between them — protective, warm, unspoken.
By evening, Theo had woken from his nap, looking slightly more human. The three of them gathered again in the library, papers and parchments spread across the desk.
They were tired, yes — but focused.
Hermione traced a finger down one of Theo’s diagnostic charts. “We’ll go through everything. Magical energy signatures, wand use patterns, blood purity registries — anything that might connect them.”
Theo nodded, sitting beside her. “If I can get permission to take a look at the older files, maybe there’s overlap with similar cases after the war.”
Draco poured them each a cup of strong tea. “And I’ll write to Kingsley. If the Ministry wants to keep ignoring this, they’ll at least have to ignore me loudly.”
Hermione smiled faintly, glancing up at him. “You realize you’re becoming dangerously useful.”
“Terrifying, isn’t it?” he said, smirking.
They all laughed softly, the tension easing just slightly.
For a few quiet moments, the three of them worked together in perfect harmony — minds, magic, and hearts bound by something far stronger than duty.
Notes:
Yes, Luna's baby is a girl!
Any guesses on what her name will be? =P
Chapter 150: Gowns and Spells
Chapter Text
The first day of June, Diagon Alley shimmered with early summer magic. Shop banners flapped lik above the cobblestones, and a faint breeze carried the smell of sugar quills and polished broom handles.
The wizarding world was buzzing about the upcoming Orphans’ Gala: Phoenix Rise from the Ashes — the first major charity event since the war to unite society. Hermione, who had somehow become both hostess and symbol of the cause, was feeling the pressure.
She was adjusting the strap on her bag when a familiar voice called out.
“Darling, you’re late. I’ve already had two glasses of champagne waiting for you.”
Pansy stood in front of Celestina Couture, hands on her hips, dark hair glossy and enchanted into perfect waves. She looked radiant in a gold day dress that caught the sunlight.
Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling. “You do realize it’s barely noon and I’m coming from a class right?”
“Champagne doesn’t check clocks, Granger,” Pansy said, linking arms. “Now come along. We have phoenixes to become.”
Inside Celestina Couture, the heat of early summer gave way to a world of living flame.
Silks in gold, scarlet, and amber drifted through the air as if weightless. The chandeliers were bewitched to glow like sunrise, and tiny sparks shimmered over the carpet like embers that never burned.
Celestina herself — petite, violet-haired, and delightfully intense — rushed forward with a delighted clap. “Ah! My phoenixes have arrived! I have just the fabrics for you.”
She led them into a private fitting salon where the walls shimmered with illusions of feathers and sparks.
Pansy sighed in theatrical bliss. “Oh, this is heaven.”
Hermione grinned. “You said that last time.”
“Yes, and I was right then too.”
For the next hour, they let Celestina and her assistants drape them in layer after layer of enchanted fabric — each gown more stunning than the last. Pansy went first, twirling in front of the mirror in a gown that shifted from gold to champagne to blinding metalic glitter when she moved.
It was strapless, fitted to her figure, and dusted in fine golden sparkles that made her look as though she’d been dipped in sunbeams.
Hermione blinked, momentarily speechless. “You look… incandescent.”
“I know,” Pansy said smugly, turning to admire herself. “I look like Midas personally kissed my hemline. It’s perfect.”
Celestina pressed a hand to her heart. “You are molten gold, Madame Zabini. The rebirth of glamour itself.”
Pansy smiled at her reflection, entirely satisfied. “Well, someone has to keep the bar high.”
Then came Hermione’s turn.
Celestina floated forward with a bundle of glowing fabric that pulsed with a heartbeat of heat. “For you,” she said reverently. “The phoenix in its truest form.”
When Hermione stepped into the gown, she felt it slide softly against her skin, fitting like a glove.
It was sleeveless, with a deep but elegant neckline, the silk ombre from brilliant orange at the bodice to deep crimson at the hem, threaded throughout with molten gold and flickering enchantments that made it shimmer like living fire.
Every time she moved, sparks of golden light rippled outward — subtle and breathtaking. The skirt flowed like smoke, the faintest train whispering behind her.
When she stepped out of the fitting room, the air seemed to still.
Pansy set down her champagne, genuinely stunned. “Oh, bloody hell, Hermione.”
Hermione turned toward the mirror, eyes wide. “It… looks alive.”
Pansy stepped closer, voice softening. “It looks like you. You’re fire — all brilliance and danger and rebirth.”
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. “You’re going to make me cry.”
“Good,” Pansy teased, wiping at an imaginary tear. “Tears are hydrating.”
Even Celestina seemed awed. “You do not wear this gown,” she said softly. “You become it.”
After a long while, the fittings were done. Both gowns hung nearby, ready to be owled home.
The two witches lounged barefoot on a velvet chaise, champagne glasses in hand, the hum of soft instrumental music surrounding them.
Hermione sighed, tipping her head back. “You know, this might actually be the first time since the war I’ve done something that feels purely beautiful for the sake of vanity of my own accord.”
Pansy smiled. “That’s because you’ve spent years rebuilding everyone else’s ashes. It’s about time you remembered you’ve risen too.”
Hermione gave a quiet laugh. “That’s rather poetic, coming from you.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” Pansy said, smirking. “They’d think I’ve gone soft.”
They sat in silence for a moment, just watching the enchanted lights flicker.
“Thank you,” Hermione said softly. “For making me do this with you. For… reminding me to enjoy things that are indulgent.”
Pansy squeezed her hand. “You’re welcome. You might be the brain of this operation, Granger, but I’m the glam. We balance each other.”
Hermione smiled warmly. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you love me for it.”
By the time they stepped out into the street, the sun was just about setting — a sky of red and gold flames mirrored perfectly in their new gowns.
Pansy slipped her sunglasses on, though the light was fading. “You know, when we walk into that gala, every person in that ballroom will stop breathing for a full minute.”
Hermione laughed softly. “That sounds terrible.”
“It sounds fabulous,” Pansy corrected. “You’ll be the phoenix risen, and I’ll be the gold she left behind. Symbolism, darling.”
Hermione shook her head but smiled. “We’ll be unstoppable.”
“Exactly.” Pansy grinned, looping her arm through Hermione’s. “Now come along, fiery one. Let’s get dinner before I start crying again about how stunning we are.”
“Again?”
They were still laughing when it happened.
Hermione and Pansy WERE walking side by side.
Pansy was mid-story about Blaise trying to charm a Fwooper into singing at the gala when Hermione’s laugh caught in her throat.
The world shifted.
The chatter of the crowd dipped; a draft colder than the summer evening slithered through the alley.
A flicker of shadow darted across a storefront window—there one second, gone the next.
Hermione slowed. “Did you feel—”
The crack of displaced air cut her off.
A masked figure appeared ten yards ahead, black cloak whipping around them. Their wand was already up.
A curse—purple and hissing—shot toward the women.
Hermione reacted on instinct. “Protego!”
The shield flared to life in front of them, the hex crashing against it with a sound like shattering glass.
The impact pushed her backward; Pansy grabbed her arm to steady her.
“Oh, hell no,” Pansy muttered, pulling her own wand free.
The next moment was chaos.
Spells streaked across the alley like comets. A shop window exploded behind them, showering them in harmless shards as the glass repair charms kicked in.
Hermione ducked and rolled, her hair sparking from the light of a near miss.
“Left!” Pansy shouted, firing back with surprising precision. “Who even are you?”
The assailant didn’t answer—just kept advancing.
Hermione’s pulse thundered in her ears. She felt the old war reflex surge up through her bones—years of training and terror condensed into movement.
“Incarcerous!” she shouted. Ropes shot out of her wand, but the masked witch—or wizard—slashed them apart midair.
Another curse arced toward her, bright and terrifying. Hermione threw herself sideways, the spell grazing her shoulder in a hiss of heat. She hit the ground hard, breath gone for a secound.
Pain and panic flooded her—then, the bond suddenly ignited.
A flash of gold light pulsed through the invisible thread connecting her to the others. She hadn’t meant to send anything through it, but terror didn’t ask permission.
Theo—Draco—
The answering surge came like twin heartbeats slamming into her own. Draco’s fear hit first, sharp and furious; Theo’s followed, controlled but urgent.
She could feel them moving for the first time—Draco dropping something heavy, Theo barking orders to colleagues as he disapparated mid-sentence.
The masked assailant raised their wand again, eyes flashing ominously through the slits of their mask.
Hermione lifted hers too, but Pansy stepped in front of her, hair wild, wand glowing gold. “Touch her and I’ll make you regret being born!”
The figure hesitated for half a second—then vanished with a thunderclap.
Silence.
The alley trembled with the echo of the duel; onlookers were peering around corners.
Then—two cracks of Apparition.
Draco and Theo appeared almost simultaneously, the bond vibrating with residual panic.
Draco reached Hermione first, gripping her shoulders, eyes wild. “What’s happening? Are you hurt?”
“I—no—just singed,” she managed. “Pansy—”
Theo was already kneeling beside Pansy, examining the edge of her arm where a curse had grazed it. A faint burn, nothing deep, but enough to make her hiss.
“Hold still,” Theo murmured, healer’s calm sliding into place. A cool blue light flowed from his wand, the burn fading as he worked. “You’ll live to terrorize the world another day.”
Pansy gave him a weak smirk. “You’re lucky I’m fond of you.”
Draco was shaking. He hadn’t let go of Hermione yet.
“I told you something like this would happen— shouldn’t have you out alone without me.”
“Draco,” she interrupted gently. “We’re okay.”
His eyes met hers, pale and furious and terrified all at once. “You could have—”
“I didn’t.”
Theo straightened, wiping his hands. “The Aurors are on their way. Someone must’ve seen the attack.”
Hermione nodded, still catching her breath. Her hands trembled as she tucked her wand away. The adrenaline buzzed like static under her skin.
By the time Harry and two other Aurors arrived, the assailant was quite long gone. Witnesses had seen only seen a mask, and flashes of red and black spells, nothing particularly useful.
Statements were taken. Promises made. Hermione stood quietly, Pansy leaning against a lamppost beside her, the sleeve of her gold dress repaired but still smelling faintly of ozone.
Draco never strayed more than an arm’s reach away. Theo kept scanning the rooftops, wand loosely in hand.
When it was finally over, Draco turned to Hermione, voice tight but soft. “We’re going home. Now.”
She didn’t argue.
Back at Nott Manor, Pansy perched on the kitchen counter with a glass of wine while Theo finished a last healing charm.
“There,” he said, stepping back. “Good as new.”
Pansy looked down at her perfectly mended arm, then at Hermione. “Well,” she said lightly, “next time we go dress shopping, we bring bodyguards before the accessories.”
Hermione gave a weak laugh. “Agreed.”
Draco was silent beside her, jaw still tight, his hand brushing hers under the table. The bond hummed, quieter now but steady—fear replaced by fierce, protective warmth.
Theo set down his wand and sighed. “Let’s all just… breathe. You two fought well.”
Hermione nodded, staring into the flicker of the kitchen candles. “I keep wondering why. What they wanted.”
Pansy sipped her wine. “Whatever it was, they didn’t get it. They seemed to be after you, not me though. I was just in the way.”
Draco finally exhaled, he turned to Hermione, brushed his thumb over her uninjured shoulder, and murmured, “You did well, love.”
Her lips curved, weary but sure. “We all did.”
Theo returned Pansy to her home and straight into Blaise’s arms.
The wards hummed—Draco had strengthened them twice since they returned, and was now pacing the corridors like a caged storm, muttering Latin under his breath as the air shimmered blue around his fingers.
Hermione watched him from the sofa in the drawing room, still wrapped in one of Theo’s sweaters, her hair damp from the shower she’d taken to wash off the smoke and dust of Diagon Alley. The adrenaline had faded, leaving only exhaustion—and worry.
Just returned, Theo leaned against the mantel, silent, arms crossed. He looked calm, but she could feel through the bond that he was alert, every sense stretched tight toward Draco.
Draco finally stopped pacing. He turned toward them, eyes bright, voice low but trembling.
“She could have died.”
Hermione opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “You could have died, Hermione. Right there, in the street. And I wasn’t there.”
“You came,” she said softly. “You and Theo both—”
“Too late.” He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I should’ve been there before it even happened. I shouldn’t have let you go shopping alone.”
Theo stepped forward, steady and sure. “Draco. Look at me.”
Draco didn’t. His shoulders were rigid, his breathing uneven.
Theo crossed the room and caught his wrist, pulling his hands down. “You can’t keep her locked inside the manor because you’re scared. That isn’t protection—it’s punishment. She wasn’t even alone, she was with Pansy.”
Draco jerked his arm away. “I felt it through the bond. Every jolt, every pulse of fear—it was like someone carved it into my chest. And I couldn’t stop it.”
Hermione stood, crossing to them quietly. “Draco,” she murmured, laying a hand on his arm.
He flinched, then stilled.
Her eyes were soft but unwavering. “You can’t blame yourself for every bad thing that happens to me. Pansy and I were both there. We both fought back.”
He looked at her—really looked—and his expression broke. The mask of Malfoy composure shattered.
“Don’t you understand?” His voice was hoarse. “If anything ever happened to you, I—”
Theo stepped in before he could finish, laying a firm hand on the back of Draco’s neck. “Stop.”
The word wasn’t cruel—it was grounding. Draco exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours.
Theo guided him to the couch, made him sit. He sat beside him, shoulders squared like an anchor. Hermione sat on Draco’s other side, curling her hand into his.
For a long time, the only sound was the fire snapping in the hearth.
Theo’s voice was low when he spoke again. “You’re allowed to be scared. Both of us are. But fear doesn’t get to control you, Draco.”
“I can’t just—”
“Yes, you can.” Theo’s tone softened. “You’re not your father. You don’t get to control her because you love her. You protect her with her, not from the world.”
Hermione’s thumb brushed over Draco’s knuckles. His eyes flicked to her face, and she saw the tears he was trying to swallow.
“I almost lost you once,” he said, barely audible. “At Hogwarts, after the war—I thought I’d never—”
She leaned in then, close enough that her forehead nearly brushed his temple. “You didn’t lose me.”
The bond pulsed, soft and golden, like a heartbeat shared among three people. It hummed under their skin, warm and alive.
Theo placed a hand over both of theirs. “We all felt it, Draco. You’re not the only one who panicked. The bond— it isn’t meant for walls. It’s meant for trust.”
Draco swallowed hard, nodding once. He looked at Hermione, eyes rimmed red. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She gave a small, tired smile. “You don’t have to apologize for caring. Just… don’t smother me with it.”
That earned the faintest laugh from him—raw but real. “You’d hex me first.”
“Probably,” she said.
They sat like that for a long while—Hermione between them, her head on Draco’s shoulder, Theo’s arm draped over the back of the couch, hand tracing idle circles against her arm. The room was dim except for the firelight, and the storm in Draco’s chest slowly eased.
“You two are impossible,” Hermione murmured eventually, half-asleep.
Theo’s lips quirked. “You married us, love. That’s on you.”
Draco huffed a laugh. It wasn’t much, but it was better than the silence.
After a while, Theo rose and fetched the bottle of firewhisky from the sideboard, pouring a glass for Draco. “One,” he warned. “Then bed.”
Draco accepted it, hand still shaking slightly. “Thank you.”
Hermione rested her head against his shoulder again. “You don’t have to keep saving me, Draco.”
He turned his head just enough to brush his lips against her hair, a gesture more reverent than possessive. “Maybe not,” he murmured, “but I’ll never stop trying.”
Theo joined them again, sliding onto the couch beside Hermione and tugging a blanket over the three of them. She sighed, caught between them, the rhythm of their breathing syncing through the bond until it felt like one steady pulse.
The house creaked as the wards settled for the night. Outside, rain began to fall.
Inside, Draco’s heartbeat slowed at last, and Hermione’s fingers found his beneath the blanket.
Theo’s voice came quietly through the dark. “We’re all safe. That’s enough for tonight.”
Draco didn’t answer, but she felt him nod before heading off to bed.
She hadn’t slept much. Neither had Draco; he sat opposite her, hair mussed, sleeves rolled to the elbow, eyes shadowed but calmer than they’d been in days.
Theo, ever the early riser despite his long shifts, was leaning against the counter reading the Daily Prophet headline about the still-unidentified attacker. The paper trembled faintly in his hand.
“Still nothing,” he said, folding it shut. “No signature, no magical residue, no leads.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “Then they’re clever—or connected.”
Hermione set down her tea. “Or both.”
The wards around Nott Manor shimmered faintly, a reminder of the triple-layer protection Draco had strengthened before dawn. He’d been up half the night walking the grounds.
Theo crossed the room and dropped a letter on the table—already sealed with the black wax of the Auror Office. “We should write to Harry. If the Ministry’s dragging its feet, we’ll have him push an internal review.”
Hermione nodded. “I was thinking the same.”
They moved to the study, where the morning light painted gold stripes across the old desk. Hermione wrote while the men dictated.
<<<<<<<<<<<
Dear Harry,
Thank you for coming so quickly last night to the scene. The Auror assigned to the case has found no magical traces, which suggests deliberate masking. Whoever this is has skill and purpose. We’re safe, but the lack of progress concerns us.
Would you consider advocating for assigning a senior investigator—or at least sharing any classified information the Office already has? We trust you more than anyone to keep this quiet.
With gratitude,
Hermione, Draco, and Theo
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
She sanded the ink, sealed it with the Nott crest, and handed it to Theo’s owl. The bird vanished through the open window, wings flashing in the light.
They returned to the table. The smell of coffee and cinnamon filled the room. Draco poured her a cup before his own—something he’d started doing unconsciously.
Hermione reached across the table and caught his hand. “You don’t have to hover today.”
He hesitated, then squeezed her fingers. “I’m not hovering. I’m… strategically positioned.”
Theo snorted into his coffee. “That’s what we’re calling anxiety now?”
Draco shot him a glare, but there was no heat in it. “You’re impossible.”
“Admit it,” Theo said lightly, “you’d rather I be impossible than indifferent.”
Hermione looked between them, warmth rising in her chest. The bond shimmered—still fragile from the emotional whiplash, but alive.
After the dishes vanished with a flick of Theo’s wand, Hermione leaned back in her chair. “We should talk about next steps. We can’t just react anymore.”
Theo nodded. “Security first. I can enchant your office door at the Center with a localized ward keyed to your signature. Anyone else trying to open it will hit a stunning hex.”
Draco added, “And I’ll have Gringotts install a protective charm network in the alleyway. If someone apparates with hostile intent, they’ll trigger an alarm.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “You two sound like you’re running a private army.”
Draco met her eyes, serious now. “If that’s what it takes.”
Theo watched them, quiet, the hint of a smile ghosting across his face. “I’ll take that as a verbal contract,” he said softly. “No one protects this triad alone.”
When the conversation wound down, Draco’s energy finally flagged. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, voice rough. “I don’t know how you do it, Granger. You face danger and still manage to look like you slept eight hours.”
Hermione smiled. “I didn’t. But I’m learning that courage and coffee have a similar magical composition.”
Theo chuckled. “We could bottle that and sell it.”
The humor lightened the air. Hermione reached over to brush a strand of hair off Draco’s forehead. He closed his eyes at the touch, leaning just slightly into her palm. Theo’s arm came around her shoulders from behind, grounding them both.
For a moment the bond pulsed, warm and even. They didn’t need words. It was enough that they were here—alive, linked, steady.
When Theo finally left for his healer shift, the house felt too still again.
Draco stood by the window, watching the owl return in the distance—Harry’s reply, a small flash of red against the grey sky.
Hermione opened it. Harry’s familiar handwriting filled the page.
I’ll take care of it. Trust me. We’ll find whoever’s behind this.
Keep your wards high.
—H.
Draco looked at the note and nodded once, determination replacing fear.
“Then we fight smart,” he said quietly.
Hermione crossed to him, resting her forehead against his chest. “Together.”
He wrapped an arm around her, hand at the back of her neck. The scent of cinnamon and smoke clung to his clothes; his heartbeat was steady under her cheek.
By the time dusk fell, the manor was wrapped in quiet again. The rain from earlier had turned the grounds misty, softening the garden lights into pale gold orbs floating in fog.
Hermione sat in the parlor near the fire, half-pretending to read, while Draco paced in front of the window.
Every few minutes his hand twitched toward his wand, as though he expected someone to appear on the lawn.
“Draco,” she said gently, without looking up, “you’ve checked the wards four times.”
He stopped, hands sliding into his pockets. “I’ll stop when I stop worrying.”
“You’ll stop when you wear a groove in the floor,” she murmured.
He huffed but didn’t sit. The shadows from the fire traced across his sharp cheekbones, making him look half-haunted, half-defiant. The bond thrummed faintly—an echo of his agitation pressing against her chest. She pushed calm through it, just enough to make him glance her way.
“You don’t have to keep shielding me from the world, you know,” she said quietly. “I’m not made of glass.”
His eyes softened, but his jaw stayed set. “You were attacked twice in less than a month, Hermione. If you think I’m going to leave you unguarded—”
“I don’t want to be guarded,” she interrupted, closing her book. “I want to be partnered. There’s a difference.”
For a heartbeat they just stared at each other, stubbornness and affection colliding in silence. Then a faint knock echoed through the corridor.
Theo’s voice called from the foyer, “That’ll be Potter.”
Harry stood framed in the doorway, rain still dripping from his cloak. His expression was half-Auror, half-brotherly concern. “Sorry to barge in so late. I thought I’d rather tell you in person.”
Hermione rose to hug him; Draco inclined his head but didn’t step aside from where he stood half-between her and the door.
Harry noticed, of course—his brow lifted, amusement flickering for an instant before he let it go.
“I’ve got updates on your case,” Harry said as they settled in. Theo poured tea; Draco didn’t sit until Hermione tugged his sleeve.
Harry spread parchment across the table. “We’ve retraced the scenes of both attacks.Our team found faint magical traces near The Center. They were buried under concealment charms, but one signature matches an old Death Eater protégé—Rowle’s apprentice. He’s been off the grid for years.”
Draco’s hand curled into a fist. “If he’s targeting her because of me—”
“Stop,” Hermione said, low but firm. “Don’t take that on, Draco.”
Harry gave a small nod. “We’re increasing patrols around Diagon Alley and your property. Kingsley’s ordering extra wards at the Center, too. You’ll have Auror coverage for the next month at least unless he’s caught.”
Theo leaned forward. “That’s a relief.”
“It is,” Hermione said, though her tone was cautious. “But I’d rather this didn’t turn into a headline circus again.”
Harry’s lips curved faintly. “Already talked to Skeeter myself. She won’t be writing anything without running it through me first.”
“That’s terrifying,” Draco muttered.
Harry smirked. “You have no idea what I had to do.”
When Theo went to see Harry out a while later, Draco lingered in the parlor. Hermione watched him standing by the hearth, his expression unreadable.
“Say it,” she prompted.
He turned toward her slowly. “You should let one of the Aurors escort you to class for the next few weeks until the term ends.”
She sighed. “Draco…”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are,” she said, crossing to him. “That’s the problem.”
He started to speak, but she put a hand on his chest. “I understand why you’re scared. I feel it through the bond. But if you keep locking me behind protection, you’ll make me feel like I’m a problem to manage, not a person you trust.”
His eyes flickered down to where her hand rested against his shirt. “And if something happens while I’m not there?”
“Then I’ll fight like hell,” she whispered. “Like I always have.”
The air between them tightened—their heartbeats falling into the same rhythm. For a moment neither moved. Then Draco’s shoulders slumped; he caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
Later, after Theo returned and Harry’s broom disappeared into the night sky, the three of them sat by the dying fire. No one spoke for a long time. Hermione felt the bond humming quietly—a steady, glowing thread that bound worry and affection together until the edges of fear began to soften.
Theo finally broke the silence. “Whatever’s coming, we’ll face it together. All of us.”
Draco’s hand found Hermione’s beneath the blanket. “That’s the only reason I’m breathing normally right now.”
Hermione rested her head on his shoulder, exhaustion and warmth washing over her in equal measure. “Then keep breathing,” she murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The manor was silent except for the fire’s last crackle and the slow, shared cadence of three heartbeats evening out in time.
Notes:
Well this is going to put a damper on Draco's birthday in a few days... or will it? =P
Chapter 151: Birthday Boy
Chapter Text
Three days later, the manor felt… curated.
Theo had straightened the sitting room twice. Hermione had charmed the candles to a warmer, softer glow than usual.
There were low arrangements of dark green foliage and pale flowers on the long dining table — elegant, subtle, unmistakably Malfoy — and a small chocolate torte waiting under a silver dome on the sideboard.
It wasn’t a big party, not this year. Not after everything. Just the people who were safe to invite.
Still, Draco was pacing.
“Draco,” Hermione said gently as she adjusted silverware for the third time, “you’re wearing a line in the rug again.”
He gave her a look, all restless eyes and sharp shoulders. “It’s my birthday. I’m allowed to be difficult.”
Theo, leaning in the doorway with his sleeves rolled and his healer’s ID still shoved into his back pocket from earlier, snorted. “Birthday status changes nothing.”
That did earn the smallest flicker of a smile from Draco — but only for a breath. The bond between them hummed with how on-edge he was.
Protective, coiled, alert. He hadn’t truly relaxed since Hermione was attacked in Diagon Alley. Not even sleep had been letting him fully loosenup.
Hermione stepped in close, smoothing his lapel. “It’s just our friends.”
“I know that,” he muttered.
“And you’re safe,” she said, very quietly.
His eyes flicked to hers at that. He didn’t say he didn’t believe her. He didn’t have to. She could feel the denial sitting there, tight and bitter under his ribs, where it had been living for days.
Theo caught that too. He crossed the room, and with the ease of someone who knew exactly where Draco’s nerves lived, he slid a steadying hand to the back of Draco’s neck.
“Breathe,” Theo murmured. “At least pretend to enjoy us spoiling you today.”
Draco huffed, but his shoulders dropped a centimeter under Theo’s touch. “I am not being spoiled.”
Hermione smiled. “You will be.”
A knock sounded at the front door, then Pansy’s unmistakable voice echoed down the marble hall:
“HELLO, MISERABLE PEOPLE, WE BROUGHT ALCOHOL.”
Theo sighed. “And so it begins.”
Pansy swept into the dining room first like she owned the manor, which to be fair, she partially did if attitude counted as legal claim. She wore elegant black robes with a gold collar, hair glossy and pinned back, expression bright in that way Hermione had learned to read as I’m worried about you, so I’m going to be louder than usual.
She went straight to Draco and cupped his face in both hands. “Happy birthday, dragon.”
Draco tried to scowl, but she kissed his cheek before he could finish arranging it, then turned to Hermione and hugged her so tightly Hermione squeaked.
Blaise followed behind, immaculate and amused, carrying two bottles of wine. “You look terrible, Draco,” he said pleasantly. “Wonderful to see you.”
“I hate you,” Draco replied, which in their language meant thank you for coming.
Then came Harry and Ginny — Harry in neat (but slightly wrinkled) robes and Ginny in casual trousers and a blouse that made her hair look like it belonged in a Quidditch magazine spread.
Ginny hugged Hermione first, then Theo, then — to everyone’s vague surprise — Draco, who stood there and endured it with only slight stiffness.
“Happy birthday,” she said softly to him. “You holding up?”
“Apparently,” Draco muttered.
“Good,” Ginny said brightly. “Because I brought something with actual sugar in it, not whatever sad little dark torte that is.” She jerked her chin toward the silver platter. “No offense, Hermione.”
“None taken,” Hermione said dryly. “That’s not the real cake. That one’s for photos Pansy will ‘mysteriously leak to Witch Weekly.’”
“I don’t leak,” Pansy said, already pouring wine. “I strategically place.”
Neville and Luna were last.
Neville looked comfortable, steady, relaxed, a man who knew what he’d survivedwar and what he was building next. He clapped Draco on the shoulder with easy warmth. “Happy birthday, mate.”
Luna drifted in at his side — soft blue robes, hair in a loose braid over one shoulder, visibly round with pregnancy now. She offered Draco a small smile.
“You made it to another year,” she said serenely. “That’s very good work.”
Everyone paused.
Then Draco, of all people, let out a quiet breath of a laugh. “Thank you, Lovegood. I’ll… take that.”
“You should,” Luna said. “A year ago you weren’t sure you wanted to. Now you’re fighting for it. That’s a much better direction.”
Neville squeezed her hand so gently that Hermione’s throat tightened.
They all took their places around the dining table.
The elves had outdone themselves.
Family-style, by request of Hermione. Platters of roast chicken with lemon and herbs, buttered baby potatoes, charmed-warm rolls that replenished themselves whenever the plate got low, summer asparagus in garlic.
Wine flowed easily. So did the conversation.
It started light — Quidditch, Neville’s greenhouse expansion, how Luna’s been craving mostly strawberries and roast parsnips.
Draco hadn’t spoken much. He was eating — or pretending to eat — but he kept going distant in stretches, mind clearly elsewhere. Hermione could feel a low, restless current under his skin through the bond. Protective tension. Still on the edge of fight.
She laid her hand over his thigh under the table.
That got his attention. His eyes cut to her. She didn’t say anything — she didn’t have to. She just pressed. I’m here.
His shoulders loosened a fraction. He reached down, laced their fingers together beneath the linen.
“What about you?” Pansy said to Hermione, cutting neatly back into the general chatter. “How’s the Center? And before you lie to me — I was there this morning to drop off donation forms, and I saw the new ward sigils layered into the alley. Someone’s been busy.”
Hermione’s lips curved. “They’re working. Feels better, having the Auror patrols now. And the kids who come in with their parents — they’re less scared when they realize we’re not going to Obliviate anyone or kidnap them to a castle.”
Harry winced. “Please stop describing Hogwarts like that.”
“It’s accurate,” Hermione said mildly. “From a Muggleborn parent’s point of view.”
“She’s not wrong,” Neville muttered.
“It’s terrible branding,” Pansy sighed.
Hermione laughed, which helped.
Theo reached for his wine. “And you, Malfoy?” he asked casually, nudging Draco’s calf beneath the table with his own. “How’s being ancient?”
That earned a real eye-roll. “I’m barely a year older than you, Theodore.”
“Exactly,” Theo said. “Ancient.”
Ginny grinned. “So how does it feel, really? Being… here? This year, I mean. After—” She gestured vaguely. War. Astoria. The funeral. The early days of the triad when all of them were barely holding themselves together by fraying string.
Draco was quiet for a long time.
He didn’t posture. He didn’t deflect. He just sat there in the flicker of candlelight, long fingers curled around his glass. Hermione’s hand was anchoredon his leg, Theo’s leg braced against his under the table, and he let the truth come out.
“I didn’t think I’d ever make it to a birthday I actually wanted to be present for again after te war,” he said softly.
The table went still.
Draco swallowed. “Not after last year. Not after—” He cut himself off. Hermione felt the spike of grief in him, sharp and sudden — war, Astoria, the baby that hadn’t lived, the way he’d carried all that guilt like iron.
Theo’s hand moved under the table, covering Hermione’s and Draco’s together.
“But I do,” Draco said, voice steadying. “Want to be here, I mean. I want to see what comes next.”
He huffed and tried to flick it off like it wasn’t tremoring through the bond like a struck bell. “So, yes. That’s how it feels. Old.”
Pansy lifted her glass again, eyes glossy. “To Draco Malfoy. Alive and inconvenient.”
Blaise smirked. “Mostly inconvenient.”
“Deeply inconvenient,” Harry added.
Luna smiled serenely. “Precious to quite a lot of us.”
And that — that cracked something in him.
Hermione felt it. A sweet, aching loosening down the bond. Draco didn’t cry, not really. His throat worked; he breathed slowly. But his defenses, for once, weren’t razor wire.
Hermione leaned her shoulder into his just slightly, under the table, and he leaned back.
Dinner plates were vanishing themselves back to the kitchen when Pansy clapped her hands sharply.
“All right, enough serious talk,” she declared. “We’ve discussed law, magic, death, and Ministry bureaucracy for over an hour. It’s Draco’s birthday, which means we are legally obligated to play something ridiculous.”
Blaise looked up, already smirking. “Drinking game?”
“No,” Hermione said at once. “Last time you proposed that, Theo ended up singing the Hogwarts anthem on the roof.”
Theo arched an eyebrow. “And it was in tune.”
“Barely,” Draco muttered.
Pansy waved a dismissive hand. “No, no. I’m proposing something simple. Two truths and a lie. Old-fashioned, mildly humiliating, and ideally revealing.”
Ginny’s grin spread. “Perfect.”
Harry groaned. “This is going to end with me regretting things, isn’t it?”
“Almost certainly,” said Luna serenely, perching cross-legged on an armchair. “I love this game.”
Draco folded his arms. “I fail to see how—”
Theo interrupted smoothly. “You’ll play. It’s your birthday.”
“Birthday rules,” Blaise said. “Can’t refuse.”
Draco exhaled through his nose but sank into his chair again, resigned.
Pansy leaned forward with theatrical flair. “I’ll start.
One: I once kissed a Ravenclaw under the Quidditch stands.
Two: I once snuck into the Slytherin boys’ dormitory to hex Theo’s hair green.
Three: I once told Professor Snape I thought his robes were ‘mysteriously sexy.’”
The room dissolved into laughter.
“Merlin,” Ginny wheezed. “They’re all true, aren’t they?”
Theo groaned into his glass. “Unfortunately, yes, they are.”
Pansy smirked. “Incorrect. The lie is the Ravenclaw. It was actually a Hufflepuff.”
“Progress,” Hermione murmured dryly.
Harry rubbed his face. “All right.
One: I once accidentally blew up a Ministry memo that turned out to be Kingsley’s lunch order.
Two: I nearly named one of our owls ‘Snitch.’
Three: I have never lost a duel to Ron Weasley.”
Ginny barked out a laugh. “Lie! You have absolutely lost to Ron.”
“Multiple times,” Neville added helpfully.
Harry sighed. “Yes, but only because he cheats.”
“He’s better at hitting you with furniture,” Ginny said fondly.
Luna’s eyes went soft-focus, her voice dreamlike.
“One: I believe Nargles sometimes live in empty champagne glasses.
Two: Neville once fell asleep in my greenhouse and I thought he was a Mandrake for three hours.
Three: I once hexed a Death Eater during the Battle of Hogwarts by throwing a toad at his face.”
Everyone blinked.
Theo looked impressed. “That last one sounds absolutely true.”
Neville covered his face. “Merlin help me, it is.”
“The lie,” Luna said serenely, “is the Mandrake. I knew he wasn’t one. He was snoring.”
Draco actually laughed — quietly, but genuinely. Hermione felt the bond hum, a small wave of warmth that felt almost like light in her ribs.
When it came to him, all eyes turned expectantly. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Fine.
One: I once used Polyjuice to skip a family dinner.
Two: I once hexed a prefect because he insulted my mother’s handwriting.
Three: I have never danced sober.”
Hermione tilted her head. “You’ve danced sober. At the wedding.”
He smirked faintly. “Ah, but I wasn’t sober then.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “You used Polyjuice for the dinner, didn’t you?”
Draco’s mouth twitched. “No, actually. That one’s true.”
“Then the prefect thing—”
“Also true,” he said. “He deserved it.”
Theo leaned forward. “So the lie is the dancing.”
“No,” Hermione said, smiling a little. “The lie is that he’s never danced sober. He dances all the time when no one’s watching.”
Draco froze. “You— what—”
Theo started laughing. “She caught you, didn’t she?”
Draco’s ears went faintly pink. “I was testing the new ward acoustics in the parlor.”
“Of course you were,” Hermione teased. “With waltz steps.”
The room burst into laughter again, and even Draco’s embarrassment couldn’t drown out how light the air had become.
Hermione rested her chin on her hand, smiling. “All right, then.
One: I once brewed a perfect Draught of Peace in third year and didn’t tell anyone.
Two: I have never been on a broom without screaming.
Three: I once hexed Percy Weasley’s desk to sing Celestina Warbeck every time he sat down.”
Harry nearly choked on his wine. “That last one— that was you?”
“Apparently not,” she said sweetly. “Because that’s the lie.”
“Bloody hell,” Theo said. “You actually brewed a perfect Draught at thirteen?”
She shrugged modestly. “I was bored.”
Draco shook his head, a reluctant grin spreading. “You’re insufferable.”
“Still love me,” she murmured back.
He didn’t deny it.
Theo grinned. “My turn, then.
One: I once transfigured an entire corridor into frogs.
Two: I once dated a Beauxbatons student who thought I was a vampire.
Three: I have never had a pet before the triad.”
“Lie’s the last one,” Hermione said instantly. “You had a cat.”
Theo blinked. “How did you know?”
“You told me when we were studying bond theory. You said you missed her.”
He chuckled. “Well, you’re right. The vampire thing’s true.”
Blaise groaned. “Of course it is.”
“She brought garlic to dinner,” Theo added helpfully.
Everyone laughed until tears pricked.
Blaise sipped his wine, looking dangerously composed. “One: I’ve been proposed to three times.
Two: I’ve been arrested once.
Three: I once wrote a romance novel under a pseudonym.”
The silence that followed was electric.
“You wrote what?” Pansy demanded.
“That,” he said, perfectly straight-faced, “is the lie.”
“No, it’s not,” Harry said. “You totally did.”
Blaise sighed. “Fine. Twice. Both published.”
Theo nearly fell off the sofa laughing.
Draco leaned back, expression calculating. “All right, then.
One: I once punched a portrait.
Two: I once snuck into the Restricted Section after curfew because Snape dared me to.
Three: I once fainted at the sight of a blood potion gone wrong.”
Theo immediately laughed. “You? Fainting? Never.”
Hermione tilted her head, smiling. “You did look queasy when we brewed Amortentia for the first time…”
“That was because it smelled like you…. And Theo… it was confusing…,” he muttered under his breath.
She froze, then flushed, and Theo smothered a laugh behind his hand.
Pansy leaned forward, grinning. “That’s adorable. But the lie’s still the fainting. He’s too proud.”
“Correct,” Draco said, smirking. “I hexed the portrait. It insulted my hair.”
Harry lifted his glass. “So basically, unchanged since Hogwarts.”
“Entirely consistent,” Blaise said dryly.
Hermione brushed her curls back, eyes twinkling. “Fine.
One: I once tricked Umbridge into drinking Veritaserum.
Two: I once accidentally set a section of the Hogwarts library on fire.
Three: I once tried to apparate into a moving train.”
Theo blinked. “Please tell me the last one’s the lie.”
“It better be,” Draco said sharply.
Pansy gasped. “You burned the library?”
Hermione held up her hands. “Accidentally! It was a small fire— a charm misfired during study group in fourth year.”
Harry groaned. “That was you? We blamed Seamus for weeks!”
“So the lie’s the Veritaserum,” Ginny said.
Hermione smiled mischievously. “Wrong. That one’s true.”
Theo’s eyebrows shot up. “You what?”
“Two drops,” she said serenely. “In her tea. She admitted she’d never read half the decrees she signed.”
The room erupted in laughter.
Draco looked at her with undisguised admiration. “Remind me never to underestimate you again.”
She smirked. “You already learned that lesson.”
Theo stretched lazily, eyes glinting. “All right, my turn again.
One: I once fell asleep during my N.E.W.T. Potions exam and still got an O.
Two: I once got hexed by Pansy for calling her the wrong name.
Three: I once almost became a professional Quidditch player.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “The second one’s true. You called me Daphne.”
Theo grinned. “You hexed me into next week.”
Hermione looked intrigued. “Professional Quidditch?”
Harry frowned. “No, he didn’t. I’d remember that.”
Theo shrugged. “I had a tryout when I was nineteen. Decided I liked not dying from bludgers more.”
“So which one’s the lie?” Blaise asked.
“The exam,” Hermione said immediately. “You’d never sleep through Potions.”
Theo raised his glass in her direction. “Correct. I aced it because I’m brilliant, not because I snored through it.”
“Oh, this will b good,” Blaise muttered eyeing his wife.
Pansy smiled like a cat with a secret. “One: I once accidentally crashed a wedding in Monte Carlo.
Two: I once snogged a Beauxbatons professor.
Three: I once gave Draco a haircut that required three days of Glamour Charms to fix.”
“Lie’s the professor,” Hermione guessed.
Blaise raised an eyebrow. “No. She absolutely did that. It’s the haircut.”
Draco made a strangled noise. “It’s the haircut.”
Everyone turned to look at him.
“It was real,” Pansy said proudly. “Fifth year. He told me he trusted me with scissors.”
Theo choked on his drink. “You butchered him?”
“Hideous,” Draco muttered. “She called it a ‘French fringe.’ I looked like I’d lost a duel with a hedge trimmer.”
Pansy smirked. “Character building.”
Blaise swirled his glass. “One: I once flirted with a vampire and didn’t realize until he bit my wrist.
Two: I once lost a small fortune betting against Gryffindor.
Three: I once tutored Luna in Arithmancy.”
Luna beamed. “That one’s true. You were dreadful at metaphors.”
Blaise blinked. “You were the one using vegetable analogies for integers.”
“The lie’s the vampire,” Ginny said.
Blaise grinned. “Nope. I still have the scar.”
Theo raised an eyebrow. “So you lost money betting against us.”
“Several thousand galleons,” Blaise sighed. “I’ll never forgive Potter for that match.”
Harry smirked. “Best game I ever played.”
Ginny leaned back, tossing her red hair over her shoulder. “Okay.
One: I once hexed an entire Slytherin team’s broomsticks before a match.
Two: I proposed to Harry first.
Three: I once broke my ankle sneaking into the Restricted Section.”
“Definitely the proposal,” Luna said dreamily. “Harry couldn’t have managed words that coherent first.”
Harry turned red. “You’re not wrong.”
Hermione grinned. “So that’s the truth, then?”
Ginny winked. “Actually, no. He did ask first. On a broom, mid-flight.”
Draco made a noise halfway between amusement and horror. “That’s either romantic or idiotic.”
“Yes,” said Theo.
“The lie,” Ginny admitted, “is the Restricted Section. It was my wrist, not my ankle.”
Luna folded her hands over her stomach, serene as always. “One: I once convinced a Ministry official that Wrackspurts were transmissible by handshake.
Two: I once went on a date with a centaur.
Three: I once hexed a Niffler into thinking galleons were onions.”
Theo stared. “You—what?”
“The lie’s the Niffler,” Hermione guessed.
“Correct,” Luna said pleasantly. “Galleons smell like brass, not onions. It wouldn’t have worked.”
“Merlin’s beard,” Blaise muttered, “I love her.”
Neville smiled proudly. “I know.”
Harry took another sip of wine. “All right.
One: I once dueled Kingsley while drunk.
Two: I once rode Buckbeak through a thunderstorm.
Three: I once let Ron talk me into eating something labeled ‘experimental’ from George’s shop.”
Draco snorted. “The lie’s the duel. He’d never risk it.”
“Wrong,” Harry said. “Kingsley started it. It was a training exercise gone… sideways.”
Hermione groaned. “Of course it was.”
“So which is the lie?” Ginny asked.
“The Buckbeak,” Harry said. “I wanted to, but he bit my robes before we even left the paddock.”
Neville smiled shyly. “All right.
One: I once killed a venomous tentacula because it insulted my tie.
Two: I once danced with Professor McGonagall at the Yule Ball.
Three: I once got lost in my own greenhouse for four hours.”
“The lie’s the last one,” Luna said. “You were gone for eight.”
Everyone burst into laughter.
Theo grinned. “That’s true love right there.”
Hermione looked around, laughing softly. “All right, one more from me.
One: I once threatened to hex a librarian at the Ministry archives.
Two: I once stole a Time-Turner.
Three: I once cheated on an exam.”
“Lie’s the cheating,” Draco said without hesitation.
“Obviously,” Pansy agreed. “She’d rather die.”
Hermione smiled, sipping her wine. “You’re right.”
Theo’s eyes glinted. “You stole the Time-Turner, didn’t you?”
“Borrowed,” she corrected primly. “For educational purposes.”
Draco murmured, voice low and amused, “You’re still terrifying.”
She leaned closer. “You still love it.”
He smiled. “Hopelessly.”
By the end of the game, the wine was mostly gone, everyone was laughing too loudly, and even Draco’s tension had melted into something warm and steady.
He was sitting half-reclined in his chair, Hermione leaning into hm, Theo stretched lazily at his side, the bond thrumming with contentment.
Pansy raised her glass again, smirking. “To truth, lies, and everything messy in between.”
Neville clinked his glass. “And to birthdays that don’t end in duels.”
Ginny added, “And to Draco finally smiling.”
Draco’s mouth quirked. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late,” Hermione whispered, brushing her fingers against his. “We already have.”
The torte and Ginny’s much less refined chocolate-fudge cake were levitated in at once together.
Pansy insisted on leading everyone in a round of “Happy Birthday,” which she sang off-key and far too loudly, because she liked to watch him suffer.
Draco sat there with his face in his hands.
“You’re going pink,” Theo observed cheerfully.
“Shut up,” Draco muttered from behind his fingers.
When the song ended, Pansy flicked her wand and lit the candles — all of them — in an instant flare of gold.
“Make a wish,” Hermione said softly.
He glanced at her. For half a second, the world around the table blurred out for him — she felt that, too, intimately, through the bond. His focus tunneled down to her and Theo sitting there with him, steady and present, and something eased in his chest.
He blew out the candles.
“About time,” Blaise said. “I’m starving for sugar.”
“You’ve been starving since we got here,” Pansy said.
“Yes,” Blaise said solemnly. “It’s Draco’s fault.”
“Everything is Draco’s fault,” Neville agreed.
Harry coughed into his napkin. “Tradition, really.”
They ate cake and drank and told stories that alternated between deeply stupid (“—and then Neville tried to fly a broom that was literally on fire—”) and deeply incriminating (“—Pansy, that’s illegal and you know it’s illegal—”), and for a little while the house actually felt like a home, not a fortified safehouse with insomnia.
Hermione caught Theo’s eye across the table during a run of laughter and saw relief move through him like exhaling.
Draco was smiling. Not faking, not performing. Actual smiling.
After cake, everyone shifted into the drawing room with their wineglasses again. The fire was low, soft. The mood turned warm and familiar — no pomp, no stiffness. Just… family.
Draco sat in the wingback by the hearth, Hermione perched on the arm of his chair, Theo leaning against the back. For once, Draco didn’t argue about either of them hovering there. If anything, Hermione could feel through the bond how that physical closeness was keeping him level.
“Right,” Pansy said, clapping her hands. “Birthday boy. Gifts.”
“Pansy,” Draco muttered, “I told you not to—”
“I ignored you,” she said sweetly, handing over a slim black box. “As usual.”
He opened hers first. Inside was a cufflink set — sleek platinum, understated, each engraved with a tiny, almost invisible constellation of lines and stars.
Draco blinked. “Is this…?”
“Orion,” Pansy said calmly, but Hermione saw the softness in her eyes.
“Your constellation. Your mum always wanted you to wear better jewelry. I thought we’d start with subtle.”
Something flickered over his face. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
“Mine next,” Blaise said, passing over a wrapped bottle. “It’s from a reserve that doesn’t technically exist in this country.”
Ginny leaned toward Harry and whispered, “That means it’s smuggled.”
Harry whispered back, “I’m not here in an official capacity.”
Luna handed him a soft parcel tied in pale blue ribbon. “For when you can’t sleep,” she said. “It’s spelled to warm if you get cold and cool if you get hot. And it hums.”
Draco looked genuinely baffled. “It hums?”
“Yes,” Luna said serenely. “Comfort songs. For dragons.”
Neville rubbed the back of his neck, flushed but firm. “You can laugh if you want, but she actually knitted it herself for you.”
Draco didn’t laugh. His throat worked. “Thank you,” he murmured, and he sounded like he meant it all the way down.
Harry’s gift was a book — an old, leather-bound volume on advanced ward-casting practices with handwritten margin notes that did not come from any Ministry-approved source.
“No questions about where that came from,” Harry said mildly. “But there’s a chapter on layered personal protection frameworks I thought you might… be interested in.”
Draco stared at him for a long beat. “Potter,” he said, voice strangely quiet, “are you giving me illegal ward schematics as a birthday present?”
Harry shrugged one shoulder.
“Consider it an investment in Hermione not getting hexed in public again.”
That, finally, earned Draco’s first real laugh of the night. “Fair.”
Ginny gifted him tickets — “Not Quidditch,” she said before he could protest. “A string quartet. No one will try to murder us all there. Probably.”
“And if they do,” Hermione added dryly, “you’ll have a wand and a violin case in reach, so you’ll look dashing about it.”
By the time it wound down, the fire had burned low and the laughter had settled into the comfortable hush that comes after the edge has finally — finally — bled off.
The guests began filtering out.
Pansy was last at the door. She hugged Hermione tight enough to bruise, kissed Theo on the cheek, then turned to Draco.
For a second her face went older, softer, almost sisterlike.
“Happy birthday,” she said quietly. “You stubborn idiot. I’m glad you’re still here.”
He swallowed. “Me too.”
She nodded once, satisfied, then swept out on Blaise’s arm.
The manor fell quiet.
They didn’t turn the lights back up.
Hermione, Theo, and Draco drifted back into the drawing room, now empty but with wrapping paper still in drifts on the carpet.
Draco stood there for a moment, looking at the room like he was trying to memorize the feeling of it.
Hermione stepped up in front of him. “You know,” she said softly, “you did very well.”
He snorted. “I sat in a chair. Hardly heroic.”
“You stayed,” she said. “You let people love you. That’s harder.”
He swallowed. Something in him flickered in response — vulnerable, open, warm.
She felt it in her own chest through the bond, like a hand pressed to the sternum from the inside.
Theo cleared his throat lightly. “And now,” he said, “comes the part where you get spoiled.”
Draco blinked. “…What?”
Hermione smiled, eyes bright with mischief and something softer. “You didn’t think you were getting out of gifts from us, did you?”
“We said no fuss,” Draco muttered automatically, which was adorable considering he’d just tolerated Pansy’s fuss, Luna’s fuss, Ginny’s fuss, Blaise’s smuggled-fuss, and Harry breaking Ministry law for him.
Theo just shook his head, savoring every second of it. “We ignored you.”
Hermione reached behind the armchair and pulled out a long, narrow box wrapped in matte charcoal paper and tied with a green silk ribbon.
Draco stared at it. “You two are ridiculous.”
“Yes,” Hermione said. “Open it.”
He did. Slowly.
Inside, nestled in dark velvet, was a wand holster — dragonhide, black with subtle silver threading. Elegant, custom-shaped to his forearm. The inside was softly warded, humming with layered charms. She could feel them even from here — quick-release, anti-disarm, tracing wards keyed to his magical signature only.
His breath caught.
Theo’s voice dropped. “It’s spelled so no one can rip your wand away again from you. And if you cast from the holster, it’ll anchor and stabilize high-output spells without rebound.”
Hermione swallowed. “You always go for yourself first in a fight. This gives you just a fraction more safety before you throw yourself in front of someone else like an idiot.”
He looked up at that.
For a moment his face was naked. Shock, gratitude, something that sat so close to overwhelmed it made Hermione’s ribs ache.
“You made this for me,” he said softly.
Theo smirked. “Commissioned it. Hermione helped with the charms. Nearly started a row with the wandcrafter, too.”
“She was undercharging,” Hermione muttered.
Draco let out a strangled little laugh, looking between them.
“This is— I don’t…” He shook his head once, almost disbelieving. “You thought about what would make me feel… safer.”
“Of course we did,” Hermione said, stepping closer. “We like you alive. And you keep insisting on throwing yourself into harm to protect me.”
Theo made a soft noise of agreement. “Very attached to you being alive, actually.”
Something thick and unguarded moved through the bond — Draco’s gratitude, raw and bright and almost painful, crashing into both of them like warmth.
He swallowed hard. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Both of you.”
Hermione smiled. “You’re welcome.”
Theo leaned in, his voice dropping to something warm and teasing at the edges. “And before you spiral,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along Draco’s jaw in a gesture that was almost reverent, “there’s one more part.”
Draco blinked. “…Another gift?”
Hermione’s eyes softened. “Less of a gift,” she said quietly, “and more of a promise for the weekend.”
She took his face in both hands, rose onto her toes, and kissed him — slow, certain, full of warmth and gratitude and you’re ours.
Not hungry. Not frenzied. Just sure.
Theo pressed in at Draco’s side, grounding him, resting his forehead against Draco’s temple, one hand at the small of Hermione’s back so all three of them were touching.
Hermione spilled the secret, “We’re going away for a long weekend out of country. Theo got it off, I’m skiving off one class day…. We leave in the morning and won’t get back till Monday night. We’re going to let where be a surprise… but it’s very far away, where people won’t know us, and we will be perfectly safe in public. We can just feel normal for the weekend… forgot everything going on here for a bit.”
Theo’s voice was low in his ear. “Happy birthday, love.”
Draco’s eyes shone. His composure cracked for real this time — just for them.
“Best one I’ve ever had,” he managed.
They stayed like that a long time, wrapped up in each other in the low firelight, before Hermione dragged them both to the bedroom for another round of Draco’s gifts.
In the privacy of their bedroom, the bond thrummed with fervent anticipation, Hermione and Theo united in their vow to worship draco completely for his special day.
Hermione stood at the foot of the bed, dressed in a sheer, emerald-green lingerie set that clung to her curves, the lace barely covering her full breasts, her pussy lips glistening beneath a scrap of lace.
Her curls were loose, cascading in a wild, moonlit halo, her brown eyes glistening with adoration as she gazed at Draco hungerly.
Draco sat on the bed’s edge, shirtless now, his lean, scarred torso gleaming with a faint sheen of anticipatory sweat, his trousers unzipped to reveal his leaking cock.
Theo stood beside Hermione, his muscular frame bare except for tight black briefs. The bond was a;ready a fucking inferno, their love for Draco a shared, pulsing vow to make his birthday a night of complete adoration.
Hermione stepped forward, her hips swaying, the lace shifting to reveal more of her slick pussy, her voice soft but trembling with fervent love. “Draco, my love,” she murmured, climbing onto his lap, straddling him, her pussy brushing his cock, sparking a low, guttural groan, the bond flaring with her worshipful adoration.
“Tonight’s all for you—our gift, our bodies, our love, to show you how much you mean to us. We love you, Draco.”
She kissed him deeply,their tongues tangling with slow, reverent passion, her hands cupping his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones.
Theo knelt beside them, his hand stroking Draco’s thigh with tender reverence, his voice a tender, worshipful growl. “Happy birthday, my love,” he murmured, leaning to kiss Draco’s jaw,.
“Draco—tonight, we’re worshipping every inch of you, making you feel how much we love you, how much you deserve this.” His hand slid higher, brushing Draco’s cock, sparking a shudder, his piercing shape pressing against the boxers, tight with his arosal.
“Let us show you, love—every touch, every moan, all for you.”
“You two... you’re my whole fucking world,” he whispered, pulling Hermione closer, kissing her neck with desperation, then turning to Theo, their lips crashing in a deep, hungry kiss.
“I don’t know how I got this lucky, but I’m so fucking grateful—show me I’m yours tonight.”
Hermione’s voice soft, “You’re our Draco—our love, our heart. Let us worship you.” Theo’s grin was tender, his eyes shining, “Gonna make you feel like a king, love—our king.”
Hermione slid off Draco’s lap, her fingers trembling with love as she tugged his trousers down, freeing his cock fully, the head leaking pre-cum in sticky droplets.
She knelt between his thighs, her lips brushing the flushed, purple tip, tasting his salty pre-cum, her tongue swirling slow and reverent, worshipping every inch as she took him deeper, her throat clenching around his length.
“Draco, my love—you taste like heaven,” she murmured, pulling back to kiss his shaft, her lips lingering.
Theo joined her, his lips kissing Draco’s inner thigh with tender devotion, then sucking his balls gently, the slurp soft but obscene, his tongue laving the sensitive skin with slow, adoring strokes.
“You’re ours, Draco—love worshipping you,” he whispered, voice thick with love, his hands stroking Draco’s thighs, sparking a low moan form him.
“Fuck, Theo—Granger—love you both.” Hermione’s pussy throbbed, her arousal a wildfire as she worshipped Draco’s cock, her fingers slipping under her panties to rub her clit, sparking a sharp gasp.
“Gods, Draco—you’re so perfect, love you!” The bond amplified her pleasure, her pussy clenching with need as she watched Theo’s lips on Draco’s skin.
Draco pulled Hermione up, vanishing her lingerie away with a spell, her pussy glistening, the bond pulsing with her trust.
“Granger—ride me,” he growled, voice trembling with love, guiding his cock to her entrance, thrusting up, her pussy stretching tight around him, the curve battering her G-spot pleasantly.
“Fuck, love—your pussy’s worshipping me, so tight, love you,” he rumbled, hips slamming upward, her pussy clenching tight.
Hermione’s scream was raw, “Draco—love you, fuck me!” her hands clawing his chest, leaving red welts, her breasts bouncing, nipples aching as she rode him hard, the bond a radiant tide of her worship.
Theo positioned himself behind Draco, his briefs discarded, his cock lubed and glistening in the candlight, , thrusting in with a deep hip angle, the piercing scraping Draco’s prostate with reverent precision, sparking a guttural moan, “Theo—fuck, your piercing, love you!”
The triad’s chain was complete—Theo’s cock in Draco’s ass, Draco’s cock in Hermione’s pussy, their bodies a single, synchronized machine of love and lust, thrusting together as one.
“Theo—your piercing’s going to make this too fast, love you,” Draco bellowed, his thrusts into Hermione deepening, driven by Theo’s relentless rhythm, the bond pulsing pleasure between them all rapid fire.
Theo’s thrusts were fierce but worshipful, his piercing dragging across Draco’s prostate in relentless, rapid, punishing slams that battered his inner walls, sending electric shocks through his core; deep, powerful thrusts that made Draco scream, “Theo—your piercing’s fucking me apart, love you!”
Draco’s thrusts into Hermione matched, his cock hammering her G-spot repeatedly, “Take it, Granger—my cock worshipping your pussy, love you,” he thundered, voice raw with love.
Hermione’s arousal was intense, “Draco—Theo—you’re so perfect, love you!” she screamed, her hands clawing Draco’s chest, her pussy spasming with each thrust.
Theo’s voice was thick with worship, “Draco, our king—you are ours, we love you,” his thrusts relentless. Draco’s moans were feral, “Granger—Theo—love you, worshipping me!” the triad chain a relentless machine of love and lust.
Hermione’s orgasm hit without wanring. pussy convulsing in violent, soul-shattering contractions around Draco’s cock, “Draco—Theo—love you!”
Theo growled along with her, his cock pulsing, spilling thick, hot ropes deep in Draco’s ass, “My king—take my cum, let it fill you, love you!”
Draco came last with a deep growl, flooding Hermione’s pussy with pulsing shoots, “Granger, ours, such a good wife!”.
They eased apart slowly, and collapsed onto the bed, Draco pulling Hermione into his arms, Theo whispering, “Our perfect king, happy birthday,” as he wrapped around Draco’s back.
They all fell into an exhausted dreamless sleep.
Notes:
Hope you enjoy... let me know it the comments.
I have some RL crap going on right now that's honestly breaking my heart.
IDK if that means I won't feel like writing or editing what's already done ATM, or if I'll be throwing myself even more into the story for escapism, but damn emotions I'm sure will reflect in here.
Chapter 152: Cape Town
Notes:
I don't think anyone guessed this is where they were going.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The house was unusually quiet after the laughter of the night before — just the low murmur of elves cleaning up the remnants of celebration, the clink of cups, and the faint rustle of travel bags being zipped.
Draco had one eyebrow raised as Hermione and Theo stood in the foyer beside him, each suspiciously calm.
“All right,” he said slowly. “You’ve both been smirking since dawn, and you keep whispering like conspirators. Where exactly are you taking me?”
Theo smiled, annoyingly unhelpful. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Hermione, trying and failing to hide her grin, held out a small brass Portkey shaped like a lion’s paw. “All you have to do is hold on. It’s keyed for all three of us.”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “You’re lucky I trust you both.”
Theo murmured, “We’re counting on that,” and took one of his hands, while Hermione took the other.
“On three,” she said. “One—two—”
The world yanked out from under them before she finished.
They landed on warm, fragrant grass, sunlight bright and hot. The Portkey’s pull vanished and they stumbled forward together, laughing as Hermione caught her balance on Draco’s chest, as Theo tipped over.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
They were standing at the edge of a wide savannah plain, the air shimmering faintly with protective wards that marked the edge of the reserve. Beyond it stretched rolling golden fields, acacia trees scattered across the horizon, and the faint shimmer of a distant lake.
A herd of gazelle bounded in the distance — and just behind them, a small group of golden-winged sun antelope, their horns glittering like crystals. A pair of firebirds drifted overhead, wings catching light like molten copper.
Draco just… stared in disbelief.
Theo smirked, folding his arms. “Surprise.”
Hermione’s smile softened. “Welcome to the outskirts of Cape Town, birthday boy.”
His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “You—” He turned to her, shaking his head in disbelief. “You brought me to Africa.”
She nodded, pleased. “To the Western Cape. This is a magical conservation reserve — they rehabilitate both Muggle and magical creatures. I thought it was the perfect balance for us. Far from all the safety hazards and drama, plenty of new experiences for us to have together for the first time, and isolation.”
Theo added, “You get your privacy, she gets her ethics, and I get to see something that doesn’t involve a hospital ward. Everyone wins.”
Draco exhaled, and for once, words failed him. The bond hummed gently between them — Hermione could feel the wonder blooming in him.
Their villa was perched on a small rise overlooking the plains — pale stone walls, a thatched roof, and wide open windows that let in the breeze carrying hints of sage and sun-warmed earth.
A covered veranda stretched across the back, leading down to a small plunge pool charmed to stay cool despite the heat. The interior was airy and luxurious without being ostentatious — a large sitting room with worn leather chairs, a library nook with floating shelves, and three bedrooms with draped mosquito nets that looked more romantic than practical.
Theo walked in, whistled low. “All right, I approve. If the rest of the world burns down while we’re gone, we could live here forever.”
Hermione laughed softly. “Just for the weekend, sorry love.”
Draco drifted through the space slowly, touching the back of the couch, the sun-warmed stone of the fireplace mantle, the carved detailing on the doorframes.
His voice was low, almost reverent. “You planned all of this... for me”
“A week ago,” Hermione admitted. “You’ve been through too much. You deserved something beautiful. We originally were thinking of the Italian coast…. But after everything that just happened, further away seemed like a better idea.”
Theo dropped their bags by the stairs. “And don’t act like you’re not thrilled — I can feel it humming through you like a bloody storm.”
Draco shot him a half-hearted glare, but his mouth curved anyway. “You two are insufferable.”
“Loved,” Theo corrected. “Insufferably loved.”
After a quick lunch on the veranda — tropical fruit, charmed ice tea, and fresh bread still warm from the outdoor reserves oven — they traded their travel clothes for lighter cotton ones and headed down the dusty path that wound through the reserve.
The air shimmered with heat and humming insects. Far off, a pair of magical rangers on brooms circled lazily above the horizon, watching the boundaries.
They passed a fenced enclosure where a healer witch in a wide-brimmed hat was feeding small moonjackals — silvery-furred canines that glowed faintly in the shade. When she saw them, she waved cheerfully.
“Welcome! You must be the triad from England. Your villa’s been pre-warded for magical privacy.”
Hermione smiled. “Thank you. It’s lovely.”
“Be careful around the merlions by the far lagoon,” the woman warned. “They’ve been a bit territorial lately.”
Theo nodded, amused. “Merlions. Got it. No swimming competitions.”
Draco was walking slower now, his eyes taking in everything — the blend of wildness and subtle magic, the sun gilding the grasslands.
Hermione could feel through the bond how the tension that had gripped him for weeks — since the attack, since the threats — was finally beginning to uncoil.
“It’s strange,” he said quietly, as they stopped near the lagoon, watching water ripples shimmer in the heat. “I’ve never been anywhere that felt this… untouched and wild.”
Theo picked up a smooth stone and tossed it into the shallows, where more ripples spread like molten glass. “You needed a place that doesn’t know our names.”
Draco looked at him — really looked — and nodded once. “Yeah. I think I did.”
Hermione slipped her hand into his. “Then let’s make it ours for a few days, really forget everything back home, and fully enjoy this.”
He turned his palm up and laced his fingers with hers.
They walked around for hours — through the shade of the acacia trees, past small pools where enchanted frogs croaked in six-part harmony, and across sunlit ridges where wind-whales (gossamer creatures that floated just above the ground like transparent manta rays) drifted lazily through the tall grass.
Hermione catalogued half of the creatures in her mind, already planning to write something for the Magical Ecology Society’s next journal.
Theo kept stopping to take mental notes for the hospital — the African curative plants, the rare savannah herbs. Draco mostly just watched, silent and awestruck, his hand never leaving hers.
At one point, they reached a wide overlook. The view stretched for miles — the golden plain, the glittering lake, the faraway shimmer of the magical barrier catching the sunlight like a rainbow.
Theo leaned against the rail, squinting into the wind. “We could disappear here,” he said quietly.
Draco’s voice was almost wistful. “Tempting.”
Hermione smiled softly. “Just for the weekend remember.”
They stood there for a long while —light wind tugging at their hair, the horizon stretching forever — before making their long walk way back toward the villa as the sun began to dip lower, painting everything in molten orange.
The air smelled of dust and warmth and something faintly sweet — like honey and smoke.
By the time they reached the veranda again, the shadows were long, and the air had cooled. The sound of the plains had shifted — daytime birds replaced by the distant cry of night creatures.
Hermione sank onto the porch swing with a soft sigh, the wood creaking beneath her. Theo poured three glasses of chilled wine and passed them around.
“To surviving another Malfoy birthday,” he said dryly.
Draco huffed a laugh, taking his glass. “You make it sound like a battle.”
He smiled at her over the rim of his glass — a real, unguarded smile that made her chest go warm.
The bond pulsed softly between them, that familiar golden warmth of shared emotion — serenity, affection, quiet awe.
For the first time in months, Draco felt at peace and like they were truly safe.
Hermione rested her head on his shoulder, Theo stretched out beside them, and they watched the last sliver of sun sink behind the savannah, turning the horizon to fire.
The first stars began to appear — bright, close, unfamiliar constellations.
“New stars,” Hermione murmured.
Draco looked up, his voice quiet but certain. “They’ll do.”
The moment held — simple, tender, and whole.
By the time dinner was ready, the heat of the day had slipped away into a warm comfortable night. The veranda lanterns glowed low and gilded, their light pooling across the stone floor and fading into the darkness beyond.
The air smelled faintly of grilled spices and the sweet, smoky tang of the kitchen firepit.
Far out across the savannah, the world breathed with life. Crickets sang in a rhythm that matched the flicker of starlight, and from somewhere in the distance came the soft, unmistakable rumble of a thunder lion’s call — deep and resonant, the sound carrying across the plains.
Hermione drew her shawl closer around her shoulders, her curls glinting in the candlelight. “I can’t believe how calm it feels here,” she murmured. “Like the whole world holds its breath once the sun sets.”
Theo, lounging in his chair with a half-smile, replied, “That’s the thing about places like this — they make you realize how loud we are, back home.”
Draco’s eyes were on the horizon, where the sky melted from indigo to black. “It’s… alive, though. You can feel the magic in it.”
His voice was low, thoughtful. “Even the air feels different — heavier, but cleaner somehow.”
Theo reached for the wine bottle and refilled their glasses without asking. “To the kind of magic that doesn’t need proving,” he said quietly.
They clinked glasses — three soft sounds in the hush of the African night.
Dinner itself was simple and perfect — grilled fish glazed with citrus and honey, roasted root vegetables that gleamed faintly from a preservation charm, and bread warm enough to steam in the air when broken and buttered.
Draco cut a piece of fish, his silver eyes softening as he tasted it. “Merlin, this is so good.”
Theo smirked. “The chef said everything’s local — even the honey. He called it ‘sunfire nectar.’”
Hermione smiled faintly. “It’s supposed to be gathered from bees that feed only on phoenix-ash blooms.”
Draco glanced at her, amusement curling at the edge of his mouth. “Only you would know that.”
“Someone had to read the welcome packet,” she teased.
“You read everything,” Theo said, grin widening.
She tilted her head. “And you love me for it.”
Draco’s expression softened, voice quiet. “We do.”
The bond pulsed faintly — a warm, golden hum threading between their hearts.
For a while, they simply ate, surrounded by the hum of life and night. Fireflies drifted near the edge of the veranda, blinking like tiny enchanted lanterns.
Somewhere far off, an elephant — magical by the faint silvery shimmer of its tusks in the distance — gave a low, rolling call that echoed across the plains.
Hermione watched it all, her expression serene. “I think this is the most peaceful night I’ve ever had since the war.”
Theo leaned back, his gaze tracing her face. “That’s because you’re not working, not worrying, and not saving the world for once.”
She gave him a look that was half playful, half serious. “You make it sound like a bad habit.”
Draco chuckled softly, the sound low and genuine. “It is a habit. But it’s also who you are.”
When their plates were cleared by the discreet house-elf staff, they stayed at the table with refilled glasses of chilled white wine. The night breeze carried with it the smell of wildflowers and the distant rustle of wings.
Theo turned his chair toward the open view, elbows resting on his knees. “Hard to imagine we were fighting Ministry clerks a few months ago. This—” he gestured out toward the expanse of land “—feels like another world.”
“It is,” Hermione said softly. “But we needed another world for a bit, didn’t we?”
Draco’s hand found hers on the table, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “You were right to take my away from England,” he admitted. “I didn’t realize how badly I needed to… stop.”
Theo looked at him over the rim of his glass. “You’ve been waiting to exhale since near Christmas, mate.”
Draco’s eyes flicked up, meeting Hermione’s. “And now?”
“Now,” she said gently, “you’re breathing again.”
For a long moment, they just looked at one another — the candlelight flickering between them, the faint pulse of the bond steady and full.
When they finally rose from the table, none of them were ready to go inside yet. They walked barefoot down the wooden steps and across the sand-warmed path that led toward the edge of the warded boundary.
The night pressed close — heavy with sound, fragrant with sage and rain-soaked soil. Stars sprawled across the sky so thickly that the darkness looked alive.
A few lumivine flowers glowed pale blue along the path, marking their way. Theo bent to brush his fingers over one, smiling faintly. “Even the plants here hum.”
Hermione nodded. “They react to ambient emotion.”
Draco’s voice was soft. “Then they’re glowing because we’re finally… safe and content.”
She smiled at that. “You think so?”
He reached out and traced a curl that had fallen against her shoulder. “I know so.”
Theo stepped closer, catching her other hand. “It’s a rare thing, you know. This quiet. The three of us — just existing, without running, protecting, or hiding.”
Hermione’s heart swelled at the truth of it. “Then maybe we should live in the moment.”
They stood there together, beneath constellations they didn’t know the names of, the sounds of the wild folding around them like a lullaby — the low bellow of distant creatures, the rhythmic chirr of insects, the soft sigh of the wind through the tall grass.
Back on the veranda, the three of them sank into the outdoor sofa, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
Theo poured one last glass of wine and passed it to Hermione. “To new stars,” he said softly.
Draco added, “And to old promises.”
Hermione smiled, eyes shining. “And to this — whatever it is we’ve built together. For the future.”
They raised their glasses.
The sound of crystal clinking was almost lost beneath another distant roar — low and haunting, fading into the night.
Hermione shivered, not in fear, but in awe. “You can feel them,” she whispered. “The creatures. The land. The magic.”
Draco nodded. “It’s all alive. Like it knows we’re here.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was the kind that only comes when everything has been said that needs to be — when hearts are steady, when the bond between them thrums in quiet harmony.
Theo finally leaned back, eyes half-closed. “Best birthday trip ever, I think.”
Draco smirked. “I’ll concede that.”
Hermione, smiling softly, leaned into both of them. “Good. Because it’s only just beginning.”
After the last glass of wine, Hermione had slipped away to shower, needing a moment to process the overwhelming love pulsing through the bond, her body tingling with the day’s intimacy.
The master bathroom was a marble oasis, its open shower letting steam curl into the night air with the stars above shinning brightly.
As she stepped out, wrapping a soft, white towel around her body, the bond surged with a sudden, electric wave of desire and love—Draco and Theo, their emotions raw, vulnerable, and intertwined, pulling her back toward the veranda like a moth to a flame.
She padded to the open glass doors, the night air kissing her damp skin, and froze, her breath catching in a sharp, aching gasp, her heart clenching with a love so profound it brought tears to her eyes.
Draco and Theo were naked under the stars, their bodies bathed in moonlight, entwined in a passionate, soul-baring embrace against the veranda’s balcony ledge, the tension of their position. Theo was bent forward, his hips pressed hard against the railing, Draco behind him—charged with a visceral, heart-stopping intensity that made the air crackle, the bond pulsing with their profound, heart-wrenching love for each other.
Draco stood behind Theo, pressing him hard against the teakwood railing, the ledge’s edge digging into Theo’s hips with a sharp, thrilling bite, his lean, torso gleaming with sweat. Draco’s long cock was rock-hard and buried deep in Theo’s ass, his silver eyes shimmering with tears of raw vulnerability and gratitude as he gazed at Theo’s profile.
His hands trembled with reverent possession as they gripped Theo’s hips, fingers digging into sweat-slicked skin, leaving faint, bruising marks of devotion. Theo was bent forward, his muscular frame taut and straining. His hands griped the railing so tightly his knuckles whitened, the wood creaking under the pressure, the ledge biting into his hips with a thrilling, precarious edge that made his body tremble with surrender.
His cock, apadravya piercing glinting like a cruel, silver jewel—was hard and leaking pre-cum that dripped onto the teakwood below, his face turned slightly to meet Draco’s gaze, his breath hitching with each thrust.
The slide of Draco’s cock thrusting into Theo’s ass was soft but obscene, a wet, rhythmic pulse that echoed the distant calls of the plains, their bodies moving in a unhurried, synchronized dance of love, the slap-slap of Draco’s balls against Theo’s ass a tender, primal beat, their moans soft, the railing creaking faintly under their weight.
Hermione stood frozen in the doorway, her heart swelling with such intensity she could barely breathe. Her arousal was a quiet, burning undercurrent, her pussy clenching with slick, but it was their emotional intimacy that captivated her—the raw, vulnerable love between Draco and Theo, that took her breath away.
The precarious ledge, the vast plains below, the stars above—it all heightened the tension, as if their love was teetering on the edge of perpetuity, each thrust a vow to hold each other forever, the railing groaning with every movement.
“My husband, my love,” Theo whispered, his voice trembling with raw, soul-baring emotion, his hips rocking back to meet Draco’s slow, deliberate thrusts, taking his cock deeper,.
“Draco, you both are my everything—every scar, every fight, every tear we’ve shed together. I love you so much it’s impossible to tell you how much.” His hands gripped the railing tighter, the ledge digging into his hips with a sharp, thrilling bite, his thrusts back against Draco a desperate plea to be closer, the schlick of Draco’s cock in his ass intimate, slick and lube dripping to the teakwood, the starlight glinting off their joined bodies like a painting.
Draco’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his voice breaking with profound vulnerability, his hands sliding up Theo’s sides, fingers tracing his ribs with trembling reverence, pulling him closer against the railing, the edge pressing harder into Theo’s skin, adding a sharp, heart-stopping bite to their intimacy.
“Theo—fuck, you’re my world, both of you my heart,” he whispered, his voice raw with gratitude, tears now streaming down his face as he thrust gently, the slap-slap soft but fervent, each movement a vow of love, the stars above bearing witness. “
Your love, your strength—I don’t deserve it, but I need you, love you so much in my soul.” The bond flared with his heart-wrenching gratitude, his cock pulsing in Theo’s ass, the intimacy of their connection a radiant wave that made Hermione’s heart ache, her pussy clench.
Theo’s moans deepened, his body trembling as Draco’s thrusts grew firmer, the railing creaking louder, his voice a choked sob, “You deserve everything, Draco—my heart, my body, my fucking soul. This is for you, my love, on your birthday.”
He leaned back, turning his head to kiss Draco deeply, tongues tangling with desperate, love-soaked passion, their lips trembling as they poured their hearts into each other, the schlorp-schlick of Draco’s cock louder as his thrusts intensified.
Hermione’s pussy throbbed, but her arousal was secondary to the overwhelming love flooding the bond, her heart swelling with their devotion, her tears falling as she whispered, “You’re so beautiful, loves—so perfect together.”
They knew she was there, the bond pulsing with their awareness, but they kept their focus on each other, their love for Draco the centerpiece of this moment, a sacred offering on his birthday.
Draco’s hands slid to Theo’s ass, spreading his cheeks wider with trembling fingers, thrusting harder, “Theo—love you, you’re my everything, your both my fucking future forever” his voice breaking with raw emotion, tears streaming as the slap-slap-slap echoed.
Theo’s voice was a trembling sob, “Yours, Draco—we’re always yours, my love,” his hips rocking back to meet each thrust.
Minutes stretched into an eternity of soul-baring, heart-wrenching intimacy, Draco’s thrusts slowing to grinding, deliberate rolls, his cock dragging in Theo’s ass with precision, their bodies trembling with the weight of their emotions, the railing screeching under the strain, the edge cutting into Theo’s hips, amplifying the raw vulnerability of their connection, “I love you, Theo—for every fight, every scar, every moment you’ve held me up,” Draco whispered, his voice cracking with gratitude, tears streaming down his face, the bond a radiant wave of his love.
Theo’s eyes glistened, his voice breaking, “I love you, Draco—my heart, my home, you two are my everything.”
Their climax was a shared eruption, Theo’s cock spurting thick, hot ropes across the railing, with a sob, “Draco—love you!”
Draco thrust deep once more, holding in place, spilling in Theo’s ass with a shuddering, tear-soaked moan, “Theo—mine, love you!” .
They eased apart, their bodies glistening with sweat and moonlight.
After a moment, they rose, their movements slow and reverent, passing Hermione in the doorway, their eyes glistening with love and gratitude.
Draco kissed her first, his lips soft and trembling, tasting of salt and devotion, his hands cupping her face gently, “My wife, my love—thank you for being here, for loving us,” his voice breaking with raw emotion, the bond pulsing with his gratitude.
Theo followed, kissing her deeply, “Our angel, our love—thank you for witnessing us, for loving us,” his voice thick with emotion.
Hermione’s tears fell, her voice a trembling whisper, “I love you both—so much, you’re my everything too,” her heart swelling with their love, the bond a glowing symphony of their unity.
They led her to the bed, curling around her under the ivory silk sheets, Draco in the center, Hermione and Theo cradling him like a cherished treasure, their hands stroking his chest, his hair, their lips brushing his skin with tender, reverent kisses. “Happy birthday, our love, Hermione whispered
That night their hearts were bound in their passionate, vulnerable love under the Cape Town sky.
Notes:
They have a few days here... what should they do? =P
Chapter 153: In the Moonlight
Chapter Text
The air was cool, scented with the earthy musk of the African plains, and the soft, intimate warmth of their bodies tangled in the ivory silk sheets of the massive four-poster bed.
The distant, melodic trill of a fwooper and the gentle rustle of grasses in the early morning breeze wove a quiet peaceful backdrop before the sun had even risen.
It was Sunday, the last full day at the reserve before their quick weekend away would end the following evening. Hermione stirred awake before dawn, her body nestled in the silk sheets cool against her skin.
Theo lay sound asleep on her left, softly snoring, his lean muscular frame sprawled on his stomach, one arm flung across the pillow, his dark hair tousled, his eyes closed, his breathing deep and even, a faint smile curving his lips as he dreamed.
The bond pulsed with his peaceful rest, a rare moment of calm after a long few weeks at St. Mungo’s. Draco, awake behind her, pressed his lean, scarred torso against her back, his cock half-hard and nestled against her ass. His hands caressed her body with slow, reverent strokes, fingers tracing the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breast beneath the thin, silk camisole she wore.
Hermione’s eyes fluttered, meeting Draco’s silver gaze in the dim light, his eyes glistening with love and quiet desire, the bond flaring with his adoration as his hand slid up her side, brushing the underside of her breast, sparking a soft shiver.
“Shh, Hermione,” he whispered, his voice low, his lips grazing her ear, the warmth of his breath sending a ripple of heat through her core.
“Don’t wake Theo—he needs his beauty rest, the poor bastard’s been run ragged.” His tone was playful but soft, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over her skin, the bond pulsing with his love and want.
Hermione’s lips curved into a sleepy smile, her pussy tingling with a gentle warmth, pressing her body into his touch, her voice a whisper, “You’re too good to us, Draco—love you.”
Draco’s smile was tender, his hand sliding down her belly, fingers brushing the hem of her camisole, lifting it to trace her bare skin, sparking a soft gasp as his touch grazed her lower abdomen, just above her panties.
“You’re our everything, Granger,” he whispered, his fingers moving with deliberate slowness, teasing the waistband of her lace panties, the bond pulsing with his reverence.
“Let me help you go back to sleep, your body just needs a good release.”
His fingers slipped beneath her panties, parting her pussy lips, her slick coating his fingers in wet warmth as he brushed her clit, sparking a tender, electric jolt that made her breath hitch.
“Draco—love you,” she whispered, her voice trembling, her pussy clenching softly on air as he circled her clit with slow, worshipful strokes, his touch feather-light, drawing out her pleasure with agonizing leisure.
The bond flared with her quiet arousal, her heart racing with the intimacy of his touch, her body melting into his.
“So perfect, wife,” he murmured, his lips brushing her shoulder, his fingers sliding lower, one dipping into her pussy, curling gently against her G-spot, sparking her soft moan, “Shh, Granger—quiet, don’t wake him,” his voice tender but teasing.
Draco’s finger pumped her gently, soft and rhythmic, her pussy fluttering around him, her clit throbbing under his thumb’s slow circles.
“Feel me, love—every touch is for you,” he whispered, his cock hard against her ass but patient, his focus entirely on her pleasure.
Hermione’s moans were soft, “Draco—love you, so good,” her body trembling, the bond pulsing with her trust and love, her heart swelling with his devotion.
His finger curled deeper, producing shudders, her pussy clenching, her breath hitching as she neared the edge, “Draco—close, please.”
He added a second finger, stretching her gently, his thumb rubbing her clit with relentless tenderness, “Cum for me, Granger,” his lips kissing her neck.
Her orgasm was gentle but profound, pussy fluttering around his fingers, a soft flood of warmth around his fingers, her moan a trembling whisper, “Draco—love you!”.
Draco’s hand slid from her panties, brushing over her ass, his fingers lingering on her cheeks, tracing the curve with a tender, questioning touch.
“Granger,” he whispered, voice delicate with vulnerability, “have you ever thought about... letting us have you here, too?”
His touch was gentle, not pressing, the bond pulsing with his curiosity and adoration.
Hermione’s breath hitched, her heart racing with a mix of surprise, fear, and trust, her voice soft, “I... I never really thought about it, Draco. It’s not something I wanted before, but...”
She paused, turning to meet his eyes, “maybe we can talk about it back home. I might be open to trying it if we discussed it, just to see if I like it—with you, with Theo, with an open mind.”
Her smile was shy but trusting, the bond pulsing with her honesty.
Draco with a tender grin, “Thank you, love—for trusting me, for being open to considering it,” he whispered, kissing her lips softly.
He cleaned his hand with a charmed cloth, soothing her with gentle touches, pulling her close as they curled back into the sheets, Theo still asleep beside them, his breathing soft and steady.
“Love you, Granger,” Draco murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his arm around her, their bodies pressed together. “Love you, Draco,” she whispered.
The first actual light of dawn spilled across the plains like liquid gold, catching on the dew and the tall grass until everything shimmered. A soft wind drifted through the open windows of the villa, carrying with it the distant sounds of waking animals — birds with bright, chiming calls, the low rumble of something larger moving near the tree line.
Hermione fully woke first, as she often did at home too. She slipped out from between Draco and Theo, the air warm against her bare feet as she stepped out onto the veranda.
The savannah stretched endlessly before her.
A herd of silver-striped moon antelope grazed near the ward’s edge, and just beyond them, she saw the glint of the small magical lake that caught the morning light.
Theo appeared a few minutes later, hair mussed, eyes half-open, a mug of tea in each hand. He passed her one with a quiet smile. “You’re an early riser even on holiday. I should’ve known.”
She smiled softly. “You’d think I’d learn to sleep in more than once in a while.”
Draco joined them not long after, his white shirt half buttoned, sleeves rolled up, a little more relaxed than even the day prior.
He looked out over the horizon for a long moment before murmuring, “You can hear them all waking up. It’s… grounding.”
Hermione’s voice was soft. “That’s what I wanted for you. For us. To get away, feel grounded and safe.”
The bond hummed gently between them — contentment, warmth, safety.
A ranger elf appeared to remind them that the morning feeding session was about to begin. Hermione brightened immediately, pulling her sandals on. “Come on — you two said you wanted to meet the creatures up close.”
Theo groaned. “I didn’t realize it would be this early.”
Draco chuckled, tugging on his boots. “Welcome to life with Hermione Granger.”
The reserve was alive with motion already.
The rising sun painted everything in tones of amber and rose as the trio followed their guide — a cheerful witch named Lindiwe — down the path toward the feeding paddocks.
Lindiwe explained that they were helping with a few of the friendlier species that morning.
“We start with the fire gazelles,” she said, gesturing to a fenced area where delicate, glowing antelope stood. “Their horns burn at the tips, but only if they’re frightened. No quick movements or loud noises and they’ll stay calm.”
Hermione took to it instantly, listening intently as Lindiwe explained the proper way to hold the enchanted grain. The gazelles approached cautiously, then began eating directly from her hands.
Draco watched her face — the way she lit up with quiet wonder, her curls catching the sunrise. “You look like you belong here,” he murmured.
She looked up, smiling. “We all fit here.”
Theo laughed as one of the gazelles nudged at his sleeve for more food. “They’re greedy, these ones.”
“Clearly they sense a fellow Slytherin,” Draco said, earning an elbow from Theo.
Next came the sky savannah foxes — tiny, winged creatures that hovered just above the ground, tails long and feathery like comets. Lindiwe handed Draco a pouch of small glowing fruit.
“They like to catch them midair,” she said.
Draco threw one experimentally; the nearest fox darted up, caught it neatly, and chirped in triumph. He looked childishly delighted.
Theo chuckled. “Merlin, you’re enjoying this.”
“Don’t mock me,” Draco replied lightly. “I’m bonding with them.”
The laughter that followed felt easy and free — the kind that only came when all three of them weren’t worried about home.
Their last stop was at the stone-skinned rhinos, enormous creatures whose hides glittered faintly like granite. A baby one, not much taller than Draco’s shoulder, ambled over, snuffling curiously at Theo’s robes.
Theo froze. “If this thing sneezes, I’m gone in the wind.”
Hermione rolled her eyes affectionately. “He’s friendly, Theo.”
She reached up to stroke the rhino’s warm snout, her hand glowing faintly from the residue of its magic.
“They channel earth magic — it’s said they protect the land they walk on.”
Draco touched the creature’s side, feeling the faint hum of its power. “You can almost feel it, can’t you? Like the ground itself breathes with them.”
Theo nodded. “It’s humbling.”
When the feeding ended, the three of them lingered, watching the animals graze as the sun climbed higher. Hermione turned to look at both of them, her eyes soft and thoughtful.
“You know, I think this is what I want our lives to look like — not all politics and pressure, but this. Helping places like this survive. I want to go volunteer a few times a year at least, around the world, and make sure your estates give plenty of donations year-round to places like this that matter.”
Draco’s hand brushed hers. “Then we’ll make sure we can.”
The afternoon heat settled heavy and lazy over the plains. They retreated to their villa, where the stone floors stayed cool and the open windows let the breeze drift through.
Theo stretched out on the edge of the pool, the water reflecting sunlight in ripples across his skin. Hermione floated lazily on her back, hair fanning out around her, eyes closed. Draco sat with his feet in the water, a drink in his hand, watching her drift.
“This is ridiculous,” Theo murmured after a while, voice half-dreamy. “We’re sitting in a private villa in Africa. Sometimes I forget how… rich we actually are.”
Hermione cracked one eye open. “That’s because we don’t act like it most of the time.”
Draco made a quiet sound of agreement. “We have wealth — more than we need. But wealth without purpose rots.”
She drifted closer to him, resting her chin on her arms at the pool’s edge. “Then let’s make it have purpose. Every year, we could choose a few causes— magical and Muggle — to donate to. Something real, something that matters.”
Theo nodded, sitting up. “This place could be the first. The reserve. It’s doing actual good for magical creatures and their Muggle counterparts. They could always use more funding.”
Draco’s gaze lingered on the savannah beyond the veranda. “We could establish a foundation,” he said quietly. “Something that lasts beyond us. A Granger–Malfoy–Nott Fund for magical and Muggle integration projects.”
Hermione’s breath caught. “That’s… brilliant.”
Theo smiled. “You really think the Ministry would approve of meddling in the muggle world too?”
Draco smirked. “They’ll approve when they see who’s signing the cheques.”
Hermione laughed softly, splashing him until he dropped into the water next to her. “You’re impossible.”
He caught her hand, smiling faintly. “And you love me for it.”
As the sun began to lower in the sky, they lounged on the pool’s edge, towels wrapped loosely around their shoulders, the air thick with the scent of savvanah grass and wildflowers.
Hermione rested her head on Draco’s knee, her eyes half-closed. “It feels… good, doesn’t it? To know what we want to build. Together.”
Theo leaned back on his elbows. “A future that’s actually ours. Not what the Ministry decided for us. Leaving behind a better world than what we all got given.”
Draco looked between them — the woman who had taught him grace, the man who had taught him forgiveness. “We’ll make something worth remembering.”
The light faded into gold. A flock of enchanted birds swept across the horizon, their feathers scattering sparks like embers in the air.
Hermione whispered, “We should get ready for dinner soon.”
Theo smiled. “If we must.”
Draco’s hand brushed through her damp curls. “We must — but we can take our time getting there.”
The laughter that followed was soft and full of tenderness, echoing into the gentle hum of twilight as the three of them slowly prepared for dinne rttogetehr.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the plains had turned into a dreamscape — gold fading to violet, violet melting into cobalt. The air had cooled just enough to make the firepit’s warmth inviting.
Their dinner was being prepared by one of the reserve’s chefs — a quiet, dark-eyed older wizard named Themba, whose hands moved with reverence as he worked over the open flame. A kettle of spiced tea hissed softly near the edge, and the scent of charred citrus and herbs drifted through the air.
Draco watched with fascination as Themba conjured a set of glowing runes above the fire to regulate its temperature. “You don’t even need a cauldron for that,” he murmured, impressed.
Themba smiled. “Cooking is its own magic, sir. The fire listens when you show it respect.”
Hermione, sitting cross-legged beside Theo on a low blanket, looked utterly content — curls falling loose, her face lit by firelight. “I love that,” she said softly. “Magic listening, not commanding.”
Theo handed her a glass of chilled rosé conjured from their villa. “You’ve always said the best magic is cooperative when your working with charms.”
“And you’ve always said I overthink everything,” she teased.
He clinked his glass against hers. “Both can be true.”
Draco joined them, sitting close enough that their knees brushed. “You two are awfully domestic already. It’s terrifying.”
Theo smirked. “You enjoy it.”
Draco looked between them, eyes gleaming. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Themba interrupted gently, gesturing to the table laid out beside the fire — three plates, still steaming. “Dinner is served. Please, eat before the spirits of the savannah take offense at my work going cold.”
They ate beneath a canopy of stars so thick it felt like the heavens themselves had bent closer to watch.
The meal was extraordinary — grilled magical riverfish seasoned with local herbs that shimmered faintly with restorative magic, roasted vegetables laced with phoenix-pepper spice, and a side of couscous infused with butter lemon and local honey.
Hermione made an appreciative sound after her first bite. “This is… unbelievable.”
Theo grinned, mouth half-full. “If I ever quit healing, I’m apprenticing under this man and going into private cooking… for you both.”
Draco leaned back in his chair, savoring a glass of locally sourced red wine that tasted like smoke and African sunlight. “I’d support that. Provided you cook like this at home very day.”
Themba smiled modestly, then bowed before retreating to clean up the outer table. “Enjoy your night walk, my friends. The spirits favor those who listen closely.”
When he left, the triad sat in companionable silence for a moment, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the low song of distant crickets.
Hermione broke the quiet. “I wish we could freeze moments like this. Bottle them to enjoy when the world gets crazy again.”
Theo glanced at her, a soft curve to his mouth. “You’d just analyze it later.”
She rolled her eyes. “Possibly.”
Draco reached for her hand. “Don’t bottle it. Just… live it right now with us. This is what we’re fighting for — the right to just be.”
The bond hummed, quiet but steady, like a heartbeat shared between three.
When they’d finished, a reserve ranger named Kato arrived — tall, kind-eyed, and carrying a wand carved from pale wood that glowed faintly at the tip.
“Are you ready?” he asked softly. “Night reveals the truth of the land.”
They followed him into the dark. The moon was rising, half-hidden behind thin clouds, silver light spilling across the wld grasses.
Hermione’s shoes crunched softly on the dirt path. Theo’s hand brushed hers once — not gripping, just grounding. Draco walked on her other side, watchful, protective but calm.
Kato lifted his wand and whispered an illumination charm. The light didn’t blaze — instead, it shimmered faintly in a wide arc, just bright enough to reveal the shifting movements of the night.
“There,” Kato murmured, pointing. “A shadow hare. They’re invisible by day, but their fur glows under moonlight.”
The tiny creature flickered into view — a rabbit woven from starlight, hopping soundlessly through the grass. Hermione gasped softly, wonder on her face.
Further ahead, a small herd of midnight elk drifted between trees, their antlers glowing with faint silver runes. When one lifted its head to look at them, its eyes reflected the stars.
Theo whispered, “Bloody hell.”
Draco’s tone was reverent. “They’re magnificent.”
“They carry the memories of the land,” Kato said. “Every creature born here leaves a piece of its soul behind. The elk remember it all.”
Hermione felt the bond pulse faintly — awe, peace, gratitude — all blending together.
“I think they remember us, too,” she whispered.
They reached the lagoon last. The surface reflected the moon like a mirror, and hovering just above it were translucent dream moths — their wings faintly opalescent, leaving trails of light when they fluttered.
Kato smiled at Hermione. “These ones feed on unspoken wishes. If you release a thought to them, they’ll carry it to the stars.”
Theo arched a brow. “Do they tell the stars everything?”
Kato’s grin deepened. “Only what’s worth remembering.”
Hermione stepped closer to the edge, closing her eyes. She didn’t speak aloud, but the others could feel through the bond what she wished for — safety, growth, peace that lasted beyond a single day.
The moths circled her for a moment, their wings brushing her curls before scattering into the sky.
Theo went next, his thoughts full of quiet gratitude, for love he never expected to find.
Draco hesitated. When he finally stepped forward, his wish pulsed through the bond like warmth through cold metal: to protect them both, always — even from himself.
The air shimmered as the moths scattered higher, vanishing into the night.
Kato’s voice was almost reverent. “The savannah listens. It knows your hearts now.”
Hermione smiled softly. “Then I hope it keeps them safe.”
They walked in silence most of the way back — the good kind of silence, heavy with shared emotion. The grass brushed their legs, the air cool and clean, the night sky impossibly wide.
Theo finally said, voice low, “I think this might be one of my favorite nights we’ve ever had together. Definitely in the top 3.”
Draco nodded, his tone equally soft. “It’s… grounding. Reminds you how small we are and how miraculous everything is.”
Hermione looked up at the stars. “And how lucky we are to be here.”
They reached the villa, the lanterns glowing warm and steady in the distance. Kato bowed, his expression peaceful. “Goodnight, my friends. May your dreams be kind.”
“Thank you,” Hermione said quietly.
Once he disappeared down the path, they lingered on the veranda, reluctant to go inside. The fire from earlier still smoldered faintly in the pit, sending up little spirals of light.
Theo leaned his shoulder against Draco’s. “You were right, you know.”
Draco glanced at him. “About what?”
Theo smiled faintly. “That this is what we’re fighting for. Just this — peace and stability in the world.”
Hermione slid her hand into both of theirs. “Then let’s not forget it, it’s worth achieving.”
The three of them stood there for a long time, surrounded by starlight and the hum of unseen life — the pulse of their bond steady and golden, carrying them softly through the quiet of the African night.
Notes:
Just about time to go home... what do you think they'll be greeted with there?
Chapter 154: In the Moment
Chapter Text
The table was already set when the trio arrived on the verandah — steaming decanters of rich African coffee, platters of sliced tropical fruit, and a basket of freshly baked rye bread that smelled faintly of cardamom.
Theo was practically glowing as he buttered his toast. “You know, I don’t think I’ve been this excited for a meeting in my life,” he said, gesturing with his knife.
“Their lead healer invited me to observe a session using local flora—apparently they have a salve derived from phoenix aloe that accelerates magical regeneration.”
Hermione smiled, sipping her coffee. “Of course you’d be thrilled about spending your last morning with healing plants and potions.”
Draco smirked. “Healer’s enthusiasm aside, at least you’ll be in the shade. You’ll melt in those robes if you’re not careful.”
Theo shot him a look. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone for three hours.”
Draco lifted his glass lazily. “Unlikely.”
Hermione elbowed him gently, laughing. “Be nice.”
Theo stood, slinging his satchel over his shoulder. “Try not to start an international incident while I’m gone.”
“We’ll be angels,” Hermione promised.
As soon as he vanished with a crack of apparition to the reserve’s medical wing, Draco muttered, “Speak for yourself.”
Hermione just smiled cheekily back.
“Come on, let’s go explore the market the guide told us about yesterday.”
The market was a riot of color and sound — stalls lined with woven baskets, jars of spices glowing like jewels, and shimmering bolts of fabric fluttering in the breeze. The air was thick with the smell of roasting maize, citrus peel, and something floral that Hermione couldn’t even place.
Draco looked faintly overwhelmed at first, his usual composed elegance utterly at odds with the swirl of shouting vendors and singing children.
“Merlin’s sake,” he muttered, stepping aside as a witch carrying a crate of mangoes bustled past nearly stepping on his foot. “It’s chaos.”
Hermione grinned up at him. “It’s regular life, Draco. You can’t just curate everything into perfect rows.”
He shot her a dry look. “Watch me.”
But after a few minutes, even he started to relax. The sounds of haggling, laughter, and street music folded around them. They sampled sugar-dusted sun pears that glowed faintly from the inside, and Hermione’s eyes went wide when the juice turned her tongue briefly silver.
Draco laughed outright — genuine and unguarded. “You look enchanted.”
She swatted him lightly. “You try one!”
He did, and nearly dropped it when the flavor burst — a mix of honey and heat that made his eyes widen. “That’s… indecently good.”
“Told you.”
A vendor with an array of handmade jewelry called out to them as they passed, holding up strings of colorful beads that caught the light. “For the lady! Each one blessed for protection and luck.”
Hermione admired them politely, but before she could decline, Draco had stepped forward, examining a necklace of polished orange and green beads strung together in a leaf like pattern.
He turned it over in his hands, then looked at her. “Try this one.”
“Draco—”
“Humor me.”
She sighed, but let him fasten it around her neck. The glass beads were warm from the sun, resting just above the neckline of her linen dress.
When he finished, he lingered for a second too long, fingers brushing the nape of her neck. “It suits you,” he said softly.
Hermione swallowed. “You’re getting good at this—picking me out jewelry.”
He smirked faintly. “Practice makes perfect.”
They spent another hour wandering. Hermione found a small hand-carved figure of a kneeling witch that reminded her of the ones her parents used to buy at museums. Draco insisted on carrying all her parcels, claiming her “delicate hands” were made for books, not bags.
She rolled her eyes. “You know, for someone who swore he wasn’t going to like this, you’re awfully pleased with yourself.”
“I’m adaptable,” he said smoothly.
“You’re smug,” she corrected.
“Synonyms, darling.”
She gave him a look that was both fond and exasperated — and in that instant, as the warm air rippled between them and music drifted from a nearby stall, it felt almost like they were ordinary — two people on holiday, untethered from the weight of fate, lineage, and war.
When they finally stopped for a drink at a shaded stand, Draco ordered a chilled potion-infused fresh fruit tea for them both. “For cooling and clarity,” the vendor promised.
Hermione took a sip, smiling. “Tastes like mint and mango.”
Draco leaned closer, his voice lower. “And trouble.”
Her laughter rang bright against the chatter of the market.
By the time they returned, the heat of the day had settled heavy on the air. They apparated back to the villa gates, laden with small parcels and the memory of too many sweets.
Theo was already there, lounging on the veranda with a parchment full of notes spread out beside him and a half-empty glass of water in hand. He looked flushed but content.
“You look like you’ve been hexed by the sun,” Draco said, smirking.
Theo raised a brow. “I’ll have you know, I’ve just seen the most fascinating combination of magical herb and Muggle medicine — they’re using a compound that—”
Hermione groaned affectionately. “You’re not even through your first sentence and I’m lost already.”
Theo only grinned. “I’ll explain it over lunch.”
A small elf appeared to announce that their meal was ready, and they followed the smell of grilled food out to the patio, where a spread of fresh salads, roasted vegetables, and seafood waited.
Theo’s eyes caught on the beaded necklace around Hermione’s throat. “That’s new.”
Draco, without missing a beat, replied, “Souvenir.”
Theo’s mouth twitched. “Souvenir, or bribery?”
Hermione laughed, touching the beads lightly. “Maybe both.”
Draco looked entirely unbothered. “It suits her.”
They ate together, sunlight dappling the table, the bond between them soft and steady — full of teasing warmth and quiet affection.
After lunch, they lingered on the veranda with iced tea, the heat shimmering hot beyond the cooling wards. Theo read aloud snippets from his healer notes, Hermione leaned against Draco’s shoulder as he absently braided a lock of her hair, and the world outside moved at the slow rhythm of the African sun.
Hermione smiled, eyes half-closed. “Every day here feels like a dream.”
Draco’s voice was soft, but certain. “That’s because, for once, it really is.”
And as the afternoon light spilled across the savannah, warm and endless, the three of them sat in the quiet peace deep in their thoughts.
An hour later, the villa was half-packed, the luggage charmed and waiting by the door, but none of them were ready to leave just yet.
“Let’s go say goodbye,” Hermione said softly, slipping her sandals back on.
They walked the familiar path down toward the main animal enclosures. The breeze smelled of warm grass and spice. A few fire gazelles grazed near the fence line, their horns flickering faintly in the dimming light.
Hermione smiled and whispered a quiet lumos through the bars; the gazelles lifted their heads, recognizing her, and one even nudged its nose toward her hand.
Theo chuckled. “You’ve made friends everywhere you go.”
“Occupational hazard,” she replied, stroking the creature’s muzzle before stepping back.
Further along, the baby stone-skinned rhino—now unmistakably her favorite—trundled over, snorting softly. Draco reached into the feeding trough and conjured a handful of fruit, offering it with a rare grin. “I suppose this makes me his favorite uncle now.”
Theo rolled his eyes. “That title’s still in dispute.”
Hermione’s laugh carried on the breeze, bright and effortless. “Let’s not start a custody battle over a rhinoceros.”
They lingered until the sun began to melt into the horizon. As they turned back toward the villa, Hermione glanced over her shoulder one last time. The reserve seemed to breathe with them—alive, pulsing with quiet gratitude.
Back at the villa, the table was set outside beneath a canopy of soft-glowing lanterns that floated lazily in the warm night air. The chef had prepared a farewell feast: grilled wildebeest drizzled with buttery-citrus sauce, wild purple saffron rice, roasted root vegetables, and little chocolate tortes topped with edible gold flakes.
Theo raised his glass first. “To peace, to animals, and to the fact that Draco only complained about the heat twice this trip.”
Hermione smirked. “A new record.”
Draco feigned offense. “I’ll have you know I’ve embraced this environment entirely. I even tolerated pebbles in my shoes.”
“That’s called personal growth,” Theo said solemnly.
Laughter followed—easy, genuine, filling the night air.
When the plates were cleared and the lanterns began to dim, the conversation turned quieter, heavier in the way that comes when something good is about to end.
Hermione toyed with her glass. “Do you ever think about what happens after we go home? Not just work and routine, but… everything?”
Theo leaned back, watching the lanternlight flicker in her hair. “It’ll be strange to go from this back to the Manor and the daily grind. Feels like waking up too soon.”
Draco’s gaze was distant. “This place made me forget what tension feels like. And yet I know the second we’re home, something will demand our attention again and I’ll be back on edge.”
Hermione reached across the table, covering both their hands. “Then we remember this. When the next crisis comes, we hold onto how this feels—calm, grounded, together.”
Theo nodded. “That’s what the bond’s for, isn’t it? A reminder we’re never alone in any of it.”
Draco’s fingers tightened gently around hers. “I’d still rather have this,” he said quietly, eyes on the horizon where the last sliver of sunlight disappeared. “A table, a sunset, the wild, and the two of you.”
The bond thrummed, soft and warm, threading through all three of them like the hum of the earth beneath their feet.
The stars stretched endless overhead, and the air buzzed faintly with magic as they stood in the villa’s courtyard. Their luggage hovered nearby, and the portkey—a polished silver medallion provided by the reserve—glowed faintly in Hermione’s hand.
“Ready?” she asked.
Theo adjusted his grip on her shoulder. “As I’ll ever be.”
Draco’s mouth curved into a faint smile. “Goodbye, paradise. Thank you both fr taking me here… it was the best gift anyone’s ever given me for a birthday.”
The world twisted, light and air folding inward, and with a rush of magic they vanished.
They landed in the marble foyer of Nott Manor. The difference was immediate—the air cooler, heavier, the silence familiar. For a moment, everything was still.
Then Hermione’s eyes caught on the table in the entryway. A neat stack of envelopes sat waiting: Ministry seals, parchment folded too crisply, the top one marked in red wax.
Theo exhaled slowly. “That… doesn’t look promising.”
Hermione reached for the nearest envelope, her fingers brushing the seal. The energy from it was sharp, official, the kind that never brought good news.
Behind her, Draco’s voice was low, almost wry but tinged with exhaustion.
“Well,” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets as the faintest smile tugged at his mouth, “the peace was nice while it lasted.”
Hermione met his gaze, her expression somewhere between fond and resigned. “Then we handle whatever’s next.”
Theo sighed, setting down his bag. “Together.”
Notes:
What will all these letters be? Comment.
Chapter 155: The Pile of Letters
Chapter Text
Hermione came down first, wrapped in one of Draco’s button down shirts, her curls still damp from the shower.
The dining room table was already set by the elves—fresh fruit, pastries, and steaming jugs of coffee. And there, exactly as they’d left them last night, sat the ominous stack of letters.
She stared at them for a long moment before sighing and summoning two more mugs. By the time Draco and Theo appeared—both rumpled from sleep but decidedly less vacation-relaxed—she had poured everyone coffee and laid the envelopes in a neat row across the table like evidence in a trial.
Theo raised an eyebrow as he sat. “We should leave them unopened and pretended the post didn’t exist for another day.”
“Tempting,” Hermione murmured. “But I’d rather know what we’re up against.”
Draco leaned over, brushing a kiss against her temple before he sat. “You always say that right before we regret it.”
She smiled faintly. “Let’s find out if I’m right again.”
Draco reached for the first envelope—the one with the deep red wax seal stamped with the Ministry crest. The seal cracked with a sound far too sharp for morning. He unfolded the parchment and read aloud.
To Mr. Draco Malfoy, Mr. Theodore Nott, and Mrs. Hermione Granger-Malfoy-Nott,
In accordance with Department TRUTH’s oversight protocols, your triadic bond is due for its midterm compliance evaluation. You are hereby summoned to attend your appointment on July 3rd at 10:00 a.m. sharp.
Please bring proof of continued magical and domestic harmony, including a shared residence verification and current medical evaluations from St. Mungo’s.
Noncompliance will result in review by the Wizengamot Office of Magical Cohesion.
Respectfully,
Senior Compliance Officer, D. Bramble
Department TRUTH
Theo groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face. “Bramble again? I swear she feeds off our collective misery.”
Draco’s expression darkened. “She’s fishing for something. We’ll have just had an evaluation barely two months ago.”
Hermione set her coffee down with a sigh. “They’re watching us more closely since the last proposal passed. The Ministry’s nervous—we’re making changes too fast for them.”
Draco muttered, “Then they can choke on their paperwork.”
Theo smirked faintly. “That’s the spirit.”
Hermione picked up the second envelope, this one sealed with a shimmer of gold and a faint scent of floral perfume. “Pansy,” she said, recognizing the script instantly.
She read aloud, rolling her eyes as she went:
Darlings,
The Phoenix Gala is nearly upon us, and everything is coming together magnificently. The guest list has swelled to nearly five hundred—half the Ministry, several foreign delegates, and at least one Witch Weekly editor (so behave, Draco).
Hermione, darling, the catering has been finalized—thank you for the Granger Center’s volunteers helping coordinate. Theo, bring your healer smile and a donation pledge. Draco, you’re presenting the matched gift at the end of the night, and no, you can’t weasel out of a speech.
I expect all of you looking devastatingly radiant. Don’t worry, we’re hired extensive security for the event and Harry says just about every aurror on the squad is going to be in attendance. Blaise is upping all the estate’s wards as I write.
With love and menace,
Pansy Parkinson-Zabini
Hermione laughed despite herself. “At least some people still find joy in chaos.”
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Five hundred people. Merlin help us.”
Theo said mildly, “You’re the one who insisted on doubling the donation match. You made yourself the main attraction.”
Draco glared at him. “Remind me to revoke your dessert privileges for the next week.”
The third letter was written on slightly crumpled parchment in Harry’s quick, messy scrawl. Hermione recognized it before she even broke the seal.
Hey you three,
Welcome home—I’m dropping by after dinner. There’ve been developments in the attack case and the break-ins at The Granger Center while you were away.
Don’t panic—it’s not all bad, but there are leads I’d rather tell you about in person.
Tell Draco to keep his wand holstered until I get there.
—Harry
Hermione folded it, trying not to frown. “If Harry’s handwriting is that rushed, it’s serious.”
Draco muttered, “If it’s not all bad, that means it’s mostly bad.”
Theo took a sip of his coffee. “So dinner with Harry, then probably more Ministry stress in the morning. How nostalgic.”
Hermione reached for his hand under the table. “At least we’re not doing it alone anymore, harry is trying to give us a headsup.”
Theo picked up the fourth letter—addressed specifically to him in neat healer’s script. He skimmed it once, then again, his frown deepening.
“What is it?” Hermione asked softly.
He set the parchment down, smoothing it flat with a trembling hand. “Another Hogwarts student. Sixth-year. Hufflepuff. Pureblood this time.”
Hermione’s face fell. “Their core?”
“Gone,” Theo said quietly. “Vanished. No trace of magic left. They can’t even produce a spark anymore.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “That’s eight students now. All houses. All backgrounds.”
Theo nodded grimly. “And the St. Mungo’s staff is out of theories. It’s like something is draining them from the inside out.”
Hermione whispered, “This isn’t right?”
Draco’s tone was sharp, dangerous. “Then we find out who’s doing it before they decide to aim at someone closer to home. We can all join the task force working on it after Hermione’s classes end for the break next week and we get through the gala.”
The bond pulsed with shared unease, flickering at the edges with Draco’s protectiveness and Theo’s frustration. Hermione steadied it unconsciously, brushing her hand across the table until both of theirs found hers.
Hermione picked up the last envelope. It was plain—no seal, no return name—just her name scrawled in red ink that looked rushed. Something about it made her skin prickle.
She opened it carefully.
Stay out of this, Mudblood Granger.
You’ve meddled enough. Next time, we won’t miss.
Silence settled thickly over the table. The parchment fluttered slightly in the breeze from the open window, as though mocking them.
Draco’s chair scraped back sharply. “That’s it.” His voice was low, tight. “That’s it.”
“The wards held,” Hermione said quickly. “It must’ve been dropped by owl. We don’t even know who—”
“I don’t care,” Draco snapped. “No more chances. I’m calling in every contact I have in International Magical Security to fortify the manor and the estate for the gala. Whoever’s behind this is going to regret they ever learned to write.”
Theo reached across the table, steadying him with a hand on his wrist. “Draco. Breathe. We’ll handle this—but we do it together.”
Hermione stood, her hands shaking slightly as she folded the letter back up. “Harry will want to see it tonight.”
Draco exhaled hard, running both hands through his hair. “He’d better come armed.”
Theo offered a wry smile, though his eyes were tense. “He always does.”
The room fell quiet again. The fire crackled in the hearth, soft and steady, but the peaceful glow of the time away had vanished completely.
She took a long breath. “All right. We regroup, we prepare, and we face whatever this is—just like always.”
Theo nodded. “Together.”
Draco’s gaze softened, just slightly. “Together.”
And as the three of them sat back down at the table, surrounded by letters, half-finished coffee, and the hum of their shared bond, it was impossible not to feel that the world—once again—was starting to shift beneath their feet.
After a long day of classes (accompanied by an auror at Draco’s instance, Ministry vote planning meetings, and a healing shift, the triad finally got home, already exhausted.
The elves had laid a small dinner on the long dining table: roast chicken, buttered vegetables for their summer garden, and warm crusty bread. The trio sat together, quiet but close, the day’s tension easing into shared routine.
Hermione was stirring her tea absently when a sharp knock echoed through the entry hall.
Draco’s wand was in his hand before he even rose.
Theo sighed. “You could just use Accio Door like a civilized person.”
Draco shot him a look. “And deprive myself the chance to hex whoever it is? Never.”
But when the door opened, it wasn’t an intruder—it was Harry, soaked from the rain but grinning, shaking water out of his hair.
“Merlin’s sake,” Draco muttered, lowering his wand. “Don’t you people know how to use floo calls?”
Harry grinned. “And miss the pleasure of your foyer hospitality? Never.”
Hermione crossed the room to hug him. “You’re drenched! Come in, we’ll get you dry.”
Theo flicked his wand and murmured a quick Siccatus charm, drying Harry’s cloak instantly.
“Cheers,” Harry said, hanging it over a chair. “You three look good. Vacation did you some good before… well, all this.”
Draco gestured toward the table. “You mean the letters of doom? Yes, delightful homecoming.”
Harry took a seat, accepting the glass of wine Hermione pushed toward him. His expression sobered immediately.
“I need to update you about the case.”
Hermione exchanged a glance with Theo. “The attack on the Granger Center and threats to me?”
“Partially,” Harry said. “We’ve been digging into it. Whoever broke in knew exactly how to bypass your wards, Hermione. They didn’t brute force it—they keyed around it. That’s either someone from the inside, or someone who’s studied the architecture of the wards in detail.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “So not just a common thug.”
“No,” Harry said grimly. “And it gets worse. We’ve started connecting your attack to the Hogwarts magical core vanishings.”
Theo froze, setting down his glass. “What?”
Harry spread a handful of parchment over the table—sketches of runic patterns, ward diagrams, and medical reports Theo recognized from St. Mungo’s.
“Every one of the students who’s lost their core had left the grounds, been into Hogsmeade recently.”
Hermione frowned. “So, we don’t even know if it’san object actually in Hogwrats… could be something in town.”
Harry nodded. “We think it’s possible there was some type of exposure off the grounds… but we don’t know for sure. But only upper year students have been impacted, and theyre the only ones who can leave the grounds.”
Draco leaned forward. “And you’re only finding this now?”
Harry’s tone stayed calm. “We thought it was a cursed object in Hogwrats at first. But there’s another theory circulating—that it might not just be an object.”
Theo’s brow furrowed. “Go on.”
Harry hesitated. “The healers running parallel diagnostics think it could be pathogenic in nature. Magical, not biological—a kind of self-replicating curse that spreads through ambient magic. Think… airborne infection or exposure based, but in the magical field.”
Hermione went pale. “That would mean anyone exposed could—”
“Lose their core over time,” Harry finished quietly. “And right now, that includes every Hogwarts student, possibly anyone in the town too. So far, over the last few months, it’s only been those students though… no shopper keepers which seems suspicious.”
The rain outside intensified, thunder rumbling over the manor. The four sat in heavy silence for a moment, the weight of it settling like led in the air.
Theo finally broke it. “Has any staff left the school with symptoms yet?”
“Not yet,” Harry said. “But the Headmistress isn’t taking chances. The term ends Friday. She’s closing the castle for the summer—mandatory evacuation of even the staff and ghosts to be safe. Then, next week, she’s summoning every master and magical theorist she can to examine the grounds and castle. Cursebreakers, Arithmancers, Potions experts, Healers—you name it.”
Hermione nodded slowly, thinking. “It’s the right call. Hogwarts itself might be acting as a magical amplifier if something like that object is infected with curse resonance even nearby. I assume these masters will also be going through the town as well…”
Draco looked at her sharply. “You think the castle’s alive enough to carry this?”
She hesitated. “Sentient, maybe not—but reactive? Absolutely. Hogwarts absorbs ambient magic—it’s how the portraits stay animated and the wards self-repair. If something parasitic attached itself to that system, it could spread through the entire structure.”
Theo muttered, “So we’re not just talking about these handful of cases. We’re talking potentially hundreds if the whole school became infected.”
Hermione’s hand trembled slightly as she reached for her cup. Draco caught it without thinking, lacing his fingers through hers. The warmth of their bond pulsed between them, faint but grounding.
“We’ll help,” she said finally. “If McGonagall’s calling experts, I want in. I know the castle’s ward patterns better than most Ministry cursebreakers, and I’m halfway through a Charms mastery as well… I can be of help. Maybe work with Bill.”
Harry nodded. “She was hoping you’d say that. She’s assembling teams next week.”
Draco’s gaze flicked between them. “If Hermione’s going, I’m going.”
Harry smirked faintly. “Didn’t think I’d convince you otherwise.”
Theo set his jaw. “And I’ll coordinate with the Healer teams. St. Mungo’s wants magical biologists and curse specialists to work together on this.”
Harry exhaled, the faintest hint of relief crossing his face. “Good. I knew I could count on you three.”
As the conversation wound down, the firelight cast long, flickering shadows across the walls. The trio sat together while Harry finished his notes, then lingered over cups of tea that had long since gone cold.
Hermione’s voice was soft. “If this really isn’t an object… if it is an infectious magical curse… Harry, this is new. We’ve never seen magic behave like a living contagion before.”
Harry nodded slowly. “I know. That’s what scares me most.”
Draco’s gaze was distant, his voice low. “And if it’s not new?”
Theo looked at him. “What do you mean?”
Draco hesitated. “What if it’s old—something buried under the castle, buried in the forest, or sealed centuries ago? Something that was never meant to be unearthed.”
The room went still. The idea hung between them, dark and heavy, but no one dismissed it.
Finally, Harry stood. “We’ll find out soon. For now, stay alert. Whoever sent that letter to Hermione—they may already know what’s going on, it may all be tied together.”
He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Be careful, okay? I’ll update you as soon as the Headmistress finalizes the research teams.”
Hermione nodded, her throat tight. “We will.”
The floo flared green, and Harry was gone. Silence fell again, the kind that wasn’t peaceful this time—more like the moment before a storm hits.
Theo leaned back in his chair, exhaling. “If this really is a pathogen, it could spread beyond the castle very easily. Magical fields overlap everywhere in the wizarding wolrd. It’s odd how adults haven’t caught it yet though….”
The fire popped in the hearth, sending sparks spiraling upward like passing stars.
And though none of them said it aloud, the truth pressed between them as sure as the pulse of their bond:
Whatever was happening at Hogwarts had only just begun.
Notes:
Anyone have ideas on what's happening? let me know in the comments.
Chapter 156: laying it Bare
Notes:
Summer is getting close to starting for Hermione and Draco... poor overworked Theo.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first few days after Harry’s visit passed quietly. Hermione rose early each morning for her final days of the term for Charms Mastery exams, her bag full of scrolls and ink-stained parchment.
Draco had taken to joining her in the breakfast room before she left—his new ritual, claiming it was to “see her off,” though he never admitted how much he just liked the company.
He’d sit opposite her with a mug of black coffee and his notes for the up-coming final spring Wizengamot session, quill tapping against the rim as she scribbled spells on napkins and mumbled under her breath.
One morning, she caught him staring.
“What?” she asked, arching a brow.
“Nothing,” he said, then added with a smirk, “Just wondering how my wife can look both utterly brilliant and like she’s about to set her parchment on fire at the same time.”
She rolled her eyes, but the warmth crept up her neck. “You’re not as charming as you think, Malfoy.”
“I’ve been told otherwise,” he murmured, and kissed the top of her hand before she disapparated for class.
When the echo of her departure faded, he sat back, a small smile tugging at his lips. For a man who used to thrive on chaos, the quiet routine was beginning to feel dangerously precious.
It was a few days after their return from Cape Town, and the trio had just finished a simple dinner of roasted pheasant and spiced wine, their laughter and lingering touches carrying the warmth of their weekend.
Now, settled in the parlor with after-dinner drinks, the air crackled with the weight of an unspoken conversation.
Hermione lounged in an armchair, her silk robe slipping to reveal the freckled curve of her thigh. Draco sat across from her, his shirt unbuttoned to bare his scarred chest, the firelight tracing every scar—remnants of his past, the Sectumsempra wounds from sixth year, the faint burn marks from Death Eater rituals.
Theo sprawled beside him, his linen shirt open to reveal his muscular frame, his legs wide in relaxation after a long day on his feet.
Draco swirled his firewhisky, the crystal clinking sharply against the table, his gaze locked on Hermione, the bond pulsing with his nervous, heart-wrenching determination, his voice laced with raw vulnerability as he broke the silence. “Granger,” he murmured, setting his glass down with a thud that echoed like a heartbeat, his silver eyes shimmering with raw emotion, “I’ve been carrying our talk from Cape Town in my chest—about exploring you there, in your ass, with us.”
His voice wavered, “I don’t want to push you, love—I’d never want you to feel unsafe. But it’s burning in me, this need to love you completely, to make you ours in every way. And... it’s not just about desire.” He paused, his throat tight, his voice dropping to a raw whisper, “It’s about trust, about giving you everything I am, after all I’ve been. Can we talk about it, all of us, openly, honestly? I need to hear you, Granger—every thought, every fear.”
Hermione’s breath caught, her eyes widened with a mix of curiosity and visceral, gnawing fear, the bond radiating her trembling vulnerability like a crackling spark that made her heart race.
“Draco,” she whispered, her voice shaking with raw honesty, squeezing his hand tightly, her cheeks flushing crimson.
“I’m... so anxious, loves. I’ve never thought about anal before, not seriously—it’s not something I ever craved or imagined for myself, and the idea of anything inside me there feels so foreign, so overwhelming.”
Her voice trembled, her free hand fidgeting with the hem of her robe, “I’m scared it’ll hurt—really hurt, not just a bad stretch like with Theo’s piercing at first, but something deeper, sharper, like my body’s being pushed beyond its limits. I’m worried it’ll feel invasive, like I’m losing control of myself, like my body isn’t mine anymore. I’m scared I won’t like it, that it’ll feel wrong or dirty in a way I can’t shake, and that it’ll change how I feel about our intimacy—make it less about love, more about... something physical I can’t connect with.”
Her voice softened, her eyes locking on his, shimmering with vulnerability, “And I’m terrified I’ll disappoint you both, that I won’t be able to handle it, that I’ll let you down if I can’t give you this. I know your past, Draco, but I’m scared I won’t be enough for you, either.”
They nodded for her to continue, “But I love you—both of you—so much it aches, and I want to understand why this matters to you. I need to know it’ll be okay, that you’ll make it safe, that I’ll still feel like me in control.”
Theo leaned forward, his eyes shimmering with raw emotion, his voice thick with devotion as he reached for Hermione’s other hand, his fingers warm and grounding, the bond flaring with his reverent adoration.
“My heart,” he murmured, “you’re so fucking brave, laying all that bare—it’s a miracle , how much you trust us with your fears.”
He paused, his throat tight, his hand squeezing hers gently, “For me, it’s not about the act—it’s about you trusting us with every part of you, giving us something so intimate, so vulnerable, that it binds us even closer. It’s about seeing you open to us completely, knowing we’re your safe place.”
His voice wavered, his eyes flickering with vulnerability, “Draco’s past—those scars, the weight he carries—it’s part of why this means so much. He’s giving you everything, love, despite what he’s been through. But my cock, with this piercing—it’s too much, I’m not interested in doing that with you honestly, I think it wouldn’t be good for either of us. Draco’s the one, love—he’s gentler there, and I’d be right beside you, holding you, kissing you, making you feel safe too. I would love to see you two together like that, but I don’t want to be the one doing it.”
His hand squeezed hers, the bond pulsing with his aching devotion, his cock stirring slightly, the piercing a faint pressure against his trousers.
Draco’s voice breaking with vulnerability, “Granger, my love, my wife,” he murmured, leaning closer, “It’s all about us—about loving you completely, about showing you how much you mean to me, to us. I want this because it’s you—because I want to worship every inch of you, to make you feel safe and loved, no matter what.”
His voice wavered, his eyes pleading, “My past—those scars, the things I did, the things I survived—they make me feel unworthy of you sometimes. The Sectumsempra, the Dark Mark, the choices I made under pressure—I’m scared I’ll hurt you, that I’m not enough to make this good for you. But I’d go so slow, use every charm and potion I know to make it right, make it ours. I need to hear your fears, love—every single one, so we can carry them together.”
Hermione’s voice trembled,“I’m scared it’ll hurt so much I can’t handle it, Draco—like it’s too much for my body, like I’m being torn apart in a way I can’t recover from. I’m worried it’ll feel invasive, like I’m losing myself, like my body’s not mine anymore. I’m scared I’ll feel exposed, vulnerable in a way that’s too raw, like I’m giving up too much control.”
Her eyes shimmered with emotion, her hands squeezing theirs, “I’m terrified it’ll change how I see our intimacy, make it feel... mechanical, or just about the act, not about our love. And I’m scared I’ll disappoint you, that I won’t be able to handle it, that I’ll let you down if I can’t give you this.”
Her eyes closed and she whispered, “But I love you—both of you—so much, and the idea of giving you this, of trusting you with something so intimate—it makes my heart ache in a good way, even if I’m scared. I’m open to trying it this summer, with an open mind—to see if I can love it with you, because it’s you. What about magical aids? Would they help make it safer?”
Theo’s eyes softened with gratitude, his voice thick with devotion, “My angel, your fears, your trust—it’s everything. We’ll use some magical aids to make it safe, to make it feel like love.”
He paused, his voice trembling, “There’s Lenitudo Serum, a potion Draco can brew—moonflower and asphodel, it relaxes muscles, dulls pain, makes you feel warm, pliant, like you’re floating in love. We can use it if you really want, but I think it may remove you somewhat from the experience, so if we can try without it, I think that would be best. And Molli Corpus, a charm that softens anal tissue, makes it yield without hurt, like a warm caress from us. That one I do think we should use, we can try it out long before to see how it makes you feel.”
His hand squeezed hers, the bond pulsing with his adoration, “I’d be there, holding you both, kissing you together, making sure you feel us, not just the act. What scares you most, love? Tell us—we’ll carry it with you.”
Draco nodded, his voice raw honesty, “Hermione, you’re our everything,” he murmured, leaning to kiss her forehead, his lips trembling with love, “we’ll use Slick Silken, a lubrication charm that makes everything glide, no friction, just pure pleasure that feels like us. We’ll test every potion and charm to make sure it’s perfectbeforehand—no pain, just love.”
His hand slid to her thigh, stroking gently, sparking a shiver.
Hermione’s smile was shy but resolute, her voice trembling with vulnerability, “I need time, Draco, Theo—to feel ready. I need to know it’ll be about us, our love, not just pushing boundaries. I’m scared of feeling like I’m not in control, like my body’s not mine, or that I’ll feel... dirty in a way I can’t shake. I need to know I’ll still feel like your Hermione, even if it’s hard. Those charms, potions—they sound reassuring, like they could make it feel safe, like love. I want to plan it together, make it special, make it ours—because I love you both so much.”
Her eyes locked on theirs, the bond flooded with love, “I’m open to trying if we ease into it, with all that—because it’s you both.”
The next week, Theo was on his second week of alternating days and nights at St. Mungo’s. When he stumbled home after dawn, he’d often find Hermione in the kitchen brewing tea before her lessons.
One morning, he appeared bleary-eyed, hair sticking up in every direction, healer robes half unbuttoned.
“You look like you fought a basilisk,” she teased gently, handing him a cup.
“Worse,” he muttered. “Children with magical measles. You can’t apparate them it turns out—they sneeze sparks.”
She laughed softly, brushing a few strands of hair off his forehead. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you before dinner.”
He caught her wrist before she could pull away, his thumb tracing the faint shimmer of the bond mark on her finger. “You still hum when you brew tea,” he said, voice low.
“What?”
“You used to hum when we studied at Hogwarts. Same tune. You never even notice.”
She smiled faintly. “Maybe it helps the magic steep properly.”
Theo leaned down and kissed her cheek before heading for their rooms, the gesture so natural it left her heart warm long after he was gone.
By the middle of the week, Pansy and Blaise came by for dinner, dragging Harry and Ginny along. The table filled with laughter and wine and the smell of roasted rosemary chicken.
Ginny teased Draco relentlessly about the Quibbler’s latest piece on his “redemption arc,” which described him as the new face of post-war nobility.
“Oh yes,” Pansy drawled. “Because nothing says nobility like watching Draco panic when an owl delivers official correspondence.”
Theo snorted into his drink. “He does jump a lot lately.”
Draco scowled. “You lot are insufferable.”
Hermione laughed so hard she nearly spilled her wine. “You love us all, admit it.”
He sighed dramatically. “Tragically, yes.”
Later that night, when the guests were gone and the house had fallen quiet again, Hermione found him standing in the parlor, staring at the fire.
“You do love them,” she said softly, leaning against the doorframe.
Draco didn’t turn, but his voice was warm. “They’ve somehow become the loud, meddlesome family I never knew I wanted… even unbelievably… Potter.”
She smiled, crossing to him. “You’ve changed more than you realize, Draco.”
He looked at her then, eyes softening. “You did that to me.”
There was the morning Draco tried to make pancakes and ended up summoning Theo from bed to stop a grease fire. Hermione laughed until tears streamed down her face.
“Brilliant,” Theo said tiredly, flicking his wand to clean the mess. “We nearly died for breakfast.”
“Consider it my domestic debut,” Draco muttered, setting down the burnt pan.
Later that afternoon, Hermione and Theo spent hours in the garden—she trimming herbs for potion work, him napping on the bench beside her. Every now and then, her wand would flick to cast a shade charm over him as the sun crept across the sky.
He woke to find her curled up next to him, asleep too, her head resting on his shoulder. The quiet bond between them thrummed peacefully, steady as a heartbeat.
On the tenth day home, a storm rolled in. Hermione stayed home, editing her final Charms essays at the desk in the parlor. The rain beat against the windows as she muttered evaluations under her breath.
Draco wandered in from his study, dropping a stack of parchment onto the sofa. “Session’s over. I’m free for the next few weeks till summer session starts up.”
“Congratulations,” she said distractedly.
He crouched beside her, chin propped on her shoulder. “You say that like you don’t realize what this means.”
She looked up. “That you’ll finally stop pacing around the house reading legislation aloud?”
“That,” he said, lips ghosting near her ear, “and that I’m going to spend the next week thoroughly distracting you from academia.”
She turned toward him, cheeks pink. “You’re incorrigible.”
“True.” He smiled, brushing a kiss against her cheek. “But you’re smiling again. Mission accomplished.”
On the last evening of those two weeks leading up to Hermione’s final exam of the term, the three of them sat together in their suite—Theo half-dozing with his head in Hermione’s lap, Draco reading beside her with one arm draped along the back of the couch. The fire burned low, and outside the wind hummed through the trees.
Hermione closed her book, glancing between them. “It’s been nice,” she murmured. “Norma even since we got back.”
Theo mumbled without opening his eyes, “Dangerously so.”
Draco smirked faintly. “He’s right. Every time life feels peaceful, something explodes.”
She rolled her eyes. “Let’s not jinx it.”
The bond pulsed softly between them, warm and even—a steady hum of contentment that wrapped around all three like a heartbeat.
Notes:
Anything anyone wants the triad to do over the summer? Let me know in the comments.
Chapter 157: The Swing
Chapter Text
It was just over two weeks after their getaway, the evening after Hermione’s final exam for the spring Charms term. It had been a grueling day of practical spellwork that had left her mind buzzing and her body aching with fatigue.
She stepped into the manor, expecting a quiet evening to decompress, but the bond surged with a sudden, electric wave of desire and love from Draco and Theo, pulling her toward the bedroom like a magnet.
As she pushed open the door, her breath caught in a sharp, her heart racing with a mix of exhaustion and visceral arousal.
Draco and Theo stood beside a sex swing, their bodies bare except for tight black briefs, Draco’s lean, scarred torso gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat, his cock straining against the fabric, his silver eyes blazing with possessive, filthy love.
Theo’s lean muscular frame was taut, his cock pressing against his briefs, throbbing with need, his stormy brown yes soft with reverent adoration.
The bond pulsed with their shared intent to worship her, to celebrate her triumph with a night of unbridled pleasure.
Hermione’s surprise was clear, “Draco, Theo,” she murmured, her voice soft but trembling with curiosity and desire, “what’s all this?”
Her eyes flicked to the swing, its leather seat and straps swaying gently, the chains clinking softly, her pussy clenching hard, soaking her panties as the bond flared with their love.
Draco stepped forward, his grin wicked but tender, his hand cupping her face, thumb brushing her cheek with reverent possession, his voice a low, filthy growl dripping with devotion. “Granger, our brilliant fucking witch,” he snarled, his silver eyes locked on hers, “you fucking owned those exams, and tonight, we’re worshipping this gorgeous body—every fucking inch, every filthy moan, in this swing, till your pussy’s screaming and squirting like a satisfied wife.”
His lips crashed against hers, tongues tangling with desperate passion, the bond flaring with his possessive adoration, his cock twitching against her thigh through his briefs.
Theo joined, kissing her neck with tender reverence, his voice soft, “Our heart, you’ve earned this—let us love you, make you feel like the goddess you are,” his hands stroking her sides, the bond pulsing with his devotion.
They guided her to the swing, peeling her dress away with excited fingers, revealing her lace bra and panties, soaked with slick that glistened in the candlelight.
The swing’s charms adjusted, the leather seat molding to her curves like a lover’s embrace as she sat, legs spread wide by the enchanted straps, thighs supported by soft, velvet-lined bands that tilted her hips upward at a lewd angle, her pussy fully exposed open, shoulders cradled by padded straps that kept her weightless, the chains clinking with every slight movement.
Draco knelt between her thighs, his lips brushing her inner thigh, his voice a filthy snarl, “Fuck, Granger—look at this cunt, dripping through for us, begging to be worshipped.”
Theo stood beside her, kissing her lips deeply, “You’re our everything, love—gonna make you scream,” his hands cupping her breasts through her bra, the bond pulsing with his adoration.
Draco’s fingers tore her panties away with a rip, the lace shredding, baring her pussy—lips puffy and flushed a deep, glistening pink, inner folds shimmering like wet silk.
“Gods, Granger—this pussy’s a fucking masterpiece, so wet it’s begging for my tongue already,” he growled, his tongue lapping her pussy with a wet slurp, tasting her slick with a hungry, guttural moan, circling her clit with brutal, teasing precision, sparking electric, white-hot jolts that made her hips buck in the swing.
“Fucking Merlin, love—taste like fucking sin, this cunt’s ours to worship,” he snarled, sucking her clit hard, her moan obscene as his lips pulled at her sensitive bud, her pussy spasming already.
Hermione’s moan was raw, “Draco—fuck, love you!” her hands tangling in his hair, pulling hard, her pussy clenching as the swing tilted her hips higher, the straps digging into her thighs with a delicious bite, amplifying every sensation, the chains clinking rhythmically.
Theo tore her bra away with another rip, his lips sucking her nipple hard, grazing her sensitive peak, sparking shivers that rippled through her core, “So beautiful, my heart—your tits are fucking perfect,” his voice tender but thick with love.
Draco’s tongue flicked her clit relentlessly, “Gonna make this pussy squirt, Granger—our perfect wife,” he roared, two fingers thrusting into her pussy with a wet schlick, curling hard against her G-spot, her pussy clenching tight, squirting a forceful spurt that soaked his wrist and dripped down to the floor.
“Fuck, love—your cunt’s a fucking fountain, gushing for us,” he grumbled, fingers pumping faster, his tongue lapping her clit in rapid, punishing strokes that made her gush further.
Hermione’s screams were untamed, “Draco—Theo—fuck, love you!” her pussy spasming violently in the swing, the straps holding her open, the chains clinking as her hips bucked, orgasm crashing like a tidal wave, pussy convulsing around Draco’s fingers.
“Draco—love you!”
Theo kissed her deeply, swallowing her screams, his hands pinching her nipples, “Cum for us, love—show us your pleasure, just like that… you’ve got more in you,”.
Theo stepped back, shedding his briefs, his cock springing free, the apadravya piercing glinting as he lubed his fingers with a quick charm, thrusting two into Draco’s ass, stretching him wide with slow, deliberate curls, grazing his prostate, sparking a guttural moan, “Theo—ugh please, fuck me!” he pleded.
Draco groaned more, his lips glistening with Hermione’s slick, his voice a filthy snarl, “Fuck, Granger—your pussy’s a fucking dream, gonna fuck it raw till it’s dripping my cum.”
He pulled back, guiding his cock to Hermione’s pussy, thrusting in with a sharp thrust, her pussy stretching tight around him, taking his whole length in a smooth glide.
“Take my cock, Granger—fucking this perfect cunt, gonna make it so full,” he boomed, hips slamming, the slap-slap-slap of his balls against her ass and their heavy breathing the only noise.
The swing was swaying wildly, chains clinking as the straps tilted her hips higher, amplifying every thrust, her pussy clenching, walls trembling at the force of his thrusts.
Theo positioned himself behind Draco, lubing his cock, the piercing glinting as he thrust into Draco’s ass.
The slap-slap-slap of Theo’s balls against Draco’s ass blended with the schlick-schlick of Draco’s cock rocketing in Hermione’s pussy,.
“Fuck, Theo—your piercing’s grinding in my ass, love you,” Draco roared, his thrusts into Hermione deepening, driven by Theo’s relentless rhythm, “Granger—your cunt’s choking my cock, gonna fill this pussy with my cum, make it drip full,” his voice a filthy, enthralled command.
Theo’s thrusts were fierce, but he held back, his jaw clenched, his voice a strained growl, “Not yet, love—gonna wait for you to fill her, make her ours,” his hips slamming harder, the piercing scraping Draco’s prostate, his cock throbbing with unreleased need.
Draco’s thrusts into Hermione were growing erratic, “Take it, Granger—my cock owning this perfect pussy, gonna stuff it with cum,” he roared, the schlorp-schlick obscene, her pussy clenching tight trying to hold him inside.
Hermione’s screams were frantic, “Draco—Theo—fuck, need more!” her pussy spasming violently in the swing, the straps holding her open, the chains clinking as her hips bucked, her second orgasm burst open, “Draco—Theo—love you!”.
Draco howled, thrusting deep, spilling thick, hot loads of cum deep in her pussy, “Granger—mine, fucking love you, take my cum!” his voice a guttural grumble, his cock pulsing with each jet, filling her until cum and slick dripped from her.
Theo pulled out of Draco, his cock still rock-hard, the piercing glinting as he moved to Hermione, easing her from the swing with tender hands, laying her on the bed, her pussy dripping with Draco’s cum.
“My turn, love—gonna fuck you, feel you fll with his cum,” Theo barked, thrusting his cock into her pussy, the piercing massaging her walls, sparking white-hot pleasure, as it plunged through the thick, creamy mix of Draco’s cum and her slick, the sensation overwhelming—hot, wet, and viscous.
“Fuck, love—your pussy’s full of his cum, so fucking tight and slippery, feels like heaven,” Theo bellowed, hips slamming, the piercing rubbing her G-spot with every thrust, her plea for more filling the room.
“Draco—Theo—fuck, love you!” the sensation of Theo’s piercing dragging through the thick cum filing her was overwhelming, her pussy clenching violently, squirting more floods that drenched Theo’s cock, the sheets, and Draco’s hand.
“Fuck, love—your pussy’s a fucking cum-soaked dream, taking his piercing like it’s your toy,” Draco whispered in her ear.
Theo’s thrusts were unyielding, “Cum for me, love—let this pussy explode with his cum inside you,” his voice raw with love, his cock throbbing but holding back until her climax.
Hermione’s third orgasm was the most intense, pussy convulsing in violent, soul-devastating contractions around Theo’s cock, the piercing amplifying the spasms, “Theo—Draco—love you!”
Theo growled deeply, finally spilling more thick, hot ropes deep in her pussy, mixing his cum with Draco’s, “My love—take my cum, love you!” the sensation of his cum joining Draco’s overwhelming, her pussy clenching around the thick, creamy flood, frothy streams dripping out, soaking the sheets.
Draco’s fingers shoved their mixed cum deeper into her as it spilled out, “Fuck, Granger—our cum stuffing this pussy…. we love you,” his voice a filthy, his hand relentless, pushing the creamy mix back into her, sparking aftershocks in her pussy.
They collapsed onto the bed, Draco pulling Hermione into his arms, Theo curling behind him, their lips kissing every inch—Hermione’s lips, Draco’s jaw, Theo’s shoulders—whispering, “Our perfect witch, our love,”.
Notes:
That's one way to finish final exams =P
Chapter 158: Friends and Flowers
Chapter Text
Hermione sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the low coffee table, surrounded by open nail polish bottles, and half-eaten cucumber sandwiches.
Pansy lounged across the sofa like a queen in exile, swirling her wine glass and surveying the chaos. “If you’d told me six years ago I’d be in Harry Potter’s house painting Granger’s nails, I’d have hexed you on principle.”
Ginny snorted from the armchair where she was twisting her hair into elaborate curls. “You still could. I bet Harry would thank you for adding a little more excitement to his week.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, blowing on her freshly painted fingers. “You’re all very funny.”
Luna, perched on a cushion by the window in a pale blue sundress, smiled dreamily as she held up a bottle of glittery polish. “This one reminds me of wrackspurt trails,” she said serenely. “Very calming for the aura.”
Pansy blinked. “What?”
Ginny grinned. “You heard the lady—sparkles are spiritually necessary.”
Luna nodded, completely serious. “Exactly. You never know when you’ll need to reflect bad energy.”
Hermione laughed softly. “You always manage to make everything sound so mystical.”
Luna’s gaze turned warm. “That’s because most things are, if you look long enough.”
The others went quiet for a beat, caught by that peculiar kind of Luna truth that always seemed to drop into the room like a feather—gentle but impossible to ignore.
Pansy set down her wine and plucked the curling wand from Ginny’s hand.
“All right, Weasley, you’ve made a mess of your layers. Hold still before I have to send for professional help.”
Ginny groaned. “You’d think I asked you to perform surgery.”
“Darling, hair is surgery. It’s just more visible.”
Hermione giggled, sipping her own wine. “She’s not wrong.”
“Don’t encourage her,” Ginny muttered, but her grin betrayed her amusement.
Luna had begun weaving small white flowers into Hermione’s curls. “You should wear them tomorrow,” she murmured. “They suit you. Fire and softness at once—very rare.”
Hermione flushed. “Fire and softness?”
“It’s what happens when two opposite things love each other,” Luna said simply. “Balance is the hardest kind of magic.”
Pansy smirked. “Is that your subtle commentary on Hermione’s life choices?”
Hermione shot her a look, but Pansy just raised a brow and said, “I’m just saying, two Slytherins and a Gryffindor—if that isn’t experimental magic, I don’t know what is.”
Ginny burst out laughing so hard she nearly dropped her wand. “Merlin’s sake, Pansy, you can’t just say things like that!”
Luna looked up, utterly unbothered. “She’s right, though. Most people never learn how to love without choosing sides. Hermione always was good at doing impossible things.”
Hermione’s laughter faded into something softer. “You all make it sound much more heroic than it feels.”
Pansy reached over to tap her arm. “That’s because you’ve always been the responsible one. You make bravery look exhausting.”
Ginny smiled fondly. “She’s got you there.”
Hermione rolled her eyes again, but her cheeks stayed pink.
By the time the sun dipped low, the room was cluttered with half-finished hairstyles, scattered nail glitter, and empty plates.
Ginny, now sporting perfectly tamed waves (thanks to Pansy’s precision), was scrolling through her enchanted paper.
“According to Witch Weekly, everyone’s dying to see what the three of you wear tomorrow. They’re calling you ‘the most influential triad in modern Britain.’”
Hermione groaned. “Merlin, that’s ridiculous.”
Pansy leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “No, darling, that’s branding. Play it up. Walk into that ballroom like the Ministry itself works for you.”
Ginny laughed. “You really missed your calling as a PR witch.”
“I married rich instead, and started a beauty empire. Much less stressful.”
Hermione snorted into her tea. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Yes,” Pansy said proudly. “But also right.”
Luna, who had been tracing a flower pattern on her wrist with glitter polish, said dreamily, “The gala will go beautifully. I saw it in a daydream—lots of gold light and laughter. Oh, and phoenix feathers, followed by a bit of drama to make it memorable.”
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “You actually dreamed about it?”
“Of course,” Luna said serenely. “When magic gathers to heal something, it hums. You’ll feel it tomorrow. Like wings.”
Hermione stared at her for a long moment, the way one might look at a prophecy wrapped in poetry. “Thank you, Luna.”
“You don’t need to thank me. You’re the fire in the feathers, you know.”
Pansy tilted her head. “She gets weirder every day, and somehow I like her more for it.”
Luna only smiled. “That’s because you stopped fighting your own magic, Pansy.”
That made everyone laugh—but the sound carried warmth, not mockery.
Later that evening, the air had gone hazy with candlelight and half-finished bottles of wine. Pansy had started painting tiny emerald serpents on Hermione’s ring finger, while Ginny worked on Luna’s hair, which—despite not needing it—looked ethereal and silver-gold under the glow.
“So,” Pansy said casually, “what is Draco wearing tomorrow?”
Hermione hesitated, then smirked a little. “Black, of course. Always black. But with red trim this time—to match.”
Pansy groaned dramatically. “You three are going to melt half the ballroom with tension alone. I can’t wait.”
Luna blinked, thoughtful. “You do glow when you’re together,” she said simply. “Not just from the bond. It’s something else. The way stars look when they realize they’re reflected in water.”
Everyone went quiet again, that hush of awe that Luna always seemed to summon without meaning to.
Hermione finally whispered, “You really are magic, Luna.”
Luna smiled faintly. “So are you. You just tend to make yours complicated.”
Pansy raised her glass. “To complicated magic—and to the Phoenix Gala. May it raise a fortune, and may Blaise stop talking about how much it’s costing me.”
Ginny laughed, clinking glasses. “To good causes—and better friends.”
Hermione joined in softly. “And to light, no matter how dark it gets.”
Luna lifted her teacup (filled with chamomile, of course). “To beginnings disguised as endings.”
The glasses touched, and laughter filled the room again.
By the time they began cleaning up, the fire had burned low.
Pansy had fallen asleep half-sitting on the sofa, her lipstick smudged; Ginny was trying to tuck stray curls under her scarf; Luna was braiding her own hair, humming softly.
Hermione sat at the window, looking out over London’s glowing skyline.
Luna joined her silently, setting a hand on hers. “You’re thinking about tomorrow,” she said gently.
Hermione nodded. “I’m thinking about everything.”
“Then stop for a little while,” Luna whispered. “Just feel. You can plan tomorrow when the stars change again. No matter how much you plan today, tommurrow will still be what it’s meant to be… there’s no stopping it.”
Hermione looked at her, eyes soft. “You always know exactly what to say.”
Luna smiled, tilting her head. “That’s because I listen to the air. It remembers the things people forget to tell themselves.”
Hermione laughed quietly, the sound trembling between peace and emotion. “You’re wonderful.”
“I’m right,” Luna said simply. “And so are you.”
They sat there a while longer in the candlelight, the others dozing, the town outside alive and pulsing with unseen magic.
Tomorrow would bring the gala, the press, and the return of chaos—but for now, surrounded by friends, glitter, and laughter, it felt almost possible that everything could turn out all right for once.
Hermione had woken early, nerves fluttering in her stomach with the anticipation of the evening ahead. The gala loomed large—months of planning, countless fittings, and endless speculation from the press had built to this moment. She just hoped it would go smoothly.
She was just finishing her chai tea when an owl tapped softly on the kitchen window, a pale envelope tied neatly to its leg.
The handwriting was elegant and unmistakable.
My dear Hermione,
I’ve something in the gardens I’d like to show you—if you can spare a moment before your busy evening. I promise it’s worth your time.
Fondly,
Narcissa Black-Malfoy
Hermione smiled faintly, curiosity blooming alongside affection. She told the elves to expect her back for lunch to get ready, wrapped her light shawl over her shoulders, and apparated to Malfoy Manor.
The air was warm for mid-June, a lazy breeze winding through the rows of newly pruned hedges and silver-green baby pine trees that stretched across the vast gardens. Narcissa was waiting by the east terrace, gloves on, a wide-brimmed hat shading her elegant face.
“Hermione, my dear,” she said, her smile softening as Hermione approached. “You look lovely. Thank you for coming.”
“You said you wanted to show me something?” Hermione asked gently.
“I did.” Narcissa gestured for her to follow down the stone path. “I’ve been gardening again. A rather old hobby that feels new these days.”
They stopped beside a newly turned patch of soil bordered by white marble stones. The bed was simple, but breathtaking: three types of flowers, each distinct, each vibrant, each carefully chosen.
Hermione crouched down, eyes widening. “Oh, they’re beautiful.”
Narcissa smiled with quiet pride. “They each represent one of you. I thought… perhaps the garden should tell a story now that our family is growing. We can add more when there are children, to represent them too someday.”
She motioned to the first bloom—a pale silver-white orchid that glowed faintly in the morning light. “This one is Draco’s. Orchids are rare, but resilient. They only flourish with care, and they carry beauty without fragility. Like my son—though he hides it better than the flower does.”
Hermione smiled softly. “It suits him.”
Next, Narcissa gestured to a deep green hellebore, its petals streaked with black and gold. “Theo’s. Quiet strength, steady loyalty. It survives in cold, in shadow, and blooms even when others cannot. There’s something enduring about that kind of soul.”
Hermione’s throat tightened as she looked at it. “He’ll love that, truly. It’s very him.”
“And this one…” Narcissa knelt carefully beside the third flower, her voice gentling. “…is yours.”
It was a crimson flame lily, curling petals streaked with gold at the tips, the whole bloom burning alive in color.
Hermione reached out, her fingers trembling slightly. “A flame lily.”
“Yes,” Narcissa said. “Passionate, clever, unpredictable. Fire and growth in one body. It doesn’t simply survive—it transforms everything around it. Rather like you, dear.”
Hermione blinked hard, tears gathering despite her best efforts. “You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” Narcissa interrupted gently, standing and brushing soil from her gloves. “Because when I look at these three flowers, I see harmony and growth. And I see the first hope I’ve had for my son’s happiness in years.”
Hermione couldn’t speak for a moment. Then, voice barely a whisper, “You really think of me as… part of the family?”
Narcissa turned toward her, eyes glimmering in the sunlight. “Oh, my dear girl. You are family. You’ve brought light into Draco’s life, steadiness to Theo’s, and… if I’m being selfish, a bit of warmth to mine as well. You’re almost the daughter I never had.”
Hermione’s tears fell then, silently, hot against the summer air. Narcissa reached out instinctively, pulling her into a light embrace—graceful but sincere, her gloved hand resting against Hermione’s hair.
“I’m sorry,” Hermione murmured. “I just… that means more than I can say. I didn’t think I’d ever be a daughter again.”
Narcissa smiled faintly. “Then say nothing. Some things are best understood rather than spoken.”
Hermione sniffled softly, stepping back. “Would you—would you like to come back to Nott Manor? I was just going to start getting ready for the gala. It would mean a lot to have you there while I do.”
For the first time in a long while, Narcissa Malfoy looked surprised. Then a genuine smile spread across her face. “I would be honored, Hermione.”
They apparated back together to Nott Manor, the scent of lemon and parchment lingering faintly through the halls form the library where the boys were researching. The elves had already laid out their dresses, jewelry boxes, and trays of tea in Hermione’s suite.
As the afternoon unfolded, they fell into a rhythm Hermione hadn’t realized she’d missed: a mother-daughter kind of quiet companionship.
Narcissa brushed Hermione’s hair out as she pinned it into the half-up braid Pansy had planned for her, fingers surprisingly deft for a woman who rarely styled anyone’s hair but her own.
“You’ve become very dear to us all,” Narcissa said softly. “You know, when I first learned of the triad, I feared you’d be consumed by its… intensity. Or run away from it. But you balance them. You make it real, not just magical fate.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Sometimes it still feels like both.”
“Love often does.”
Hermione adjusted the delicate beaded comb in her hair. “Do you ever miss when it was just the three of you—Lucius, you, and Draco?”
Narcissa hesitated, a shadow crossing her expression. “Sometimes. But there’s also relief in seeing him build something better. Something untainted by what came before.”
They shared a look in the mirror—two women who had carried the weight of different legacies, both trying to carve out something brighter.
By late afternoon, the room was filled with sunlight and laughter. Narcissa had insisted on selecting Hermione’s jewelry, finally settling on a pair of golden drop earrings and the delicate beaded glass necklace Draco had bought her in Africa.
“This one,” Narcissa said, fastening the clasp. “It reminds me of balance—tradition and new life in harmony. And perhaps,” she added with a faint smile, “a bit of rebellion, too.”
Hermione laughed quietly. “Draco would like that.”
When they finally finished, Narcissa stepped back to admire her handiwork. “You look radiant. Theo and Draco will fall apart when they see you.”
Hermione blushed, smoothing her gown—a fiery shade of orange-red that shimmered like molten fire when the light hit it.
“You should see yourself,” Hermione said softly. Narcissa’s gown was deep silver with embroidered ivy winding through the bodice, elegant and timeless. “You look beautiful, Narcissa.”
Narcissa’s smile softened. “It’s been a long time since someone told me that.”
“Well,” Hermione said, looping her arm through hers, “it’s long overdue.”
As they descended the staircase toward the grand foyer, the dim evening light spilled across the marble floor.
Draco and Theo were waiting below, already dressed for the gala—Theo in deep fern green trimmed with black, Draco in classic black with crimson embroidery that mirrored the hue of Hermione’s gown.
Both men looked up at the same moment—and for a breathless instant, the world went still.
Hermione flushed under their gaze, and Narcissa, standing just behind her, gave a quiet, knowing smile.
Theo was the first to speak, voice low and reverent. “You both look incredible.”
Draco’s eyes met his mother’s first, soft with unspoken gratitude, before shifting to Hermione. His expression melted into awe. “You’re—” He stopped himself, shaking his head slightly. “You’re perfect.”
Hermione smiled. “Gentlemen always say that.”
“And I always mean it,” he said simply.
Narcissa cleared her throat lightly, smiling as the tension broke. “Shall we, then? It wouldn’t do to be late to a gala one is partly hosting.”
Theo offered his arm to Hermione, Draco to his mother, and as the four of them walked toward the floo, the manor glowed faintly with the light of their bond.
For the first time, Hermione didn’t feel like a guest in a pure-blood world. She felt like family.
Notes:
Ideas on what will happen at the gala? comment!
Chapter 159: Gala to Ash
Chapter Text
At the end of the long, lantern-lit drive to the estate, the Phoenix Gala blazed to life—hundreds of floating candles and softly glowing orbs swaying like fireflies above the marble courtyard. The scent of summer jasmine mixed with champagne in the air.
They had taken the floo to the guest house on property to board a carriage for their grand entrance courtesy of Pansy’s elaborate planning. Mrs. Maloy had flooed directly to the estate.
Their carriage—a sleek, midnight-black enchanted coach with red and green trim—rolled to a stop beneath the grand archway. A cluster of reporters already waited beyond the rope line, their quills suspended in eager anticipation. The crowd murmured with barely contained excitement.
Inside, Hermione’s heart fluttered as she adjusted the fiery silk of her gown, its orange-red fabric flickering like living flame with every breath. She felt Draco’s warm hand slide over hers, grounding her. Theo, sitting across from them in deep forest-green dress robes with silver cufflinks, gave her a reassuring smile.
“Ready?” he asked lightly, though his own pulse thudded visibly at his throat.
Hermione exhaled. “As I’ll ever be.”
Draco’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer, his voice a low murmur. “You’ll outshine them all.”
The coach door opened, and the evening burst into applause and light.
Theo stepped out first, tall and poised, offering a hand to Hermione. She took it, her gown cascading after her like liquid fire. The crowd gasped as she emerged—murmurs rippling through the journalists and society watchers who lined the entrance.
“That’s her—look at that dress!”
“All three of them together again—Merlin, they make quite a picture.”
“The Triad of the Age, someone’s calling them.”
Draco followed last, the crimson embroidery at his cuffs catching the light. He took his mother’s nod from the doorway of the coach before joining them, his hand settling instinctively at Hermione’s back as if claiming and protecting her all at once.
Quills flurried, flash-charms burst, and enchanted cameras clicked in a storm of silver light.
“Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Nott! Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott! Over here!”
“How does it feel to host the first Phoenix Gala?”
“Is it true the event proceeds will go to war-orphan scholarships?”
“You’re glowing again! Is that the bond magic?”
Hermione smiled graciously through the chaos. “Yes,” she said simply, her voice steady. “It’s for the children—and for rebuilding what the war broke.”
Theo slipped his arm around her waist in quiet solidarity, his touch protective but soft. Draco inclined his head to the cameras, the faintest smirk playing at his lips. “And as for the glow,” he added, his tone smooth as velvet, “I’d say happiness tends to do that.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd; even a few reporters smiled.
The great double doors opened, spilling them into the transformed ballroom. Gone was its usual icy grandeur—tonight it burned with gold and scarlet. Fire-charmed phoenix feathers floated overhead, dissolving into sparks that never fell.
Everywhere, guests turned as the triad entered. Conversation softened to murmurs; heads inclined respectfully. Luna waved from across the room, her pale gown glinting with tiny stars. Blaise raised a glass, grinning in approval.
And Narcissa—resplendent in her silver—stood near the dais, pride gleaming in her eyes as she watched her son walk hand in hand with the woman who had become her family.
Hermione felt the magic of the night like a hum in her chest, the bond between the three of them pulsing gently beneath their skin.
Draco’s thumb brushed against her hand once; Theo’s quiet smile warmed her spine.
“See?” Theo whispered near her ear. “Told you they’d be in awe.”
Hermione laughed softly. “I’m just glad I didn’t trip on the stairs.”
Draco leaned close enough that only she could hear. “You couldn’t fall if you tried. We’d catch you.”
The words, simple as they were, made her heart ache in the sweetest way.
Music swelled as the three of them crossed the ballroom threshold.
A string ensemble perched on the mezzanine played something bright and lilting, and the chandeliers above threw off waves of gilded light that looked like dancing fire.
Guests glittered beneath them—jewel tones, silver embroidery, feathers and silk—all shimmering as if they too were part of the phoenix theme.
Hermione couldn’t help smiling as she looked around.
“It’s… perfect,” she breathed. “Pansy outdid herself.”
Theo chuckled. “You did too. You planned half of it.”
“Only half of her madness,” Draco murmured, earning a light nudge from Hermione’s elbow.
Across the room, Pansy herself materialized, radiant in her gold glittered gown, the hem sparkling like liquid sunlight. Blaise was beside her in sharp black robes and a grin that looked nearly predatory.
“Look who finally arrived!” Pansy exclaimed, sweeping Hermione into an embrace that smelled faintly of champagne and jasmine.
“You’re late, but worth the wait. Honestly, you’re all obscenely photogenic—it’s almost unfair.”
Blaise clasped Draco’s shoulder. “Happy belated birthday, mate. Still alive after your holiday?”
“Barely,” Draco replied smoothly. “It was so hot.”
Hermione smirked. “He means he enjoyed himself.”
Theo’s low laugh joined hers, and Pansy caught it immediately. “Ah, see, they’re all glowing again. Honestly, you three could power Diagon Alley if you held hands long enough.”
Hermione flushed, which delighted Pansy even more. “Stop it,” Hermione hissed under her breath, smiling anyway.
They moved on, weaving through small clusters of guests.
Neville and Luna were standing near the enchanted fountain centerpiece—a phoenix carved in crystal, water streaming from its wings and igniting into red light before vanishing mid-air.
Luna was luminous, her dress pale blue and drifting like mist, a soft swell showing beneath the fabric. She beamed when she saw them. “You look like fire walking among mortals,” she said serenely.
Neville blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What she means is, you all look wonderful.”
Theo grinned. “Congratulations again, Luna. You’re glowing too.”
“Oh, that’s just the baby borrowing my magic,” Luna said matter-of-factly, as though discussing the weather. “She likes when people are happy—it strengthens the bond between us.” Her wide eyes blinked knowingly. “You’d be surprised how much that helps a triad too.”
Hermione and Draco exchanged a startled glance; Theo hid a chuckle behind his glass of wine.
Neville sighed affectionately. “We’ve been over this, love. Not everything is mystical energy.”
“Of course it is,” Luna replied. “It’s just not always visible.”
She smiled softly at Hermione. “Keep letting the fire grow, Hermione. Phoenixes don’t rise by standing still.”
Hermione felt her throat tighten with emotion. “Thank you, Luna. That… actually means a lot.”
On the opposite side of the ballroom, Harry and Ginny were laughing near a buffet table lined with floating platters of desserts. Ginny waved the instant she spotted them, her red hair catching the light like sparks.
“Hermione!” she called. “About time—Pansy’s been threatening to start dancing without you.”
Harry grinned and clasped Draco’s hand, the gesture now easy and genuine after so many months of careful truce-turned-friendship. “This is incredible, really. You lot have turned philanthropy into an art form.”
Theo shrugged modestly. “We had good inspiration. Your story. Hermione’s drive, and Pansy’s flair for drama.”
“And my money,” Draco added dryly.
Ginny laughed. “At least you’re self-aware, Malfoy.”
Hermione rolled her eyes fondly. “Don’t encourage him.”
For a few precious minutes, the talk was light—about Quidditch schedules, Luna’s nursery plans, and the rumor that one of the Weird Sisters might perform later in the evening.
Of course, not everyone in attendance approved.
As Hermione glanced across the room, she caught the flick of a whisper behind a lace fan, the narrowed eyes of an older witch whose family crest gleamed with faded pride. A handful of old-blood wizards stood near the columns, pretending to admire the décor while clearly gossiping about the triad’s every move and shooting her glares.
Draco noticed instantly. His hand brushed Hermione’s lower back in quiet reassurance, his jaw set but his smile smooth. “Ignore them,” he murmured. “Their world’s shrinking and they know it.”
Theo’s tone was softer. “And ours is getting brighter.”
Hermione looked between them and smiled, feeling the pulse of their bond—a steady warmth that wrapped around her heart. For a moment, the whispers didn’t matter at all.
Near the dais, Narcissa Malfoy stood speaking with Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt and Professor McGonagall, all of them watching the crowd with quiet approval. When Narcissa saw her son and his family approach, her expression softened to pure pride.
“My loves,” she greeted, voice rich with warmth. “You’ve done something beautiful tonight.”
Draco kissed her cheek, the gesture subtle but full of affection. “Thank you for coming again, Mother.”
“How could I not?” she said. “The phoenix is a symbol of rebirth, after all. It feels rather… fitting.”
Hermione felt her throat tighten again, remembering the garden of flowers from that morning. “Yes,” she whispered. “It does.”
Narcissa turned to her, smiling knowingly. “You were born to bring light into ruins, Hermione. Never forget that.”
Before Hermione could respond, the orchestra swelled; the first dance was about to begin.
Theo offered his arm with a grin. “Shall we?”
Draco extended his hand as well, smirking faintly. “Who goes first?”
Hermione laughed through her nerves. “You’ll have to take turns.”
The first clear notes of the orchestra drifted down from the mezzanine—soft violins carrying a melody that shimmered like candlelight. Pansy’s voice echoed across the ballroom:
“Ladies and gentlemen, some of our hosts, the Malfoy-Granger-Nott triad, for the opening dance.”
Applause rippled. The crowd drew back to form a circle of golden light.
Theo took Hermione’s hand first, his thumb brushing her knuckles in a reassuring squeeze. “Ready, Lady Fireheart?” he murmured.
She laughed softly. “Lead the way, Lord Green.”
They moved in slow, graceful circles, her fiery gown flaring around them like living flame. When the tempo shifted, Theo spun her toward Draco. The transition was seamless—practiced, yet electric.
Draco caught her effortlessly, his palm firm against her waist. “He’s getting better,” he said, a smirk ghosting over his mouth.
“So are you,” she whispered, smiling up at him.
Their movements wove together: Theo’s warmth, Draco’s precision, Hermione’s light. When the song ended, the three of them stood together in the center of the floor, the faint glow of their bond visible again in the dimness.
Applause swelled like a heartbeat.
Blaise swaggered up to the dais, raising a glass. “To our hosts, including my lovely wife—who somehow convinced the pure-blood elite to part with their galleons for charity. Miracles do happen.”
Laughter rippled through the guests.
Neville lifted his own glass. “And to all the children this will help—may they find a world kinder than the one we inherited.”
Hermione blinked hard, fighting the sting of tears.
Then Luna’s gentle, sing-song voice floated through the silence. “And to the phoenixes who burned and rose together. Sometimes love is just many souls learning to share the same sky.”
The room went quiet, moved, unsure how to respond until Theo, his voice husky, said simply, “Hear, hear.”
Glasses clinked. Magic shimmered overhead—tiny sparks of red and gold blooming like flowers.
After the toasts, conversation bloomed again. The trio mingled easily, laughter following them from cluster to cluster.
Hermione spoke with Professor McGonagall about the new Muggleborn policy; Theo discussed healing innovations with Madam Pomfrey; Draco found himself cornered by Kingsley, who was smiling far too knowingly.
“You’ve changed, Malfoy,” the Minister said.
Draco inclined his head. “I’d like to think I’ve adapted.”
“Adaptation,” Kingsley replied, “is what keeps the world alive.”
Later, escaping the warmth of the ballroom, the three of them slipped out onto the marble balcony. Night air cooled their flushed faces; the gardens below shimmered with the soft glow of enchanted torches.
Theo leaned on the railing, gazing out over the dark. “You realize we actually did it, right? The gala, the charity fund—everything. We’re changing things.”
Hermione smiled between them. “I never doubted either of you. Maybe the world, once. But not you or our ability to pull this off.. espically with Pansy’s expertise.”
A breeze lifted the ends of her hair, brushing across Draco’s sleeve. He caught a strand absently, fingers gentle. Theo’s hand settled at her back.
Theo’s voice came low, almost reverent. “Phoenixes, huh?”
Hermione turned toward him, meeting both their eyes. “Then let’s promise to keep rising.”
Draco’s answering whisper was simple, steady. “Together.”
They stood there until the music drifted out again from the ballroom, until laughter and light spilled through the doors and they turned, side by side, back into the warmth.
The hour was late, but no one wanted the evening to end.
Laughter, champagne, and candlelight still filled the estate gardens when Pansy raised her glass and announced, “For the finale—fireworks. But not just any fireworks—watch the sky.”
The crowd drifted outside, silk and velvet brushing marble, the air fragrant with roses and warm summer air. The trio stood near the edge of the maze garden, hands intertwined, while the night above them exploded into color.
Phoenix-shaped fireworks blazed across the sky—wings of scarlet and gold arcing high before scattering into trails of starlight. Gasps echoed from the guests as each burst painted the heavens brighter. The orchestra swelled in accompaniment, the music grand and heart-thudding.
Theo leaned close to Hermione, murmuring near her ear, “You realize this was all your doing?”
She smiled faintly, her cheek brushing his. “Ours.”
When the last firebird faded, the crowd broke into applause. Couples began to drift toward the manor for more dessert and coffee, while others headed out for home, the air buzzing with the thrill of the night.
Hermione tugged Theo’s hand gently. “Let’s walk for a moment—just to breathe before we go back in.”
He nodded, exhausted but content, his hand settling at her waist as they slipped between the hedges of the maze. Lanterns floated low, their light soft and golden against the green. For a minute, it was peaceful—quiet laughter from the party faint in the distance.
“I can’t believe how well this went,” she said softly. “Even the old families donated.”
Theo smiled. “You make it hard to say no.”
Then—
A rustle. Too loud. Too close.
Hermione turned. A figure cloaked in black stepped from the shadows, face masked, wand already raised.
Before she could react, a second figure appeared behind her, grabbing her arm and yanking her deeper into the maze. She screamed, twisting against the hold, the panic flashing down the bond like a lightning strike.
Theo reacted instantly. “HERMIONE!”
His wand was in his hand before the echo faded, a bolt of red light firing past the hedge. “Stupefy!” He grabbed at her other arm.
The curse hit the hedge instead, leaves fluttering.
Another flash of light streaked through the dark—a sickly green one. Theo ducked, dragging Hermione out of its path as she slammed her elbow into her captor’s ribs.
“Expelliarmus!” she cried. One wand flew, but the second figure retaliated with a slicing curse that tore through Theo’s shoulder.
He gasped, stumbling. Blood darkened the fabric of his robes.
“NO!” Hermione shouted. Fury surged through her veins. She fired back—Confringo!—and the ground exploded beside their attackers, showering sparks. The masked figures faltered, then vanished into smoke with a crack of disapparition.
Hermione fell to her knees beside Theo, trembling, pressing her hands over the wound. “Theo, stay with me, please—”
He winced, teeth clenched. “I’m—fine—bloody hell that hurts—”
The fireworks’ smoke still hung in the air above them, but through the lingering haze came shouting—someone had felt the surge of magic.
Draco was the first to appear, wild-eyed, wand already drawn. The moment he saw the blood on Theo’s arm and the scorch mark on Hermione’s gown, his face drained of color.
“What happened?” His voice cracked, the control gone.
Hermione shook her head, still shaking. “Masked attackers—two of them—Theo’s hurt— they got away already”
Draco was beside them in a breath, dropping to his knees. He pressed his hand over Theo’s arm, magic flaring as he tried to stem the bleeding. “Merlin, you’re freezing—hold on—”
Theo exhaled harshly. “They were waiting… must’ve followed us into the maze…”
Behind Draco, more figures appeared—Narcissa, Blaise, Pansy, and Harry, all pale in the torchlight.
Harry’s wand swept the area. “Security teams are already searching the grounds. Hermione, are you hurt?”
She shook her head, though her voice trembled. “No. Just shaken.”
Narcissa crouched beside Draco, her calm precision at odds with the fear in her eyes. “Draco, focus. Pressure, then seal—Theo, keep still.”
Draco obeyed her, silent tears bright in his eyes as he worked. The magic sealing the wound from outside exposure sparked faintly silver before stabilizing.
Theo hissed, then slumped back, pale but barely conscious. “Could’ve been worse,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “But I think we ruined the party.”
Hermione laughed shakily, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You idiot.”
Draco’s voice cracked again. “Don’t you ever—both of you—do that to me again.”
Harry gave them all a long look before sighing. “Let’s get him to St. Mungo’s. And after that—no more wandering into mazes alone. Agreed?”
Theo groaned. “Agreed.”
Hermione helped lift him with Draco’s arm steadying her. The crowd beyond the hedge still buzzed with oblivious laughter, fireworks dying over their heads.
And as they vanished with a pop toward St. Mungo’s, Draco looked once more at the scorched hedge and whispered, voice raw, “The peace never lasts long for us, does it?”
Notes:
Poor Theo :(
Chapter 160: Terror and Fear
Chapter Text
The white light overhead of the healing ward was too bright.
It washed the color from Draco’s face, turning his knuckles bone-pale where they clenched the arm of the chair beside Theo’s bed.
Theo lay propped up, a fresh bandage wound tight around his shoulder and upper arm. The air still smelled faintly of spell-burn and blood. Hermione sat on the opposite side, her hands trembling as she refilled his water glass.
When the Healer finally left the ward with quiet assurances that Theo would make a full recovery, the door had barely closed before Draco spoke.
“They tried to take you.”
His voice was low, but vibrating with fury. “They grabbed you right on private warded property. You could’ve been gone before anyone noticed.”
Hermione looked up, weary tear-stained, and raw. “I know.”
“You don’t,” he snapped, standing suddenly. “You don’t. I felt it through the bond, Hermione. The fear. The pain of Theo. I couldn’t breathe—Merlin, I thought—”
His voice broke completely. He turned away, gripping the edge of the window ledge hard enough that his hands shook.
Theo tried to lighten it, his voice hoarse. “I’m the one missing half a shoulder, remember?”
Draco spun on him. “Don’t joke about this!”
The tension crackled in the room, the air thick with it.
Hermione rose quietly, stepping between them. “Stop it. Both of you.”
Her voice trembled, but her eyes were steady. “We’re all scared. But turning on each other isn’t going to help.”
Draco’s breathing was ragged. “You think I’m angry at you? I’m terrified, Hermione. You could’ve disappeared forever, and Theo could be dead and I—”
He stopped, raking a hand through his hair, his composure gone. “I wouldn’t survive that.”
Theo’s expression softened. “Dray…”
Hermione touched Draco’s hand, and the moment she did, he deflated, shoulders shaking as the adrenaline bled out of him. “You can’t keep blaming yourself for everything that happens,” she whispered. “This isn’t your fault. None of it has been. This type of crap has been happening to me since I befriended Harry Potter honestly.”
“It is,” he muttered. “You were right there—ten steps from me thru a hedge—and I wasn’t fast enough. I should’ve—”
Theo cut in, voice gentle. “You were there plenty quick. If you hadn’t shown up when you did, I might’ve bled out in that maze. You did enough, mate.”
The silence after that was heavy, but it wasn’t empty. It was full—of fear, of love, of the impossible weight of almost losing one another.
The door creaked open again. The same Healer returned, clipboard in hand.
“The curse was a variant of a Severing Hex—modified, dark in origin. We’ll need to run more diagnostics tomorrow to ensure there’s no curse-residue in the muscle.”
Hermione stiffened. “Dark origin? As in—”
The Healer nodded grimly. “Old-blood runic work. Not something a random thief could cast. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.”
When the door closed again, the weight of that truth settled over them.
Theo exhaled slowly. “So, this isn’t over.”
Draco’s eyes flashed. “Not until I find out who it was. They keep coming back, trying to make good on their threats.”
Hermione placed her hand on his forearm. “You can’t go hunting people down, Draco.”
His voice was quiet, but deadly certain. “Watch me.”
She shook her head at him, “We’ll talk more about this with Harry.”
Later that night, laying in his hospital bed Theo drifted in and out of healing sleep, groaning as pain potions wore off. The glow of the monitoring charms shimmered faintly over his bed.
Hermione sat curled in the chair beside him, one hand resting lightly over his, the other absently tracing the mark of the triad ring on her finger.
Across from her, Draco paced the small room, restless, unable to stop moving. His eyes were red-rimmed from crying in the bathroom alone earlier; the immaculate cuff of his shirt was still spattered faintly with Theo’s dried blood.
“He’s healing just fine,” Hermione said softly.
Draco stopped pacing, staring at the floor. “I keep seeing it. The blood. Hering you screaming.”
She rose, crossing to him. “Stop, Draco. You found us before anyone else even knew what was happening.”
He shook his head. “That’s not enough. They’ll try again. They’re not going to stop till they have you… or something stops them first.”
Her voice cracked as she said his name. “Draco.”
He finally looked at her, really looked at her—and all the fury melted into grief. “If anything ever happened to you or Theo, I don’t—”
She reached for him before he could finish, wrapping her arms around his waist. For a heartbeat he froze, then clung to her like a drowning man, burying his face against her shoulder.
Across the bond, Theo stirred faintly in his sleep, sensing the wash of shared fear and love.
By the time dawn seeped into the ward, the storm inside Draco had eased into quiet exhaustion for the moment.
Theo’s color was better, the Healer’s last charm glowing steady green.
Hermione had fallen asleep sitting between them, one hand still touching Theo’s arm, the other resting in Draco’s. Their bond pulsed steady and warm—three heartbeats linked in quiet survival.
Draco brushed a strand of hair from her face, whispering hoarsely,
“I’m never letting either of you out of my sight ever again.”
Theo’s sleepy voice came from the bed. “You say that every time we nearly die, Malfoy. I don’t think you fancy making rounds with me daily.”
Draco gave a strained, reluctant laugh. “And every time, I mean it more.”
Hermione stirred, smiling faintly through her half-sleep. “Then maybe next time, we just… don’t almost die.”
Draco huffed a soft laugh, leaning back in the chair. “Deal.”
By midafternoon, the floo roared green in the main parlor of Nott Manor, and Theo stepped through—pale, tired, but steady on his feet enough for the floo.
Hermione followed close behind, her hand hovering at his back just in case. Draco was already waiting gone ahead of him, pacing near the hearth like a storm contained in a human shape.
The moment Theo appeared, Draco crossed the space between them.
“You should really still be in bed.”
Theo smirked, wincing only slightly as he adjusted the sling on his arm. “They’d have had to Stun me to keep me there any longer.”
Hermione smiled faintly at the exchange. “We’re home. That’s what matters.”
But Draco didn’t relax. His eyes darted to the windows, the door, every shadowed corner of the room. The wards around the Manor pulsed faintly gold, triple-strength.
Hermione recognized the layering—Malfoy wards on top of Nott wards, fused with her own.
“You tripled the protections again?” she asked quietly.
Draco didn’t look ashamed. “Quadrupled. If they could get onto that estate, what’s stopping them form coming here? Only us.”
Half an hour later, the air shimmered again as Harry stepped through the floo, trailed by two Aurors in standard Ministry robes. He looked older than he had a week ago—tired and angry in a way Hermione rarely saw.
“Hermione.” He gave her a quick hug before nodding at the others. “Theo. Malfoy.”
“Potter,” Draco replied coolly out of habit, though the edge lacked anyvenom.
Harry pulled a stack of parchment from his satchel. “We’ve analyzed what residue we could find in the maze. The spells used were all illegal modifications—mixes of Dark and adaptive defensive magic. Which means whoever did this wasn’t an amateur.”
Theo frowned. “Death Eater sympathizers?”
Harry shook his head. “Possibly. But it’s not just ideology this time. Porbably the same people sending threats and responsible for the Center’s vanilization. They were after her.”
Hermione felt Draco tense beside her.
Harry continued, “We traced the apparition trail. They didn’t go far—no more than a mile out before the trail vanishes completely. Either they had a portkey waiting to pickup there, or… someone covered their tracks for them.”
The idea made the air colder.
Hermione’s brow furrowed. “So it’s organized then, not just one random asshole with a vengeance from the war.”
Harry’s eyes softened as he looked at her. “It’s targeted. You, especially. The gala donations, the new legislation, the triad, the possibility of ending two old pureblood lines, your visibility—someone’s trying to make a point.”
Draco’s voice was sharp steel. “And they’ll regret it.”
“Malfoy—” Harry started, but stopped at the look on his face. The rage there was too personal to argue with.
Harry set another folded parchment on the table.
“This arrived at the Ministry early this morning, unsigned, same handwriting as the other threats. ‘Blood doesn’t forget. Filth doesn’t belong in power.’”
Hermione’s stomach turned. “Merlin.”
Theo’s hand found hers, squeezing gently. “They won’t win, love.”
Draco stood stiffly, jaw tight. “How many of these have there been now?”
Harry exhaled. “Four. All since the gala.”
Narcissa’s owl had delivered the earlier three to Harry while they were still at St. Mungo’s having found two at Nott manor and one that came to Malfoy manor—each one cruel, identical in tone. But this one, this newest threat, was worse. More direct.
Hermione swallowed hard. “And the Ministry still can’t trace them?”
“Not yet,” Harry said, grimacing. “But we’re closing in. We’ve got surveillance charms along Diagon Alley now. And your Center has Auror detail around the clock like before. They’re going to slip up, and when they do, we’ll be ready to nab them.”
“Good,” Draco said immediately. “Because if they fail again—”
Hermione laid a hand on his arm. “Draco.”
His jaw unclenched just barely. “I just… can’t lose you.”
When the Aurors left and Harry promised to update them the next day, the manor fell quiet again. Too quiet.
Theo was slouched in an armchair by the fire, pale and half-asleep from pain potion, while Hermione and Draco sat on the nearby sofa. The bond between the three pulsed warm, steady—but under the surface, there was static. Fear. The echo of violence.
Hermione broke the silence. “It’s getting stronger.”
Draco looked up. “What is?”
“The bond. I felt you both—every heartbeat of it. When Theo was hit, when you found us… I could feel your fear like it was mine, I almost couldn’t tell the difference if it was mine or yours.”
Theo opened one eye, voice rough. “I felt it too. Panic. Rage. Love. It’s… been loud lately.”
Draco nodded slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s changing again. The Unspeakables were right—emotional imbalance makes it surge. I’m sure they’ll just love that at the next appointment…”
Hermione leaned forward, voice trembling slightly. “Then we have to keep each other steady. No more fighting over my safety, Draco.”
He hesitated. “You expect me to stop protecting you?”
“I expect you to trust me to protect myself and Harry to get whatever extra protection makes sense,” she said gently. “We can’t keep reacting out of fear. It’ll destroy us before the attackers ever get another chance.”
For a moment, he said nothing—then nodded once, sharp but sincere. “You’re right.”
Theo smiled faintly. “You’d better write that down, Granger. Doesn’t happen often.”
Draco shot him a look. “Don’t push your luck, Healer.”
By the time dinner came, Theo had been coaxed upstairs to rest.
Hermione sat curled on the sofa beside Draco, reading reports Harry had left behind while Draco stared into the fire, a tumbler of whiskey untouched in his hand.
“You’re still thinking about them,” she said quietly.
“I’m thinking about all the ways to find them,” he admitted. “And what I’ll do when I do.”
She looked at him, the gold of the firelight reflected in her eyes. “You’ll let the Aurors handle it.”
His lip twitched. “You keep saying that like I’ll ever listen.”
Her hand found his knee, light but grounding. “Then do it for me.”
He stared at her for a long time before finally exhaling. “For you I’ll wait a day or two till Theo’s healed… but I’m not going to stop till they’re no longer a threat,” he said softly.
That night, Theo fell asleep on the sofa in the parlor of their suite, and Hermione didn’t have the heart to wake him from what appeared to be a pain-free slumber.
She and Draco had curled together in their bed, no words, just frantic feelings through the bond, Hermione rubbing Draco’s back till he had drifted off.
The crushing weight of the fear had obliterated Draco’s composure, his mind spiraling into a delirious haze of panic, his body trembling with emotional devastation as they lay in bed, Hermione curled against his chest.
Draco has woken in the dead of the night, with a loud gasp, nearly sitting fully up-right, waking Hermione. Draco’s lean, scarred torso was bare, his trousers discarded, his cock rock-hard and pressed desperately against her thigh, his silver eyes streaming with relentless tears. His emotions were flooding the bond with a stream of panic, love, and possession, his body shaking with raw, uncontrollable sobs that wracked his frame, each one a visceral, delirious plea born from a mind unmoored by terror in it’s sleep.
Draco’s sobs erupted like a dam shattering, raw, guttural, and heart-wrenching, his arms crushing Hermione against him with a frantic, almost bruising grip, as if she might dissolve into the night, his voice a choked, delirious, panic-stricken wail, “Granger—fuck, I can’t lose you, I can’t lose Theo, I’m fucking dying without you, I’m begging you, don’t let me lose you both, don’t let me lose everything, I’m losing my mind!” he gasped, his sobs heaving violently.
His hands were clawing at her back, fingers digging into her skin with frantic, bruising need, leaving red, desperate marks in their wake. “Gods, I can’t—seeing him like that, blood everywhere, his chest barely moving, not knowing if he’d be ok at first—it’s fucking killing me, Granger, it’s ripping my soul apart, I can’t see, I can’t think, I can’t breathe without you both!”
His voice cracked into a sob, his lips trembling violently as he kissed her neck with desperate, love-soaked fervor, his tears mingling with his kisses, tasting of salt and raw, visceral fear, “Please, Granger— I’m begging you, I’m losing my fucking mind, let me feel you, let me claim you, don’t let me loss you, let me worship every fucking inch of you to know you’re here, you’re alive, you’re mine!”
His body shook with violent, uncontrollable sobs, his cock throbbing against her with a desperate, aching need, his hands trembling as they roamed her body, frantic to anchor himself to her existence, his wails a raw, delirious plea, “I need you, love—need you now, need to know you’re okay, please, don’t leave me ever…”
Hermione’s heart clenched with a fierce, protective love, her pussy throbbing with a rush of need thru the bpnd, her clit pulsing with the bond’s searing heat, her eyes shimmering with empathy as she cupped his tear-streaked face, thumbs brushing his cheeks, “Draco,” she whispered, “I’m here—I’m yours, always. Theo’s going to be okay, we’re going to allbe okay.”
Her lips crashed against his, tongues tangling with desperate, love-soaked passion, the bond a radiant tide of her fierce love, her pussy clenching as she pressed her body closer, “Take me, Draco—worship me, claim me, do whatever you need, I need you too, need to feel you.”
Her nightgown rode up, revealing her soaked lace panties, the bond pulsing with her need to ground him, to pull him back from the abyss, even as her own fear clawed at her heart.
Draco’s hands pushed her nightgown away, tbaring her body—full breasts heaving, nipples hardened to aching, reddened peaks, pussy lips puffy and glistening .
“Fuck, Granger—your body’s my fucking salvation, my only hope,” he choked, his voice raw with love and delirious panic, his sobs heaving as his lips worshipped her neck, sucking hard to leave bruising marks, his tongue tracing every freckle with desperate, trembling reverence, “Need to feel you, love—every inch, every fucking curve, to know you’re here, you’re alive.”
His hands roamed her body with frantic, worshipful devotion, fingers digging into her hips, her thighs, her breasts, kneading her flesh with a desperate, bruising intensity as if to memorize her, “You’re mine, love—fuck, you’re mine and Theo’s, don’t leave me,” he sobbed, his lips sucking her nipple hard, his tongue flicked the sensitive peak, sparking electric jolts that made her moan, “Draco—love you!”.
His tears fell onto her skin, hot and relentless, his hands trembling as they traced her ribs, her waist, every curve a lifeline, “Your skin—fuck, Granger, need to taste you, need to know you’re okay,” his voice breaking into a wail, his cries shaking his frame.
He moved lower with frantic desperation, his lips kissing her belly, her hips, his tongue lapping at her skin with a hungry, worshipful fervor, “Your body—every fucking part, need to feel you breathing, need you alive,” he growled, his hands spreading her thighs wide with a trembling grip, the bond pulsing with his frantic need.
“This pussy—mine, my fucking heart, need to taste it, need to know you’re here,” he choked, tears streaming as his fingers parted her lips, her slick coating his fingers.
“So wet for me, love—your cunt’s alive, you’re here,” he sobbed, two fingers thrusting into her pussy, curling hard against her G-spot, her pussy clenching tight.
“Fuck, love—your cunt’s gushing, need it, need you,” he wept, his voice breaking with raw emotion, pumping faster, his thumb rubbing her clit with brutal, loving precision, sparking white-hot jolts, “You’re okay, you’re mine, love you.”
Hermione’s moans were raw, “Draco—fuck, love you, I’m here!” her hands tangling in his hair, pulling hard, her pussy spasming, the bond a fucking oven of her love and need. Draco freed his cock, head flushed purple and leaking pre-cum in fat, shiny beads, thrusting into her pussy with a quick hip tilt, her walls stretching tight around him.
“Take my cock, Granger—fucking this perfect cunt, need to claim you, need to know you’re alive,” he roared, hips slamming with desperate force.
“You’re mine, love—never losing you or Theo, fuck, love you,” his voice broke into a howl, tears streaming as he thrust deeper, his hands clawing her hips, bruising with desperate love, “Your pussy’s choking me, love you, need you.”
Hermione’s screams of her orgasm were savage, “Draco—love you, claim me!” her pussy convulsing, pussy spasming violently around his cock, squirting creamy floods that drenched his thighs, the bed, her scream raw, “Draco—I’m yours! I’m ok!” .
He growled with tears still leaking down his face, thrusting deep, spilling thick gobs of cum deep in her pussy, “Granger—mine, fucking love you, take my cum!”.
He pulled out, “Fuck, Granger—your pussy’s stuffed with me, love you, please don’t ever go away,” he choked, tears falling as he kissed her deeply, tongues tangling with desperate love, his hands worshipping her body—her breasts, her thighs, her face—kissing every inch with frantic devotion, “You’re okay, you’re here, love you,” his voice trembling with panic and love, his sobs unrelenting as he clung to her.
They collapsed, Draco winding around her back, his sobs quieting but still shaking his frame as he clung to her, kissing her skin, “Theo and you are my everything, Granger—thank you,” his voice wrecked from his sobs.
Notes:
We'll be returning to Hogwarts soon to aid the effort to figure out the sick students.
Chapter 161: The Patient
Chapter Text
Hermione was the first to stir. The warmth beside her told her Draco hadn’t moved all night since they’de coupled; he was still half-curled toward her, breathing slow and even, one arm flung protectively over her waist.
She lay still for a moment, just watching him—the rare quiet on his face when the world wasn’t demanding anything of him.
The faint shimmer of the triad mark on his ring finger caught the sunrise, pulsing with a slow, steady light. The bond felt calm for the first time in days while he slept: warm, safe, alive.
A soft creak at the door broke the silence. Theo stepped in, hair tousled, sling traded for a lighter bandage.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmured. “The couch was murder on my back this morning.”
Hermione smiled sleepily. “Come here then. You should have been in here last night.”
He hesitated—typical Theo, still careful of everyone else’s space—but when she lifted the edge of the blanket, he gave a faint, crooked smile and eased in on her other side, a morning bulge prominent against his boxers.
Hermione’s lips curved into a teasing smile, her voice soft but playful as she leaned to kiss his uninjured shoulder, her lips warm and reverent against his skin, “Theo, my brave Knight,” she murmured, her brown eyes sparkling with affection, “look at you, already up and at attention despite those bandages. You’re my patient now—you need to rest and let me take care of this for you, no straining that arm.”
Her hand brushed his chest gently, avoiding the bandages, her fingers tracing the edge of his collarbone with tender care, the bond flaring with her nurturing desire.
Theo’s chuckle was weak but warm, his voice hoarse with exhaustion but thick with love, “Hermione, love—can’t help it with you so close, you’re too fucking tempting,” his eyes shimmering with affection, his uninjured hand reaching to brush her curls, “but I’ll be your good patient, promise—just don’t make me beg too much.”
His smile was fragile but genuine, the bond pulsing with his gratitude and need, his cock twitching under the sheets. Draco’s sleepy smile was tender, his voice low and soft, “Let her work her magic, mate—she’s got those hands that heal better than any potion.”
His hand squeezed Theo’s hip gently, careful not to jostle him, the bond pulsing with their shared love, his silver eyes shimmering with relief at seeing Theo awake and looking for much better.
Hermione slid down the bed with deliberate care, her nightgown riding up to reveal her thighs, her fingers tugging the sheets away slowly to bare Theo’s cock, hard and throbbing, the apadravya piercing glinting .
“My poor patient,” she teased, her voice soft with love but laced with playful authority, “this needs my attention, but I’ll be so gentle, keep your injury safe.”
She leaned down, kissing his hip with tender reverence, her lips lingering on the warm, slightly salty skin just above his pelvic bone, her hand wrapping around his cock with a tender, deliberate grip, the pre-cum slick and soft as she stroked slowly, her fingers gliding over the veined shaft, careful to keep his bandaged arm still.
Hermione’s fingers moved with slow, worshipful precision, her grip light but firm, stroking Theo’s cock with a steady, teasing rhythm, the piercing catching her fingers with each stroke, sparking a faint, electric jolt through his shaft.
“Theo, my love,” she murmured, her voice unsteady with devotion, kissing the sensitive skin just below his navel, her lips brushing the faint trail of hair leading to his cock, “you’re so strong, surviving that—let me make you feel good, let me take care of you.”
Her tongue darted out, lapping at the tip of his cock, tasting the salty, musky pre-cum. Her lips closed around the head, swirling around the piercing with delicate meticulousness, the cool metal warming against her tongue, sparking a shudder from Theo, “Fuck, Hermione—love you,” he groaned, his voice hoarse with pleasure, his uninjured hand tangling gently in her curls.
Draco watched, his hand stroking Hermione’s back with tender reverence, his voice low and thick with love, “Fuck, Granger—look at you, healing him with your touch, you’re our fucking miracle,” his silver eyes shimmering with devoutness.
Hermione’s mouth took Theo deeper, her lips stretching around his girth, the metal scraping gently against her palate, sparking electric jolts through his cock that made him moan, “Hermione—fuck, so good, love you.”
Her hand continued stroking the base, twisting gently, her other hand cupping his balls with careful tenderness, rolling them softly, the sensation a warm, soothing pulse that made his cock twitch deep in her throat.
She pulled back, her lips glistening with pre-cum, her hand pumping slowly, “Stay still, my patient—no straining, let me do the work,” she teased, her voice soft but commanding, kissing the tip of his cock again, her tongue flicking the piercing with deliberate care.
“Hermione—love you, you’re killing me,” he gasped, his voice trembling with pleasure and love. Her mouth returned, sucking him deeper, her throat clenching around his girth, her lips stretching around the piercing, the metal a cool, thrilling contrast to her warm, wet mouth, sparking pleasure that radiated through his core.
Her hand stroked what her mouth couldn’t take, fingers ghosting along his ballsack, the sensation a warm, pulsing pleasure that made him moan, “Fuck, love—close, love you.”
Draco leaned closer, kissing Theo’s uninjured shoulder, “You’re alive, mate—our Hermione’s got you,” his voice thick with emotion, his hand stroking Hermione’s hair.
. Hermione’s mouth worked faster, her tongue swirling around the piercing, sucking hard, the slurp obscene as her hand pumped relentlessly, “Cum for me, Theo—my brave defender, let me taste you,” her voice muffled but commanding.
Theo’s moans grew desperate, “Hermione—fuck, love you, so close,” his voice shaking, his cock throbbing, the bond pulsing with his pleasure. Her mouth sucked the tip, tongue flicking the piercing, her hand twisting and pumping.
Finally, Theo’s orgasm hit, his cock pulsing violently, spilling into her mouth, “Hermione—fuck, love you!” She swallowed, her throat working, a few drops dripping down her chin, her hand milking him gently, careful of keeping him still.
She kissed his cock softly, cleaning him with her tongue, her lips lingering with tender reverence, “My perfect patient, my love,” she whispered, crawling up to kiss his lips, sharing his taste, Draco joining to kiss them both.
“Our Theo, our love,” his voice trembling with relief. They curled around Theo, Hermione and Draco cradling him, their hands stroking his skin gently, avoiding his bandages, the bond a radiant, love-soaked embrace as they held each other, hearts bound in their tender, healing love under the dawn’s gentle light.
For a while, no one spoke.
The three of them simply breathed together, the morning still around them. Outside, a thrush was singing somewhere in the orchard, the sound drifting faintly through the open window.
Theo finally broke the silence.
“Feels strange,” he said quietly. “Being still. After everything.”
Hermione nodded. “Strange—but good.”
Draco’s voice was rough with sleep. “Better than watching you bleed out in a hedge maze.”
Theo huffed a small laugh. “Fair point.”
Hermione let that sink in—the truth of it. The bond wasn’t just magic; it was proximity, trust, heartbeat against heartbeat. When they were apart, fear and distance frayed the weave. When they were together, it hummed with peace.
Theo looked between them, thoughtful.
“You know,” he said, “when I was lying there at St. Mungo’s, I could feel you both through the bond, just… warmth. Like a hand on my shoulder.”
Hermione reached across him, brushing his hair from his forehead. “We felt you tooeven when they gave you the sleep potions. It kept us from breaking.”
Draco’s tone softened. “You scared the hell out of us.”
“Mutual,” Theo said, smiling faintly. “I think the Healers were more worried about you threatening to hex the staff than about me.”
Draco made a sound that could have been a laugh or a sigh. “They were taking too long.”
Hermione squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to keep proving you can protect us, Draco. You already do.”
His gaze met hers, raw and unguarded. “I just don’t ever want to lose what we’ve built.”
Theo leaned back on the pillows, eyes closing briefly. “Then we keep building. Day by day. No more trying to do it all alone. We can all protect each other.”
Sunlight spread further across the bed, warming their tangled hands.
Hermione spoke softly into the calm. “When everything feels heavy again—and it will—remember this morning. We’re safe. We’re here. That’s what matters.”
Theo nodded, half-smiling. “You sound like Pomfrey.”
She swatted at him, and the motion made Draco laugh—quiet, genuine, the kind that reached his eyes.
He turned toward them both, voice lower now, steady. “We’ll find whoever’s behind the attacks. But until then, I’m going to hold on to mornings like this.”
Hermione rested her head against his shoulder. “So am I.”
Theo’s uninjured arm came around them both, drawing the blanket higher.
“Then maybe,” he murmured, “we start the day a little later.”
He waggled an eye brow.
By mid-afternoon, the Manor had regained its rhythm.
Theo was sitting in the library’s wide bay window, one arm still bandaged but a faint color back in his cheeks. Hermione had her notes scattered over the low table—Charms journals, parchment full of theories about core loss at Hogwarts—and Draco had been pretending to read a financial brief for nearly half an hour, eyes never quite moving past the same line.
Outside, sunlight spilled through the high windows, glinting off the silver ward runes embedded in the glass. The whole house hummed softly with layered protections.
Then came the distinctive whoosh of the floo in the next room.
Draco was already halfway to his feet before the green light even faded. “Potter.”
“Relax, Malfoy,” Harry said, stepping out of the fire and brushing ash off his robes. He looked travel-worn, as if he’d come straight from the Ministry without stopping. “I come bearing both good and bad news.”
Hermione rose immediately. “Tea first, news second.”
Theo chuckled under his breath. “You really were raised by McGonagall.”
She shot him a look, but there was affection behind it.
Harry sank into the armchair across from them, cupping the mug Hermione pressed into his hands.
“All right,” he said, exhaling. “We’ve confirmed the magical signature on the wands used at the gala.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “And?”
Harry met his eyes. “They were both modified Ministry-issue wands. Ones we confiscated after the war from Death Eater families and locked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s vaults.”
Hermione blinked. “You mean—someone inside the Ministry accessed them?”
“Possibly. Or someone with clearance got their hands on them somehow. That’s what we’re trying to determine now.”
Theo frowned. “So we’re looking at corruption.”
Harry grimaced. “Or theft. Either way, someone’s covering their tracks well.”
The air grew thick again. Draco began pacing, hand dragging through his hair. “Unacceptable. How are they still walking free?”
“Because whoever’s behind it knows how to hide,” Harry said quietly. “We’re working on it. Kingsley’s personally ordered a review of every security clearance tied to those vaults.”
Hermione’s fingers traced the rim of her teacup, brow furrowed. “Harry, be honest—are they after the triad bond, or me specifically?”
Harry hesitated. “Hermione, you’ve always been the most visible of the three. Public appearances, new legislation, The Granger Center—it makes you a symbol, and symbols draw fire. But I don’t think this is just about you anymore. Whoever these people are, they’re trying to destabilize something larger.”
Theo leaned forward slightly. “Larger how?”
Harry pulled a folded report from his robes and laid it on the table.
“Nine Hogwarts students have now been found with weakened or missing magical cores. That’s not coincidence. And—” he gave Hermione a look—“we found traces of similar ward signatures around your office after the last attack.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “The same pattern?”
“Close enough,” Harry confirmed. “We think someone’s testing a magic-draining curse or artifact—something parasitic. If they can target magical cores… they could target anyone.”
Draco swore under his breath, pacing again. “And you think they used the gala to make a statement or just as an opportunity to gain access to her?”
Harry nodded grimly. “Or to try get close enough to test it.”
Theo exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. “Bloody hell. If this is spreading, we need the Healer’s Guild and the Unspeakables both on it ages ago.”
“They already are,” Harry said. “Theo, they want you on the research team.”
Theo blinked. “Me?”
“You’re one of the only healers who’s seen a case firsthand and lived with an active triadic bond. They think your insight could help.”
Theo nodded slowly, processing. “All right. I’ll do it.”
Harry continued, “Draco, Hermione they also still want you both to look over Hogwarts. They’re hoping to have you join the team’s there … all three of you, later this week if Theo feels up to it.”
Draco stopped pacing and looked to Harry. “What about protection?”
Harry hesitated, then looked at Hermione. “We’re assigning a permanent Auror to The Granger Center even after hours now too and another to your home perimeter. Discreet, but constant.”
Draco didn’t look thrilled. “Make sure they’re competent.”
“They are,” Harry said dryly. “And you’ll treat them better than the last one, Malfoy. Threatening to hex an Auror for blinking too loudly doesn’t help.”
Theo coughed to hide a laugh. Hermione didn’t even bother to hide hers.
Hermione spoke softly. “Harry, we’ll cooperate however you need—but please understand that every fight, every attack… the bond reacts. It’s not just emotional anymore. When one of us panics, it spreads. It’s exhausting.”
Harry’s expression softened. “I can only imagine. I’ll push to have communication streamlined. No surprise visits, no public statements without warning.”
Draco nodded curtly. “Thank you.”
Theo leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “We’ll figure this out. Just promise me—if you find whoever did this—”
Harry cut him off gently. “We’ll bring them in. Alive.”
Draco didn’t answer, but Hermione caught the tension in his jaw. She slid her hand over his, grounding him with a squeeze.
By the time Harry rose to leave, the sun was sinking low over the gardens, and the first fireflies were blinking to life outside the tall windows.
“Kingsley’s calling a closed meeting tomorrow morning,” Harry said as he adjusted his cloak. “He wants the three of you there. Officially.”
Hermione frowned. “For what?”
Harry’s voice was heavy. “To discuss whether the Ministry should make an official statement about the triad bond—its magic, its influence, and the threat that comes with it.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “You mean whether we’re dangerous.”
Harry didn’t contradict him. “Just be ready.”
He nodded to them all once, then stepped into the floo and vanished in a swirl of emerald flame.
For a while, no one spoke. The fire popped quietly in the grate.
Theo was the first to move, setting his mug aside. “If they think we’re dangerous, it’s because we scare them.”
Hermione exhaled. “Then we make them understand we’re not the threat—we’re the proof that cooperation between old and new blood can work.”
Draco’s gaze softened as he looked between them. “And if that doesn’t convince them?”
“Then,” Theo said simply, “we remind them that balance doesn’t come from fear.”
Hermione smiled faintly at that, and the three sat there until the fire burned low—three hearts bound by duty, love, and the heavy magic that had begun to change them all.
Notes:
Comment with what you think the ministry is going to say.
Chapter 162: The Ministry Meeting
Chapter Text
The Ministry’s council chamber was colder than Hermione remembered—both in temperature and tone.
The vaulted ceiling shimmered faintly with containment wards, and every seat in the gallery was empty except for a cluster of high-ranking officials and three Unspeakables standing near the back wall, faceless behind mirrored masks.
Kingsley Shacklebolt sat at the head of the polished obsidian table, the weight of leadership showing in the fine lines around his eyes.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” he said when the trio entered. “I’m aware you’ve all been through more than your share of chaos lately. But circumstances have changed.”
Draco inclined his head, formal but tense. “We gathered as much from Potter’s visit.”
“Yes.” Kingsley folded his hands. “The Auror Department has confirmed a coordinated series of attacks targeting Muggle-born initiatives—and possibly the triadic bond itself. Public confidence in magical stability is wavering. We can’t afford that.”
Hermione exchanged a look with Theo. “So you want us to reassure them,” she said quietly.
“Precisely. But before the Ministry makes any official statement, the Department of Mysteries has requested an early compliance evaluation.”
Draco’s voice sharpened. “Our next evaluation isn’t until July.”
“I know,” Kingsley said, regret edging his tone. “But they insist the bond must be verified and measured before any public disclosure.”
Theo frowned. “Measured?”
An Unspeakable stepped forward—the same one who had overseen their previous appointments. His voice was neutral, metallic through the charm on his mask.
“We will perform a resonance stability check today. It will be brief. We are not questioning your compliance, only the magical balance of the triad.”
Hermione bristled slightly but nodded. “If it’s necessary, we’ll cooperate.”
They were moved to a smaller chamber off the council hall, the kind lined with runic circles etched deep into the marble floor. The air thrummed faintly when the Unspeakables activated the containment field.
The lead Unspeakable, their voice a cold, amplified monotone that sliced through the air like a scalpel, began, “The triad bond is an anomaly of unparalleled potency. We require exhaustive, unfiltered data on its mechanics. Begin with emotional triggers. What specific emotions amplify the bond most intensely? Be explicit.”
Their quill hovered over a parchment, scratching with a grating, relentless scritch-scratch that felt like nails on their souls, the sound a needle in the suffocating silence.
Hermione’s cheeks flushed a burning, agonizing crimson, her voice trembling with raw, soul-baring embarrassment, “It’s... strongest when we feel love, trust, or... physical intimacy,” she stammered, her hands twisting in her lap, her nails digging into her palms, the bond radiating her vulnerability.
Draco’s jaw clenched so tightly it trembled, his voice a low, dangerous growl that vibrated with protective, barely contained fury, “That’s private, you faceless fucking vultures! Our bond’s none of your bloody business—back off before I make you!”
His fists slammed the table, the thud echoing like a war drum, his silver eyes blazing with a rage that made the runes pulse brighter. Theo chuckled, his voice cheeky but edged with a defiant, almost reckless bite, “Oh, come on, mate—let’s give ‘em a proper show. Love’s the big one, yeah, but a good, hard shag sends it through the fucking roof.”
His grin was wicked, the bond flaring with his resilience, a spark of defiance in the storm, but his eyes flickered with pain, the weight of his injury and the invasion pressing on him.
The Unspeakable’s quill scratched faster, their voice unwavering, cold as a crypt, “Elaborate on physical intimacy. Describe the sexual dynamics that amplify the bond. Frequency, positions, specific acts—be explicit, leave nothing out.”
The question hung in the air like a guillotine, the room’s runes pulsing with an almost malevolent intensity, the air growing heavier, suffocating, as if the walls themselves were closing in.
Hermione’s face burned with a mortification that clawed at her soul, her voice a shaky, breaking whisper, “That’s... incredibly invasive, please, you can’t—”
Draco slammed both fists on the table, the thud reverberating like a thunderclap, his silver eyes blazing with a fury that bordered on violence, “You’ve got no fucking right to pry into our bed, you soulless, heartless bastards! You want details? I’ll burn this fucking place to the ground before I let you violate her like this!”
His voice cracked with protective desperation, his body trembling with rage, the bond flaring with his inferno of fury, his cock hardening with possessive need.
Theo leaned forward, his grin cheeky but his eyes sharp with a defiant, almost feral edge, “Easy, Draco—let’s play their game, give ‘em something to choke on. We fuck a lot, yeah? Hermione’s pussy’s a bloody miracle, takes us both like a fucking goddess. Positions? Every goddamn one—doggy with her screaming our names, missionary with her eyes locked on ours, her riding us till we’re wrecked and begging. Specific acts? Oral, toys, the works—her squirting, us filling her with cum. Bond goes fucking nuclear when we’re all connected, her pleasure, our love, raw as fuck.”
His voice was playful but laced with a defiant, almost reckless edge, the bond pulsing with his cheeky resilience, a deliberate provocation to the Unspeakables’ cold scrutiny.
“Stand inside the central circle,” one instructed.
Draco’s hand brushed Hermione’s back as they took their positions—instinctive, protective, subtle. Theo caught the motion and gave him a small, grounding nod.
A low hum filled the space as blue light rose around them, scanning their joined hands. The tattoos that symbolized their bond began to glow faintly, pulsing in time with their heartbeats.
“Triadic resonance stable,” the Unspeakable murmured. “Energy flow consistent. Emotional equilibrium… mostly steady.”
“Mostly?” Draco echoed.
The Unspeakable’s head tilted slightly. “There are traces of elevated protective compulsion from one party. That can create imbalance over time.”
Hermione’s stomach clenched, but she didn’t look at Draco—she didn’t have to. The tension in the bond spoke louder than words.
Theo stepped in smoothly, voice calm. “We’re aware. It’s being managed.”
“See that it is,” the Unspeakable said. “The more volatile the emotional current, the greater the risk of magical backlash. A triad this strong can either anchor balance—or tear it apart.”
The circle dimmed. The hum faded.
“Magical resonance confirmed,” the lead Unspeakable concluded. “The bond is stable, fully sealed, and—”
a pause “—considered exceptionally powerful. The Department will recommend no restrictions, only continued observation.”
When they returned to the main chamber, Kingsley was waiting, speaking quietly with two senior advisors.
He turned as they entered. “How did it go?”
Hermione exhaled. “Stable. Fully sealed.”
Kingsley nodded. Relief flickered across his face. “Good. That makes things simpler.”
He motioned for them to sit again. “The Council’s concern isn’t the bond itself, it’s what it represents. There are old families who see your unity—especially your legislative success—as proof that blood boundaries are eroding. They’re frightened. If we issue a statement, it must calm, not provoke.”
Theo leaned forward. “Then let us help draft it.”
Kingsley’s brow rose slightly. “You’re volunteering?”
Hermione nodded. “Who better to shape the message than those living it? We can show that this bond isn’t a threat—it’s a model for coexistence.”
Draco’s expression softened, approval flickering beneath the tension.
Kingsley considered for a moment, then smiled faintly. “Very well. I’ll have a liaison coordinate with you. But until the statement is finalized, I ask that you avoid public appearances.”
Draco smirked faintly. “That may be the first request I’m happy to follow.”
Kingsley chuckled, then grew serious again. “And one more thing. The Unspeakables recommend another full magical scan at the end of the summer—by then we’ll have more data on these core-drain cases. Until then, take care of each other. You’re not just under observation; you’re under pressure.”
As they stepped back into the Ministry’s marble corridor, the sound of their footsteps echoed like punctuation in the silence.
Hermione let out a slow breath. “That could’ve gone worse.”
Theo gave a half-smile. “Could’ve gone better too.”
Draco remained silent for a long moment, then said quietly, “They don’t trust us. Not really.”
Hermione slipped her hand into his. “Then we’ll just have to prove them wrong.”
Theo fell into step beside them. “And maybe next time,” he said lightly, “we bring our own tea to the Ministry. Their brew tastes like despair.”
Hermione laughed softly, the tension breaking for a moment, and together they walked toward the lift—the three of them steady against the hum of bureaucratic scrutiny and the weight of the magic that bound them together.
Notes:
What will the statement be like?
Chapter 163: Billards and Babies
Chapter Text
In the breakfast room of Nott Manor, thick with quiet after the attack and the evaluation, Hermione, Draco and Theo sat around a round mahogany table.
A single owl arrived, landing softly on the windowsill with a folded parchment tied in silver ribbon. Theo reached over and unrolled it, then cleared his throat. Hermione and Draco exchanged glances, hearts thudding lightly. There was the Ministry Statement, and a personal note for them.
OFFICIAL STATEMENT
Ministry of Magic
Issued this morning at 09:17 AM
In light of the recent events involving targeted attacks on magical cores and the subsequent investigative findings, the Ministry of Magic hereby recognises the triadic unit formed by Mr Theo Nott, Ms Hermione Malfoy Granger Nott and Mr Draco Malfoy under Section 45-C of the Bonded Alliance Act (Revised 2063).
Following an accelerated compliance evaluation conducted by the Department of Mysteries on May 1st, the triad’s magical resonance and emotional alignment were verified as stable and fully sealed.
As such:
- The Ministry affirms that the established bond between the above individuals meets all technical requirements for full legal recognition of a triadic alliance under wizarding law.
- No further restrictions shall be imposed on the unit at this time. The triad retains all rights and privileges afforded to bonded couples, including, but not limited to, inheritance rights, shared household provisions and legislative participation.
- The Unspeakables will continue periodic monitoring of triadic bonds, with the next full assessment scheduled for the end of summer. Any significant disturbance in emotional equilibrium or magical balance may prompt further review.
- While the triad is now officially recognized, the Ministry emphasises that the responsibilities of the bond include mutual respect, transparent communication and stability. The law also stipulates that they shall work cooperatively with the Auror Office and Department of Magical Law Enforcement to address threats against their unit or the broader wizarding community.
- The Ministry acknowledges the triad’s public and philanthropic contributions—particularly the work undertaken by Mrs Malfoy- Granger- Nott’s muggle-born advocacy initiative. Their example is held by this government as an affirmation of unity, resilience and reform in the post-war wizarding society.
Signed,
Kingsley Shacklebolt
Minister for Magic
Seal of the Ministry of Magic
Hermione’s breath caught. The parchment trembled slightly in Theo’s hand as he read aloud.
“Minimum restrictions… recognized… next full assessment end of summer.”
Draco’s fist clenched. The golden glow of their bonding tattoos pulsed softly in the morning light.
“They’re calling us an example,” he said, voice low. “We did it.”
Hermione’s eyes wet. “We did.”
Theo laid the parchment down and leaned forward. “This doesn’t mean it’s over. We’ve still got threats, Ministry Timelines for children, we’re still under watch. But now it’s official.”
Draco looked at Hermione. “Does this feel real to you?”
She nodded, wiping a tear. “Yes. But I’m also scared. Because it means more is expected from us now by the public maybe.”
Theo reached across and took both of their hands. “Which means we do this together. Not just as a triad because the law says so—but because we want to. Because we trust each other.”
The three sat in silence for a moment, letting the significance settle around them. Then Hermione whispered, “Thank you—for believing in this.”
Draco’s lips curved. “Thank you for being brave enough to trust us.”
Theo smiled softly. “We’re doing this right.”
Later that morning, they moved to the informal parlor. The fire was warming slowly. Hermione curled between Draco and Theo on the sofa, their closeness gentle, unforced.
The article posted in the Quibbler arrived too—praising their recognition and speculating on their next steps.
They didn’t speak much about the details of that article—some things could wait for later. Instead, they simply held each other’s hands: three fingers joined, the tattoos glowing faintly under porcelain skin.
Draco finally said, “We’ll take this moment to breathe. Then we’ll act.”
Hermione leaned into Theo’s chest and felt safe. For now.
Over the next few days, rest and potions had Theo’s arm back to normal with no residual harm. They spent those days enclosed in the manor, mainly doing research in their areas of expertise about what could cause cores to disappear as preparation for joining the Hogwarts team at the end of the week.
One night, after a long and unfortunately unproductive day of research, their friends came by for dinner.
The elves had set the table with understated elegance — silver candlesticks, white tulips, crystal wineglasses that reflected the flickering light.
Pansy and Blaise had arrived half an hour earlier, both looking slightly uneasy.
Blaise poured himself a drink before anyone sat. “We should start by saying it — we’re sorry. About the wards. They weren’t strong enough, and that’s on us.”
Theo waved a hand, forcing a smile. “You weren’t the ones who attacked us, mate. We strengthened the runic layers since then — Hermione added half a dozen charms herself.”
Draco nodded. “Still, thank you for saying it. But don’t carry guilt for something none of us saw coming.”
Hermione glanced at Pansy, who had been unusually quiet, her fingers tracing circles around the rim of her glass.
“It was frightening, yes, but we’re all right now,” Hermione said softly. “Truly.”
Dinner flowed more easily after that. Conversation drifted from Ministry gossip to plans for the Orphans Gala’s post-event report, and how to allocate the raised funds.
Yet every so often Hermione caught Pansy staring at her plate, distant and unfocused.
When dessert came — chocolate torte and espresso — Draco and Blaise began arguing cheerfully over Quidditch statistics. Theo grinned, gesturing toward the billiards room.
“Come on then, let’s settle this with something productive. Winner buys the next round.”
Blaise followed, laughing, leaving the women alone amid the lingering scent of coffee and rain.
Hermione waited until the sound of clinking billiard balls echoed faintly down the hall before turning to Pansy.
“You’ve hardly said two words since you arrived. What’s going on?”
Pansy blinked as if pulled from far away. “Nothing—well, no, that’s a lie.” She sighed. “Could we go somewhere quieter?”
Hermione led her through the hall to the small parlor that had once been her private study when she first moved in — all soft purples and cream upholstery. A fire crackled low in the grate. Hermione gestured for her friend to sit.
“Talk to me,” she said gently.
Pansy twisted her rings, eyes darting to the flames. “Promise you won’t tell the boys yet?”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Your secret’s safe until you want it shared.”
Pansy took a long breath. “You remember the night of the gala, after everything went sideways? You all went to the hospital… and Blaise and I stayed late to help clean up… and then maybe celebrated a little too much.”
She gave a shaky laugh. “More champagne than either of us realized.”
Hermione’s brw furrowed, piecing it together. “You mean—”
“We forgot the contraception charm.” Pansy’s words came out in a rush. “I didn’t even notice until two days later when I went to renew it. And now—well—”
She spread her hands helplessly. “It looks like I’m close to a week pregnant.”
Hermione’s breath caught. “Oh, Pansy.”
“I’m not upset exactly,” Pansy went on quickly. “Just… startled. We knew the Ministry wanted two within five years, but we’d planned to wait another year or two to get started. And now—Merlin, I haven’t even told Blaise yet. I wanted to be certain before turning his life upside down.”
Hermione reached over, laying a steady hand on hers. “You’re handling it better than you think. Shock is normal. But this isn’t bad news, Pans. You love him. You’ll be incredible parents.”
Pansy’s eyes glistened. “You really think so?”
“I know so.” Hermione squeezed her hand. “You’ve built something stable, loving. You’ll figure it out together.”
Pansy leaned back, releasing a slow, tremulous laugh. “You’d think after all the years of the Ministry sticking their noses in our lives, I’d be numb to surprises.”
“You’re allowed to be human,” Hermione replied softly. “Even in this mad world we live in.”
The two women sat in companionable silence for a long moment, the firelight flickering across their faces.
Finally, Pansy wiped her eyes and straightened her shoulders. “I’ll tell Blaise tonight. He deserves to hear it from me before anyone else.”
Hermione smiled warmly. “He’ll be thrilled, once the shock wears off.”
Pansy grinned weakly. “If he faints, you’ll owe me five Galleons.”
Hermione laughed. “Deal.”
As they stepped back into the main hall, the sound of Draco’s laughter and Theo’s teasing voices drifted from the billiards room. Blaise’s deep chuckle followed.
Pansy paused, smoothing her skirt, inhaling. “Wish me luck.”
Hermione touched her arm. “You don’t need it — but you have it anyway.”
Pansy smiled, squared her shoulders, and walked toward the laughter, ready to change both their lives with a few small words.
Hermione watched her go, feeling warmth stir through the bond — affection, hope, and the faintest echo of reassurance from her husbands down the corridor.
The crack of a billiard ball echoed through the manor as Hermione and Pansy stepped back into the game room.
Draco was leaning against the cue stand, sleeves rolled up, hair a little mussed, his expression pure aristocratic amusement. Theo was sprawled across the sofa nearby, drink in hand, looking far too smug.
Blaise was lining up a difficult shot, brows furrowed in concentration.
“There you are,” Theo said, raising his glass. “We were about to send a search party. Everything all right?”
“Perfectly fine,” Hermione said smoothly, though she flicked Pansy a subtle warning glance.
Pansy hesitated for only a heartbeat.
Then—
“Well actually,” she blurted, “I’m pregnant.”
The cue slipped from Blaise’s fingers with a clatter.
The billiard balls rolled in every direction.
Theo sat bolt upright.
Draco blinked twice with a dropped jaw.
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose.
“So much for subtle,” she murmured.
Blaise turned slowly, mouth slightly open, as if his brain was still buffering.
“I—sorry—what did you just say?”
Pansy swallowed, eyes wide now that the words were irretrievable.
“I’m pregnant. With your child, obviously,” she added dryly, then groaned. “Merlin’s beard, that came out wrong.”
Theo choked on his drink. “This might be the best dinner party we’ve had in months.”
Draco, who had been uncharacteristically speechless, finally spoke. “Are you serious?”
He stepped forward, face softening. “Pansy, congratulations.”
Hermione caught his slight glance — the kind that asked is she really all right? — and nodded subtly.
Blaise still hadn’t moved.
Then, in a very un-Blaise-like moment, he laughed — a stunned, slightly hysterical laugh that made everyone else freeze.
“Well,” he said finally, rubbing the back of his neck. “I always knew you were impatient with everything, darling, but this is… ambitious timing.”
“Ambitious,” Pansy repeated, glaring through tears that had suddenly formed. “You mean disastrous.”
Blaise’s laughter stopped immediately. In two steps he was in front of her, hands finding hers. “No. I mean perfectly you. You always did outpace the rest of us.”
Her lip trembled, relief washing over her expression. “You’re not mad?”
“Mad?” Blaise scoffed. “I’m in love with the most terrifyingly brilliant witch I’ve ever met. If the universe thinks we’re ready, I won’t argue.”
Theo clapped Blaise on the back. “Well, mate, you’ve officially beaten us to the parenting finish line.”
Draco smirked. “Just don’t expect me to babysit.”
Hermione shot him a look. “You’ll do exactly that, and you’ll enjoy it.”
Pansy sniffled a laugh, eyes shining. “You’re all insufferable.”
Blaise turned to her, brushing a tear from her cheek. “So when were you planning on telling me?”
“Not while you were playing billiards,” she muttered. “But you know me — subtlety isn’t exactly my strong suit.”
Theo raised his glass again. “To the first Slythie baby of our generation,” he said with a grin. “And to you two — for doing the one thing none of us expected before pudding.”
Hermione laughed, lifting her own glass. “To Pansy and Blaise.”
Everyone toasted (Pansy with juice). Pansy, cheeks flushed, leaned her head against Blaise’s shoulder, and the room filled with the sound of easy laughter — the first warm, untroubled sound they’d shared since the attacks.
Later, after dessert and congratulations and a second round of drinks, the guests began to wind down.
Blaise and Theo were engaged in another good-natured argument about the logistics of baby names, and Draco had slipped an arm casually around Hermione’s waist.
Pansy caught Hermione’s eye from across the room — her earlier panic replaced by a small, glowing smile.
Hermione returned it, heart swelling.
For one rare, fragile moment, the manor didn’t feel like a fortress against the world’s threats — it felt like the beating heart of something larger: family, friendship, and the promise of life continuing on, even after everything.
Notes:
Did anyone see that coming?!
What do you think it will be?
Chapter 164: Calm Before the Rain
Notes:
Theo needed a moment with her now that he's healed.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The scent of fresh coffee and honeyed scones filled the morning quiet. Theo had fallen asleep at the table sometime around dawn, parchment still scattered across the polished surface as he had bene studying for his magical mishaps rotation set to begin next week. Hermione gently nudged his shoulder.
“You worked half the night again,” she said softly. “Even the elves are worried.”
Theo blinked awake, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “I was studying for rotation then reviewing the healer reports on the magical core vanishings. It’s spreading faster than anyone expected.”
Draco entered, perfectly pressed in Ministry black, his expression taut. “I got an owl from McGonagall this morning. She’s forming a multi-departmental response team at Hogwarts like Harry said— healers, curse-breakers, and Ministry experts. She wants us there. The letter is just a formality.”
Draco handed her the letter, still creased from his fist.
Dear Mr Malfoy,
In light of your recent contributions to triadic research, your husband’s healing skills, and your wife’s expertise in magical law and charms, I would like to formally invite your household to assist with the investigation into the Hogwarts incidents.
The situation is delicate. Students’ cores are disappearing — no known curse or potion accounts for it. The presence of two bonded wizards and one Muggle-born witch of your unique magical signature could be invaluable.
I know Harry has already spoken to you about coming, but consider this a formal invitation to join the teams tomorrow at 10am.
— Professor M. McGonagall.
Theo whistled low. “She officially wants all three of us.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed. “That’s an extraordinary risk. We’ve only just stabilized the bond after the attacks.”
Draco’s jaw flexed. “It’s because of that she wants us. We’re steady now — she knows we can handle the magic around the castle without destabilizing.”
Theo leaned back, arms crossed. “You sound like you already said yes.”
“I did,” Draco admitted quietly. “Or at least, we already told Potter we would anyway. I’m sure she’s already counting on our attendance, this was just a formality and to tell us when.”
Hermione’s hand tightened around her teacup. “We can’t just walk into Hogwarts like nothing’s changed. What if the students are being targeted by whatever’s after me? Maybe me being there plays right into their plan.”
Draco met her gaze, unflinching. “Then that’s exactly why we should be there together. One of us will stick with you at all times.”
Theo sat forward, his healer instincts taking over. “If it’s something infecting or feeding on magical cores, we might need to contain it magically. Having the three of us—bonded, magically resonant—could let us detect things ordinary Aurors can’t. We still aren’t sure about the potency of all of our magic together now that the bond has been sealed. A lot of the rumors about triads indicate they can draw on each other’s magic to amplify spells when casting together.”
Hermione rubbed her temple. “I agree with the logic. But emotionally, it’s complicated. Hogwarts was our first home after the war. Going back there… under these circumstances… I hope it doesn’t upset our stability.”
Draco softened, voice lower. “I know. But this isn’t about nostalgia. It’s about responsibility. Those children deserve safety.”
Theo glanced between them. “What’s the plan if we go? I can serve on the diagnostic team with Madam Pomfrey and the healers. Draco can coordinate with the magical security unit, maybe handle ward recalibrations and any potion related issues. Hermione—you’d be perfect for investigating castle charms and helping the legal liaison between Hogwarts, the Ministry, and the Department of Mysteries.”
Hermione gave a small, reluctant smile. “You’ve thought this through.”
“Of course I have,” Draco said, tone half-teasing, half-pleading. “We’re not walking into danger blindly. We’ll stay together in the castle—side quarters, bonded wards, the whole thing.”
Theo arched a brow. “Bonded wards inside Hogwarts? You’re going to make Flitwick faint.”
Draco smirked faintly. “He always did like a challenge.”
Hermione’s lips curved despite herself. “You two are impossible.”
They ate in near silence after that, tension humming through the air. Finally, Hermione set her fork down.
“Alright. We’ll go,” she said quietly. “But we do this my way. Full protective coordination—every room we step in, every ward we pass. And I’ll contact McGonagall to make sure we’re acting under Ministry sanction, not just her invitation.”
Draco’s shoulders eased for the first time in days. “Deal.”
Theo raised his coffee cup like a toast. “To returning to the scene of the crime.”
Hermione gave him a pointed look. “You’re not helping.”
“Come on, Granger,” Theo teased lightly. “You know part of you misses the castle.”
Her expression softened, nostalgia breaking through the anxiety. “Maybe a little. Hogwarts will always be like home. It’ll be strange being back there as adults, though like this. Married, bonded, a triad. The memories there are warm mostly, but 8th year was so different after seeing the battle there.”
Draco’s voice dropped, low and sincere. “We won’t be the same students walking in this time. We’re going back as something stronger.”
Hermione nodded, eyes glistening slightly. “Together.”
As they rose from the table, sunlight cut through the curtains and caught on their hands. The faint shimmer of their triadic tattoos glowed red like threads of light between them.
Theo noticed first. “It’s reacting again.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “It always does lately when we make a decision together.”
Draco took her hand, thumb brushing against the glow.
And as the morning faded into afternoon, they began preparing to return to Hogwarts—not as students, but as defenders of the school that had once made them who they were.
That evening, Theo, fresh from a long, grueling session in the Malfoy library to look for information not in the Nott holdings, flooed back into their chambers. His bandaged arm was now healed enough to fully remove the wrappings, the faint pink scar across his shoulder a reminder of the event,he joined Hermione silently.
He stepped into the shower, the water washing over his shoulders, tracing the lines of his muscles, his dark hair slicking back, his voice a low, tender murmur that cut through the water’s flow, “Hermione, love—mind if I join you? Need you close tonight, need to feel you.”
The bond pulsed with his enthusiasm, his cock hardening slightly as he watched her, the steam curling around them in a warm haze.
Hermione’s lips curved into a soft smile, her pussy throbbing with anticipation, her heart swelling with relief at his presence.
“Theo, my heart—always room for you,” she whispered, stepping toward him, the water streaming down her breasts, her nipples hardening further under his gaze.
She reached for him, her fingers brushing his chest, careful to avoid the faint scar, her touch reverent, “You’re here, you’re okay, so glad your fine—love you.”
The bond flared with her relief and desire. Theo’s smile was slight but warm, his voice hoarse with exhaustion but thick with love, “Can’t help wanting you, love—you’re my anchor in this crazy world.”
He sat on the marble bench, back against the stoned wall, the cool stone warming under his body, the water cascading over his shoulders, and reached for her, his hands gentle but firm on her hips, pulling her onto his lap with deliberate care, her back to his chest.
Her thighs stradded his, the warm water pouring over them both, creating a cocoon of steam and intimacy.
“Just want to love you, slow and gentle, feel you with me,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder, his lips warm and lingering against her wet skin, his cock pressing against her ass, hard and throbbing with need.
Theo’s hands roamed her body with slow, worshipful devotion, his fingers tracing the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, cupping her breasts with a gentle, reverent grip, his thumbs brushing her nipples with delicate, teasing precision, sparking soft, electric jolts that made her breath hitch, “Theo—love you,” she moaned softly.
“So fucking perfect, love—your body’s our safe home,” he whispered, his voice thick with love, his lips kissing the curve of her neck, sucking gently to leave faint, fleeting marks.
His hands lingered on her breasts, kneading softly, his fingers pinching her nipples with just enough pressure to spark warm, pulsing pleasure, her pussy clenching, her clit throbbing under the bond’s heat.
He spent long minutes there, worshipping her breasts, his lips moving to suck one nipple, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak, the sensation a warm, radiating pleasure that made her moan, “Theo—feels so good, love you.”
His hands slid lower, tracing her belly with worshipful care, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin just above her pussy, teasing her with feather-light touches that made her hips twitch, “Need to feel all of you, love—every inch,” he murmured, his voice trembling with devoutness, his fingers parting her pussy lips.
“Your pussy’s so wet already, love—fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered, one finger circling her clit with agonizing slowness, sparking warm, pulsing jolts that made her pussy pulse, dripping down his hand.
He lingered there, his finger tracing lazy, deliberate circles around her clit, building her arousal with patient, tender care, her moans growing softer, deeper, “Theo—love you, don’t stop,” her hands gripping his thighs tighter as pressure within built, her back arching against his chest, the bond pulsing with her love and need.
Theo’s finger on her clit moved with affectionate meticulousness, sparking pleasure that built gradually, her pussy throbbing, slick coating his fingers as he teased her higher, his other hand cupping her breast, pinching her nipple gently, the dual sensations blending into a warm, radiating ecstasy.
“Feel me, love—just us, slow and safe,” he murmured, kissing her ear, his breath hot against her skin, his cock pressing harder against her ass, throbbing with need but patient, his focus entirely on her pleasure as she broke apart in ecstasy.
Only then did he guide his cock to her entrance, the apadravya piercing cool against her heat, the tip brushing her pussy lips, “Gonna love you now, love—slow, feel every inch of me taking you,” he whispered, thrusting in with a slow, gentlethruswt, her walls stretching around his girth crudely.
“Theo—fuck, so big.. too much… love you.”
The water amplified every sensation for them both, the glide of his cock in her pussy soft but rhythmic, her slick coating him in creamy weyness, dripping down his balls.
His thrusts were slow, deliberate, almost reverent, each one a deep, pulsing connection, the piercing dragging against her G-spot with every roll of his hips, sparking warm, radiating pleasure that built gradually, her pussy clenching tight, trying to drag him even deeper.
“Your pussy’s so perfect, love—taking me so well, feel you stretching to fit me?” he murmured, his hand cupping her breast, pinching her nipple gently, the sting blending with pleasure, his other hand rubbing her clit with slow, loving circles, “Gonna make you cum, love—just feel me, feel us together.”
Her pussy spasmed, her moanslouder and more needy, “Theo—so close, help… please, love you,” her body trembling against his, the bond a radiant tide of their love making.
Minutes stretched further, Theo’s thrusts maintaining their gentle, stable rhythm, the piercing flashing pleasure thru her core with every movement.
Her orgasm was understated but intense, pussy convulsing around his cock oractically locking him inside her walls, squirting creamy floods that ran down his cock and mingled with the water, her scream passionate, “Theo—love you!”
He thrust deeper a few more times before he let go of his control, spattering deep in her pussy, “Hermione—mine, love you,” his voice quivering with love and exhaustion, his cum mixing with her slick, dripping down his balls.
They stayed joined for a long while as he deflated, the water cascading over them, his hands stroking her skin, kissing her neck, “My love, my heart, stay safe” he whispered.
Notes:
What do you think they will find at Hogwarts?
Chapter 165: Back to School
Notes:
The majority of the next handful of chapters will take place at Hogwarts as they aid the teams trying to solve the mystery.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Draco hadn’t returned to the castle since the battle’s end— and Theo and Hermione since the end of 8th year except for brief visits with McGonagall—and yet, seeing the turrets appearing through the fog brought a pulse of warmth and unease all at once.
Theo’s hand rested protectively on Hermione’s knee. Draco, on her other side, hadn’t stopped scanning the passing landscape, wand in hand despite the secure carriage.
“You’d think after the war, Hogwarts would finally get a few years of peace,” Theo muttered.
Draco’s mouth twisted. “Peace doesn’t seem to be the natural state of this place.”
Hermione gave him a wry look. “And yet, we keep coming back.”
The wrought-iron gates creaked open with a low groan as the trio approached, their boots sinking slightly into the wet grass.
Professor McGonagall herself stood waiting, flanked by a few Aurors and several professors—Flitwick, Sprout, and a tired-looking Madam Pomfrey, and masters.
“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Nott, Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott,” McGonagall greeted formally, though her eyes softened when she looked at Hermione. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
Hermione inclined her head. “We wouldn’t be anywhere else, Professor.”
McGonagall nodded once, gesturing for them to follow her toward the castle. “We have many students affected so far before term ended. Six are muggle-borns or half-bloods, two pure-blood. All house affiliations. The first symptoms appeared just after Easter break. We’ve scoured every known dark artefact registry and found nothing. The core drain remains—pardon my language—a bloody mystery.”
Hermione’s stomach twisted. “I feel like all the conventional ideas have been eliminated, but I’ve been thinking of obscure causes as well. Are we sure it’s not some kind of magical parasite or bug bite? There were traces of those in old curse injuries after the war that got infected on the run—”
“Already checked,” said McGonagall. “Nothing of the sort. Magical exterminators have been through countless times. This isn’t a case of enchanted bedbugs or transferable fungal infection from the showers. Which is why we’ve called in help from all over. Our best guess still is some type of cursed object that just these students came into contact with. Since they’re all older students with weekends off campus in town, master teams are also searching the village as well, though I’ve assigned you three to stay on Hogwarts ground teams.”
They entered the Headmistress’s office, now far tidier than during Dumbledore’s reign, though the same ancient warmth filled the air. The portraits watched silently as McGonagall waved them to seats.
Theo leaned forward immediately, notebook out, quill hovering. Draco, however, remained standing, eyes sharp. “Before we begin,” he said, “I want it clear from the start—Hermione doesn’t go anywhere alone.”
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Malfoy, she’s a fully capable witch—”
“I’m aware,” Draco interrupted politely but firmly. “Capable doesn’t mean invulnerable. You’ve had multiple core drains already, and my wife has been targeted twice in as many months by possibly linked dark arts sympathizers. Either Nott or I stay with her at all times.”
Hermione shot him a look that was equal parts irritation and reluctant affection. “Draco—”
He didn’t budge. “No discussion.”
McGonagall pursed her lips but didn’t argue further. “Very well. For now, I’ll assign you three to work as one investigative unit. Mr. Nott, your medical expertise may help us understand what’s happening to the students’ cores. Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott, your Charms mastery research will be invaluable for tracing potential enchantments. Mr. Malfoy—”
“—knows a cursed artefact when he sees one,” Draco finished smoothly.
“Indeed,” she said dryly. “You’ll coordinate with the other teams and report back at day’s end.”
When they finally stepped into the corridor, the scent of stone and waxed wood brought a rush of memories.
The echo of distant laughter. The ghosts whispering through the upper corridors.
“I forgot how much this place still feels alive,” Theo said softly.
Hermione smiled faintly. “That’s because it is. The memories never really leave us entirely.”
Draco, ever composed, looked around with faint nostalgia. “Strange to be back as the one helping the school instead of plotting to destroy it.”
Hermione laughed under her breath. “Growth suits you.”
They walked in silence for a few moments more, side by side. Draco’s fingers brushed hers—an unspoken check-in. The faint hum of the triadic bond pulsed softly between them, reassuring and grounding in this ancient place of chaos and magic.
“We’ll solve it,” Theo said quietly. “We always do.”
Their first assignment felt rather redundant, to re-check The Great Hall for anything the first teams may have overlooked. Without students or items laid out on the 5 tables, the room was surprisingly empty.
Still, the triad worked around the room, casting curse detecting spells, and wiping cloths acrossed surfaces to check for magic or potion residue. They spent the most time examining the house hour glasses, all set back to zeros for the summer break.
Hermione was particularly fascinated by the charms placed on the glass and beads to make them automatically calcite the house points.
After a few hours they had checked in, getting reassigned down to Theo’s and Draco’s old lair.
The Slytherin dormitory beneath the Black Lake was a cavernous, emerald-lit relic of their youth, its stone walls draped with silver-threaded tapestries depicting serpents coiling through waves, the fabric shimmering faintly under the eerie, greenish light filtering through the massive, arched windows that peered into the inky depths of the lake.
Schools of metalic fish darted past, their silvery scales catching the light in fleeting glints, while the occasional shadow of a merperson or a curious grindylow drifted by, casting rippling, aquatic silhouettes across the common room.
The air was cool and damp, heavy with the briny, primal scent of the lake, mingled with the musty aroma of ancient stone. They spent a good hour scouring for objects possibly hidden in the common room, without any surprises except a sticky half eaten sweet that Theo’s hand had the misfortune of finding under a sofa cushion.
They eventually moved their search to the dorms moving efficiently through the girl’s side without so much of a hint of dark magic (much to Hermione’s relief and surprise).
They moved on to the boy’s dorms. The massive four-poster beds, with their dark green velvet curtains and intricately carved serpentine headboards, stood like silent sentinels of their past, the emerald silk sheets on Draco’s old bed slightly faded but still luxurious.
The triad bond thrummed with a playful, sensual intimacy—Hermione’s intrigued embarrassment a sparkling, molten warmth in their chests, Draco’s filthy, nostalgic devotion a blazing, teasing inferno, Theo’s cheeky excitement a pulsing, mischievous heartbeat that made their golden rings glow brightly.
Dressed in practical robes—Hermione’s charcoal, tailored to hug her curves, Draco’s black, crisp and commanding, Theo’s Healer green, having been assigned the Slytherin dorms, the irony was not lost on them as memories of their school days flooded back to the boys.
The dormitory was empty, devoid of any personal student effects, just the normal fixtures of Hogwarts present, and the other teams were scouring different parts of the castle, leaving them alone in the cavernous space, the weight of their shared history pressing on them.
Hermione stood by Draco’s old bed, her fingers brushing the emerald curtains, the velvet soft and cool under her touch, her curls loose and wild, catching the greenish light in a halo of the hearth’s fire, her cheeks flushed with a mix of nostalgia, embarrassment, and a growing, undeniable arousal.
Draco leaned against a bedpost, his shirt unbuttoned from all the bending and searching, to reveal his scarred chest, the torchlight tracing each visible scar—Sectumsempra wounds, and faint spell burn marks from his past.
His silver eyes were glinting with filthy intent and a desperate, nostalgic hunger. Theo sprawled on the edge of the bed, his robes open to reveal his toned frame, his cock pressing against the fabric—half-hard, his eyes twinkling with mischief and a cheeky, boyish excitement, the bond pulsing with their shared feelings.
Draco’s grin was wicked, his voice a low, filthy drawl that dripped with nostalgia and raw desire, “Granger, love—Salazar, look at you, standing by my old bed like a naughty little Gryffindor sneaking into Slytherin territory, just begging to be corrupted.”
He stepped closer, his hand brushing her hip, fingers lingering on the curve of her arse through her robes, the bond flaring with his desire, his cock twitching visibly.
“You know what I fantasized about back then, love? Bending you over this very bed after we’d fight, ripping those prim little robes off, and fucking that perfect, tight pussy while you screamed my name, Theo watching, stroking his cock, desperate to join in.”
His fingers slid under her robes, teasing the edge of her thigh, sparking a shiver that radiated to her core, “Bet you thought about it too, didn’t you, Granger? Your sweet little cunt dripping for us in the dungeons, imagining us claiming you right here, making you ours in the most forbidden way. All that taunting between us, always got me so fired up after,”
His voice dropped lower, a filthy growl, “What do you say, love? Let’s make that fantasy real—right here, right now, on my old bed, your pussy stuffed with my cock, Theo’s down your throat, the lake watching us fuck you senseless. This may be a one time opportunity.”
Hermione’s cheeks burned a scorching crimson, her pussy clenching with awakening, her voice unsteady with embarrassed arousal, “Draco! Here? In the dorms? It’s... it’s so risky, someone could walk in, the other teams—”
Her mind swirled with a heady mix of fear, shame, and desire, the bond radiating her vulnerability like a warm, crackling spark. Theo chuckled, his voice cheeky but thick with excitement, leaning back on the bed, his hand palming his cock through his trousers, “Oh, come on, love—live a little. Imagine it: you, us, this bed, the lake as our audience, your pussy dripping for us while we fuck you in our old stomping grounds. Bet your cunt’s already soaked thinking about it, isn’t it?”
His grin was wicked, the bond pulsing with his playful impudence, his cock hardening fully, the piercing pressing visibly against the fabric.
Draco’s eyes darkened with a blazing, possessive hunger, his voice a filthy, relentless snarl, “Fuck, love—your pussy’s begging for it, I can feel it in the bond, that slick little cunt throbbing for us just thinking about it.”
He stepped closer, his hand sliding fully under her robes, fingers brushing her soaked lace panties as he teased her pussy lips through the fabric, “You’re drenched, Granger—admit it, you want this. Want my cock slamming into this tight pussy, Theo’s piercing down your throat, us claiming you in our old dorm like the filthy little witch you are.”
His fingers pressed against her clit through the lace, flickering a shock that made her gasp, “Picture it, love—me fucking you doggy style, your arse bouncing, your screams echoing off these walls, Theo’s cock stretching your mouth, his cum dripping down your chin. Then you ride him, your tits bouncing, my cum leaking out of your cunt, the bed creaking under us. Tell me you don’t want it, Granger—tell me you don’t want to be our dirty little fantasy right here.”
His cock throbbed against his trousers, the bond flaring with his desperate need, his fingers circling her clit with teasing, promising strokes.
Hermione’s breath hitched, her pussy throbbing with a flood of fluids, her clit pulsing with a desperate, aching heat, her mind a whirlwind of embarrassment, fear, and overwhelming desire.
Her voice shuddered with raw honesty, “Draco, Theo—you’re impossible, you know that? It’s... it’s so risky, so forbidden, but...” She swallowed, her eyes shimmering with trust and arousal, “I want it. I want you both, here, now—make it ours.” , the bond pulsed with her aroused surrender.
Draco’s grin was triumphant, his voice a filthy whisper in her ear, “That’s our fucking brave wife—gonna fuck you so good, love, gonna make this bed remember us.”
Theo’s chuckle was warm, “Let’s give the lake a show, love—our filthy little witch.”
They moved with eager, coordinated precision, but Draco held back, his eyes glinting with a teasing, torturous intent, “Not yet, love—gonna make you beg for it first, gonna tease this pussy till you’re dripping on my old sheets.” The bond flared with his filthy decloration, his hands slow and deliberate as they began the prolonged, teasing foreplay.
Draco guided her to the edge of his old bed with reverent haste, the emerald curtains parting with a swish, the velvet brushing her skin, the mattress creaking softly as he sat her down, her robes still on but hiked up to reveal her thighs, the charcoal fabric pooling around her hips.
“Fuck, Granger—look at you, sitting on my bed like you belong here, like you’re my naughty little fantasy come to life,” he growled, kneeling before her, his hands spreading her thighs wide, the cool air of the dorm kissing her soaked panties, sparking a shiver.
His fingers traced the edge of her lace panties, not pulling them down yet, just teasing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, “Your pussy’s so wet, love—I can smell it, feel it in the bond, this cunt’s aching for us.”
His lips kissed her thigh, inches from her pussy, his breath hot against the lace, “Gonna make you wait, Granger—gonna tease this clit till you’re begging for our cocks.”
Theo stood beside her, his robes fully open, his frame bare except for his trousers, his cock hard and straining, the piercing glinting over the waistband as he leaned down to kiss her neck, his lips warm and teasing, “Look at you, love—blushing in our old dorm, pussy dripping for us,” his voice cheeky but thick with love, his fingers brushing her curls, tucking a strand behind her ear.
“Remember those days, Hermione? You glaring at us in the Great Hall, but your eyes always lingered. Bet you’re imagining it now—us fucking you right under Snape’s nose.”
His hand slid down, cupping her breast through her robes, pinching her nipple gently, sparking a soft jolt, “Gonna make you scream so loud the lake and his ghost hears it.”
Draco’s fingers finally hooked into her panties, pulling them down with agonizing slowness, the lace dragging against her skin, baring her pussy inch by inch— “Fuck, Granger—this pussy’s a fucking work of art, so wet it’s pleading for my tongue,” he growled, but he didn’t touch her yet, just blew a cool breath over her clit, sparking a desperate shiver, her pussy clenching visibly.
“Look at this cunt, Theo—dripping like a river, ready for us,” he snarled, his fingers tracing her pussy lips without entering, teasing the slippery folds, “Gonna make you wait, love—gonna tease this pussy till you’re fucking desperate for our snakes.”
Draco’s fingers circled her pussy lips, brushing her clit with feather-light touches that sparked warm, pulsing jolts but never enough to satisfy, her walls trembling for something to grip, her moans growing frantic, “Draco—please, love you,” her hands gripping the bed, her hips bucking for more contact.
Theo’s lips moved to her breasts, pulling her robes open to bare them, sucking her nipple hard, “Fuck, love—your tits are perfect, gonna make you cum just from this,” his voice cheeky, his hand pinching her other nipple, the sting blending with pleasure. Draco’s tongue finally lapped her pussy with a slurp, tasting her slick, circling her clit with slow, deliberate precision, “Fuck, love—taste like heaven, this cunt’s ours alone forever,” he growled, sucking her clit greadily, sparking electric jolts, but pulling back before she could crest, “Not yet, Granger—gonna make you beg even more.”
After an eternity of teasing, Draco stood, his cock throbbing, viens pulled taunt along his length, “Time to fuck you, love—gonna make this fantasy real,” guiding her to bend over the bed, her hands gripping the sheets, her arse bared.
Theo knelt on the bed before her, shedding his trousers, his cock springing free, the piercing glinting, “Open that pretty mouth, love—suck my cock like a good top student,”.
Hermione’s lips parted quickly, taking Theo’s cock inside a few inches, her tongue whirling around the piercing at a fast pace, the metal cool against mouth’s wamrth, “Theo—love you,” muffled, her hand stroking his base.
Draco was behind her, casting Slick Silken, his fingers parting her pussy lips to hold her wide open in the cool dungeon air, “This cunt’s ours, Granger—dripping for my cock,” he aggressively thrusted two fingers in, curling against her G-spot harshly, “Fuck, love—your pussy’s choking my fingers, gonna wreck this cunt when we get inside it,” pumping faster, his thumb on her clit.
Draco’s fingers teased her to the edge over and over before pulling back, “Beg for my cock, Granger—tell me you want it,” his voice filthy with dark desires.
“Draco—please, fuck me,” she moaned, muffled around Theo. He freed his cock, thrusting into her pussy with a slow drag, her walls stretching tight, the curve carressing her G-spot, on the way in.
“Take all of my cock, every inch needs to sink in, feel the stretch, take it all you filthy witch—fucking this cunt in my old bed,” he roared, hips slamming into her doggy style.
He kept changing the pace, his thrusts slow then brutal, “Your pussy’s squeezing me, Granger—gonna fill this cunt,” at his words her pussy squirted floods. Her orgasm crashed, pussy convulsing intensely, “Draco—love you!” muffled around Theo.
Draco pulled out cum spent deep inside her, his cock glistening with her slick and his seed, “Ride him, love—show me that pussy taking his cock so full,” guiding her to straddle Theo cowgirl style, the mattress creaking as Theo lay back, his frame tense with anticipation.
His massive girth standing proud, the apadravya piercing glinting in the greenishlake light, slick with her saliva. Hermione straddled him, her thighs trembling as she positioned herself over his cock, Draco’s cum already dripping out from her pussy in creamy, pearly ropes, pooling on Theo’s abs with a soft pat-pat.
“Fuck, Granger—look at you, my cum leaking out of your cunt, ready to ride Theo’s cock,” Draco growled, his voice wanton, his hand stroking his half-hard cock, pre-cum beading at the tip already again as he watched.
Theo’s hands gripped her hips, his voice thick with love and cheeky desire, “Come on, love—sink that perfect pussy on me, let me feel you.”
Hermione lowered herself slowly, her pussy lips parting around Theo’s cock, the gape indecent as the piercing brushed her entrance, the cool metal a thrilling contrast to her heat, her walls stretching tight around his girth as she took him inch by inch, the sliding sensation amplified by Draco’s cum, gurgling around Theo’s cock as it filled her.
“Theo—fuck, so wide, so much, love you,” she moaned, her voice trembling with pleasure, her pussy clenching as it tried to slide all the way down his thick rod.
The mattress creaked under them, the emerald sheets bunching as she settled fully boring onto him, Theo’s cock buried to the hilt, the piercing pressing firmly against her sensitive walls, Draco’s cum bubbling out where they joined, dripping down Theo’s balls.
“Fuck, Hermione—your pussy’s so tight, you can barely take all of me, damn it’s so tight… full of his cum,” Theo groaned, his hands guiding her hips, his eyes set intently on hers almost like he could see her soul.
She began to ride him, tentatively at first, her movements slow and deliberate, her thighs flexing as she lifted herself, the wet glide of Theo’s cock in her pussy loud and lewd n the air, her own slick and Draco’s cum covering his exposed shaft overtime she lifted upward.
“Ride his cock harder, Granger—fuck, look at you, tits bouncy, my cum dripping out of your cunt, your pussy stretched so wide around him it looks like you might tear in half,” Draco growled, kneeling beside them face eye level with their union.
Draco’s hand stroked his cock, his silver eyes blazing with the bonds shared passions, “Your pussy’s taking him so well, love—look at that piercing stretching you, my cum making it so sloppy.”
Her breasts jiggled with each recoil down his shaft, the greenish light casting shadows that danced across her skin, her curls bouncing wildly as she rode faster with Draco’s comands, the slap-slap of her arse against Theo’s thighs echoing in the dorm,“Theo—love you, feels so good, so much.”
She rode faster and faster, with pulsing pleasure that radiated through her core, and desperate bounces that made her pussy clench tight. Theo’s hands roamed her body, cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples with gentle, teasing pressure, “Fuck, love—your tits are perfect, ride me harder,” his voicedemanding, his hips bucking up to meet her in hard collesions, the piercing scraping her G-spot with every thrust.
Draco leaned closer, his voice a filthy snarl, “Look at you, Granger—riding his cock like a good wife, my cum dripping out, your pussy so good for us,” his hand reached around to spank her arse lightly—smack—the sting sparking pleasure, her pussy clenching automatically at the contact, gushing a forceful spurt that drenched Theo’s abs.
Her riding grew even more wild, her thighs trembling with the prolonged effort, the mattress creaking loudly under them, the emerald curtains swaying with the motion, the piercing amplifying every sensation, Draco’s cum as lubricant making each slide slicker, deeper .
“Theo—fuck, love you,” she moaned, her voice raw, her hands gripping his chest, careful of his scar, her pussy clenching tighter as she got close. Theo’s groans were desperate, “Hermione—love you, your pussy’s gonna make me cum so hard it’ll fill even your tummy,” his hands guiding her hips faster, the piercing battering her G-spot roughly as she slammed down onto him repeatedly.
Draco’s voice was a filthy roar, “Ride him harder, Granger—make that pussy squirt, show me how much you love his cock spreading you so wide and desperate,” his hand stroked his cock faster, pre-cum leaking down his hand.
Her second orgasm built slowly, then crashed heavy and unexpectedly, pussy quivering aggressively around Theo’s cock, the piercing magnifying the contractions, “Theo—love you!”.
Theo’s hips bucked up out of rhythm a few more times, his cock finally throbbing as he let loose an abundance of thick, hot ropes deep in her pussy, “Hermione—our perfect fantasy, love you!” the rich mix of their combined fluids and Draco’s sopping out of her abused pussy, soaking the sheets below Theo’s butt.
Draco kissed her profoundly on the lips, “Our filthy witch,” his voice deep with love. They collapsed together for a few minutes of recovery, the bed groaning, hearts bound in their naughty, nostalgic bond.
As the day faded into evening, McGonagall reconvened the teams in her office. “There’s something else you should know,” she said gravely. “The pattern of the affected students has almost all of them with classes leading up to their core drains inside the Forbidden Forest. Something inside that forest may be at the heart of this possibly.”
Draco’s expression hardened. “Then we’ll go in tomorrow morning.”
“I’d prefer you wait until daylight,” she warned. “And not without backup.”
Hermione nodded. “We’ll be careful.”
McGonagall’s sharp gaze softened slightly. “I know you will, my dear. But whatever this is, it feels old—older and darker than any curse I’ve felt in this castle before.”
That night, the triad rested in their suite together, rather tired from their day.
Theo fell asleep quickly, exhausted. Hermione sat by the window, looking out toward the dark line of the orchards, the faint shimmer of wards pulsing over the trees.
Draco joined her, sliding a warm hand over hers.
“You’re thinking about the students,” he said softly.
“And about what’s waiting out there,” she admitted.
He followed her gaze. “Then we’ll face it. Together.”
She turned to him, their bond thrumming softly through the night air—a reassurance that even in this place wrought with danger, they weren’t alone.
Tomorrow, they would begin their search again.
Notes:
What do you think they'll see in the forest?
And..... how about that fantasy coming true? =P
Chapter 166: Into the Forrest
Chapter Text
The air was cool and heavy with mist when they left the castle heading for the forest’s edge.
The morning light filtered through thick grey clouds, the grass glistening with summer dew.
Hermione’s boots crunched softly on the damp path that led toward the border of the Forbidden Forest, her wand already in hand.
Theo walked beside her, scanning a floating diagnostic charm ahead of them — the glowing orb pulsing faintly whenever it detected residual spell energy. Draco followed close behind, his robes fluttering slightly, his wand drawn as well.
Behind them came two Aurors, both of whom were there at McGonagall’s insistence supposedly hand-selected by Harry himself, though it was clear the triad trusted only each other if things turned uncertain.
“I still hate this place just as much now as I did a decade ago,” Draco muttered. “It smells like mold and regret.”
Theo smirked. “You say that like you didn’t once try to summon a grim in here for extra credit.”
“I said I regret some childish things,” Draco snapped, though his tone was more self-deprecating than sharp.
Hermione gave them both a small smile, the familiar banter easing the tension that had been sitting heavy on them this morning. “You two are impossible.”
“Charming,” Theo corrected.
“Infuriating,” she countered.
Draco’s smirk turned soft. “You love us anyway.”
She didn’t deny it.
By mid-morning, they had ventured deep under the leafy canopy, the sunlight thinning into scattered beams of gold, green, and shadow.
Hermione paused at the base of a fallen tree, kneeling to study a faint shimmer of energy in the air.
“There’s something here,” she murmured. “Old magic… defensive, maybe. It doesn’t match the patterns from the students’ curse, though. Seems like something entirely different.”
Theo crouched beside her, his healer’s senses prickling as he brushed a hand over the faint glow. “It feels inert — like it’s been dormant for years.”
Draco, scanning the surrounding trees, shook his head. “Then we keep moving. Whatever’s draining those students isn’t hiding under a tree trunk.”
Still, Hermione lingered, feeling a strange tug in her chest — not fear, but recognition. The kind that whispered of threads connecting across centuries.
“Let’s note the coordinates,” she said softly. “Just in case. Binns did mention that the grounds were infused with protective magic by the founders that only comes alive under threat. This might be some of that.”
An hour later, they stepped into a clearing where the mist seemed unnaturally still.
The two Aurors flanked out on either side of them, scanning the perimeter, while Theo and Hermione examined a cluster of runes carved into an ancient standing stone.
“They’re… celestial,” Hermione murmured, tracing her fingers over the grooves. “Tied to star alignments and the lunar calendar.”
Draco frowned. “That doesn’t sound like student magic or something dark.”
“It isn’t,” she said. “It’s much older than students even being in the castle.”
Before anyone could answer, the air shifted — thickening, humming with the low vibration of approaching hooves.
Theo straightened instantly. “Company.”
From between the trees emerged six centaurs, their bodies sleek and powerful, their eyes luminous under the filtered light. T
he leader — a tall stallion with a coat like angry storm clouds and eyes the color of midnight — stepped forward.
“Wizards,” he said, his deep voice carrying both accusation and weary patience. “You walk close to magic that stirs beneath the moon.”
Hermione bowed respectfully. “We mean no harm. We’re investigating the drain of young witches’ and wizards’ core magic — we think something unnatural is happening within the school.”
The leader’s gaze swept over them. “Yes. The forest feels it. The balance tilts in the world of humans. The stars have darkened their course since the last equinox.”
Theo exchanged a look with Draco. “Are you saying it’s connected to celestial movement?”
The centaur inclined his head slightly. “We are saying the cycles have turned foul. When the moon next bleeds full, a shadow old as the castle will rise again.”
Draco frowned. “Do you mean something buried here?”
“Something awakened in the world of men,” the centaur corrected. “And it will feed first upon the weakest magic — the young, the untrained. You would be wise to seal your walls before the next full moon.”
Hermione’s pulse quickened. “That’s less than three weeks away.”
The centaur’s dark eyes softened when they fell on her. “You carry within you the light of balance, witch. But even light must learn to shield itself.” His gaze flicked to Draco and Theo. “And those bound to you must learn when protection becomes possession. The stars say this will matter.”
Draco stiffened, but Hermione placed a hand on his arm before he could respond.
“Thank you,” she said earnestly. “We’ll do everything we can.”
The centaurs nodded once before fading back into the trees, their hoofbeats melting into the hush of the forest.
The walk back was quiet.
Each of them was deep in thought — Theo analyzing the centaurs’ mention of the moon, Hermione trying to recall any ancient curse that might tie to lunar alignment, and Draco… well, Draco kept glancing toward the trees, his jaw tight.
When the castle finally came into view, he exhaled roughly. “I don’t like cryptic half-warnings about rising darkness. The last time we got one of those, it involved a noseless lunatic and a lot of bad personal and family decisions.”
Theo gave him a faint grin. “At least this time you’re on the right side.”
Draco’s lips curved slightly, but his eyes stayed on Hermione. “I’ll always be on the right side now.”
Hermione smiled softly, reaching for his hand. “Then we’ll face whatever’s coming.”
Theo’s arm slipped casually around both of them as they climbed the stone steps. “Let’s get some lunch and a pile of ancient astronomy texts from the library. If the centaurs are right, we’ve got less than a month before this gets a whole lot worse.”
The doors of the castle closed behind them with a soft echo.
Outside, the morning fog thickened again over the forest — and far within, something dark and cold stirred faintly beneath the roots.
By the time they returned to the Hufflepuff common room (the volunteer breakroom) in the castle, the sun had already risen high in the highlands, leaving the sky a watercolor wash of sunlight.
The faint scent of lake water drifted in through the open windows. The castle hummed with the familiar magic that lived in its stones — steady, ancient, comforting.
Hermione kicked off her boots and sat down near the hearth, staring into the flames. She’d been unusually quiet since the forest.
Theo, still in his field robes, poured her a cup of tea from the tray the house-elves had sent up. Draco lingered at the window, his reflection sharp in the glass.
Finally, Theo broke the silence. “They knew something, didn’t they?”
Hermione nodded slowly. “Centaurs always know something. The problem is they speak in riddles, not answers.”
Draco’s voice came low and even. “Dark magic rising with the lunar cycle. That’s not just superstition historically.”
“No,” she agreed softly. “It’s astronomy, too. Some enchantments draw power from planetary alignment — the moon amplifies certain old curses. But I’ve never heard of one that drains cores instead of magic itself.”
Theo handed her the tea.
Draco finally turned from the window, his pale hair catching the firelight. His expression was unreadable, but Hermione could feel through the bond the undercurrent of worry.
“I keep thinking about what that centaur said,” he murmured. “‘Those bound to you must learn when protection becomes possession.’”
Theo gave a dry laugh. “Sounds like he’s been reading the Prophet.”
Draco ignored him, looking at Hermione. “I don’t want to… smother you. But every time something happens—when you’re attacked, when I can’t reach you through the bond fast enough—”
Hermione set the tea down and rose to meet him, her hand resting gently against his chest. “I know,” she said softly. “And you’re not smothering me, Draco. You’re scared. I am too.”
He exhaled shakily. “That’s what I hate about it. I wasn’t supposed to be this person anymore — paranoid, controlling, waiting for the next catastrophe.”
Theo leaned back in his chair, his voice quiet but firm. “You’re not that person anymore. You’re someone who loves us, and who has every right to be afraid after what’s happened.”
Hermione’s voice softened. “Love isn’t the problem. Fear is. And we can handle fear together.”
The words hung there between them, the fire crackling softly, the bond humming like a quiet heartbeat beneath the surface.
Theo’s arm circled Hermione’s waist from behind; Draco’s fingers brushed against hers.
“Do you ever think the universe just… doesn’t want us to have peace?” Theo said quietly.
Hermione tilted her head back against his shoulder. “Maybe the universe knows we’re the sort of people who can handle the storms.”
Draco’s lips twitched in faint amusement. “That’s one way of putting it.”
She turned toward them both, her voice steady. “Whatever this thing is — whatever darkness is rising again — we’ll stop it before anyone else gets hurt. Hogwarts deserves better. The wizarding world does too.”
Theo nodded, his tone half-resigned, half-fond. “You always did like saving the world.”
Draco stepped closer, his hand sliding into hers. “Then we’ll save it with you this time.”
The three stood like that for a long while, the silence not heavy but strong — the kind that didn’t need words..
Rain misted the windowpanes of McGonagall’s office as the trio stood before her desk to make their report.
Professor Flitwick, Sprout, and Madam Pomfrey sat nearby, along with two Auror investigators and a Ministry liaison from the Department of Magical Anomalies.
McGonagall looked up from her notes. “I trust you three are well?”.
Draco’s tone was all business as he outlined their findings. “We found no artefacts, no magical parasites, no traces of the common dark residue used in siphoning spells. But we did encounter the centaur herd near the western glade. Their leader warned us that the magic disturbing the balance of the forest is ancient — older than Hogwarts itself. And he linked its activity to the lunar cycle. They sense something dark rising in the wizarding world again.”
Professor Sprout frowned. “The moon? You think it’s a curse that waxes and wanes?”
Hermione nodded. “Possibly. We’ve charted the first incident to early April — which aligns almost perfectly with the full moon. If the next escalation happens in late June, we need to act before then. But, honestly it may not really be related at all, these are beings that get most of their prophies from the sky, and often speak in riddles. They may just be saying they can sense what’s happening… not that literally it’s because of moon phases.”
The Ministry liaison leaned forward. “You’re suggesting this is possible cyclical linked dark magic. But by whom? And why target students?”
Theo spread a diagram of magical aura readings across the desk. “If the centaurs are right, this thing possibly feeds best on weak or unguarded cores — children, muggleborns, or anyone magically inexperienced. If that’s the case, maybe it’s not personal. It’s predatory.”
McGonagall’s mouth thinned. “That would explain the distribution among Houses at least and blood types.”
Draco added, “We’ll need some masters to scan the subfloors under the castle as precaution in case this lead pans out — including the older vaults beneath the dungeons. If this thing was buried centuries ago when the castle was built, it may have awakened under shifting ley lines.”
The room went silent for a beat. McGonagall nodded slowly. “We can arrange it. Better to explore every avenue and leave no stone unturned, in case a hunch turns out to be right.”
“Fine,” Draco said curtly.
As the meeting ended, Hermione lingered, looking up at the portraits around the office. Most watched in grim silence — but one, Phineas Nigellus, muttered something that made her pause.
“The moon bleeds, and fools dig beneath its light,” he said, half to himself.
Hermione turned toward him. “What do you mean?”
The portrait’s eyes glittered. “Old magic sleeps deep, girl. Best not wake what has been buried. Let dark magic hide.”
Draco took her arm gently. “Come on, love. Let’s not pick a fight with the furniture.”
But Hermione couldn’t shake the unease that settled in her chest as they left the office.
The bond between the three pulsed faintly — a warning hum none of them could quite ignore for long.
By the time they arrived home from Hogwarts, twilight had settled over the valley. The rain from Scotland had followed them south, turning the world outside their windows into a gauzy watercolor of grey mist.
Draco shrugged off his cloak and hung it by the door. Hermione went straight to the study, lighting the hearth with a flick of her wand. The warmth spread slowly across the dark wood room, catching the edges of the shelves lined with old books, scrolls, and potion vials.
Theo sank into the armchair nearest the fire, rubbing at his temples. “I’m going to try and grab four hours of sleep before I’m at St. Mungo’s for dawn,” he said. “I pulled the short straw for the early shift.”
Hermione smiled tiredly. “You mean you volunteered.”
Theo’s mouth quirked. “Maybe.” He stood and leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Don’t stay up all night with dusty manuscripts again.”
“No promises.”
He squeezed Draco’s shoulder as he passed. “Keep her out of trouble.”
Draco gave him a dry look. “You say that like it’s possible.”
Theo just laughed and disappeared down the hall.
The manor went quiet.
Hermione settled at the large table in the library, parchment spread around her like a battlefield. Old tomes from the Malfoy and Nott collections lay open — Celestial Alignments and Ancient Ritual Magic, The Subterranean Curses of Britain, Runic Echoes Through the Ages.
Draco watched her for a while from across the table before he joined her, rolling up his sleeves. “All right, Granger. What’s the plan of attack?”
She smiled faintly. “We start with anything tied to lunar binding magic or core manipulation. I’m hoping something from the early Founders period.”
He sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed when she leaned over a page. The faint hum of their bond thrummed gently — steady, warm.
For the next few hours, they read in companionable silence, broken only by the rustle of paper and the scratch of Hermione’s quill. Every now and then she’d mutter a phrase or run her fingers along a line of runes, and Draco would hum in thought beside her, translating with her in quiet unison.
At one point, she glanced up at him. His brow was furrowed, a faint smudge of ink across one cheekbone.
“You look very academic like that,” she teased softly.
He arched an eyebrow. “Do I?”
“Mm. Infuriatingly handsome, in fact.”
That earned a smirk. “Careful, or I’ll start reading to you in Latin just to test that theory.”
She laughed quietly, leaning back in her chair. For a moment, the tension of the last few weeks eased. They were just two scholars in a quiet room again — except now, there was so much more between them. By midnight, it was clear neither could focus anymore on reading, and they turned in as Theo was just about to rise.
By late morning, the smell of roasted herbs and baking bread drifted from the kitchen. Hermione blinked at the clock. “Merlin, it’s nearly noon.”
Draco stood and stretched. “Perfect timing then — we have visitors in the wards.”
As if on cue, a bright silvery stag burst through the wall and landed on the rug. Harry’s voice filled the room: ‘Hope you’re home — Ginny made sandwiches and I promised to keep her from burning the kitchen down. We’re on our way.’
Hermione grinned. “He always thinks he needs to announce himself.”
“Still better than just coming thru the floo in the middle of the night,” Draco muttered, though there was less bite in his voice than there used to be.
Minutes later, the floo flared green and out stepped Harry and Ginny, laughing, carrying a picnic basket that smelled like sunshine and summer.
Ginny waved a hand toward the study. “I brought food. You two look like you’ve been locked in a dungeon.”
Draco gave a faint smirk. “Close enough.”
They settled in the sunroom overlooking the back gardens, sunlight glinting through the large windows. Ginny unpacked roasted vegetable sandwiches, pumpkin tarts, and a thermos of spiced cider. Hermione helped her set everything out while the men poured drinks.
“McGonagall filled me in on what you found,” Harry said after a while, voice serious. “Or didn’t find. That’s unsettling if dark magic is unfurling in the world again.”
Hermione nodded. “The centaurs said it’s tied to the moon maybe. We’re trying to find anything that references cyclical core siphoning.”
Ginny frowned. “So this thing could come back stronger next month?”
“Exactly,” Hermione said quietly. “Which means we need to be ready if we can take them literaly.”
Draco’s hand brushed hers under the table — a subtle reassurance. “We’re building a pattern… or trying to. Once we isolate the frequency of the drain, we can trace its magical signature maybe. It’s a long shot, but worth trying.”
Harry grinned slightly. “You sound like an Auror now.”
“Old habits,” Draco said dryly.
For a while the conversation drifted lighter. Ginny teased Hermione about spending more time buried in books than in bed, earning a flush and a sharp elbow.
Harry told stories from the Auror Office — none involving near-death experiences this time, thankfully.
The warmth of friendship settled into the room like sunlight through glass.
After lunch, Ginny helped Hermione tidy the dishes while the men discussed enchantment containment methods near the fire.
Ginny glanced sideways at Hermione. “He looks good, you know. Happier. Both of them do even with this hanging over us all.”
Hermione smiled softly. “They’ve been… a lot lately. Protective, sometimes too much, but I think we’re finding balance again since the gala.”
Ginny nodded, then lowered her voice playfully. “You’ve done the impossible — turned Draco Malfoy domestic. I don’t ebelive my eyes.”
Hermione laughed. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll insist he’s just brooding attractively while holding teacups.”
When they returned to the sitting room, Draco was indeed holding a teacup — pinky slightly raised, expression perfectly neutral. Hermione’s laughter spilled out before she could stop herself.
He looked at her with mock suspicion. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said innocently, sitting beside him. “Just admiring how attractively you brood.”
Harry snorted into his drink, and even Theo’s absence seemed a little less heavy with their laughter echoing through the manor.
By the time Harry and Ginny flooed home, the light had softened into the golden hue of early evening. The house was quiet again, only the soft rustle of leaves outside the window.
Draco and Hermione lingered on the sofa, comfortable and content. She rested her head on his shoulder, fingers tracing idle circles on his sleeve.
“I like this,” she murmured. “Quiet. Normal.”
“Mm.” Draco’s voice was low, almost wistful. “Feels rare, doesn’t it?”
She nodded. “Maybe that’s why it’s precious.”
He turned his head to press a gentle kiss to her hair, then pulled her up.
“I think we should enjoy it while we have it”, he whispered voice deep as he oulled her down the hall.
They both got ready for bed in silence, snuggling onto the bed together. His hands gently caressed down her body, skimming exposed skin. He pressed kisses in their wake, eventually trailing lips back up her neck. His eyes met hers as his hand caressed her bottom arse checks, a question flickering in his eyes to her.
Hermione’s voice spoke with vulnerability, “I’m scared of the pain, Draco—really scared it’ll be sharp, overwhelming. I’m terrified it’ll feel clinical or impersonal, not like love, and I’ll feel... dirty, in a way I can’t shake, like it’s not me. And I’m scared I’ll disappoint you, that I won’t be able to handle it, that I’ll let you down.”
He held her eyes, “Hermione, it won’t be like that all. You just even trying at all already is way beyond anything that could ever disappointment me. If you at all don’t like what’s happening, we can just stop… it’s really ok.”
“But I love you so much, and I trust you with everything. I want to try, for us—because it’s you. I need you to go slow, to talk me through every step, to make me feel like it’s us, not just the act. And those magical aids we talked about, let’s try some.”
Draco’s smile was tender, his voice laced with love, “Granger, you’re my everything,” he murmured, kissing her forehead softly, his lips lingering with desperate devotion. His hand squeezed hers, “I’ll stop the second you need, love—your control, your heart, it’s everything. I’m here, carrying your fears with you, because I love you more than my own soul. Tell me what you need to feel safe, Granger—what makes this ours.”
Hermione’s smile was nervous but stubborn, “I need you to be patient, Draco—to talk me through every step, to make me feel like it’s us, not just... the act. I need to know I can stop if it’s too much, that you’ll love me no matter what.”
Her voice softened, her eyes shimmering with trust, “I’m open to trying a little tonight, with your fingers, because I love you. Let’s make it slow, safe, ours.”
Draco guided her to lie back sideways on the bed, the emerald silk sheets cool and smooth against her skin, her robe slipping open to reveal her lace panties, soaked with slick that glistened in the candlelight.
He cast Slick Silken, the charm shimmering as it coated his fingers in a warm, silky lube that felt like liquid velvet. He knelt between her thighs, kissing her inner thigh with tender reverence, his voice a soft whisper, “Gonna love you so slow, Granger—tell me if it’s too much, always.”
His fingers brushed her pussy first, parting her lips wide, circling her clit gently with his thumb, sparking a tender jolt that made her breath hitch, “Draco—love you.”
Her pussy was slick, glistening, and flushed, lips puffy and inner folds shimmering, her clit throbbing under his touch. He lingered there for long, patient minutes, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles around her clit, sparking soft, warm jolts that made her pussy gush, “So fucking wet for me, love—your pussy’s begging,” he whispered, his voice thick with love, building her arousal to a gentle, pulsing peak, her moans soft, “Draco—feels so good, love you.”
He spent even longer preparing her on her side, his other hand sliding lower, brushing the sensitive skin around her ass with the lightest, most reverent touch, the Slick Silken charm making it glide like silk, easing the initial tension.
“Breathe for me, love—just touching you here, so slow, so safe,” he murmured, his voice filled with commitment, circling the tight, puckered ring of her ass with his fingertip for long, agonizing minutes, the sensation warm and teasing, a gentle, feather-light pressure that felt like a soft, curious whisper against her skin, sparking a shiver of nervous anticipation and trust.
“Relax, Granger—feel me loving you, every second,” he whispered, his finger tracing slow, deliberate circles around her rim, the Slick Silken charm ensuring no friction, just a smooth, silky glide. Hermione’s breath hitched, “Draco—feels... strange, but okay, love you,” her voice trembling with vulnerability, her pussy throbbing.
He lingered longer, circling her ass with slow, reverent strokes, the movement of his slick finger soft and rhythmic, building her trust, making her ass yield to his touch, the sensation a warm, tingling pulse that felt both daunting and intimate.
“You’re doing so well, love—your body’s perfect, trusting me,” he murmured, his thumb still circling her clit, keeping her arousal high, her pussy gushing slick.
After long, patient minutes, he pressed his finger gently at her entrance, “Gonna go inside now, love—just a little, tell me how it feels,”, the tip of his finger slipping in just barely, the sensation a warm, subtle stretch—not painful, but a new, intimate fullness that felt like a gentle intrusion, sparking a mix of curiosity and vulnerability in the bnd from her, her ass clenching softly around his finger.
“Draco—feels... full, different, but okay,” she whispered, her voice shaky with trust, her pussy throbbing still.
The sensation in her ass was a warm, pulsing fullness, a gentle stretch that felt both foreign and thrilling, the stretch a slow, intimate burn that radiated to her pussy, blending seamlessly with the pleasure from her clit.
“So fucking perfect, Granger—your ass is taking my finger so well, feel it pushing in more deeply?” Draco whispered, his voice thick, his finger curling gently inside her, exploring the tight, velvety warmth of her ass, the sensation a slow, intimate pulse that sparked a deep, unfamiliar pleasure, different from her G-spot but thrilling in its novelty, making her hips twitch, “Draco—love you, it’s... intense,” her voice trembling with trust.
Draco’s finger in her ass moved with deliberate, reverent care, the stretch growing easier as her body relaxed into the sensation, her ass yielding to his touch, the feeling a warm, pulsing fullness that felt both exotic and intimate.
“You’re my fucking world, Granger—your ass opening for me, your pussy gushing,” he murmured, adding a second finger to her pussy, curling against her G-spot.
“Cum for me, love—let this pussy squirt, let your ass feel me,” he whispered, his finger in her ass curling deeper, the stretch a warm, thrilling burn that sparked a new, intense pleasure, her pussy and ass pulsing in tandem.
Hermione’s orgasm hit, her pussy shuddering around his fingers, her ass clenching tightly around his single finger, the dual sensations—her pussy’s electric spasms and her ass’s warm, stretching fullness—merging into a soul-shattering climax, her moan one of intense pleasure, “Draco, so good—love you!”
He eased his fingers out slowly, cleaning her with a charmed cloth infused with lavender, soothing her sensitive skin, kissing her thighs, “My perfect love, you’re everything,” he whispered, curling around her under the sheets.
Notes:
Back to Hogwarts in the morning to keep searching.
Chapter 167: Burying Ghosts
Notes:
So much happening in this scene... many wounds starting to close finally.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Dew clung to the hedges, and the castle towers rose out of the mist like an old memory.
Hermione’s hand rested on the strap of her satchel, the same one she’d carried as a student. It felt heavier now, filled not with parchment and quills but reports, diagnostic spells, and responsibility.
Draco walked beside her, immaculate as ever even this early, his expression calm but watchful. Every time she glanced at him, she could sense the small protective current running through their bond—a quiet hum that hadn’t faded since coming back from Luxembourg.
Ahead of the castle steps, two familiar figures were waiting.
Harry, arms folded, hair as impossible as always.
And beside him—Ron.
Hermione slowed a little. “I didn’t think he’d actually come,” she murmured.
Draco’s jaw flexed. “Potter convinced him, apparently.”
“He looks nervous,” she whispered.
“He should,” Draco muttered, but without venom.
When they reached the courtyard, Harry greeted them easily. “Morning, you two. Theo’s at Mungo’s, yeah?”
“Early shift,” Hermione said. “He’ll join us when he can if he’s out earl enough.”
Ron gave a stiff nod, eyes flicking from her to Draco. “Malfoy.”
“Ronald,” Draco returned smoothly, polite but cool.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Please, let’s not duel before breakfast.”
Hermione laughed softly, tension easing just a little. “I promise to behave.”
Harry checked his watch. “Briefing is soon. McGonagall’s bringing in some old artifact specialists today. Thought we could Golden Trio it today…” He looked between the two of them. “Ron and I’ll walk you in.”
As they started toward the doors, Ron hesitated, then turned to Hermione. “Er—mind if I talk to you for a second? Alone?”
Draco’s shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. Hermione felt the flick of emotion through the bond—protective, uncertain—but she squeezed his hand before stepping away.
“I’ll be right there,” she said softly.
The courtyard was quiet in that rare way Hogwarts could be — just the flutter of banners high on the stone walls, the faint hum of early-morning volenter chatter drifting from the Great Hall.
Hermione stood beside one of the ivy-covered columns, the smell of rain still clinging to the stone, her satchel slipping from her shoulder as she turned to face Ron.
For a heartbeat, she didn’t recognize him the way she used to. His face had changed — older, more angular, with tired lines at the corners of his mouth. But the freckles were still there, the nervous way he fiddled with his wand was still there.
Somewhere underneath the years and the distance, he was still Ron.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m not great at this,” he began.
Hermione smiled faintly. “You never were.”
That earned a soft laugh, and some of the tension eased.
“Right,” he said, rubbing his neck. “I, uh… I just wanted to talk before we go in there. Been thinking about it for a while.”
She nodded, patient. “All right.”
Ron’s shoulders dropped a little. “I’ve been a prat. A right one. After the war… I didn’t know who I was without all of it. Without fighting, or looking after Harry, or bickering with you every day.
And then Fred was gone.”
His voice cracked at the name, but he pushed through it. “Everything just… fell apart. I was angry all the time. Didn’t know how to talk about it. Didn’t want to.”
Hermione’s chest tightened. “You don’t have to explain—”
“I do, though,” he interrupted gently. “Because I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve that. I said things I can’t take back. Thought if I made you feel small, I wouldn’t feel so lost myself. It’s a bloody stupid excuse, but it’s the truth.”
He met her gaze, and for the first time in a long while, she saw honesty instead of defensiveness in his eyes.
She swallowed hard. “Ron, I… I knew you were hurting. I just didn’t know how to reach you.”
He gave a half-shrug. “Probably couldn’t have. I wasn’t ready to listen then. Took me a while to admit I needed help.”
Hermione frowned softly. “You saw a mind-healer?”
He nodded. “Cho talked me into it. She’s good like that — quiet, helpful when she needs to be, blunt when I’m being an idiot. I didn’t think I’d like her at first, but she…” He exhaled. “She helped. A lot.”
Hermione smiled gently. “I’m glad. She seems like someone who knows how to pull people back into the light.”
Ron’s grin flickered, genuine now. “Yeah. She saved me from drowning in my own bloody guilt. Made me talk about Fred, about the war, about… losing you.”
Hermione’s brows drew together. “You didn’t lose me, Ron.”
“I did,” he said softly. “Not because of anything you did wrong. Just because we weren’t right for each other. And I couldn’t stand it at the time — watching you grow into who you were meant to be, and me still trying to figure out who the hell I was supposed to be.”
He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “You always were better at growing up.”
Hermione’s voice was gentle but steady. “It wasn’t about being better. It was about… needing to change. Surviving demanded it. For all of us.”
He nodded slowly, looking out at the distant lake where the sunlight was breaking through the mist. “You’re right. We all came back from the war different. Guess it’s taken me a long time to stop wishing things could go back.”
“They can’t,” Hermione said softly. “But that doesn’t mean what we all had then together wasn’t real.”
He looked back at her then — eyes bright with unshed emotion. “No. It was real. Always will be.”
There was a small silence before he spoke again. “I wasn’t fair about the triad thing either. You know that.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “You were… very vocal about your opinions.”
He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I know. Merlin, I sounded like Dad when he finds a plug without a proper cord. I didn’t get it. Still don’t, not completely. But it’s not my job to get it. You look… happy, Hermione. And I haven’t seen that in years.”
Her eyes softened. “I am. I won’t pretend it’s not complicated — it is, but it’s good. It feels like… home.”
Ron gave a lopsided smile. “Then that’s all that matters. I might’ve been an idiot, but I want that for you. Happiness. Even if it’s with a smug blond git and a bloke who looks like he escaped from a Victorian portrait.”
Hermione laughed despite herself. “Theo does have that look, doesn’t he?”
“Hauntingly handsome, I think Ginny called it. I don’t see it.”
They both chuckled, and for a moment, the years seemed to fall away.
Ron shifted his stance, scuffing the stone with his boot. “You know, Cho and I have been talking about having kids someday. Not now, obviously, but someday. And I hope…”
He paused, taking a breath. “I hope our kids grow up together. Maybe they’ll be the next generation of mischief-makers. A better version of what we were. Without all the near death experiences.”
Hermione’s voice went warm. “I’d like that. A new kind of family.”
He nodded. “Yeah. And maybe, even if it’s never like it was… we can still be something, you and me… Harry. Not the Golden Trio anymore — just… friends again. Older, wiser, with less hexing, and arguing, and more tea.”
Hermione smiled through the shimmer of tears. “I think that’s something I’d really like.”
He smiled back, relief flickering over his features like sunlight through clouds. “Good. Because I’d hate to think I lost both my best mates forever.”
“You didn’t,” she said softly. “You just had to find your way back.”
A distant bell chimed from the Great Hall — signaling the start of the morning briefing.
Draco, who had been pretending to read a parchment by the steps, lifted his head. His expression was composed, but Hermione felt the flicker of curiosity through their bond.
Ron followed her gaze. “Still hovering?”
“He’d call it vigilance,” she said with a teasing smile.
“Same thing,” Ron muttered. Then, after a pause: “He really does love you, doesn’t he?”
Hermione’s cheeks warmed slightly. “Yes. He does. And I love him, too. Both of them.”
Ron nodded slowly. “Then I’m happy for you, Hermione. Honestly.”
She reached out, touching his arm lightly. “Thank you, Ron.”
They walked back toward the castle steps side by side — the air easier between them than it had been in years.
Draco straightened as they approached, slipping his hand into Hermione’s without a word, his thumb brushing against her skin — a silent question she answered with a reassuring squeeze.
“Everything sorted?” Harry asked when they joined him.
Ron grinned faintly. “Yeah. We’re all good.”
Harry looked between them suspiciously. “Good as in not hexing each other good, or actually good?”
Hermione laughed. “Actually good.”
“Bloody miracle,” Harry muttered with a grin. “Come on then, let’s go find some cursed artifacts.”
The four of them walked into the castle together — not the Golden Trio reborn, but something quieter, steadier, and perhaps more real.
When they stepped into the war-room classroom, the air was thick with parchment dust and the low hum of conversation. McGonagall was already there, conferring with two Aurors and Professor Flitwick over a map of Hogwarts that shimmered with moving magical threads.
Draco glanced at Hermione as she joined him, his grey eyes searching hers. You all right? the bond whispered.
She nodded slightly, touching his wrist under the table. Yes. It was good.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Everything sorted?”
Ron grinned. “Yeah. Shocking, I know.”
“Miracles do happen,” Draco muttered.
Ron rolled his eyes but didn’t bite, and that alone felt like progress.
McGonagall cleared her throat. “If we can begin,” she said briskly. “Thank you all for being here. The readings from last night show a surge of residual energy near the old Astronomy Tower—stronger than anything we’ve seen so far…”
As the briefing began, Hermione stole one last glance at Ron across the table. He caught her eye and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
And just like that, a new version of armistice began to take root—quiet, tentative, but real.
Stone staircases wound endlessly upward, the air thinning with each step. Dust motes shimmered in the light of their wands as they rose toward the highest level of the castle.
The tower had always felt apart from the rest of Hogwarts — quiet, watchful, like the castle’s heart that remembered too much.
Hermione led the way, wand tip glowing a soft gold. Draco followed close behind, Harry and Ron a few steps back. None of them spoke; even Ron’s usual mutterings fell silent in this place.
When they reached the landing, the heavy wooden door creaked open, releasing a faint gust that smelled of old rain and stone.
The circular platform spread before them, the battlements jagged against a pale morning sky. It was the same view Hermione remembered from her early years, when the world was new and exciting.
But the air was heavier now — thick with a pulse of cold magic still clinging to the stones.
Harry’s wand hummed faintly. “There’s something here,” he said.
Draco’s eyes flicked to him. “Residual energy. Not new, but strong.”
They stepped forward together. The wind pulled at Hermione’s hair, carrying the echo of old cries — fear, fury, loss. The kind of magic that never really left.
Hermione murmured a detection charm. Gilded light spread across the stone floor like water, revealing thin threads of sickly green woven into the cracks. They pulsed once, twice, then faded.
“That isn’t a core-draining signature of any type,” she said quietly. “Different frequency, different hue entirely.”
Draco crouched, running gloved fingers over the stone. “Avada Kedavra,” he said, voice low. “This residue’s from that night.”
Harry swallowed. “Dumbledore.”
Ron shifted uncomfortably, glancing between them. “Bloody hell.”
Hermione stood very still, watching Draco trace the mark of a curse that had once torn his life apart. His expression was unreadable — a calm mask stretched too thin.
“Draco,” she said softly.
He straightened slowly. “It’s strange,” he murmured. “You’d think after all these years, the air up here would have cleared. Or Howgwarts would have tried to cleanse itself.”
His gaze drifted to Harry. “But it hasn’t, has it?”
Harry shook his head. “No. Some places never forget.”
For a long time, the four of them stood in silence, the wind whistling through the gaps in the stone. Finally Harry spoke — not as an auror, not as the Boy Who Lived, but as a man still haunted.
“I’ve replayed that night a thousand times,” he said quietly. “Every decision, every step. Snape, Dumbledore… you.”
He looked straight at Draco. “I used to wonder what would’ve happened if I’d reached you first. Before he — before it all went so wrong.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “You couldn’t have changed it, Potter.”
“Maybe not. But I didn’t understand then. I hated you for something that wasn’t really your fault.”
The words hung heavy in the cold air. Draco’s fingers curled at his sides, then unclenched.
“You’re not wrong to have hated me,” he said after a moment. “I hated me too. I was sixteen and trying to save my family. The Dark Lord gave me a task I was never meant to complete.”
He looked out toward the lake far below. “And Dumbledore knew that. He pitied me. He was waiting for it — for Snape to do what I couldn’t. he made him promise you know…”
Ron exhaled slowly. “Bloody hell, that’s… twisted.”
Draco gave a humorless laugh. “That was the war.”
Hermione stepped closer, the wind tugging at her cloak. “Draco—”
He looked at her, eyes grey and tired. “It was the first time I realized that winning and surviving aren’t the same thing.”
Harry moved nearer, standing beside him at the battlement. “You didn’t cast the curse. That matters.”
Draco’s lips twitched. “Tell that to the ghosts that still wake me up at night.”
Harry’s expression softened.
“They visit me too. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe remembering is how we make sure none of it happens again.”
The two men stood in silence, shoulder to shoulder — two survivors from opposite sides of the same scar. Hermione felt something uncoil in her chest — a quiet recognition that this, finally, was healing. Not forgiveness exactly, but understanding.
Ron cleared his throat awkwardly. “You two are a right pair of sentimental gits.”
Harry snorted. “Says the bloke who nearly cried when the Chudley Cannons won a match last week.”
“Oi, that was historic!”
Even Draco cracked a faint smile at that. The tension eased, if only slightly.
Hermione walked to the center of the platform and raised her wand. “Let’s at least seal the residue so it stops leaking into the school’s wards.”
She traced a circle of light across the stone. Harry joined her, then Draco, their magic weaving together in a soft shimmer of gold, green, and blue. The green threads dimmed, folding in on themselves until the glow faded completely.
When the last spark vanished, the air felt lighter. The weight that had pressed on all of them since they’d entered the tower began to lift.
Hermione lowered her wand and turned to the others. “It’s done.”
Draco nodded, gaze lingering on the spot where Dumbledore had fallen. “About time.”
Harry met his eyes. “You did right today.”
Draco’s tone was quiet but sincere. “So did you, Potter.”
Ron looked between them, half-grinning. “Merlin’s beard. Did I just witness a civil conversation between you two?”
“Don’t get too used to it,” Draco said dryly, and Hermione laughed.
As they descended, the bond between Hermione and Draco pulsed faintly — warm, steady, protective. She could feel the way his emotions had shifted: relief edged with exhaustion, a fragile kind of peace.
“You handled that better than I expected,” she murmured as they reached the lower corridor.
He gave a quiet hum. “It’s easier to face ghosts when someone else insists on holding the lantern steady.”
She smiled, brushing his hand lightly with hers. “Anytime.”
Behind them, Harry and Ron trailed in easy conversation about lunch and the Auror Office, the faint sound of laughter echoing off the stone.
It didn’t erase the past, but it softened it — just enough to breathe again.
The four of them made their way through the quiet corridors of the castle.
Afternoon light spilled through the tall windows, scattering gold across the flagstones; the air smelled faintly of chalk and dust and spring rain.
Every hallway whispered with ghosts of students and staff long gone. Of childhood memories ripped away.
Hermione walked between Draco and Harry, Ron trailing just behind with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. None of them spoke much; it felt wrong to fill the silence after what they’d unearthed.
When they reached the griffin statue guarding McGonagall’s office, it turned its head sharply.
“Password?” it rasped.
“Phoenix Flame,” Harry supplied. The griffin stepped aside.
They climbed the spiral staircase. Hermione’s heart beat slow and heavy — not from fear, but from the strange awareness that they were about to maybe close a chapter that had stayed half-open for too long.
The Headmistress was already standing behind her desk when they entered, her tartan shawl draped over her shoulders, her expression expectant and weary all at once.
On the wall behind her, the portraits of former headmasters stirred: Phineas Nigellus pretending to nap, and Dumbledore’s portrait very much awake, blue eyes kind but watchful.
“Well,” McGonagall said, gesturing them toward the chairs before her desk. “I take it your sweep of the Astronomy Tower yielded… something?”
Hermione sat first. “Residual Killing-Curse energy, Professor. Nothing connected to the core-draining pattern. We sealed it.”
“Avada Kedavra residue still holding after all these years.” McGonagall exhaled through her nose. “I should have known. That place was never quite the same. I should have checked for it when I took over.”
Her gaze softened. “You have my gratitude — and the castle’s. It was a wound that needed tending.”
Draco inclined his head slightly. “We didn’t realize how deep it still went until we felt it.”
“You were part of that night,” she said gently, her Scottish cadence lowering. “It can’t have been easy to return there.”
He looked down at his gloved hands. “It wasn’t.”
Then, after a pause Harry added, “But it was necessary for us both.”
A faint cough came from above the desk.
Dumbledore’s portrait leaned forward, eyes twinkling with the same maddening calm that had once infuriated Draco.
“My dear boy,” the old wizard said, voice soft as parchment rustle. “Closure, like forgiveness, is a spell cast inward. You did well to face the shadow rather than flee it.”
Draco stared up at the painting for a long moment. “You knew I wasn’t going to kill you,” he said quietly. “Didn’t you...”
“I hoped,” Dumbledore answered. “But hope is a fragile wand. You showed mercy when fear might have ruled you. That choice has echoed far beyond that night.”
Harry glanced at Draco, something unspoken passing between them — understanding, maybe even respect.
Hermione’s eyes burned. “Professor,” she said softly, “the residue could’ve destabilized the school wards over time. It’s good that it’s sealed now.”
“Indeed,” McGonagall agreed briskly, clearing her throat as if to steady the emotion gathering in the room. “We owe you four our thanks.”
Ron muttered, “Not every day you get a thank-you from a portrait and the Headmistress in the same breath.”
That coaxed the faintest smile from her. “Don’t let it go to your head, Mr Weasley.”
When Harry and Ron stepped aside to talk with an Auror outside the door, McGonagall turned her attention to Draco and Hermione.
Her tone softened further. “Mr Malfoy, I watched you grow from a boy full of false family bravado into a man trying earnestly to make amends. Hogwarts does not forget its lessons — or its students. Today you gave the school peace it didn’t know it still needed.”
Draco looked almost startled. Compliments from Minerva McGonagall were rarer than unicorn feathers.
He bowed his head slightly. “Thank you, Headmistress.”
She nodded once, then regarded Hermione. “And you, Mrs Malfoy-Granger-Nott — Merlin help me, that’s quite a mouthful — continue to prove what I always suspected: brilliance and compassion can coexist.”
Hermione flushed, smiling faintly. “Thank you, Professor.”
The older witch’s gaze softened further. “Take care of each other and Theo. The world is less forgiving than these walls.”
They left the office quietly. Halfway down the spiral steps, Hermione reached out and caught Draco’s sleeve.
He turned; she could see the weight of memory lingering in his eyes, but also something steadier beneath it.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He nodded slowly. “For the first time in a long while… yes. It feels lighter. Like the air finally moved again.”
She smiled, her fingers brushing his. “You faced it, Draco. You both did.”
Behind them, Harry and Ron emerged, still murmuring about the next search site. Harry caught her eye and gave a small, grateful nod — a silent acknowledgment that they’d all laid a ghost to rest today.
As they reached the corridor, Draco looked back up the staircase once more.
“Goodbye, Headmaster,” he murmured under his breath.
The portrait’s voice drifted faintly down: “Farewell, Mr Malfoy. Live well.”
By sunset, the four of them walked out through the front doors into the cool orange light. The lake shimmered below, and the castle behind them looked almost serene.
Ron stretched. “So, we’ve cleared one ghost, got about a dozen core-drain mysteries left, and countless places to look for cursed objects in that castle, and I’m starving. Anyone fancy the Three Broomsticks?”
Harry laughed. “That’s your solution to everything.”
Hermione smiled at the familiar banter and slipped her hand into Draco’s. The bond between them pulsed — calm now, balanced, content.
He squeezed her fingers lightly. “The castle feels different,” he murmured. “Like it finally let us go.”
“Maybe,” she said softly, watching the sunset spill across the towers. “Or maybe we finally let it go.”
They stood for a moment longer, the evening wind carrying the scent of lake water and lilac — a breath of peace after years of shared ghosts.
Notes:
Thoughts on this scene readers?
Chapter 168: One Last Go Of It
Chapter Text
A summer breeze rippled through the silver birches that lined the drive, carrying the faint scent of lilac and rain. From inside came the rhythmic clatter of pans—Theo, apparently home early from the ward making dinner.
Draco exhaled as the heavy doors shut behind them. “Merlin, I can smell roast something. If he’s trying to feed away my trauma, it might actually work.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “He’ll take it as a challenge.”
She brushed her hand down his sleeve; he caught it, holding on a beat longer than necessary. The bond thrummed—a soft reassurance that, for now, they were safe.
Theo looked up from the stove, hair slightly disheveled, sleeves rolled to his forearms. “You’re back,” he said, relief audible beneath the casual tone. “And you smell like centuries-old dust.”
Draco dropped into a chair. “Residual Killing-Curse energy tends to linger.”
Theo’s expression sobered. “So it was the tower?”
Hermione nodded. “It was Dumbledore’s death echo, not the core-drain. We sealed it properly.”
Theo set three plates on the table and slid into his seat across from them. “That must’ve been brutal for you both.”
Draco’s fork hesitated mid-air. “Potter and Weasley were there too. It was… quieter than I expected. Potter and I actually managed to speak like civilized men about it.”
Theo’s brows rose. “That alone deserves a toast.”
He poured wine into three glasses, lifting his. “To progress, however unlikely.”
They clinked glasses, and some of the tension drained out of the room.
When the meal was mostly finished, Hermione set down her fork. “There’s something else,” she said, voice gentler. “Ron and I talked—really talked—before the briefing.”
Theo leaned forward slightly; Draco’s attention sharpened.
She told them everything: the apology, his admission about grief and healing, Cho’s influence, his hope that their future children might one day play together. The words came out quietly, her tone caught between relief and sorrow.
Draco listened in stillness, swirling his wine. “He apologized.”
“He did,” Hermione said. “Properly. It felt… different this time. Like he really meant it. Had reflected on it.”
Theo offered a small, warm smile. “That’s good, love. Closure’s rare.”
Draco looked down at his glass, thumb tracing the rim. “I should probably be happy about that.”
Hermione tilted her head. “You don’t sound happy.”
He gave a half-shrug. “Old instincts. I spent half my adolescence competing with Weasley for your attention. Hard to erase that overnight.”
Theo chuckled. “You won now, mate.”
“That’s hardly the point,” Draco muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched. Then he met Hermione’s gaze, softer. “I’m glad he’s trying. You deserve people who make amends. He did hurt you though.”
She reached across the table, covering his hand with hers. “We all do.”
Later, they migrated to the sitting room. The hearth crackled; Pudding the kitten purred on the rug. Hermione tucked her legs beneath her on the sofa between them.
Theo leaned back, eyes half-lidded. “So what now? Hogwarts still crawling with investigators?”
“Yes,” Hermione said. “We’ll keep helping, but today was more about… healing than evidence as it turned out.”
Draco stretched an arm along the back of the sofa behind her. “Strange feeling, healing. Feels like weakness until it doesn’t.”
Hermione smiled, resting her head briefly against his shoulder. “That’s because it’s vulnerability, not weakness.”
Theo watched them, a soft grin curving his mouth. “Look at us—philosophers instead of disasters for once.”
“Give it a day,” Draco murmured, and they all laughed quietly.
Conversation faded into companionable silence. The firelight flickered over them; the faint hum of their bond pulsed steady and warm, brushing across shared emotions—contentment, affection, exhaustion.
Theo broke the quiet first. “I’m proud of you both. For going back there even though the memories aren’t all good.”
Hermione turned toward him. “You do the the same.”
“Maybe,” he said, smiling. “But it means something that you did, my time there wasn’t nearly as brutal.”
Draco looked between them, voice low. “It feels like we closed something old today. Maybe that’s why the bond’s calmer tonight.”
Hermione nodded. “Maybe it knows we’re steady again.”
Theo slipped an arm around her shoulders; Draco took her hand. The warmth of both touchpoints fed through the magic like a heartbeat, steady and certain.
Hours later, dishes were charmed away, the lights dimmed. The three of them lingered in the soft glow of the dying fire.
Hermione spoke drowsily. “I think Ron might actually come to The Granger Center. He said he wants to help.”
Draco smirked. “That should be entertaining.”
“Play nice,” she teased.
Theo squeezed her hand. “He’s making an effort. That’s all that matters.”
Draco sighed, leaning his head back. “If the universe keeps giving you second chances, you might as well take them.”
Hermione smiled at that—the unexpected wisdom in it. “You sound almost optimistic.”
He gave her a sideways look, eyes glinting. “Don’t tell anyone.”
When the fire finally burned to embers, they drifted upstairs together, the bond thrumming softly with affection.
It was a quiet night after days of intense work at Hogwarts and on duty, and the triad had retreated to their bedroom, seeking solace in each other’s presence.
They lay naked on the bed, the silk sheets cool against their skin, their bodies entwined in a tender, protective embrace. Hermione’s curls spilled across the pillow, her skin glowing in the candlelight, her full breasts pressed against Theo’s chest, her brown eyes shimmering with love and empathy.
Draco lay behind her, his scarred torso pressed against her back, his dick soft but warm against her thigh, his silver eyes glistening with unshed tears as he thought about the day.
Theo’s lean frame was relaxed but marked by the faint pink scar across his chest from his recent attack, his limp member resting against Hermione’s hip, his stormy brown yes soft with vulnerability.
Hermione initiated, her voice a soft whisper, “My loves—your scars, they’re proof of your strength, not your pain.”
She leaned to kiss Theo’s chest scar, her lips warm and reverent, lingering over the healed wound, “Theo, my brave heart—you didn’t deserve this, but you survived, you’re here, and I appreciate you defending me. I love you.”
The bond flared with her nurturing love, her kiss sparking a soft shiver in Theo, his eyes shimmering.
She turned to Draco, her fingers tracing the Sectumsempra scars across his chest, then the faint, faded Dark Mark on his forearm, her lips brushing each mark with tender devotion, “Draco—you didn’t deserve these, not the scars, not the Mark. You were forced, you fought, you’re a survivor. I forgive you, I love you.”
Her voice broke with emotion, tears glistening, the bond pulsing with her forgiveness.
Draco’s breath hitched at the unexpected emotions, his silver eyes spilling tears, his voice a raw, quivering whisper, “Granger—fuck, love, you’re my salvation.”
He kissed her shoulder, his lips lingering on a faint scar from the Department of Mysteries battle, “You didn’t deserve this, love—none of your pain. You’re our survivor, our heart. I know you were so brave that day against my father, I love you.”
His tears fell onto her skin, his hand trembling as he traced her scar, the bond flaring with his devotion.
He turned to Theo, kissing the scar on his chest, “Mate—you didn’t deserve this curse, you’re too fucking good. You survived, you’re ours. I forgive you for nearly getting yourself killed, love you.” His voice cracked, the bond a radiant tide of his love.
Theo’s eyes glistened, his voice thick with emotion, “Granger, Draco—fuck, you’re my everything.” He kissed Hermione’s Mudblood scar, then Draco’s Sectumsempra wounds and Dark Mark, his lips warm and lingering, “You didn’t deserve any of this—none of the pain, the Mark, the battles. You’re survivors, my loves.I love you.”
They all moved in a slow, sensual dance, kissing each scar, each mark, their lips and hands worshipping every inch—Hermione’s battle scars, Draco’s cursed past, Theo’s recent wound—their whispers of love and forgiveness a litany, “You’re enough, you’re ours, we love you.”
Their bodies pressed closer, cocks hardening softly, pusy wet, but the focus was emotional, their touches sensual but reverent, the bond a radiant, embrace as they held each other, hearts bound in their healing, forgiving love out of the darkest of memories until they fell asleep in an entwined heap.
The next morning dawned clear and silver. Hermione and Draco apparated to the gates, their hands still twined from side-along travel.
From here, the castle rose in warm sunlight, peaceful, unchanged as they walked. It was hard to believe that beneath its beauty, something unseen might be stealing the life from students’ magic.
“Same wards as yesterday,” Draco murmured, scanning the air with his wand.
Hermione nodded, adjusting her satchel. “Theo’s double-shifting again, so it’s just us until supper again.”
“Lucky healer,” he muttered. “He gets to work with potions and diagnostics while I get dust, trauma, and nostalgia.”
She smiled faintly. “You don’t fool me. You missed these halls. It was a bit odd you not being there 8th year with us.”
He raised a brow.
Later that day they combed the Restricted Section. Dust motes swirled around them like glittering ghosts. Hermione, of course, was in her element—hair escaping her bun, sleeves rolled up, whispering translation charms under her breath.
Draco watched her over the top of a tome on magical pathogens. “You know, the way you concentrate is borderline terrifying.”
She didn’t look up. “It’s called focus, Draco. You should try it.”
“Oh, I focus,” he said, smirking. “Just usually on you.”
She shot him a look that was half admonishment, half something else. The bond between them pulsed warm — teasing, but laced with genuine affection.
When they finally stepped out into the main library, both were covered in dust and mild frustration. “Nothing,” Hermione sighed. “No mention of core-drain curses, no pattern that fits.”
“Which means whatever’s doing this is either new,” Draco said, “or deliberately being concealed.”
That thought lingered between them — heavy and unresolved.
The next day, they met Neville near the greenhouses to test soil samples for magical interference.
He greeted them with a dirt-smudged grin. “No curses here either so far. But I’ll take all the free labor you’re offering.”
Hermione helped him repot a Screechsnap, and Draco charmed watering cans to follow them like ducklings.
Neville chuckled. “Never thought I’d see a Malfoy gardening.”
“Don’t tell my mother,” Draco said. “She’ll think I’ve joined her hobby.”
Hermione elbowed him. “I think you look rather nice with soil on your hands.”
His smirk softened into a genuine smile. “Careful, Granger. Flattery might get you everywhere.”
By the time they left, the greenhouse glowed with twilight. Still no sign of dark magic — only warmth and the faint scent of earth clinging to their robes.
Two evenings later, a summer storm rolled in while they were cataloguing aura readings from the courtyard. Thunder rattled the windows, and sheets of rain turned the flagstones silver.
When the spell meter sputtered out, Hermione laughed — an unexpected, delighted sound — and turned her face to the rain.
Draco stared for a moment before joining her. “You’re going to catch pneumonia.”
“I’m a witch and it’s a warm summer night,” she said, spinning once, wet curls clinging to her cheeks. “I’ll be fine.”
The world smelled like petrichor and lightning. He caught her hand on impulse; the magic of the bond surged—electric, alive, full of shared adrenaline.
She blinked up at him through the downpour. “You’re smiling.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” he murmured again, voice nearly lost to the rain.
When the storm passed, they were soaked, laughing, and utterly empty-handed on the investigation front—but lighter somehow, less haunted.
By Friday evening they were back in McGonagall’s office, hair still damp from the walk across the grounds.
“No cursed objects, no signature magic,” Hermione reported. “If something’s causing the drain here, it isn’t in the open or easily accessible.”
The Headmistress nodded gravely. “You’ve done what you can. Rest. Let the others take a turn.”
Outside, as they headed for the gates, Draco glanced sideways at her. “You’re going to come back tomorrow anyway, aren’t you?”
Hermione gave a faint, guilty smile. “Probably. Just one last day with Theo… maybe he’ll be a good luck charm.”
“I’ll bring coffee.”
“See? You do miss this.”
He smirked. “I miss watching you when you think no one notices.”
She rolled her eyes, but the warmth between them glowed steady through the bond—like the castle’s torches, still burning after centuries.
The breakfast nook the next morning was bathed in the soft light of a summer morning, the air filled with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee, warm croissants, and sizzling bacon.
The polished oak table was laden with a spread of breakfast delights, the clink of porcelain and the soft scrape of cutlery punctuating the intimate conversation.
The triad bond thrummed with a playful, sensual intimacy, and the triad was preparing to return to Hogwarts to continue their search for cursed artifacts, one last day of searching after being assigned to the Gryffindor common room and dorms.
Hermione sat at the table, her curls pulled into a loose ponytail, a few strands framing her freckled face, her brown eyes tired.
Draco lounged to her left, his black robes open at the collar, his hand holding a giant mug of coffee.
Theo sat to her right, his Healer green robes slightly rumpled, grin stirring with cheeky excitement, his stormy eyes sparkling with mischief.
Theo buttered a croissant, his grin cheeky but his voice tinged with a shy vulnerability, “Granger, love—remember that time when Draco and I had our family signet rings inside you? Those little charmed rings, vibrating with the Malfoy and Nott crests in your pussy?”
His eyes flickered with heat, the bond pulsing with his arousal, his cock twitching visibly in his pants. Hermione’s cheeks flushed crimson, her pussy clenching at the image, her voice a soft, embarrassed laugh, “Theo—gods, how could I forget? It was... intense.”
Theo leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “Been thinking about it lately, love... got a fantasy that’s kind of embarrassing.”
His cheeks pinked slightly, but his grin widened, the bond flaring with his naughty desire. Hermione’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, her voice gentle but teasing, “Oh, Theo—spill it, love. You know we’re all in for your fantasies.”
Draco leaned in, his voice a filthy drawl, “Yeah, mate—out with it. Bet it’s fucking hot.”
Theo swallowed, his voice trembling with a mix of embarrassment and excitement, “Alright, love—it’s... I think it’d be so fucking fiery if you were in your old Gryffindor common room, maybe even your dorm, with our family signet rings inside your pussy, vibrating. The perfect little Gryffindor, stuffed full of pureblood legacy you’ve made clean, strutting through your old house with our crests humming in your cunt.”
His voice lowered, “Imagine it—us sneaking in, you trying to act normal while those rings buzz, knowing you’re ours, marked in the heart of Gryffindor territory.”
Hermione’s face burned, her voice a shaky whisper, “Theo—that’s... gods, it’s so filthy, so wrong, but...”
Draco’s eyes blazed, his voice a filthy rumble, “Fuck, Theo—that’s brilliant! Granger, love, picture it—your pussy stuffed with our crests, buzzing while you’re in your old common room, pretending to be the perfect little lioness, but you’re dripping for us, marked as ours.”
His hand slid under the table, brushing her thigh, “Come on, love—do it for us, let us claim you in Gryffindor.”
Hermione’s pussy clenched, her mind swirling with embarrassment and desire.
“You two are incorrigible,” she murmured, her voice trembling with arousal, “Fine—I’ll do it. But you owe me, and we’re being very careful.” The bond flared with their shared excitement, their breakfast forgotten as they planned.
The dayof work began early, mist curling over the Forbidden Forest as the three of them apparated to the gates.
Theo still looked faintly bleary from a night at the ward, hair wind-tossed, robes open in the summer heat.
“You didn’t have to come after working so late last night,” Hermione said, worry in her tone.
He squeezed her hand. “I did. Can’t have you two having all the adventure without me.”
Draco rolled his eyes but smiled. “Adventure implies excitement, Nott. Today’s menu is dust, cobwebs, and more dust. Maybe some common room privacy…”
Theo smirked. “Then I’ll bring the charm.”
The teasing settled into easy rhythm as they crossed the grounds together, the familiar bond humming with quiet solidarity.
Inside, the Great Hall had been converted into a temporary command post. Maps of the castle floated mid-air, sparkling with coloured runes to mark search zones.
Headmistress McGonagall stood at the head table, wand tapping one map as she addressed the gathered witches and wizards.
“Team Malfoy-Granger-Nott, you’ll cover the dungeons this morning and the west corridors this afternoon, then the Gryffindor common and dorm rooms. Avoid the lower cellars; we’ve already cleared those yesterday.”
Theo muttered under his breath, “Dungeons again, wonderful.”
Hermione elbowed him lightly. “You can practice your diagnostic charms down there.”
Draco’s mouth curved. “If he tries any more on me, I’m hexing him.”
That drew a weary chuckle from McGonagall. “Do behave. Off you go.”
The torches hissed softly as they descended. Moisture slicked the stone; somewhere far off, water dripped steadily.
Theo’s scanning charm lit pale blue across the walls—steady, unremarkable.
“No residue,” he murmured, checking the magical core detector. “Everything’s normal.”
“Normal for Hogwarts,” Draco said dryly, eyeing a portrait that appeared to be sleeping upside-down.
Hermione paced slowly, wand raised, eyes tracing ancient runes carved into the archways. “If it’s not even here, then whatever’s happening to those students isn’t coming from the castle itself at all maybe.”
Theo straightened, the glow from his charm fading. “Could be external contamination, I’ve been saying it for months—a pathogen, maybe. But I’ve tested samples from four victims already; nothing that’s magically transmissible.”
They shared a look—frustration, tempered by resignation.
By midday, the three of them sat on a low stone bench in the courtyard, sandwiches conjured form the volunteer snack table out of sheer necessity.
The air smelled of damp earth and distant rain.
Hermione chewed absently. “We’ve covered nearly every corridor now. Classrooms, common rooms, library annex, dungeon sublevels…”
Draco leaned back, gaze fixed on the cloudy sky. “And all we’ve learned is that the castle isn’t killing anyone lately.”
Theo took a long sip of pumpkin juice. “Which is technically good news.”
Hermione sighed. “Good, but not satisfying.”
A few other investigators crossed the courtyard, nodding politely. One of them whispered something behind her hand; Hermione ignored it. Draco didn’t.
He turned, eyes cool. “Something to add?”
The young witch flushed scarlet and hurried away.
Theo chuckled. “Still intimidating the interns, I see.”
Draco shrugged. “It’s a gift.”
Hermione shook her head, but her lips twitched. Even exhaustion couldn’t dim the warmth that pulsed faintly between them.
That afternoon they swept the upper levels—the long, sun-struck corridors behind the old Charms classrooms.
Theo used his healer’s sensor, Draco walked ahead with defensive wards shimmering faintly around them, and Hermione cross-checked the magical field strength readings.
Hours passed. Nothing. No dark traces, no cursed objects, no anomalies except the faint hum of protective enchantments old as the school.
Finally Hermione lowered her wand, voice quiet. “That’s the last one.”
Theo glanced at the parchment checklist. “All clear.”
She smiled faintly. “You sound disappointed.”
“I’m exhausted,” he admitted, “but I hate loose ends.”
Draco patted his shoulder. “Welcome to investigative magic.”
The Gryffindor common room was a warm, nostalgic haven, its scarlet and gold tapestries glowing under the sunlight streaming through high, arched windows, the vibrant colors softened by years of wear, the lion-emblazoned banners swaying faintly in a draft from the open portrait hole.
The crackled fire in the massive stone hearth cast a cozy, flickering glow, and the lingering trace of countless student gatherings, the air alive with the ghosts of laughter and late-night study sessions.
Plush armchairs and worn sofas were scattered around low tables, some still bearing faint scorch marks from wayward spells.
The common room itself was deserted, the Ministry teams scouring other parts of the castle, leaving the triad alone in this sacred Gryffindor space, the weight of their forbidden act pressing against their skin like a lover’s touch.
The triad bond thrummed with a playful, sensual intimacy—Hermione’s intrigued embarrassment a sparkling, molten blaze in their chests, Draco’s filthy, nostalgic devotion a blazing, teasing inferno, Theo’s cheeky excitement a pulsing, mischievous heartbeat that made their golden rings glow brightly.
Hermione stood in the center of the room, near the hearth, her robes hiked up to her waist, her lace panties pulled down to her ankles, her pussy bared. Draco and Theo stood close, their family signet rings—small, silver, engraved with the Malfoy and Nott crests, charmed to vibrate with a low, pulsing hum—held in their hands, glistening with Slick Silken lube.
The bond pulsed with their shared anticipation, the air thick with the scent of her arousal and the faint crackle of the fire.
Draco’s grin was wicked, his voice a low, filthy growl, “Fuck, Granger—look at you, standing in your old common room, pussy bared like a filthy little lioness ready to be claimed.”
He knelt before her, the Malfoy ring in his fingers, “Gonna stuff this cunt with our legacy, love—right here, where you used to be the perfect Gryffindor.”
He slid the ring into her pussy gently, the silver crest cool against her heat, the vibration starting with a soft bzzz, sparking jolts against her G-spot, her pussy clenching instantly.
Theo followed, his grin cheeky, “Our perfect witch, full of Nott pride,” sliding his ring in beside it with ease, the two crests pressing together, the vibrations syncing into a relentless bzzz-bzzz, her pussy throbbing already.
She moaned, her legs trembling, her hands gripping Draco’s shoulders for balance, the bond flaring with her overwhelmed arousal.
The rings vibrated in tandem, the bzzz-bzzz a constant, teasing hum that made her pussy clench and pulse, the crests pressing against her sensitive walls, sparking warm, electric jolts that radiated to her clit.
“Fuck, love—your pussy’s ingesting our rings, look at it drip,” Draco snarled, his fingers brushing her clit, sparking a jolt that made her gasp.
“Gonna make you walk this room, love—act like the perfect little Gryffindor while our crests buzz in your cunt. Don’t let them come out, hold your muscles tight to keep them deep inside.”
Theo’s voice was cheeky but bursting with love, “Strut for us, Granger—show the common room who you belong to, your pussy stuffed with pureblood legacy.” He stood, pulling her panties up slowly, the lace trapping the rings inside, the vibrations muffled but relentless, her pussy throbbing.
Hermione’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, her pussy clenching around the vibrating rings, slick soaking her panties, her clit pulsing with every step as they guided her through the common room, her robes falling to cover her but doing nothing to hide the flush on her face or the tremble in her thighs.
“Draco—Theo—this is... gods, it’s so much,” she whispered, her voice trembling with arousal and mortification. The bzzz-bzzz was a continuous tease, the crests shifting with each step, pressing against her G-spot, sparking jolts that made her pussy gush, the wet spot growing.
Draco walked beside her, his hand on her lower back, his voice a filthy whisper, “Fuck, love—feel those rings buzzing in your cunt? Every Gryffindor memory is watching you, their perfect witch stuffed with Slytherin legacy, dripping for us.”
His fingers brushed her arse through her robes, “Keep walking, Granger—let this room know you’re ours.”
Theo led her to a sofa by the fire, his grin cheeky, “Sit, love—act like you’re reading, while your pussy’s humming with our crests.”
She sat, the pressure of the sofa pushing the rings deeper, the bzzz-bzzz intensifying, her pussy clenching, her moan barely suppressed, “Theo—love you, it’s too much.”
Draco knelt before her, his hands spreading her thighs under her robes, his fingers brushing her soaked panties, “Fuck, Granger—your cunt’s a mess, dripping through your panties, our rings making you stream.” His voice was a filthy growl, “Imagine McGonagall walking in, seeing her star pupil with her pussy stuffed with Malfoy and Nott crests, buzzing like this.”
Time stretched into a harrowing perpetuity in the common room, Hermione moving from sofa to armchair to the hearth, each step a delicious torment, the rings vibrating relentlessly, the crests pressing against her G-spot, sparking warm, pulsing jolts that built her arousal to a fever pitch, her panties drenched, slick dripping down her thighs, the bzzz-bzzz a constant hum that made her clit throb, her moans soft but desperate, “Draco—Theo—please, I can’t—”
Draco’s voice was a filthy roar, “You can, love—keep going, let this room feel our claim, your pussy marked as ours.”
Theo’s hands teased her breasts through her robes, “Our perfect Gryffindor, cunt buzzing with us, love you.”
They lingered, drawing out the suffering, guiding her to stand by the portrait hole, then to a table, her pussy spasming with every step, squirting floods that soaked her thighs, her voice a trembling plea, “Need you—now.”
Finally, they guided her up the creaking stairs to the girls’ dormitory, her old bed by the window untouched, the crimson curtains glowing in the sunlight.
The rings buzzed louder as she climbed, her pussy spasming, squirting floods that soaked her thighs, “Draco—Theo—need you,” she moaned, collapsing onto her bed, her robes hiked up, panties pulled down, the rings vibrating wildly in her pussy.
Draco’s voice was a filthy snarl, “Gonna fuck you with our crests in your cunt, love—gonna make you scream in your old dorm.”
Theo kissed her deeply, “Our filthy lioness,” as Draco positioned himself behind her, bending her over the bed, her hands gripping the crimson sheets, her pussy bared, the rings humming inside.
Draco cast Slick Silken on his cock—glistening as he pressed it against her pussy, the rings already vibrating inside, the bzzz-bzzz a relentless pulse.
“Fuck, Granger—your pussy’s stuffed with our crests, gonna fuck you with them in, make this cunt ours,” he growled, thrusting in with hip buck, his cock sliding alongside the rings, the silver crests pressing against his shaft, the vibrations humming through his length, sparking electric jolts that made him groan, “Fuck, love—feel those rings buzzing against my cock, your pussy’s so tight.”
Her walls stretched impossibly around his girth and the rings, the crests shifting with each thrust, pressing against her G-spot, the piercing vibrations amplifying every sensation, her pussy clenching tightly on his length.
Draco fucked her slowly at first, his thrusts deep and deliberate, his cock dragging against the vibrating rings, the schlick-schlick loud as slick and cum gushed, the crests sparking jolts against her G-spot and his shaft, “Your pussy’s a fucking dream, Granger—stuffed with our legacy, buzzing around my cock,” his voice a filthy roar, his hands gripping her hips.
The rings vibrated relentlessly, the bzzz-bzzz syncing with his thrusts, the crests pressing harder against her sensitive walls, sparking white-hot jolts that radiated to her clit, her pussy spasming, “Draco—love you, it’s too much!”
Theo knelt before her, his cock in her mouth, “Suck me, love—let me feel you,” her lips stretching around his girth, the gluck-gluck muffled as she sucked, her tongue tracing the piercing, his groans raw, “Fuck, Hermione—your mouth’s perfect.”
Draco’s thrusts grew faster, brutal, his cock battering her G-spot alongside the rings, the vibrations amplifying every movement, “Fuck, love—your pussy’s squirting around our crests, my cock owning this cunt,” his thoughts in the bond.
Her pussy spasmed, squirting forceful arcs, the rings buzzing louder, her orgasm building, “Draco—close, love you!”
Theo’s cock throbbed in her mouth, “Cum for us, love,”.
Her orgasm crashed, pussy convulsing violently around Draco’s cock and the rings, squirting creamy floods that drenched the bed, her scream muffled, “Draco—love you!”
Draco roared, spilling thick ropes in her pussy, “Granger—ours, love you!” the rings vibrating through his cum, amplifying the sensation.
Theo pulled her hair as he came hard down her throat at the sight of their orgasms, and she struggled to swallow, some of it dribbling down her face to the bed.
By evening, they regrouped in the Great Hall with the other teams. McGonagall addressed them from the dais, parchment floating before her.
“The castle has now been fully searched. As of tonight, the investigation will shift to international coordination. We’ve requested specialists from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. Until further notice, your teams are released from active duty.”
Murmurs rippled through the room—relief, disappointment, uncertainty.
Hermione exchanged looks with the boys. Theo’s expression was unreadable; Draco’s jaw was tight.
Afterward, McGonagall approached them privately. “You’ve done your part. Go back to your lives. Let us handle the rest.”
Hermione nodded politely. “Of course, Professor.”
As they left the castle, Draco murmured, “She says that like any of us have a normal life to go back to.”
Theo laughed softly. “Ours is as close to normal as it gets, mate.”
Hermione squeezed both their hands. “Then that’s good enough.”
The sun was setting by the time they reached the gates. The castle loomed behind them, its windows glowing like aged memoirs.
Hermione turned back for one last look. “I hate leaving without answers.”
Draco slipped an arm around her waist. “Answers will come. They always do. Usually when you’ve given up hope and are halfway through tea.”
Theo smiled, weary but fond. “Then maybe we should start the kettle when we get home.”
Hermione’s laugh was soft, tired, and real. “Yes. Let’s do that.”
They disapparated together, leaving behind the castle’s watchful towers and the mystery that refused, for now, to be solved.
Notes:
Anyone got theories about the core disappearances? Let me know in the comments!
Chapter 169: New Starts
Chapter Text
The manor glowed with evening candlelight, its wide windows thrown open to the scent of lilac and summer air. Pudding the half-Kneazle wound around Hermione’s ankles as she paced the front hall, trying to ignore her nerves.
“They’re only people,” Draco said dryly from the stair landing, straightening the cuffs of his dark shirt. “You faced Death Eaters, Granger. You can survive Weasley at supper. You all used to be best friends for Merlin’s sake.”
Theo appeared behind him in rolled-sleeve ease, wand flicking the candles brighter. “He’s not wrong, love. Breathe.”
Hermione made a face at both of them just as the doorbell chimed.
Ginny and Harry arrived first—sun-flushed, laughing, Ginny in a light green dress, Harry balancing a bottle of elderflower wine. Behind them came Cho and Ron. Cho offered a polite smile; Ron’s eyes flicked nervously over the marble foyer, then to Draco.
“Nice place,” Ron said after a beat. “Bit posh.”
Draco grinned. “Blame his side of the family.”
Draco and Theo extended a hand—measured, civil. “Weasley.”
“Malfoy. Nott.”
It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t hostile either, and Hermione counted that as progress.
They moved to the dining room, where floating candles hung low over the table set in deep blue linen. The first course—roasted pear salad—appeared with a soft pop of house-elf magic.
Conversation limped at first. Ginny gamely tried to keep things moving. “So, Cho, still teaching magic history at the Kinder-Academy?”
“Yes,” Cho said, smiling. “Mostly first-years. They’re adorable until exam week.”
Ron snorted. “Nothing adorable about homework.”
Hermione laughed, tension loosening a fraction. “Still allergic to parchment, Ron?”
“Always.” He grinned, and for a moment they were fourteen again.
Draco leaned toward Theo, murmuring just loud enough for Hermione to hear, “She’s disarming him.”
Theo smirked. “She disarms everyone, mate. It’s her thing.”
Ron glanced over. “You two know I can hear you, right?”
That broke the ice. Even Draco chuckled, low and surprised.
The Main course arrived, lemon-herb salmon, with a salad straight form the manor’s garden served with a side of saffron rice, charmed to stay perfectly warm.
The conversation found rhythm—Quidditch, Ministry work, gossip about new laws, and new joke products being relased.
Cho asked Draco about his position as a financial backer of a new apothecary in Diagon Alley; he answered politely, guarded but courteous.
Theo told a story from St Mungo’s about a patient who transfigured his own arm into a trumpet mid-concert, earning real unbridled laughter.
Hermione watched Ron relax by degrees. Every so often, he’d catch her eye, the same sheepish look he used to have after an argument, and she’d smile back—quiet reassurance that this was fine, that they were all still allowed to grow.
Dessert arrived as a tray of honey-custard tartlets and summer berries. Ron reached for one, froze halfway. “These aren’t… cursed, right? The elves made them…?”
Draco arched a brow. “Only with exceptional flavor.”
Ginny nearly snorted wine up her nose. “Merlin, Ron, you’re impossible.”
Cho patted his arm affectionately. “He’s just cautious. Healthy instinct when Harry’s been in charge of catering before.”
That earned an actual laugh from Ron—and, remarkably, from Draco too.
Theo poured refills. “To peace talks, domestic edition.”
Glasses clinked. The warmth of wine and candlelight settled over them all like a charm.
Later, the group drifted into the main formal parlor. The fire crackled low; mugs of tea replaced the wineglasses.
Ginny sprawled on the rug near the hearth, Harry beside her. Cho perched on an armchair, listening as Theo set up a wizard-chess board.
Ron eyed the pieces suspiciously. “You sure they don’t bite?”
“Only if provoked,” Theo said with a grin.
They played while everyone else watched. Ron was rusty but clever; Theo over-confident. The match drew out, filled with Ron’s muttered strategy and Hermione’s quiet encouragement.
Draco, lounging behind Hermione on the settee, leaned in close enough for only her to hear. “He’s much better than I expected.”
“Told you,” she whispered back. “He always underestimated himself.”
When Ron’s knight decapitated Theo’s bishop, everyone cheered. Theo laughed, conceding defeat with good grace. “All right, Weasley, you win tonight. Next time we rematch.”
Ron looked stunned, then proud in the way only Ron Weasley could be. “Guess I still have it.”
The evening mellowed into comfortable chatter: Ginny teasing Draco about Quidditch stats at Hogwarts, Cho asking Hermione about the Granger Center, Theo and Harry comparing spell-ward protocols.
Ron sipped his tea, watching the trio with a thoughtful look. When Hermione caught it, he just said quietly, “You look happy, you know that?”
She smiled. “I am.”
“Good.” He nodded once, final and sincere. “Then I’m happy and good too.”
When the night wound down, the air outside was cool and full of fireflies.
Cho hugged Hermione first. “Dinner was lovely. You’re all welcome at ours next time.”
Ginny winked. “See? You survived the social experiment.”
Ron gave Draco a curt nod, then extended his hand to Theo. “Good game.”
Theo shook it firmly. “Rematch anytime.”
Draco hesitated, then added quietly, “Weasley—thank you. For coming.”
Ron’s answer was simple. “’Bout time I did.”
When the door shut behind their guests, Hermione exhaled, leaning back against it. “That went… astonishingly well.”
Theo grinned. “Define ‘well.’ No hexes, no shouting, no broken furniture—absolute success.”
Draco smirked, sliding an arm around her waist. “And maybe,” he murmured, “the world’s a little less divided tonight.”
Hermione smiled up at him, eyes warm. “Maybe so.”
The three of them lingered in the quiet front hall kissing, the glow of the evening still clinging like candlelight—soft, human, hopeful.
The next morning, Neville’s garden was a riot of color and hum, bees lazily drifting between rows of flowers that looked half-magical, half-muggle.
Hermione apparated to the gate carrying a basket of fresh pastries. Luna’s laugh floated through the open kitchen window.
“Come in, Hermione! We’re just finishing the fruit salad,” Luna called.
Inside, sunlight spilled across the farmhouse table where pansies and buttercups sat in mismatched jars. Luna, barefoot and round-bellied now, wore one of her long gauzy robes, hair loosely braided with tiny white flowers. Pansy was perched elegantly on a stool in a soft lavender sundress, looking out of place and yet somehow right at home.
“You’re glowing,” Hermione said as she kissed Luna’s cheek.
“Mostly because I spilled honey on myself earlier,” Luna replied serenely. “But thank you.”
Pansy rolled her eyes fondly. “She’s impossible to fluster. I envy it.”
Neville joined them long enough to pour tea, kiss Luna’s temple, and promise to be in the greenhouses for the next few hours. When he left, the air in the cottage felt lighter—sisterly.
The table filled with roasted tomatoes, flaky pastries, and sliced citrus salad. Pansy immediately complained about decaf tea and demanded the real thing, which Luna provided with an indulgent smile.
“You shouldn’t,” Hermione warned.
“And yet I will,” Pansy said, sipping defiantly.
Luna laughed softly. “I think the baby likes the rebellion.”
Pansy froze mid-sip. “Don’t say that. I can already feel them judging me.”
They spent an hour swapping stories—Luna about peculiar cravings (“pickled plums with ice cream and starlight syrup”), Pansy about her mood swings (“Blaise thinks I’m possessed”), and Hermione, mostly listening, curious and quiet.
Luna set down her tea. “You’ll understand it all soon enough, Hermione.”
Hermione blinked. “Excuse me?”
Luna’s dreamy blue eyes drifted toward the window. “Oh, not yet. But it won’t be that long before the magic around you hums differently. Children bring a certain… song with them. I can almost hear it already.”
Pansy choked on her croissant. “You can what?”
“Hear it,” Luna said serenely. “The beginnings of future heartbeats. Yours is loud and steady, Pansy. A complicated child, full of defiance and love. Hermione’s is… a harmony waiting for its cue to begin, but... there’s a sad note in there too at the start before it becomes a happy choir.”
Hermione blushed scarlet. “Luna—honestly—”
“Oh, don’t look so scandalized,” Pansy teased. “She’s probably right. You and those boys—what’s the phrase?—practicing diligently?”
“Pansy!” Hermione sputtered.
Luna smiled dreamily. “It’s good that love is practiced. The world needs more of it.”
As brunch lingered on, the conversation meandered from nursery colors to magical midwives to how Neville had been talking to the mandrakes as if they were small children.
Pansy, stroking her still-flat stomach, said quietly, “I wasn’t ready when I found out. I’m still not sure I am. But Blaise looked at me like I’d handed him the stars.”
Luna reached across the table, her fingers brushing Pansy’s. “That’s all you need. Someone to hold the light steady while you find your way.”
Hermione smiled softly, eyes warm. “You’ll be brilliant, both of you.”
Luna tilted her head. “And you’ll be gentle and fierce, all at once. Your children will know both fire and safety.”
Hermione hesitated. “You really think I’ll— soon?”
“Oh, yes relatively,” Luna said. “Three souls, one bond—it calls for legacy and unity though. The magic wouldn’t allow it otherwise.”
For a moment, even Pansy went quiet.
Afterward, they wandered through Neville’s garden, parasols charmed to float above their heads against the sun. The air smelled of mint and honeysuckle.
Pansy pointed her wand lazily at a patch of lilies. “Honestly, I might start nesting here. Blaise could move in with the gnomes.”
Hermione laughed, bending to sniff a bloom. “You’d last one night without your silk sheets.”
Luna trailed behind them, touching the petals of a strange silver plant. “Do you ever notice,” she said softly, “how every new life makes the air shimmer? I can see it now, between you both. The future stretching like a thread of gold.”
Hermione glanced at her, caught between amusement and awe. “Luna, you always make everything sound like a prophecy.”
“Maybe it is,” Luna said simply. “Or maybe it’s just love’s reflection.”
Back inside, Luna packed them both small satchels of enchanted lavender for calm. “Keep them by your bedsides,” she said. “They hum softly when you’re safe.”
Pansy hugged her tightly. “You’re odd and wonderful.”
“I know,” Luna said with genuine pleasure.
Hermione lingered at the door, watching Luna stand in the sunlight, hand resting over her stomach. “You really think everything will turn out all right in the end, don’t you?”
Luna smiled. “It already is. You’re just catching up to it.”
As Hermione disapparated home, the scent of honeysuckle clung to her robes—and Luna’s words, half riddle, half comfort, stayed with her all the way back to Nott Manor.
Hermione returned home as twilight settled over the estate, the air humming with the faint sound of summer insects beyond the glass veranda.
The boys were already there—Theo emerging from his healer robes with a tired smile, Draco by the sideboard, pouring three glasses of chilled white wine.
“Good day?” Theo asked, dropping a kiss on her temple as she toed off her shoes.
“Enlightening,” Hermione said, sounding halfway between amused and exasperated.
Draco arched a brow. “That’s your ‘Luna happened’ tone.”
Hermione laughed softly. “You’re not wrong.”
They ate outside beneath a canopy of fairy lights. The meal was simple—grilled vegetables, roasted chicken, summer fruit.
Hermione recounted the morning’s events: Luna serenely predicting future heartbeats, Pansy defying caffeine laws, Neville’s mandrake parenting techniques.
Draco snorted into his glass. “I still can’t believe Longbottom reproduces. The world truly is full of surprises.”
Theo chuckled. “I like Luna’s version of sometype of optimism. It’s unsettling, but sincere.”
Hermione toyed with her fork, smiling. “She said she could hear my future children.”
Theo nearly choked on his wine. “She what?”
Draco looked up sharply. “Your what?”
Hermione groaned. “Exactly my reaction. Apparently my ‘magical harmony’ has a ‘golden thread of legacy. And they’re singing a sad note before bursting into a happy choir.’” She made air quotes. “Whatever that means.”
Draco leaned back in his chair, studying her. “You don’t sound entirely skeptical.”
“I’m not sure I can be,” Hermione admitted. “With everything that’s happened—the bond, the emotional connection, the… glow—it doesn’t feel impossible.”
Theo reached across the table, brushing her fingers. “Luna might be mad, but she’s rarely wrong.”
Later, the three of them sat in the parlor, firelight flickering off the gold tracery of their magical bands.
Hermione leaned against Theo’s shoulder; Draco sat opposite, a book forgotten on his knee.
“It was strange,” she said quietly. “Hearing Luna talk about the future so casually. Pansy joked, of course, but Luna sounded so certain. Like it’s all written already.”
Theo’s hand moved idly through her curls. “Maybe it is. Or maybe she just sees the pieces of it we haven’t accepted yet.”
Draco’s gaze was steady on her. “Does it frighten you? The idea of children coming sooner rather than later?”
Hermione hesitated. “It doesn’t frighten me. It feels… enormous. Like another world I’m not ready to open yet.”
Theo smiled faintly. “That’s fair. We’ve had enough worlds open lately.”
Draco’s expression softened. “When the time comes, it’ll be on our terms. Not Luna’s prophecies, we have to adhere to the deadline but till then it’s our choice fully.”
Hermione met his eyes. “Ours.”
The bond pulsed between them—gentle, grounded, reassuring.
The fire burned low. Outside, rain began to fall softly, drumming on the veranda roof.
Hermione dozed against Theo, the weight of his arm heavy and warm around her.
Draco watched them both for a long time before rising to drape a blanket over her shoulders.
Theo looked up at him, half-smiling. “She’s right, you know. You’re becoming soft.”
Draco huffed quietly. “Don’t tell anyone.”
Theo chuckled, gaze drifting back to Hermione. “Never.”
The storm whispered beyond the windows, and inside the manor, everything was still—three heartbeats in the night, steady in rhythm, the faintest echo of Luna’s prophecy lingering in the air like a half-heard melody.
The smell of coffee and cinnamon hung in the air the next morning.
Hermione sat cross-legged at the breakfast table in one of Draco’s shirts, parchment spread around her, nibbling toast. Theo was still half asleep, hair an unruly halo, reading a healer’s journal upside-down until his coffee kicked in.
Draco, perfectly pressed in a dove-grey dressing gown, was buttering croissants with the precision of a surgeon.
“You’re both incorrigible,” Hermione murmured without looking up.
Theo yawned. “We prefer balanced. She’s chaos, I’m exhaustion, and he’s control issues.”
Draco gave him a withering look but didn’t rise to it.
The peace was so domestic it almost startled Hermione. Until—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A glossy black owl with a silver-blue ribbon landed smartly on the window ledge.
“Pansy,” Hermione said, rising. “Only she would coordinate her owl’s accessories.”
Draco opened the latch, and the owl swooped in, depositing a thick parchment directly in front of him before helping itself to his croissant.
He muttered something impolite under his breath but handed the letter to Hermione.
The shimmering script unfolded across the page in elegant strokes of green ink:
To my dearest set of trouble and entertainment,
I’ve just come from St. Mungo’s for our first scan, and while Blaise insists on pacing holes into our floor, the Healer has confirmed it:
We’re having a boy.
Healthy, strong heartbeat, kicked the spell monitor halfway across the room. Already dramatic—clearly mine.
Blaise hasn’t stopped grinning. I may have to tranquilize him.
Hermione, you’re godmother (obviously). Draco, Theo… your going to have to fight it out for godfather! The loser can claim the second born.
Draco and Theo—you’re to teach him proper hex form and how to look terrifying in silk robes. I have high standards.
P.S. Blaise wants to name him “Cassian.” Thoughts?
— Pansy Parkinson-Zabini
At the bottom, the ink shimmered into a small animated sketch: a swaddled baby floating in bubbles of gold light, one tiny hand punching the air.
Theo whistled softly. “A boy. Blaise is never going to recover from that level of pride.”
Draco’s expression softened despite himself. “Cassian Zabini. It sounds like an heir to a wine empire. … Fitting, really.”
Hermione smiled, voice gentler. “I’m so happy for them. Pansy’s going to spoil him rotten. That baby is going to throwup on designer clothes.”
Theo leaned back in his chair. “And Blaise will pretend to disapprove while buying him a broom before he can walk.”
Draco’s gaze lingered on the glowing parchment. “Strange, isn’t it? How it keeps happening. First Luna, now Pansy. It feels like a new world growing out of the ashes.”
Hermione nodded. “Exactly that.”
The moment stretched, quiet and thoughtful, the morning light glinting off the faint golden bands on their fingers.
Theo broke the hush. “Well, as godmother, you’re obligated to provide educational toys and inappropriate sugar.”
Hermione laughed. “I’ll leave the inappropriate sugar to you two.”
Draco smirked. “I’ll arrange something far more tasteful. A proper Malfoy christening gift.”
Theo raised an eyebrow. “A silver rattle engraved with his monogram?”
“Gold,” Draco said evenly. “Let’s not insult the child.”
Hermione hid her grin behind her teacup. “Merlin help that poor boy. Between Pansy and the three of us, he’ll never stand a chance.”
After breakfast, they wandered into the gardens, still in slippers and dressing gowns, cups of tea hovering beside them.
Theo stretched in the sun. “Feels like everyone’s moving into the next chapter. Babies, families… the world finally breathing again.”
Hermione nodded. “It’s nice to see something grow out of all the pain.”
Draco’s tone softened. “And maybe, someday, that’ll be us too. But not yet.”
She smiled at him, a faint blush touching her cheeks. “Not yet.”
Theo clinked his teacup lightly against hers. “To Cassian Zabini, first of his name—and to friends who make us toast at ungodly hours.”
Draco actually chuckled, the rare sound warming the morning air. “I’ll drink to that.”
Notes:
Oh Luna, got to love her!
Chapter 170: 'Volunteering'
Chapter Text
The morning sun filtered through thin clouds as Hermione and Theo arrived by floo to the discreet magical entrance of The Granger Center for Magical Integration and Support, its brass plaque reading Granger Family Resource Center in simple letters.
Inside, the air was soft with the scent of parchment and lemon polish. Children’s laughter echoed faintly from a nearby playroom, and bright art done in crayon and glitter—depictions of broomsticks, cats, and magical sparks—decorated the walls.
Hermione always felt a strange peace walking in here. Her childhood home transformed into something that healed the gap between worlds.
Theo brushed dust from his robes and offered her a smile. “Still surreal that you lived here once, and now it’s a whole place of its own.”
“It’s the best kind of full circle,” she said, smiling back.
They were met by Elspeth Rowe, a kindly witch in her sixties who ran the front desk.
“Morning, Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott,” she said fondly, her eyes twinkling. “We’ve got two families coming in first thing. One just found out their boy’s a Squib sibling, poor thing, very disappointed since the daughter’s magical, and the other… well, they’ve got a floating toaster.”
Theo stifled a laugh. “Classic early manifestation.”
Hermione grinned. “Let’s get to work, then.”
The first family, a nervous muggle couple with a wide-eyed little girl, and angry little boy sat waiting in the consultation room. The girl, Lila, had accidentally set her dolls dancing mid-air during breakfast.
Hermione knelt to the child’s level. “You must be Lila.”
The girl nodded shyly, her curls bouncing. “I didn’t mean to make them fly.”
Hermione smiled warmly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You just have something very special inside you—magic.”
Theo handed the parents a pamphlet on the Hogwarts preparatory programs, his tone gentle but confident. “It’s hereditary in some cases, but sometimes it just appears. What matters is that it’s safe and natural. Like being left-handed, but with sparks.”
The parents laughed—relieved.
Hermione added softly, “When I was about your age, I made my parents’ rug dance across the sitting room. It frightened them too. But now they’d tell you it was the best thing that ever happened.”
By the time the family left, the little girl was smiling, holding a small enchanted charm that shimmered with faint pink light—a gift from Theo.
Hermione looked at him fondly. “You’re good at this.”
He shrugged, smiling. “Healers patch the physical. You fix the rest.”
A familiar voice called from the doorway: “You two always make it look easy.”
Harry Potter stood there, casual in jeans and a light jacket, a warm grin tugging at his mouth.
“Harry!” Hermione lit up, hugging him tightly.
Theo shook his hand with genuine warmth. “You slumming it with the public today, Potter?”
Harry grinned. “Minister sent me to observe, actually. Kingsley wants to expand this model across the world. I do plan to help while I’m here though of course.”
Hermione’s eyes brightened. “You’re serious?”
“Completely,” Harry said. “He thinks it could help stabilize the magical transition process for Muggleborns. Maybe cut down on the panic Hogwarts and every other school gets every September.”
Theo raised an eyebrow. “Look at you, the bureaucrat with a conscience.”
Harry chuckled. “Don’t tell the Aurors—it’ll ruin my reputation.”
By noon, the waiting room buzzed with quiet excitement. Hermione and Theo were helping another family whose son’s accidental magic had levitated the family cat.
Harry sat cross-legged with the boy, explaining Quidditch with exaggerated gestures that had the child giggling.
Hermione watched them from across the room, her heart full. “He’s so good with them,” she murmured.
Theo smiled faintly. “You all grew up in chaos. It’s why you’re good at taming it.”
Hermione shot him a playful glance. “And you’re good at understanding it.”
He leaned closer. “Maybe that’s why it works.”
Their hands brushed as she passed him a parchment—small, accidental, but enough to make her pulse skip.
It was mid-afternoon and Hermione, Theo, and Harry had spent nearly 5 hours volunteering at the center already, explaining magic to muggle families with newly discovered magical children, their voices hoarse from hours of patient demonstrations and reassurances.
Hermione, dressed in a fitted navy blouse and pencil skirt, her curls pulled into a professional bun with a few strands escaping to frame her freckled face, had been standing near a display table when he caught her eye.
Theo, in his dark robes, his frame lean and commanding, had caught her eye across the room, his stormy eyes glinting with mischief.
Harry, oblivious but increasingly perceptive as an adult, was engrossed in a conversation with a muggle parent nearby, his voice carrying faintly through the open office door, though his occasional glances toward Hermione and Theo betrayed a growing suspicion.
Theo’s grin had been brazen but laced with urgent desire, the bond pulsing with his intent as he sidled up to Hermione, his voice a low, teasing whisper, “Granger, love—meet me in the bathroom, now. Need you, quick and quiet.”
His hand brushed her lower back, sparking a shiver, her clit throbbing faintly.
“Theo—here? Harry’s right there, the staff—” she whispered, her cheeks flushing crimson, but her eyes shimmered with arousal. She nodded subtly, her heart racing, and slipped away, Theo following moments later, his cock hardening fully as he locked the bathroom door with a soft click, the sound deafening in the small space, the lock’s finality heightening the danger.
Theo pinned her against the door immediantely, his hands hiking her skirt up to her waist with frantic urgency, baring her thighs and soaked lace panties, his lips crashing against hers in a desperate kiss, tongues tangling with raw, reckless need, the bond flaring with his desire.
“Fuck, love—your pussy’s calling me, been hard all day watching you be so nurturing with all these young kids,” he growled, his voice a hushed, filthy whisper, his fingers ripping her panties down with a tear, the lace shredding to reveal her pussy.
“Shh, Granger—stay quiet, don’t let Harry or the staff hear you scream,” he murmured, his stormy eyes blazing with love and mischief, his hand cupping her pussy, fingers opening her lips.
Hermione’s moan was muffled against his shoulder, “Theo—love you, fuck, be quick,” her voice a trembling whisper, her pussy clenching as his fingers thrust into her curling hard against her G-spot.
“Fuck, love—your cunt’s so wet, gripping me like a vice,” he whispered, his voice thick with love, pumping faster, his thumb circling her clit with precise, teasing pressure.
“Quiet, love—Harry’s just outside, don’t want him hearing how filthy you are for me,” he growled, his teeth grazing her neck as he kissed her, the bond pulsing with his urgent need, the muffled voices beyond the door—Harry’s laugh, a child’s excited shout, a staff member’s footsteps—heightening the tension to a razor’s edge.
He freed his cock, the apadravya piercing glinting as he thrust into her pussy in a slow push, her walls stretching tight around his girth, the piercing scraping her G-spot, “Theo—fuck, love you!” muffled against his shoulder, her hands clawing his back, nails digging in.
“Shh, love—quiet, or they’ll hear you taking my cock,” he growled, hips slamming, the slap-slap-slap of his balls against her ass soft but obscene, the door rattling faintly with their rhythm, the thump-thump a heart-stopping risk.
Her pussy clenched, the piercing amplifying every thrust, “Theo—close, love you,” her whisper desperate, her body trembling against the door, the muffled chatter outside growing louder, Harry’s voice cutting through, closer now, “Hermione? Theo? You two alright?”
Just as her orgasm began to crest, a sharp, insistent knock on the door shattered the moment, Harry’s voice laced with suspicion, “Hermione? Theo? You’ve been in there a while—what’s going on? The family’s waiting, and I swear I heard something.”
The door handle rattled violently, the click-click of the lock holding firm but straining, the sound a jolt of pure panic that made Hermione’s pussy clench hard around Theo’s cock, her eyes wide with alarm.
Theo froze mid-thrust, his cock throbbing inside her, buried to the hilt, the piercing pressing against her G-spot, sparking a torturous jolt that made her bite her lip to stifle a moan.
The bond flared with their shared adrenaline, a white-hot spike of fear and arousal, her pussy spasming uncontrollably.
Theo’s grin was defiant but strained, his voice a panicked, hushed whisper, “Fuck, love—stay still, don’t make a fucking sound, he’s onto us.”
His cock twitched inside her, her pussy clenching, squirting another spurt that dripped down his balls.
Hermione’s heart pounded, her voice a shaky, barely audible whisper, “We’re... we’re just freshening up, Harry! Be out in a minute!”
Her pussy spasmed, the piercing pressing harder, sparking a jolt that made her thighs tremble, her nails digging into Theo’s shoulders.
Harry’s voice came again, closer, the door handle rattling harder, his tone sharp with suspicion, “Freshening up? For ten minutes? The door’s locked, and I heard... something. Open up, or I’m getting a staff key! You better not be doing what I think! There are children here!”
The thump-thump of his fist against the door sent a vibration through her body, her pussy clenching, the muffled voices of staff and families outside growing louder, a child’s laugh piercing the tension.
Theo’s eyes widened, his voice a desperate whisper, “Fuck, love—your cunt’s gonna give us away, squeezing me like that, Harry’s fucking suspicious.”
He held still, his cock throbbing, the piercing a agonizing pleasant pressure, her pussy spasming with every heartbeat, the muffled voices outside—Harry’s footsteps lingering, a staff member’s voice calling, “Mr. Potter, everything alright?”—heightening the tension to an unbearable, suffocating peak.
Hermione bit her lip until it bled, muffling a moan, her pussy tightening softly, the girth of Theo’s cock inside her a constant torment.
The bond was a wildfire of panic and arousal, their love a desperate anchor. Harry’s voice grew insistent, “Hermione, Theo—I’m serious, open the door, now!”
The rattle-rattle of the handle was relentless, the lock groaning under the pressure, the danger of discovery a heartbeat away.
Theo’s voice was a frantic whisper, “Fuck, love—we’re screwed, but your pussy’s too good, can’t stop.”
He resumed with agonizing slowness, his thrusts shallow but deep, “Cum for me, love—quiet, squirt on my cock, don’t let him hear,” his voice a filthy, trembling whisper.
Hermione’s orgasm teetered on the edge, her pussy spasming, “Theo—love you,” her whisper barely audible, her body trembling against the door. Harry’s footsteps paused, his voice muffled but suspicious, “Fine, I’ll wait out here—but this isn’t over.”
The danger lingered, his presence a shadow outside, the staff’s voices growing curious, “Is everything okay, Mr. Potter?”
Theo’s thrusts quickened, desperate, “Fuck, love—cum now, before he breaks the door,” his piercing battering her G-spot.
Her orgasm crashed, her moan muffled against his neck, “Theo—love you!”
He thrust deep, spilling in her pussy, the piercing throbbing, “Hermione—mine, love you”.
They panted, kissing frantically, cleaning with a rushed Tergeo, slipping out with flushed faces, Harry’s suspicious gaze meeting them as they emerged and he frowned at them.
By late afternoon, the last families had gone. The building was quiet again, filled with the hum of cooling charms and fading laughter.
Harry leaned against the counter, sipping tea, looking around at the walls of children’s drawings. “You’ve done something incredible here, Hermione. You took pain and turned it into purpose.”
She swallowed hard, emotion rising. “I just didn’t want anyone else to feel alone like I did at eleven.”
Theo’s hand rested over hers on the table, warm and steady. “And now no one has to.”
Harry smiled knowingly at them both. “You two make quite the team. Draco’s going to be jealous when he finds out you managed an entire day without him hovering.”
Hermione laughed. “He’ll survive. Maybe.”
Theo muttered, “Doubtful.”
They all shared a smile.
When the day ended, the three of them stepped out into the cool twilight. The lamps along the street were flickering to life, golden halos in the fog.
Harry hugged her goodbye. “Tell Malfoy I’m expecting a bottle of that wine he promised me. And Hermione… really. This place—it matters. Careful you two…”
She nodded, eyes bright. “Thank you, Harry.”
He Disapparated with a soft pop.
Theo turned to her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You know he’s right. This place does matter. And so do you.”
Hermione smiled softly. “We all matter, Theo. That’s why we keep doing this.”
He offered his arm. “Home?”
She nodded.
The fire in the main hearth had burned low when the floo flared green.
Hermione looked up from the sofa, where she and Theo had been reading in companionable silence. A swirl of emerald light resolved into Draco, stepping out with the unruffled grace of someone determined not to show how exhausted he really was.
His travel cloak was impeccably fastened, but there were faint shadows under his eyes. The moment he saw them, though, something softened in his expression — the tension that had been coiled tight since he’d left seemed to ease.
“You’re home early,” she said, closing her book and rising.
He smiled faintly. “Early? It’s nearly nine. I was half-expecting the house to be asleep.”
Theo stretched on the couch, grinning. “We were just arguing about whether your owl can read minds.”
Draco shot him a dry look. “It cannot.”
Hermione smirked. “That’s exactly what a man with a mind-reading owl would say.”
For the first time in days, Draco laughed — a quiet, genuine sound that made her chest ache pleasantly.
They gathered around the small dining table in their private parlor rather than the formal hall, wanting warmth over ceremony. A tray of reheated stew, warm bread, and a bottle of red wine waited for him; Theo poured the glasses while Hermione set an extra plate.
Draco looked between them with something like gratitude. “You’ve both kept the place from descending into chaos, I see.”
Theo snorted. “Barely. She nearly made me wear an apron at The Granger Center.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You volunteered.”
“I said I’d help, not that I’d model kitchen couture.”
Draco’s lips quirked. “What did I miss at the Center, then? Any small explosions?”
Hermione’s tone warmed as she began recounting their day — the families, Harry’s visit, the muggle girl whose dolls had flown, the laughter, the sense of purpose. As she spoke, Draco listened with the quiet attention of someone cataloguing every word.
When she finished, he murmured, “You sound proud. You should be.”
She blinked. “I am.”
He reached across the table, brushing his thumb over her knuckles — subtle, reverent. “Good. Because I am too.”
Theo clinked his wineglass lightly against theirs, breaking the tension with a grin. “To accidental magic, caffeine dependency, and Hermione saving the world one pamphlet at a time.”
Hermione laughed, cheeks pink. Draco shook his head but drank anyway.
After dinner, they drifted back to the sitting room. The fire had been coaxed alive again, painting the walls gold.
Theo curled up on one end of the couch, half-dozing. Hermione sat on the rug with a blanket around her shoulders, quill and parchment in hand, working on a list for the Center.
Draco settled beside her, handing her a cup of cocoa that the elves had brought. “You never stop.”
“Someone has to,” she said softly, smiling.
He studied her for a long moment, then said, “France was dreadful. All numbers and inheritances. Mother sends her regards, of course, and insists we visit more often this summer.”
Hermione tilted her head toward him. “Did it go well?”
“Business always does,” he replied, though there was something thoughtful in his tone. “But it was… strange, being away. I kept thinking how quiet the manor would feel without—”
He stopped himself, expression shifting.
“Without us?” she offered gently.
He nodded. “Yes.”
Theo, half-asleep, muttered, “You missed us. Just admit it, Malfoy.”
Draco exhaled through his nose, pretending annoyance, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Perhaps I did.”
The bond pulsed with unspoken tension, Draco’s gaze flicking between Hermione and Theo, sensing their shared secret. He leaned forward, his voice a low, teasing drawl, “Alright, loves—spill it. You two were acting shifty as fuck when you talked about the center. What the hell happened?” His fingers traced the rim of his wine glass, the bond flaring with his curiosity.
Hermione’s cheeks burned crimson, “Draco—it’s... gods, it’s mortifying.” She took a sip of wine, her hands fidgeting, “Theo... pulled me into the staff bathroom at the center. Harry was right outside, with families and staff everywhere.”
Theo’s grin widened, his voice cheeky but thick with pride, “Couldn’t help it, love—watching you all day, that skirt hugging your arse, your voice all professional... had to have you. Pinned her against the door, fucked her quick and quiet—or tried to.”
The bond pulsed with his defiance, his cock twitching visibly.
Draco’s eyes darkened with a mix of arousal and protective jealousy, his voice a filthy growl, “You fucked her in the bathroom with Potter right there? Fuck, Theo—bold move. Tell me everything, love—don’t leave out a single detail.”
His hand slid under the table, brushing Hermione’s thigh, sparking a shiver, “Start with how wet she was, mate.” Hermione’s face flamed, her pussy now throbbing, “Draco—please, it was so risky,” but her voice trembled with arousal, the bond radiating her embarrassment and desire.
Theo leaned closer, his voice a playful, filthy recount, “She was soaked, Draco—panties drenched before I even touched her. Ripped ‘em off, her pussy dripping, lips all puffy and pink, clit throbbing like it was begging for me. Had her against the door, fingers in her cunt first, slick gushing everywhere, squirting on my hand while I told her to stay quiet for Harry.”
He grinned, his eyes glinting, “Thrust my cock in, her pussy squeezing me like a vice, squirting with every thrust, the door rattling. Then Harry knocked—fucking Potter, rattling the handle, saying he heard something.” The bond flared with his cheeky thrill, his cock fully hard now against his pants.
Hermione’s voice was a whisper, “I thought we were done for—my pussy clenched so hard, I almost came right there. Had to lie, say we were ‘freshening up,’ while Theo was still inside me.”
Draco’s eyes blazed, his voice a filthy growl, “Fuck, love—you were fucking her with Potter at the door? Trying not to scream? Gods, Granger, you’re a filthy little wife, I didn’t think you would enjoy something so public or I would have done it ages ago.”
His hand slid higher, fingers brushing her soaked panties under the table, “Bet you loved it, love—pussy dripping, heart racing, knowing he could’ve caught you.”
Theo continued, “Held still, cock throbbing in her, her pussy squirting just from the panic. Harry was suspicious as fuck—kept rattling the door, saying he’d get a key. Finally fucked her slow, her orgasm hitting, , muffled her screams against my neck. Came in her, cum dripping everywhere, cleaned up with a Tergeo and slipped out. Harry was waiting, eyes narrowed, definitely knows something’s up.”
The bond pulsed with their shared adrenaline, Hermione’s embarrassment peaking, her pussy throbbing.
Draco’s grin was wicked, his voice a filthy snarl, “Fuck, loves—that’s the hottest thing I’ve heard all week. Granger, you naughty little witch, fucking Theo with Potter outside, pussy squirting, marked as ours. Harry’s suspicious? Let him wonder—our witch, our secret.”
His fingers pressed against her clit through her panties, “Gonna fuck you tonight, love—make you scream louder than you did in that bathroom.”
Notes:
Hermione is a naughty witch =P
Chapter 171: Grilling with a Side of Fear
Chapter Text
Hermione stood on the terrace, one hand shielding her eyes, the other clutching a glass of iced pumpkin juice. The third of July was proving to be a turning point in the weather, the heat sizzling in like a freight train.
“It’s too hot to even think,” Theo groaned from the doorway, already barefoot and shirtless, his brow damp.
Draco, by contrast, looked absurdly put-together for the weather: rolled-sleeve white shirt, linen trousers, and a scowl. “The wards are radiating heat. We should have installed the glacier charm I suggested.”
Hermione turned, eyes sparkling. “Or,” she said sweetly, “we could do something Muggle.”
Theo raised a brow. “That tone usually ends with chaos.”
“A slip-and-slide,” Hermione declared. “We’ll stretch a sheet across the hill, charm it slick, pour on water and soap, and invite everyone over. Food, drinks, laughter—what could be better?”
Draco stared at her. “Sliding down a hill coated in detergent doesn’t sound dignified, Granger.”
“Exactly,” she shot back. “It’s fun.”
Theo grinned. “I’ll grab the soap.”
By the time she’d finished explaining the logistics, even Draco had stopped protesting—mostly because she’d charmed a cooling mist to follow him until he agreed and said she would wear his favorite bikini.
The noon sun turned the air even more molten. Just as the water charm began to spray glittering arcs across the grass, the first pops of apparition sounded.
Ginny and Harry appeared with a basket of chilled butterbeer; Luna and Neville arrived arm-in-arm, she wa srounded in a sundress patterned with constellations; Blaise and Pansy followed, her pregnancy not even showing but already treated like royalty—Blaise carried both picnic basket and parasol.
Pansy surveyed the scene. “Granger, darling, what have you done to this respectable estate?”
“Improved morale,” Hermione said proudly.
Theo handed her a glass of lemonade. “Also possibly destroyed the dignity of every pure-blood male present.”
Blaise smirked. “Excellent. Shall we begin?”
Hermione took a running start before anyone could object, the sunlight glinting off the water as she launched herself forward, sliding down the hill with a shriek of laughter. She reached the bottom, soaked and beaming.
“See? Perfectly safe!”
Theo followed—his slide ended in a spectacular spin and a splash that some how drenched both Blaise and Draco.
Draco looked down at his soaked shirt, then at Hermione’s mischievous grin. “You’re all children.”
Ginny folded her arms. “You’re next, Malfoy.”
The cheering started—“Draco! Draco!”—and even Luna joined in, chanting softly about “serpents learning to swim.”
He groaned, handed his wand to Theo, took three steps back, and charged. His slide was graceful for exactly two seconds before he lost balance, spun, and landed in a heap beside Hermione.
The crowd erupted.
Hermione laughed so hard she could barely breathe. “You did it!”
Draco coughed water out of his nose. “Never again. One time thing, we never speak of again.”
By early afternoon, towels and laughter littered the grass. Theo had conjured a large shaded canopy over the grill, where the smell of sizzling burgers, charmed corn, and roasted vegetables mingled with the crisp scent of lemon soap from the slide. Harry and Theo had been trying to master muggle grilling together, much to everyone’s amusement.
Ginny and Luna helped Hermione set out the food—enchanted skewers that rotated themselves, fruit platters that never emptied.
Draco, somehow dry again, took charge of the grill from the chaotic duo with the air of a general commanding troops. “If anyone sets this on fire, they’re doing the cleanup.”
“You’re surprisingly domestic,” Neville teased.
“Efficient,” Draco corrected. “Not domestic.”
Theo wandered over, took a bite of grilled pineapple, and murmured, “Merlin, that’s good.”
Hermione grinned. “Admit it, Draco. You’re enjoying yourself.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “Terribly.”
The slip-and-slide evolved into competitions: longest slide, most spins, best dismount.
Luna somehow managed to glide perfectly upright, arms out like wings after Neville had precautionarly spelled a cushioning charm around her belly.
Theo and Harry challenged each other to a race that ended with both tumbling into the pond, laughing and sputtering.
Blaise attempted the slide once, screaming “For science!” before flipping halfway and emerging with grass in his hair. Pansy declared him a “tragic hero” and handed him a lemonade.
From her spot on a blanket, Pansy called out scores while Luna awarded imaginary prizes.
Draco joined Hermione under the shade, handing her a cold butterbeer. “Remind me why we haven’t hosted one of these before?”
“Because you used to think muggle joy was undignified.”
He smirked. “I stand corrected.”
Their fingers brushed as she took the bottle; the bond rings at their hands shimmered faintly in the heat, unnoticed by anyone else.
When the sun dipped low, the laughter mellowed. Towels hung from chairs, and the scent of smoke drifted from the firepit Draco had conjured for toasting marshmallows.
Neville and Luna slow-danced barefoot in the grass. Blaise sat behind Pansy, arms around her, talking softly about baby names.
Harry strummed a lazy tune about the untamed American plains on his enchanted guitar while Ginny sang off-key.
Theo sat cross-legged beside Hermione, his damp hair curling at his neck. “You know,” he murmured, “this might be the most enchanting day we’ve had all summer.”
She smiled. “I think we earned it.”
Draco leaned back on his elbows nearby, eyes half-closed, voice low. “A rare afternoon with no threats, no press, and no Ministry breathing down our necks. We should celebrate it properly.”
Theo grinned. “Meaning?”
Draco tilted his head toward Hermione. “Meaning she wins the ‘best idea of the summer’ award.”
Hermione laughed, cheeks pink. “Do I get a trophy?”
Theo murmured, “I’ll make you one later.”
Their shared laughter rolled into the warm night, soft and unhurried.
As the guests disapparated under the stars, the manor grounds glowed with hundreds of floating lanterns and drifting fireflies.
Pansy kissed Hermione’s cheek. “Next time, darling, less soap, more champagne.”
Luna hugged her gently. “You looked happy today. Keep doing that.”
Harry clapped Draco on the shoulder. “You’re alright, Malfoy.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “You’re only saying that because I didn’t hex you.”
Theo laughed. “Progress, lads. Progress.”
When the wards sealed again, the triad lingered on the terrace, barefoot, the night air heavy with lilac and embers.
Hermione sighed contentedly. “That was perfect.”
Theo slipped an arm around her waist. “You realize we’re doing this again next year.”
Draco smirked. “Only if we enchant the slide to end in champagne.”
Hermione laughed, leaning into them both. “Deal.”
The house had long gone still. The boy’s had made good on their promise of rewarding Hermione from earlier, and she laid lazy with post orgasm bliss while they prepared for bed.
The faint scent of smoke and lavender lingered from the bonfire in the air.
Soon, the three of them had collapsed together into bed, still pleasantly warm and sleepy. Hermione was tucked between them, head resting on Draco’s shoulder, Theo’s hand tracing idle circles on her back.
Outside, the night was heavy and slow—the kind that hummed with the last song of crickets and the faint rustle of theorchard.
Draco murmured, half-asleep, “We should host parties more often. Everyone left without hexing each other. A record.”
Hermione chuckled softly, eyes closed. “Even you had fun.”
Theo’s voice was lazy, content. “He did. I saw him smile twice.”
Draco huffed. “A rare occurrence, properly documented, I’m sure.”
Hermione smiled, feeling the warmth of their bond like a low hum between them—steady, calm, glowing faintly with shared satisfaction.
Just as her breathing slowed toward sleep, a faint tapping broke the quiet.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Theo lifted his head, groaning. “Merlin’s sake, who’s sending post at this hour?”
An owl hovered outside the bedroom window—sleek and official-looking, with the seal of St. Mungo’s on the parchment tied to its leg. Theo’s drowsiness vanished instantly.
He slipped out of bed, muttering a quiet spell to open the latch. The owl swooped in, dropped the letter on the desk, and left again into the dark.
Draco sat up slightly, hair tousled. “Work?”
Theo nodded grimly, already breaking the seal. He scanned the parchment, the color draining from his face.
“What is it?” Hermione asked, sitting up.
Theo’s voice was quiet, low. “Another one.”
Draco straightened. “Another… student?”
Theo nodded once. “Third year. From Hogwarts.”
Hermione’s heart dropped. “A third year? But school’s been out for weeks—how—”
He ran a hand through his hair, eyes scanning the note again. “Collapsed at home this evening. Parents brought her in through the floo. Same symptoms. Magical core… completely undetectable.”
The air in the room changed—no longer heavy with heat, but sharp, tense. Hermione reached for her wand instinctively, though there was nothing to fight.
“She’s the youngest so far,” she said quietly.
Draco leaned forward, the lines of his face hardening. “If it’s moving down through the years during summer break—Merlin—it’s not confined to the castle.”
Theo nodded, rubbing at his temple. “That’s what worries me. If the cause were something at Hogwarts, it should’ve stopped when the term ended. This girl’s been home for a month. Whatever’s happening—it’s spreading.”
Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth. “Could it be environmental? Or something magical they were all exposed to just with a long impact?”
Draco’s tone was grim. “Not likely coincidence. All different Houses, different blood statuses. Unless the castle itself is bleeding old magic into the students that is dormant then randomly manifests—”
Theo shook his head. “I’d detect trace resonance if that were true. The readings were clean. The cores are just… gone. This may not be related to Hogwarts at all.”
He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, staring down at his hands. “It’s like someone drained them.”
Hermione pulled the blanket around herself, her mind racing. “If it’s not Hogwarts… then it’s something following them after they’ve even left. Something external. A curse, a pathogen—”
“Or a curse disguised as one,” Draco said quietly.
Theo looked up, meeting his gaze. “A magically transmissible reaction? I’ve personally run tests on them all… there was no magical trace of anything left behind. I really don’t see how that would happen.”
Hermione frowned. “There are rituals in dark magic that draw on collective magical energy—maybe someone’s experimenting with that. Something that infects or siphons power slowly, until it collapses.”
Draco exhaled sharply, eyes flicking toward the window. “And we all thought Voldemort was the end of dark innovation.”
Theo’s voice was quieter now, thoughtful but edged. “The child’s parents said she’d been tired for the last few days. Headaches, weak spells, forgetting things. It started like a summer cold, they thought she picked-up something from playing with her cousins that just visited from Spain.”
Hermione’s hands clenched in the sheets. “Then this might have been building since before the term ended...though that seems like way too long an incubation period. More likely happened in the last week. Whatever’s causing it—it’s not waiting for anyone to notice.”
A wave of unease rippled through their bond, soft but tangible. Hermione felt Draco’s protective fear twist beneath her ribs, and Theo’s healer’s mind flicking through possibilities.
She reached across, taking both their hands. “Someone will figure this out. We have to.”
Draco looked at her, jaw tight. “You’re not going anywhere near these patients until we know it’s safe. We don’t even know for sure it’s not contagious.”
“Theo’s bene interacting with them all along with other healers… no one else has gotten it,” she countered softly. “And if I can help research the magical signatures, I should.”
Theo gave her a tired smile. “Let’s not fight tonight. We’ll bring this to Kingsley tomorrow. The Ministry needs to know it’s not isolated.”
Draco muttered, “And they’ll panic.”
“Maybe,” Hermione said quietly, “but panic means funding and hopefully public awareness.”
That made both men huff faint laughter, the tension easing for a heartbeat.
Theo set the letter down, sealing it with a charm. “I’ll floo into the hospital first thing. Try to get her more stable.”
Hermione nodded, brushing his shoulder. “Be careful.”
“I always am.”
Draco slid back down beside her, his voice low. “If this isn’t Hogwarts, then what in Merlin’s name is it?”
She didn’t answer right away, just leaned into him, eyes fixed on the moonlight stretching across the sheets. “Something old or new, who knows,” she whispered. “Something we haven’t seen yet.”
Theo joined them again a moment later, exhaustion sinking into his posture. Hermione reached for him, and without another word, the three of them lay together under the quiet hum of the wards.
Theo had dozed fitfully beside her for only a couple hours, then risen before dawn to shower and dress in the more formal healer’s whites anticipating meetings today.
Draco was awake too, propped on one elbow, watching her trace patterns on the sheets.
“You’re thinking again,” he murmured.
She gave a tired laugh. “I don’t seem to know how not to.”
He reached out, brushing a curl from her face. “Let him handle the hospital for now. You can’t solve the world’s darkness before breakfast.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” she said quietly. “It’s never just the world’s darkness anymore. It keeps circling back.”
He squeezed her hand once. “Then we circle tighter.”
A soft pop sounded from the wardrobe: the house-elf announcing that Theo’s tea and travel kit were ready.
Theo appeared a moment later, hair damp, expression set. “St. Mungo’s just owled again—they stabilized the girl overnight, but she still can’t cast a spark. I’ll send word when I know more.”
Hermione kissed his cheek; Draco clapped his shoulder.
“Don’t skip meals,” Draco muttered, which earned him a wry smile before Theo disapparated.
The manor’s kitchen felt too calm for the news that hung over it. The scent of coffee and toast couldn’t mask the heaviness.
Draco unfolded The Daily Prophet but didn’t really read it; Hermione was pacing with her mug.
“We need to see Kingsley,” she said finally. “If the Ministry doesn’t treat this as urgent, the next child could die and so many more could be infected soon.”
Draco looked up. “You think it’s lethal?”
“I think we don’t know for sure what long term looks like, and that’s almost worse.”
He exhaled, then nodded. “I’ll send a message. He trusts you, but he’ll want the healer’s report too.”
“Which we’ll have by the time Theo finishes his shift,” she said, already pulling parchment toward her. “If the core losses aren’t site-specific, we’ll need to map them by residence. See if the families shopped at the same apothecary to send care packages, used the same floo routes—anything.”
Draco’s lips quirked despite the tension. “Only you would turn breakfast into data collection.”
“Someone has to,” she said briskly.
He leaned across the table, voice lower. “And someone has to make sure you eat while you save the world.”
By mid-morning, they were standing in the marble corridors of the Ministry of Magic, the hum of magic like static in the air.
Kingsley met them outside his office, tall and grave, violet robes rustling.
“Draco. Hermione.” His tone carried the faint fatigue of a man who’d seen too many crises. “I received Theo’s owl. Another core failure?”
Hermione nodded. “Third year, Hufflepuff. Same pattern.”
Kingsley frowned. “And term ended a month ago.”
“Exactly,” Draco said. “Which means Hogwarts isn’t the source—or at least not the only one.”
Inside the office, maps and floating parchment glowed with tracking charms. Kingsley gestured to one chart dotted with silver lights. “We’ve marked every incident reported so far. Nine students—different bloodlines, families from different regions of the country. Whatever this is, it’s spreading without a trace of spell residue.”
Hermione stepped closer. “Could it be alchemical? Something parasitic drawing on life force rather than magic itself?”
“That’s one theory,” Kingsley admitted. “Another is ritual contagion—dark magic siphoning from afar.”
Draco crossed his arms. “You’re thinking artifact or curse network.”
Kingsley nodded slowly. “Possibly, but a cursed artifact would have turned up in the Hogwarts searches… unless someone removed it when the term ended. We’ve asked the Unspeakables to run resonance scans across all monitored enchanted objects registered to Hogwarts students, but so far, nothing.”
When Kingsley stepped out to take a floo call, Draco sank into a chair, rubbing his temples.
“You know what this will turn into,” he muttered. “Fear. Accusations. Parents will start blaming the Ministry, or worse—each other.”
Hermione’s gaze softened. “Then we get ahead of it. Publish what we know, coordinate healers and curse-breakers before panic starts.”
Draco looked at her across the desk, a flicker of pride breaking through the worry. “You never stop.”
She gave a tired smile. “Neither do you.”
The door opened again; Kingsley returned, holding a fresh parchment. “Theo just sent an update through St. Mungo’s relay—preliminary readings confirm complete core loss. But this time, they found faint residual runic scars on the child’s wrists.”
Hermione’s stomach dropped. “Runic scars? Like carved? Or internal channel burns?”
“External. Healing quickly, but visible.”
Draco’s face darkened. “So someone’s marking them. That wasn’t on the other students though.”
Kingsley’s tone was grim. “It’s beginning to look that way.”
By afternoon they were back at Nott Manor. Theo hadn’t returned yet, but a short owl awaited them: Still with the patient. Preparing samples. Don’t wait dinner.
Hermione set the letter down with a sigh. “This can’t keep happening.”
Draco poured her a glass of water, eyes searching hers. “Then we need to find who’s doing it, the Ministry isn’t working fast enough.”
She nodded, the bond between them pulsing faintly—fear, determination, affection all woven through.
For a moment they stood in the quiet kitchen, sunlight spilling across the table, the world deceptively peaceful around them.
Then Draco said softly, “We’ll tell Theo everything when he’s home. And tomorrow… we double down on finding the link between them all
By the time Theo returned, the sun had sunk behind the trees, leaving streaks of copper and violet over the gardens.
The manor smelled faintly of rosemary and early evening rain—the wards humming quietly like they always did when one of them was uneasy.
Hermione and Draco were in the kitchen finishing a late dinner, plates half-empty between them. The bond thrummed faintly with relief the instant Theo stepped through the door.
He looked exhausted—hair disheveled, Healer’s robes streaked with faint soot from the floo. But his eyes were sharp, alert.
Draco stood immediately. “Well?”
Theo hung his cloak on the rack, ran a hand through his hair, and exhaled. “It’s strange. The runes didn’t mean anything. Not in any recognizable sequence, language, or magical pattern. They were… chaotic. Random lines. Like a child doodling almost, we think maybe it was just the kids playing around for fun. Makes sense why no one else had them too.”
Hermione frowned. “So, not carved by someone performing a ritual?”
He shook his head. “No. The energy pattern didn’t match deliberate spellwork.”
Draco poured him a drink wordlessly and set it down. “And the girl herself?”
Theo accepted the glass, voice quieter now. “Stable. Conscious, but weak. She’s frightened. Told me she felt fine until two days ago—just tired and dizzy. Then her insides started fizzling. By the time her family brought her in, her wand wouldn’t respond at all.”
Hermione’s stomach tightened. “So it’s not immediate onset. It builds up over at least a bit of time.”
Theo nodded. “That’s my impression.”
They moved into the parlor, where the lamps were low and the windows glowed with soft moonlight.
Hermione had spread her notes across the table already—a map of Hogwarts and greater Britain, parchment marked with little blue dots for every case.
Theo sank into the couch beside her, rubbing the back of his neck. “She lives just outside York. Says she’s been spending most of her summer outside—playing Quidditch with cousins, trips into town, a few visits to Diagon Alley for new robes and sweets earlier this week.”
Hermione leaned forward. “Diagon Alley. That’s the second student who’s mentioned visiting it within days of feeling symptoms.”
Draco frowned. “Do we have confirmation of that?”
Theo nodded. “The Hufflepuff fifth-year went shopping there with her parents three days before collapsing, they had pulled her from Hogwarts for the day to go to a family funeral, then hit the alley on the trip back to Hogwarts. I looked back through the files at the hospital.”
Hermione’s eyes sharpened. “Then maybe it’s not Hogwarts. Maybe it’s London. Something circulating in a public place—magical residue, exposure, or…” she trailed off, her mind racing through possibilities.
Draco’s expression darkened. “Or someone. Or maybe it’s products bought in Diagon? Maybe the other students got care packages before they got ill?”
Theo gave a quiet nod. “Could be. We can double check with them. But whatever it is—it’s subtle. No magical trace in the girl’s system. Not potion residue, not curse scar tissue, no spell damage. Whatever’s doing this, it doesn’t leave fingerprints.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Only the soft ticking of the mantle clock filled the room.
Hermione sat back slowly, her expression thoughtful but tired. “So we know it’s not fully Hogwarts-based. The runes are meaningless. The children have nothing obvious in common except exposure to magical spaces which is pretty useless… and their cores vanish days later.”
Theo sighed. “Exactly.”
Draco rubbed at his jaw, thinking aloud. “Then it’s parasitic? Or ambient? A charm or object that siphons slow energy from nearby cores without ever being directly cast on them.”
Hermione nodded slowly. “A cursed item circulating in public could do that. Especially if disguised—something innocuous, like a coin or trinket. Something everyone touches. What if it’s something like parchment, or a sickle that’s passing hands at school, then in the shops?”
Theo looked up sharply. “Then Diagon Alley’s the perfect hunting ground to at least check since this last student was just there earlier this week.”
They exchanged glances—an unspoken current of resolve running through the bond.
Hermione’s voice was steady when she said, “We need to start there.”
After another hour of going over notes, the tension began to ebb. The candles burned low, flickering against parchment and shadow.
Theo leaned back into the couch with a groan. “I’m going to fall asleep right here.”
Hermione smiled faintly and brushed her thumb across his knuckles. “You’ve been working for nearly eighteen hours.”
Draco, from his armchair, watched them with a softened expression. “You should rest. Both of you.”
Theo glanced toward him, a teasing spark in his eyes despite the fatigue. “You’re one to talk. You’ve been on alert since the gala.”
Draco didn’t deny it. “Old habits.”
Hermione reached over and took his hand too, fingers curling gently through his. “You don’t always have to be the protector, you know.”
He exhaled slowly, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Maybe not. But I’m not sure I’ll ever stop trying.”
She smiled softly. “Good. Just… not at the expense of breathing.”
The words hung between them for a long moment, warm and sincere.
Theo finally stood, stretching. “I’ll write up my report for Kingsley tonight. We’ll need Ministry clearance if we want to investigate Diagon Alley quietly.”
Draco nodded. “I’ll see if Blaise can help coordinate some discreet ward checks on the shops through the Department of Magical Infrastructure. He owes me favors.”
Hermione began gathering the parchments, her mind already working. “And I’ll review the magical item registry for new product imports and street vendors. If something cursed is slipping through, we’ll find it if we look hard enough.”
Theo smiled faintly. “Classic triad teamwork.”
Draco smirked. “With slightly less flirting than usual.”
Hermione arched a brow. “For now.”
Their laughter—tired but real—cut through the lingering weight of the evening.
Later, when they finally crawled into bed, the room was dark and cool, the windows open to the night air.
Theo’s breathing evened out first, the exhaustion finally pulling him under.
Hermione lay between them, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the faint pulse of the bond between all three—steady but tinged with unease.
Draco whispered softly in the dark, “We’ll solve this, Hermione.”
“I know,” she whispered back. “But it’s starting to feel bigger than any of us.”
Notes:
Still love to hear in the comments what readers think is happening to the cores!
Chapter 172: Intercepted
Chapter Text
They awoke with fierce anxiety and stress pulsing thru the bond, radiating off Hermione, who had barely slept.
“Love, you need to relax, this isn’t all on yu to solve. You’ve already done more than enough for the wizarding world.” Theo tried to soothe her.
Hermione groaned, “Lot of good that did so far if now there won’t even be magical children left in the future.”
Draco was stern, “Hermione, stressing isn’t going to solve anything. We all need calm minds to try to do anything productive today.”
“I can’t help it, this is a very bad situation, and we hardly have any leads,” Hermione reasoned.
“If you can’t manage the anxiety you’re throwing off to us yourself… we’re going to have to do it for you.” Draco gave her a pointed look, as Theo grinned and rolled her to her stomach.
She lay face-down on the bed, her body bare except for a thin, white sheet draped loosely over her hips, her curls spilling across the pillow in a wild halo, her muscles knotted from hours of parchment pouring over.
Draco and Theo, their own bedclothes shed to reveal their scarred, lean muscular frames, knelt on either side of her, their hands glistening with warmed, charmed massage oil infused with calming runes, their cocks half-hard with quiet desire, their silver and stormy eyes soft with love and determination to ease her tension.
Draco’s voice was a low, soothing murmur, his hands warm as they began at her shoulders, “Granger, love—you’re wound tighter than a Snitch. Let us take care of you, melt all this stress away so we can be productive together today.”
His fingers kneaded her tense muscles with firm, deliberate pressure, the oil soft as he worked the knots in her neck, the bond pulsing with his protective and calming love, his cock twitching faintly as he felt her relax under his touch.
Theo’s hands joined at her lower back, his voice gentle but teasing, “Our brilliant witch, carrying the weight of the world—time to let go, love.”
His fingers traced her spine, initiating soft shivers, the bond flaring with his nurturing care, his piercing grazing her thigh skin as he leaned to kiss her shoulder blade.
The massage began slowly, their hands moving in synchronized harmony, Draco’s strong fingers digging into her shoulders, loosening the knots with deep, circular strokes, the warmth of the oil a soothing rhythm, “Fuck, love—feel that tension melting? You’re ours to care for,” his voice thick with love, his lips brushing her ear, sparking a soft moan.
Theo’s hands worked her lower back, his thumbs pressing into the dimples above her arse “Your body’s perfect, love—let us worship it,” his voice a tender whisper, his fingers tracing the curve of her hips, avoiding her pussy but teasing close, her slick beginning to gather, her clit throbbing faintly under the sheet.
Minutes stretched as they worked, Draco’s hands sliding down her arms, massaging her biceps, his fingers interlacing with hers, “You’re so strong, love—but you don’t have to be in this all alone,”.
Theo’s hands moved to her thighs, spreading them slightly under the sheet, his fingers kneading the tense muscles, the squish of oil between his fingers spreading acrossed her skin, “Relax, love—let your pussy feel this too,” his voice mischievous but affectionate, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin near her pussy lips, sparking a shiver.
Hermione’s moans were soft, “Draco—Theo—love you, feels so good,” her body melting, the bond pulsing with her surrender.
Their hands grew bolder, Draco’s sliding under the sheet to massage her arse, his fingers kneading the firm flesh, spreading her cheeks gently, “Fuck, love—your arse is perfect, gonna make you feel everything,” his voice a filthy whisper, his fingers brushing her pussy lips in a ghost of touch.
Theo’s hands moved to her inner thighs, teasing closer to her pussy, “Your cunt’s dripping, love—let us make you cum, nice and slow,” his fingers parting her lips, circling her clit with the oil, sparking warm, pulsing jerks.
The massage turned sensual, their hands worshipping every inch, Draco’s fingers thrusting into her pussy gently, curling against her G-spot, her moans turning loud, Theo’s thumb on her clit, “Cum for us, love—let it all go,” their voices a tender chorus.
It was too much sensual pleasure, Draco’s fingers pumping slowly, Theo’s circling her clit, her pussy squirting soft spurts, “Draco—Theo—love you,” her moans raw.
Her orgasm built until the dam finally broke, “Love you!” They kissed her scars, soothing her with love, the bond a radiant, and far less anxiety filled hum than it had been previously.
The smell of fresh coffee filled the morning room, sunlight slanting through the tall windows. The table was set neatly — fruit, toast, eggs — but no one was eating yet.
Hermione sat in her pale summer robe, absently stirring her tea, while Draco unfolded The Daily Prophet that had arrived with a heavy thump only moments earlier.
The owl had looked tired, its feathers singed around the edges — an omen in itself.
Draco’s eyes scanned the front page, and his jaw tightened.
“The headline’s worse than I expected,” he said quietly, flattening the paper on the table.
Theo looked up from buttering toast. “Worse how?”
Draco turned the newspaper so they could all see.
The Daily Prophet
Nine Hogwarts Students Stricken: Magical Core Crisis Deepens
By Elspeth Darrow, Senior Correspondent
The Ministry of Magic confirmed late last night that nine Hogwarts-educated witches and wizards, aged thirteen to eighteen, have suffered unexplained collapses and near-complete depletion of their magical cores.
Healers at St. Mungo’s report that the victims show no trace of hex, curse, potion, or contagion. “It’s as if their innate magic simply… vanished,” one Healer (speaking under anonymity) stated.
Sources inside the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes confirm that the affected students come from every House and blood status, suggesting the phenomenon is neither hereditary nor tied to Hogwarts itself since the newest case has surfaced a month after the end of term.
Minister Shacklebolt has assembled a joint task force of Unspeakables, Aurors, and certified Curse-Breakers to investigate. Public concern continues to rise, with Diagon Alley shops already reporting lower foot traffic.
Rumors abound of a “Dark Drain” — a new curse or artifact that consumes magic undetectably.
The Ministry urges calm and warns against speculation, though parents are demanding answers. “Our children are losing their magic,” one father said, “and no one knows why.”
Beneath the article, a magically moving illustration showed the facade of St. Mungo’s with flashes of worried parents clustered at its doors.
Hermione read it twice before whispering, “Nine. Merlin, it’s going to change the destiny of the next generation. If the cores can’t be restored, this is a huge loss to the magical world’s population.”
Draco folded the paper sharply. “Then we stop waiting for answers to find us.”
An hour later, they were dressed for discretion — Theo in his healer’s field coat, Draco in a plain charcoal cloak, Hermione in soft linen robes without insignia.
“We’ll start with Diagon Alley,” Draco said as they stepped into the floo. “If the Prophet’s right and public fear’s climbing, whoever’s behind this might take advantage of the chaos. Plus we can check out if maybe it was a contaminated product.”
Hermione nodded. “I’ve got detection charms layered for cursed residue and binding resonance. If there’s anything emitting a drain, we’ll feel it.”
Theo added quietly, “I’ll handle health field readings. Anything that pulls life-force, I’ll see.”
The moment they emerged from the Leaky Cauldron, the difference was palpable.
Diagon Alley, normally bright with chatter and trade, had a strange quiet to it — merchants speaking in low tones, shop windows displaying reassuring signs:
ALL WARES TESTED FOR DARK ENCHANTMENT. SAFE TO HANDLE.
They moved slowly down the cobbled street, the trio blending easily into the thin crowd.
Hermione’s wand hummed faintly as she passed each storefront, the detection charm casting a soft silver halo that faded quickly. “Minor hexes,” she murmured. “Typical shop protection wards, nothing parasitic.”
Theo’s sensor quill flickered dull green. “Life signatures are normal.”
Draco scanned the upper balconies and roofs, his instincts razor-keen. “Fear’s thick as fog. People are watching us.”
Hermione smiled faintly without looking up. “That’s because we’re the Ministry’s favorite gossip topic.”
For two hours they combed the Alley — Flourish and Blotts, Slug & Jiggers, even Quality Quidditch Supplies. Every few storefronts Hermione stopped, muttering incantations, adjusting her charms.
Nothing.
No resonance above background magic. No lingering signature consistent with a draining curse.
By midday they ducked into a shaded courtyard for water and respite from the heat.
Theo sat on the stone ledge, wiping sweat from his brow. “If there’s something here, it’s buried deep.”
Draco nodded grimly. “Or hidden where no one dares to look.”
He tilted his head toward the narrow mouth of Knockturn Alley, visible just beyond the square — its shadows coiling like smoke. Even in daylight it looked colder than the rest of London.
Hermione followed his gaze. “Of course.” She sighed. “It’s practically humming with cursed items; any readings we take there will be impossible to isolate.”
Theo capped his flask. “Still worth sweeping the threshold.”
They moved slowly into the mouth of the narrow lane, where sunlight failed to reach. The brick walls were damp, the air cooler. A faint crackle of magic prickled against their skin — like static charged with ill intent.
Hermione whispered, “Feel that?”
Theo nodded. “Residual curse fields. Dozens of them. But old — most dormant.”
Draco’s wand was out now, glowing faint blue. “This place is practically radioactive with semi-dark trade. Nothing new, though.”
They advanced a few more paces before Hermione’s detection charm flared silver again — briefly, then sputtered out.
She frowned. “That was faint… but it wasn’t standard. It’s almost like—”
Theo finished for her, “—a feeding signature. But weak. Maybe months old.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “So someone might’ve tested something here first. Then moved on.”
The three of them stood in the dim corridor for a long moment, the noise of Diagon Alley faint behind them — the contrast between bright commerce and the murk of Knockturn like a heartbeat in the air.
Theo finally said, “No way to trace it further. The trail’s degraded.”
Hermione exhaled, frustration flickering in her chest. “We’re missing something. Something right in front of us.”
Draco sheathed his wand. “Then we keep looking. Tomorrow we can have Blaise check the old trade routes — Knockturn shipments, street vendors, anything unlicensed.”
They returned to the Alley proper, the sunlight glaring after the dimness. Witches and wizards glanced at them warily — recognizing faces they’d seen in the papers.
A mother whispered to her son, “That’s Hermione Granger, dear — the one married to the two wizards in the paper.”
Draco rolled his eyes. Hermione squeezed his hand lightly. “Let it go,” she murmured.
By the time they reached the Leaky Cauldron again, the afternoon air shimmered with heat. They ordered cold pumpkin juice, sitting in the corner where the crowd couldn’t eavesdrop.
“No clear source,” Theo said quietly. “But we can rule out Hogwarts and at least half of Diagon Alley.”
Draco tapped the table, thoughtful. “That still leaves half a city of possible leads.”
Hermione’s tone softened. “Then we start narrowing them. One brick at a time.”
Their bond pulsed softly — exhaustion, determination, affection all mingled.
For now, they’d found nothing but shadows.
But shadows meant something was there — and the three of them would not stop until they dragged it into the light.
Dinner was a quiet affair — soft rain whispering against the tall windows, the scent of roasted hen and thyme filling the air.
Hermione had just finished pouring tea when the chime of the wards sounded twice — a friendly code.
Theo glanced up from his chair. “That’s Neville.”
Draco sighed, setting down his glass. “And Potter, from the signature. I suppose we should take that as a good sign—either news or trouble.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “With those two, it’s usually both.”
A moment later, the front door opened to reveal Neville and Harry shaking the rain from their cloaks. Neville’s eyes were anxious; Harry’s looked grim.
Neville offered a half-hearted smile as Hermione ushered them inside. “Sorry for dropping in late. Luna’s resting — and I just needed… to talk.”
Hermione placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “Of course. Come in, both of you.”
They settled in the manor’s sitting room, warm lamplight throwing soft gold over dark furniture.
Theo poured tea, while Draco leaned casually against the fireplace — posture relaxed, though his eyes were sharp.
Neville’s hands trembled slightly around his cup. “I keep trying not to worry Luna, but this—” he gestured helplessly toward the day’s Prophet still open on the table “—it’s terrifying. She’s due in two months, and what if whatever this is affects unborn babies too? What if it’s not just Hogwarts students?”
Hermione leaned forward, her expression gentle but firm. “There’s no evidence of that. Whatever’s causing this is draining established magical cores, not developing ones. Luna and the baby aren’t in danger.”
Neville gave a strained laugh. “That’s easy to say when you’re not watching your wife levitate teacups and wondering if the baby inside her will never get to do the same.”
Theo exchanged a quiet glance with Draco. “He’s not wrong to worry,” Theo said. “Nine cases, all unexplained. If the Ministry doesn’t get ahead of this, it could spread.”
Draco crossed his arms. “And yet, half the Ministry’s still too busy speculating about our bond to focus on an actual crisis.”
That earned a dry chuckle from Harry, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet. “That’s part of why I’m here, actually.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed. “You have something?”
Harry nodded, pulling a folded parchment from his cloak pocket — sealed with the Auror Division’s sigil. “We intercepted an owl early this morning. It was routed from an abandoned shopfront off Knockturn Alley, we think it was intended for someone we’ve been monitoring — Rowle’s apprentice, Erasmus Burke.”
Theo’s head snapped up. “The Knockturn wandmaker?”
“The very one,” Harry said grimly. “The owl never reached him. The letter was unwarded, which makes it hard to verify origin and destination for sure, but it’s… unsettling.”
He unfolded it and read aloud.
To the Faithful Servant,
The cleansing has begun. The first to fall were chosen carefully — proof of concept, a demonstration that unworthy magic will be rectified. Modification works on traitors as well now. No mass distribution system in place… do not despair it’s coming.
The blood of the lesser taints our world. Children who do not deserve the gift squander it; they must be shown what it is to live without it.
Our master’s design moves unseen, but his reach is deep. When the time comes, the hollowed ones will pave the way for restoration.
No progress with renewal protocol yet, but results expected in due time.
Balance must return.
— M.
Silence filled the room after Harry finished, the rain outside hammering harder against the windows.
Hermione’s throat tightened. “They’re targeting children. Deliberately.”
Theo exhaled slowly. “And calling it balance.”
Draco’s voice was low, dangerous. “Old rhetoric. Pure-blood supremacy dressed up as cosmic order.” He looked toward Harry. “You think it’s a Death Eater remnant?”
Harry nodded. “Rowle’s apprentice is young, but he’s been corresponding with known sympathizers. This confirms at least one group is active — maybe small, but organized enough to be carrying out attacks.”
Neville looked pale. “So this isn’t an accident. It’s planned.”
Hermione pressed a hand to her temple. “Nine children already. If they’re using some kind of ritual drain—”
Theo finished for her, “—then they’re what… trying to feed that magic somewhere? Unsuccessfully so far it sound slike…?”
Draco’s jaw clenched as he paced to the fire. “Then the Ministry needs to mobilize. This isn’t a disease; it’s terrorism.”
Harry sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “We’re already working on it, but Kingsley’s trying to keep panic contained. We’ve already hauled this guy in for questioning, but honestly we can’t legally tie him to this letter or any of what’s happening. It’s all circumstantial and a theory at best. He’s not talking, and we had to let him go. Of course now he’s keen that we’re onto him, so I doubt he’s not extra carful for awhile. If people think children are being targeted for their blood status…”
“Half the wizarding world will riot,” Hermione said softly.
Neville looked between them, voice trembling slightly. “Then promise me you’ll find them. Please. Before—before it touches the next child.”
Theo placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “We will try. You have my word we’re doing all we can, hopefully it’s enough.”
Draco nodded firmly.
The bond between the three of them pulsed faintly in agreement, a united force. Hermione felt it resonate deep in her chest — power woven with shared intent.
They talked for another hour — of Luna’s pregnancy, the latest healing efforts, and Neville’s new greenhouse expansion at Hogwarts. Slowly, the tension began to ease.
Neville managed a faint smile. “Luna says the baby kicks whenever she reads out loud. She’s convinced that means she’ll be a poet.”
Theo chuckled. “Or just impatient to join the world.”
Draco added dryly, “Hopefully with his mother’s calm and not your nerves.”
That earned laughter, the first real sound of comfort all night.
Hermione squeezed Neville’s hand before he and Harry left. “Tell Luna we’ll come by soon — and that she’s not to worry. We’re close to something; I can feel it.”
Harry paused at the door, looking back at her. “You always say that right before everything explodes, you know.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Then at least it’s predictable.”
After they left, the manor fell into silence again. The rain had stopped, replaced by the rhythmic drip of water from the eaves.
Theo sat on the couch, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “Children, Draco. They’re going after children.”
Draco’s voice was low. “Cowards always do.”
The three of them sat there for a long time, the faint glow of their bond casting silver light on their intertwined hands.
Notes:
I'm blown away by how many people seem to have bookmarked this.
I'm curious how many people are actively reading it though, and are caught up currently...
Please leave me a comment!
Chapter 173: Shifting Patterns
Chapter Text
The foyer was full of movement — floating clipboards, laughing children, parchment stacks that sorted themselves.
Hermione had charmed the space to feel open and welcoming: soft blues and greens on the walls, photographs of wizarding and Muggle families who had successfully bridged both worlds lining the foyer hall.
Pansy was already there, perched on the front desk with a cup of coffee and wearing a silk blouse far too glamorous for volunteer work. She raised an eyebrow as Theo and Draco walked in with Hermione.
“Well, well,” she said, smirking. “The famous triad arrives to grace the peasants with their presence. Don’t worry, I’m already supervising your adoring public.”
Theo rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible before noon.”
“I’m delightful before noon,” Pansy corrected. “It’s after noon that I’m insufferable.”
Hermione gave her a fond smile. “You’re both, all the time.”
Draco leaned in to press a quick kiss to Hermione’s cheek, murmuring, “She’s right, you know.”
Pansy waved him off dramatically. “Oh hush, Malfoy. You’re only affectionate because your wife runs the place.”
Soon, Pansy and Hermione sat behind the welcome desk, parchment forms hovering around them, tea cooling beside a half-eaten scone.
Hermione was scribbling revisions onto a pamphlet titled “First-Year at Hogwarts: A Muggle Family’s Guide” when Pansy sighed dramatically.
“I swear, Granger, your idea of fun is writing essays disguised as pamphlets.”
Hermione didn’t look up. “It’s called providing information. Some parents appreciate knowing the difference between floo powder and soot.”
“Some parents,” Pansy mused, flipping her hair, “would appreciate a stiff drink and a glamor charm to hide the fact their child just exploded a toaster.”
Hermione laughed, setting down her quill. “You’re not wrong.”
“Of course I’m not. That’s why you keep me around.”
Hermione gave her a fond, slightly exasperated look. “I keep you around because you’re good with people, even when you pretend not to be.”
“Oh, darling, I am good with people,” Pansy said with a wink. “Just selectively.”
The front door chimed. A young couple entered, both looking nervous — the father with sleeves rolled to his elbows, the mother clutching her purse as if it might float away. Between them stood a girl no older than ten, with enormous brown eyes and an oversized jumper that read “NASA: Future Explorer.”
Hermione immediately rose, smile warm. “Hello! Welcome to the Granger Center. I’m Hermione.”
The mother’s voice trembled slightly. “Hi. I’m Natalie. This is my husband, Peter. And our daughter, Emily. We were told… this is where we could get help?”
Emily ducked behind her mother’s leg. Hermione knelt to the child’s level, her tone gentle. “You must be Emily. It’s all right, love. You’re safe here.”
Emily peeked up shyly. “I—I didn’t mean to make the fishbowl explode. I’m sorry Freddie died.”
Pansy, lounging elegantly on the desk, chimed in without missing a beat. “Oh, I once made an entire dining room chandelier explode because I didn’t want to eat soup. You’re in excellent company.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really,” Pansy said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “And between us, I wasn’t even sorry.”
Hermione shot her a look of amused reprimand but didn’t interrupt. The tension in the room had already eased.
They led the family into one of the small consultation rooms. Pansy perched on the edge of a chair like she owned the place, while Hermione conjured soft cushions for the parents and a small stool for Emily.
Peter still looked uncertain. “We just… we don’t understand how any of this works. One minute she’s feeding her goldfish, the next it’s raining in the kitchen.”
Hermione nodded empathetically. “It’s overwhelming at first. What Emily did wasn’t dangerous — accidental magic is completely normal in young witches and wizards. It happens when children feel strong emotions.”
Natalie’s brows furrowed. “So… she’ll go to some kind of boarding school for magic so she can control it?”
“Hogwarts,” Hermione said softly, smiling. “It’s where I learned too. It’s secure, structured, and filled with professors who can help her control her abilities.”
Emily fidgeted. “But I don’t want to leave Mum and Dad.”
Pansy tilted her head, tone gentle now — a rarity. “You won’t really leave them, poppet. You’ll write letters, come home for holidays. And you’ll meet other kids who can do magic too. It’s like… learning you’re not the only one with a secret.”
Hermione added, “It’s also full of adventures — secret staircases, floating candles, talking portraits…”
Pansy raised an eyebrow. “Unhelpful portraits, mostly.”
Emily giggled. “They talk?”
“Far too much,” Pansy said. “You’ll get used to it.”
Natalie looked at Hermione with quiet worry. “What happens if… if she wants to come home? Can she stop doing magic?”
Hermione hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Magic isn’t something you can turn off. It’s part of who she is, the same way her laugh or her kindness are part of her. But she’ll learn to control it. And we’ll help you both learn how to support her from this side.”
Peter exhaled. “It’s a lot.”
Pansy smiled faintly. “It is. But you’re already doing the hardest part — showing up.”
Hermione conjured a parchment brochure that hovered in front of them. “This includes contact information for Muggle support parent’s groups, ideas for visits during the school year, and a list of magical safety precautions you can use at home now till she’s old enough to attend. Nothing too complicated, I promise.”
Pansy muttered, “Except the forms, which are a nightmare.”
Hermione shot her a look, though her lips twitched.
Emily was twirling her little fingers now, whispering to herself. A faint shimmer danced between her palms — a tiny burst of gold light.
Hermione smiled. “That’s lovely, Emily. See? You already know how to channel it.”
Emily’s mother gasped, tears forming. “It’s beautiful.”
Pansy, with surprising softness, conjured a small, clear sphere. The golden spark slipped neatly inside, glowing like sunlight. “A keepsake,” she said, handing it to Emily. “Your first bit of magic.”
The girl held it like treasure.
When the family left — calmer, hopeful, Emily clutching her glowing sphere — Hermione and Pansy lingered in the empty room.
“She’s going to do well,” Hermione said quietly. “Once she realizes Hogwarts isn’t scary in a few years.”
Pansy sipped her tea. “She reminded me of you, actually. Wide-eyed, overprepared, tragic jumper.”
Hermione laughed. “I suppose she did.”
“You were the first Muggleborn I ever met properly, you know,” Pansy said, tone suddenly reflective. “At Hogwarts. I didn’t know how to talk to you without sounding… cruel. So I was.”
Hermione’s voice softened. “You’ve changed, Pansy.”
“I’ve… learned,” she admitted, eyes on her teacup. “Mostly from you. Don’t let it go to your head.”
Hermione smiled, touched. “I won’t.”
A pause, then Pansy added, “If we’d had places like this back then — centers for kids like Emily — maybe fewer of us would’ve been scared of what was different.”
Hermione met her eyes, emotion flickering there. “That’s why we built it.”
For a long moment, they sat in companionable quiet — two women once divided by war, now united by purpose.
By midmorning the lobby was alive with families. Mothers in Muggle jeans spoke hesitantly to witches in plain robes. Children held hands with wide eyes, half afraid, half curious as quills scribbled across enchanted forms.
Hermione loved these days — when the Center hummed with life and purpose. She and Theo met with the Healers’ Outreach Group while Draco reviewed the security ward blueprints with one of the Ministry’s liaison officers.
Pansy drifted between conversations, her air of lazy elegance concealing a sharp mind. “You’re going to need better soundproofing charms,” she noted. “When the little ones start accidental magic fits, it’ll sound like an orchestra of banshees.”
Theo grinned. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?”
Pansy gestured at her barely-there if at all bump. “Sooner than you think, Nott.”
Hermione laughed softly, her gaze lingering on her friend’s glowing face. “You look radiant, Pansy.”
“Oh, stop. It’s hormones and expensive potions.” She grinned, then nodded toward Draco. “He’s actually good at this, you know. Watching him with the kids, I almost forget he used to hex people for breathing too loudly in Potions class.”
Theo snorted. “Almost.”
Just after lunch, a young Muggle couple entered, clutching the hand of a thin, nervous boy with sandy hair and freckled cheeks. He couldn’t have been more than eleven. His name, according to the intake parchment, was Evan Collins — slated to start at Hogwarts that September.
The boy’s mother looked uneasy in the magical surroundings. “They said this was where we could… talk to someone?” she asked Hermione. “He hasn’t been sleeping. Keeps saying he doesn’t want to go.”
Hermione crouched so she was eye-level with the boy. “Hi, Evan. I’m Hermione. I was born to Muggle parents too. I remember being scared before my first year.”
The boy fidgeted with his sleeve. “You were?”
“Absolutely. I thought I’d blow something up or fall off a broom. But Hogwarts became my second home. You’ll find yours, too.”
Draco, standing nearby, softened his posture and crouched beside her — the movement gentle, deliberate. “And I grew up in the wizarding world. I was terrified too — of the castle, of the expectations, of the professors.”
Evan blinked. “You were scared?”
Draco nodded solemnly. “Terrified. Everyone is, the first time they see the Great Hall. You’ll see candles floating in the air — it’s beautiful, but it’s a lot to take in. It’s all right to be nervous.”
Theo joined them then, sliding into the boy’s line of sight with a warm smile. “You know, when I was eleven, I nearly set my bed on fire trying to light a candle with my wand. The professors fixed it, of course. Everyone messes up at first. That’s part of learning.”
A shy smile flickered across Evan’s face. “Really?”
“Really,” Theo assured him. “Half the job of being a wizard is laughing when things go wrong.”
Hermione gently placed a small charmed marble in the boy’s palm. It glowed faintly. “This is a focus marble. When you feel scared, you can hold it and think of something that makes you happy. It’ll remember that feeling for you.”
Evan watched as the marble shimmered orange-gold. “It’s warm.”
“That’s your courage,” Hermione said softly. “You already have it inside you.”
His parents watched, their shoulders loosening as he smiled wider.
Draco offered the father a polite handshake. “We’ll make sure Hogwarts knows he’s had trouble sleeping. There’s a matron there — Madam Pomfrey — she’s the best. Your son will be welcomed.”
The mother blinked at him, realizing who he was only after the handshake. “You’re… Draco Malfoy. I read about you in that magical history book they gave us last month.”
Draco inclined his head slightly. “Once upon a time. These days I work on votes for better legislation — and volunteer here, when I can.”
Theo added lightly, “He’s actually not terrible with children. It’s a new development.”
That drew laughter all around — even from Evan. “You don’t seem scary,” the boy said to Draco.
Draco smiled faintly. “I’ve been told that’s progress.”
By late afternoon, the crowd thinned. Sunlight poured across the floors, catching motes of dust like falling gold. The triad and Pansy sat in Hermione’s office, sipping tea and reviewing the day’s forms.
Pansy sighed dramatically. “You realize this place makes me almost believe in the better nature of humanity. It’s exhausting.”
Hermione laughed softly. “Admit it, you enjoyed today.”
“I did,” Pansy admitted. “Especially seeing you three in action. You look like you actually belong together.”
Theo arched an eyebrow. “That sounds dangerously close to sentimentality.”
Pansy smirked. “Don’t tell Blaise. He’ll revoke my membership in the Heartless Witches Club.”
Draco leaned back, stretching. “This was good. For once lately, something that felt normal. Useful.”
Hermione’s eyes softened. “You were wonderful with Evan. You made him feel safe.”
He shrugged lightly, a faint smile ghosting his lips. “I just told him what I wish someone had told me.”
As the last rays of sun slipped below the windows, the four of them stepped outside into the warm evening. The wards around the Granger Center shimmered faintly — protective, alive.
Pansy waved her wand lazily, lighting a small floating lantern. “To first-years, to courage, and to progress,” she toasted.
Hermione raised her teacup in return. “And to all of us still learning, even now.”
As they watched the lantern drift upward, Draco murmured softly, “If the next generation grows up braver than we were, maybe that’s the real magic.”
The next morning, the circular lifts clanked softly as they descended deeper and deeper beneath the Ministry. The air grew cooler, the torches flickering blue.
Hermione stood between Theo and Draco, her fingers brushing both their hands — a grounding gesture.
“The last time I was down here besides for our triad appointments,” she murmured, “I was seventeen. It feels… different now.”
Draco gave a wry smirk. “Less prophecy, more bureaucracy.”
Theo chuckled quietly. “The paperwork’s probably just as cursed.”
When the lift doors opened, Kingsley Shacklebolt himself stood waiting — robes deep indigo, face lined with fatigue. He offered a solemn smile. “I’m glad you three could come. We’ve gathered the best minds we could reach on short notice.”
Hermione glanced past him and her breath caught.
Inside the obsidian-walled chamber sat Professor McGonagall, upright and composed despite her age; Harry, seated beside her with parchment already in hand; Neville Longbottom, looking more nervous than usual; and three Unspeakables in their distinctive midnight cloaks, faces shadowed by enchantment.
The gravity in the room was palpable.
Kingsley gestured for them to take their seats. “We’re not here for ceremony,” he began, “but for strategy. The situation has escalated.”
An Unspeakable with a silver insignia stepped forward.
Her voice was calm, clipped, and faintly distorted by the charm that masked her identity.
“Since our last meeting, we have confirmed twelve known cases of complete magical core depletion — ten students, and now two adult wizards who have only been seen by private healers. The public isn’t aware of them yet. The most recent student, as Healer Nott can confirm was a few days ago, was a Hufflepuff fifth-year girl, pure-blood. The variance of blood status multiple times now seems to eliminate earlier theories of selective targeting.”
Theo nodded grimly. “The child’s magic isn’t suppressed. It’s gone — like it was siphoned away.”
Another Unspeakable conjured a glowing diagram above the table — a human silhouette with its magical core represented as a golden flame. In each recorded case, the flame dimmed, then extinguished entirely.
Draco leaned forward. “Any sign of physical damage? Magical exhaustion can leave residue — micro-fractures in the core matrix.”
The Unspeakable shook her head. “Nothing. It’s as if the magic was never there.”
McGonagall’s lips tightened. “You’re suggesting something that erases a witch or wizard’s magical essence. That borders on impossible.”
Hermione’s voice was soft but steady. “Or ancient. There are rituals predating the Founders designed to reclaim magic — to redistribute power. They were outlawed by Merlin’s Code for a reason.”
Kingsley frowned. “You think this could be ritual theft?”
“I think it’s deliberate,” she said. “And coordinated, but Theo has been convinced there’s no trace of it being a magical withdraw.”
Harry unrolled the intercepted parchment Harry had shown them days before. “We believe this is connected.” He nodded toward Hermione. “You’ve read it — the one signed ‘M.’ The Aurors traced a matching ink enchantment on two other anonymous letters confiscated from Knockturn Alley in the last month. One references ‘harvesting the unworthy.’ Another mentions a ‘purification through absence.’”
McGonagall’s voice sharpened. “This rhetoric reeks of the old blood doctrines. If these people are experimenting with core magic, the consequences could unravel the balance entirely.”
Neville, pale but resolute, asked quietly, “Could they be storing the magic somewhere?”
The first Unspeakable inclined her head. “Possibly. But where, and how, remains uncertain. If it is a vessel, it’s likely a dark object of immense power. The last letter though seems to indicate they don’t yet have a way of containing or using the core magic… just making it disappear so far.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “And we’ve all seen how that ends.”
Harry met his eyes, grim agreement passing silently between them — an echo of war-torn memories neither needed to voice. “So, about the two adults… what can you tell us about them?”.
The smallest Unspeakable answered, “Non-related, but run in the same social circles… both collapsed within hours of each other, both believed to have aided muggles during the war in leaving the country under the noses of snatchers. Seems maybe this is retribution for this. Both half-bloods, 30 and 46.”
Another Unspeakable, this one with a bronze clasp on their cloak, spoke up. “There is… another matter. The Ministry believes your bond may be relevant to this investigation.”
Theo frowned. “Relevant how?”
“The triadic magic you share is rare — balanced among three distinct magical cores. We’ve been observing its resonance since your wedding, and the energy signature is unusually stable. If this phenomenon targets core connections, your bond could provide insight into resistance or defense.”
Hermione stiffened. “You’re suggesting we let you study us like specimens?”
Kingsley raised a calming hand. “No one is forcing you. But your bond is powerful — and harmonious. It may hold the key to preventing further loss.”
Draco’s tone was clipped but civil. “You’ll have our cooperation — within reason. But if you think we’ll risk destabilizing what we’ve built, you’re mistaken.”
Theo added dryly, “And you’ll forgive me if I’m not eager to let strangers poke at my magic.”
McGonagall interjected gently, her Scottish burr laced with fondness and steel. “No one here intends harm, Mr. Nott. But if there’s even a chance your union might help us understand this curse or how to fight it, you may be the best hope those children have.”
The words hung heavy in the air.
Hermione met Draco’s gaze, then Theo’s. The bond thrummed quietly between them — agreement forming without speech.
Finally, she nodded. “We’ll help. But on our terms. We aren’t a freak show or experiment.”
For the next hour, parchment and theories flew. Hermione outlined an approach using magical resonance mapping; Theo proposed cross-referencing magical exposure histories; Draco suggested a ward-trace comparison between afflicted and unaffected students.
The Unspeakables listened, occasionally interjecting with arcane calculations.
McGonagall smiled faintly at Hermione. “You were always my brightest student. You’ve turned brilliance into leadership.”
Hermione flushed slightly. “Thank you, Professor.”
Draco murmured beside her, “She’s right, you know.”
Theo smirked. “Don’t inflate her ego; it’s already legendary.”
Hermione elbowed him, but the small spark of humor eased the tension around the table. Even Kingsley allowed himself a smile.
When the meeting finally adjourned, the triad lingered by the corridor. McGonagall approached them privately, her eyes softer now.
“I’m proud of you,” she said, voice low. “All three of you. You’ve taken something the world didn’t understand and made it… humane.”
Draco inclined his head, genuinely touched. “Thank you, Professor.”
She gave Hermione’s hand a light squeeze. “Keep him grounded.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Always.”
Harry joined them at the lift, exhaustion in his voice but hope in his eyes. “We’re closer than we were yesterday. That’s something.”
Theo nodded. “It’s a start.”
As the lift doors slid shut and they began to ascend, Hermione exhaled slowly, resting her head briefly on Draco’s shoulder. “I hate that the world always finds new ways to be cruel to children.”
The sun had already sunk behind the hedgerows when they returned to the manor.
The air inside was still, heavy with the quiet aftershock of the day’s revelations.
Hermione set her satchel down by the parlor sofa and immediately unpinned her cloak, tossing it over the armrest. “I feel like I’ve been holding my breath all day,” she said softly.
Theo loosened his collar and headed straight for the drinks cabinet. “That’s because we were sitting under Ministry scrutiny for six hours. You’re lucky you didn’t suffocate.”
Draco sank onto the couch beside her, undoing the top button of his shirt, his hair slightly mussed from running his hands through it too many times. “You handled yourself well, Granger. They don’t deserve how composed you are after throwing those questions at us.”
Hermione gave a small, tired laugh. “You make it sound like I’m a weaponized form of politeness.”
Theo poured three glasses of firewhisky and handed them over. “You are,” he said simply, sitting down across from them. “The way Kingsley looked at you after that theory about core reabsorption—he knew you were probably right.”
Draco swirled his drink. “That’s what worries me.”
Hermione frowned. “What do you mean?”
Draco glanced at her, the amber light of the sconces catching in his eyes. “If it’s ritual theft—if someone’s truly harvesting magic—then whoever’s doing it is getting stronger with every child that falls. If they’ve even figured out how to take it and store it yet, rather than just vanish it.”
A chill passed through the room.
Theo leaned back, exhaling hard. “And we still don’t know where they’re doing it. Or how.”
They fell into a subdued rhythm: Hermione curled into the couch corner, reading through the copied files Kingsley had sent home; Draco sketching ward models idly on a napkin; Theo pacing the rug, muttering bits of diagnostic spells under his breath.
Every so often, one of them would reach out through the bond—small pulses of reassurance, like invisible hands brushing together in the dark.
It was Hermione who finally broke the silence. “You two should eat something.”
Theo chuckled without humor. “You should’ve been a Healer, not me.”
“You’re deflecting,” she said, standing and heading for the kitchen. “Come on.”
Draco followed, wordless, as she reheated the stew that Mippy had left for them.
They ate quietly at the long oak table, the kind of meal where comfort came not from conversation but from presence.
Hermione’s hand brushed Draco’s under the table, and though he didn’t speak, his thumb lingered against her wrist, a silent thank you.
It was nearly midnight when the soft rattle of wings echoed through the hall.
Theo rose from the couch, frowning as he crossed to the window. The owl that perched there was unfamiliar—sleek, ash-grey, and bearing a golden seal stamped with the sigil of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Theo untied the parchment, scanning it quickly—and then froze. His expression drained of color.
“Theo?” Hermione stood, voice cautious. “What is it?”
He sank onto the arm of the chair, still staring at the page. “Two new admissions. More children. Siblings.”
Draco straightened instantly. “Siblings?”
Theo nodded slowly. “A brother and sister—ages nine and eleven. Half-bloods. Their parents brought them in tonight after both lost consciousness. Healers detected no magical core signatures. None. Just… blank space.”
Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth. “Two at once? Before they even learn to do magic properly even?”
“The same family and pre-Hogwarts age,” Theo said hoarsely. “That’s new. It’s spreading.”
Theo read further, his eyes moving quickly, voice low.
“They were outside most of the week, playing near Ottery St. Catchpole. No history of illness. No traceable curse energy. It’s identical to the Hogwarts cases, except they’re not students—they’re younger.”
Draco swore under his breath, standing to pace. “That rules out anything limited to the castle or Diagon Alley. It’s environmental—or contagion-based right?”
Hermione’s mind was already racing. “Or targeted through magical lineage patterns. Maybe something that reacts to blood signatures.”
Theo’s voice shook. “Whatever this is—it’s getting bolder.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Even the fire in the grate seemed hesitant to crackle.
Hermione finally moved toward Theo, kneeling beside him where he sat, letter still trembling slightly in his hands.
Draco came to stand behind her, resting a steadying hand on Theo’s shoulder. “You’re not carrying this alone, Nott. You’ve got us—and the entire bloody Ministry breathing down your neck.”
Theo managed a faint, grateful smile. “Comforting as always, Malfoy.”
“Good.”
Hermione brushed her fingers lightly against Theo’s jaw. “You should go in tomorrow morning. See the siblings yourself.”
He nodded. “I will. I want to run a resonance test—see if there’s any trace of magical echo left. Maybe the core isn’t gone, just dormant.”
Draco exhaled, jaw tight. “If it’s dormant, there’s hope.”
“And if it’s gone…” Hermione trailed off, eyes dark. “Then we have a possible weaponized ritual on our hands.”
Later, when the fire burned low and the owl had long gone, the three of them ended up in the sitting room again—Hermione stretched across the couch, Theo half-dozing beside her, Draco leaning against the hearth.
The silence was no longer empty; it was heavy with shared fear.
Theo spoke softly, eyes closed. “They’re going to ask me tomorrow whether I think the kids will recover. What do I tell them?”
Hermione reached over, threading her fingers through his. “You tell them the truth — and that you’re not giving up.”
Draco looked toward the window, his voice low. “I’ll write to Kingsley in the morning. Ask for the auror patrols to expand past Hogwarts, they need to be sweeping all public locations. These kids are getting exposed somewhere. Whatever this is—it’s already crossed the country, for all we know it’ll be headed through Europe soon.”
Hermione nodded, exhaustion creeping into her voice. “It feels like we’re chasing a shadow.”
Draco finally crossed the room and sat down beside them, resting a hand at the back of her neck.
The three of them sat that way for a long time — pressed together, silent, watching the last embers burn down.
Notes:
Adults now too... what's happening?!
Chapter 174: Selfish or Survival?
Notes:
More triad R scenes, but also more plot development.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When the morning owl arrived at Nott Manor, Hermione had barely finished her tea before the seal caught her eye — the gold phoenix of the Minister’s office, impressed into deep red wax.
Draco read it first, brows furrowing.
“‘By order of the Minister for Magic, Healer-In- Training Lord Theodore Nott and Madam Hermione Granger-Malfoy-Nott are requested to oversee the examination of the newly admitted magical depletion cases at St. Mungo’s. Priority One.’”
Theo was already standing. “That’s the siblings from last night’s letter.”
Hermione tightened her robe ties. “Then we shouldn’t waste a second.”
Draco hesitated only long enough to brush his fingers against hers. “Send me updates through the bond every hour. Please, just so I know your both fine.”
She nodded, and then she and Theo apparated out of the foyer — into the sterile white light of St. Mungo’s entrance.
The children looked even smaller in person — two pale shapes beneath crisp white sheets, faint freckles scattered across their faces. The boy was awake, watching Theo with cautious curiosity. The girl clutched a stuffed Niffler so tightly its fur had gone flat.
Hermione softened her voice. “Hello. I’m Hermione. The Minister asked me to come help your healer today. May I sit with you while we talk?”
The girl nodded shyly.
Their parents, seated at the foot of the beds, looked utterly spent. “We’ve answered so many questions already,” the mother said softly. “But anything that helps.”
Theo gave a reassuring nod. “I know it’s exhausting. We’re trying to piece together a pattern — you’re helping more than you realize.”
Hermione drew up a chair next to Theo’s, her quill hovering expectantly over her notebook. “Let’s start from the beginning.”
Theo: “Can you tell us about the last few days before you started feeling sick?”
The boy, about eleven, sat up a little. “We went to the match! Appleby Arrows versus Ballycastle Bats. It was amazing. There were fireworks and—”
His sister interrupted, excited. “And Mum bought us sparkling sweets that made our tongues glow!”
Hermione glanced sharply at Theo. “Sparkling sweets?”
The mother smiled faintly, unaware of the tension tightening between the two. “A vendor was passing them out. We didn’t think anything of it. They seemed harmless. Half the crowd had them.”
Theo asked carefully, “Did you notice where the vendor came from? Any uniform or cart branding?”
The father shook his head. “No — just a man in a dark green cloak. He said they were complimentary, part of a team promotion.”
Theo’s quill scratched quickly across his clipboard. “And you all ate them?”
“Only the kids,” the father admitted. “We were too busy cheering.”
Hermione leaned forward slightly. “How soon did the symptoms start?”
The boy frowned, thinking. “My head hurt that night. Then my heart started feeling… heavy. Like it didn’t want to do magic anymore.”
Theo nodded grimly. “That’s consistent with the others. Wand resistance before collapse in the others, but they’re too young for wands yet...”
The girl whispered, “Are we in trouble?”
Hermione’s heart twisted. She reached out, gently brushing a stray curl from the girl’s forehead. “No, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong. Someone else did.”
After the examination, Hermione and Theo stepped out into the corridor, closing the ward door behind them. The sounds of bustling Healers and rustling parchment filled the hall, but for a moment, everything between them was silent.
Hermione finally spoke. “A public Quidditch match. Two children. That means whoever’s behind this isn’t targeting Hogwarts — they’re targeting crowds now too maybe?”
Theo ran a hand through his hair exasperated.
“Exactly. It’s a possible distribution method of whatever the underlying drain is. The medium could be airborne charmwork, maybe something tied to ingesting those sweets, something maybe with close contact in the crowd that goes un-noticed… It also could make sense for why originally it was only older Hogwarts students. They weren’t being exposed on the grounds at all, that’s why we found nothing. They were going into Hogsmead on the weekends… and the exposure was happening there in the crowds or shops? But if that’s true…”
Hermione finished for him quietly. “Every major stadium or public place in Britain could be compromised. It’s likely not a cursed object at all. We need to figure out what the exact exposure method is… oh, Merlin. Remember the note? What if they’re experimenting with multiple methods?”
Theo sighed heavily. “Kingsley was right to send you. We’re past the point of this being just a healer’s case — it’s possibly heading international.”
They commandeered a small diagnostic office down the hall, parchment covering the desk in layers of sketches and notes.
Theo diagrammed magical core scans; Hermione drew circles and arrows marking locations of recent cases on a map of Britain.
Theo muttered, “Look — every one of the post-Hogwarts cases attended a public event or crowded public shopping area within three days of symptom onset. Every single one, even the two adults.”
Hermione’s quill froze midair. “So if the magic was stolen through contact or a particular expsoure… it’s not the place doing it — it’s someone in the crowd. A person. Or a network.”
Theo nodded grimly. “It could be portable — we shouldn’t necessarily rule out cursed items… they could be disguised as merchandise. Trinkets or digestible sweets laced with a siphoning enchantment.”
Hermione’s mind raced. “That theory would explain why the core fades gradually — the energy is drained through proximity the object like in a pocket, or held shopping bag over hours, not seconds. It’s ritual siphoning disguised as commerce. But, if it’s the sweets and being digested, well that would also take a bit of time to breakdown in the stomach as well and get into the blood stream and organs.”
Theo gave her a long look. “You’re terrifying when you say things like that.”
Hermione gave a faint, humorless smile. “I’ve been told.”
A knock at the door startled them both — a young Healer, breathless.
“The siblings are back awake and asking for you again, Healer Nott. They remembered something.”
Theo and Hermione exchanged glances before hurrying back down the corridor.
The boy sat upright now, his sister dozing against her pillow.
“Sir?” he said nervously as Theo approached. “There was one thing I forgot to tell you.”
Theo pulled up a chair. “Go on.”
“The sweets — when I ate them, they glowed blue first. But then they maybe turned red, just for a second. I thought it was just part of them being fun colors and magical. But everyone who had the red ones said they made their throats tingle after and mine didn’t.”
Hermione’s breath caught. “Red. That could’ve been the activation phase of a curse.”
Theo’s jaw clenched. “And that means they weren’t all cursed — just some. Randomized? Or given to only very particular people…?”
“Which makes it impossible for anyone to notice,” Hermione finished quietly.
The boy’s eyes filled with tears. “Did the sweets make us sick?”
Theo softened instantly. “We’re not sure yet. Maybe, but maybe not. But you helped us a great deal by remembering that. You were very brave.”
When they finally stepped outside the ward again, Theo leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. “Red activation… of what exactly? A charm? Curse? I’m not quite sure if it was in the sweets what exactly caused the drain though. Gods, Hermione. This was engineered.”
She stood beside him, arms folded tightly, her pulse pounding in her ears.
“If we’re right about this then someone used a children’s sweet as a test field for a magical weapon.”
Theo opened his eyes and met hers. “We’re not Healers and researchers anymore, are we? We’re investigators in a war no one knows has started full yet.”
Hermione exhaled slowly. “Then we’d better start acting like it The Ministry needs to get on this a lot better.”
As they left the hospital later that evening, the air thick with the scent of potions and summer rain, a faint flicker of warmth brushed Hermione’s chest — Draco through the bond, impatient and worried.
She smiled faintly, reassuring him silently.
Theo glanced sideways at her. “He’s pacing again, isn’t he?”
“Probably, he always paces when he’s trying not to worry.”
Theo gave a low, fond laugh. “You two are going to make me prematurely gray.”
Hermione nudged him with her elbow. “You already have one, just here.”
He feigned outrage, swatting her hand away. “Liar.”
But even through the banter, both of them felt the gravity of what they’d possibly uncovered settle deep in their bones.
The wards shimmered faintly as Hermione and Theo Apparated into the grand entryway.
It was early evening, the manor cast in soft gold from the sinking sun. The faint smell of dinner—roasted herbs and bread—hung in the air, though neither of them felt hungry.
Draco appeared almost immediately from the study, still in his Ministry robes, his hair slightly tousled and his expression sharp. The instant he saw Hermione, his shoulders eased—but only a little.
“You’re home,” he said, crossing the room in three long strides. He cupped Hermione’s cheek with one hand, searching her face for any sign of harm before turning to Theo. “What did you find?”
Theo exhaled. “You might want to sit down first.”
Draco’s eyes flicked between them. The weight in the room shifted.
He led them toward the sitting room, where the fire was already burning low, and poured three glasses of wine without a word.
Hermione and Theo sat together on the couch; Draco took the chair opposite, the firelight flickering across his pale face.
Theo began, his voice steady but tight.
“Two new cases, like we thought. The siblings. They’re stable physically, but magically… blank. No resonance, no trace of a core.”
Draco frowned. “And?”
“They went to the Regional Quidditch League Semi-Finals two days before it happened,” Hermione said quietly. “They were given sweets by a vendor in a green cloak. Everyone in the crowd got them, but theirs glowed red before they ate them, which supposedly the people’s around them didn’t.”
“Red?” Draco repeated slowly, as if tasting the word.
Theo nodded grimly. “It could be a trigger color — activation enchantment, perhaps keyed to random distribution. That’s why the pattern’s inconsistent.”
Hermione picked up softly. “It’s deliberate targeting, Draco. Not a place, not Hogwarts — a person or a group. Someone who’s using public gatherings, crowded spaces, or vendors to test a…. maybe siphoning spell that’s in the food or item. We aren’t as sure on the spell as much as what seems to be the method.”
Draco leaned back in his chair, staring into the fire. “So someone’s harvesting magic in plain sight. Or maybe not harvesting… but at least vanishing it.”
The quiet that followed was unbearable. The sound of the crackling logs seemed suddenly loud, the bond between them thrumming with a mix of exhaustion, anger, and dread.
Draco set down his glass with deliberate calm. “I should’ve gone with you.”
Hermione reached toward him instinctively. “Draco—”
“No,” he said, voice low but strained. “You shouldn’t have to walk into that place alone. With children—”
Theo cut in softly ,offended. “She wasn’t alone. Kingsley ordered us together.”
Draco’s gaze softened at that, the sharp edge in his tone dissolving into weariness.
“I know. I just—” He stopped, rubbing his temples. “Every time this spreads, I feel like the walls are closing in. Like we’re losing ground and don’t even know where the front line is. Every theory only brings more unanswered questions.”
Hermione moved to the chair beside him, sitting on the arm and resting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not supposed to have all the answers, Draco.”
He looked up at her then — really looked — and the vulnerability there broke something in her chest.
His voice was quiet. “You spoke to the children?”
“I did,” she said. “They were terrified, Draco. They didn’t understand what was happening. The boy asked Theo if he’d still be a wizard now.”
Draco’s expression tightened. “Merlin.”
Theo leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Whoever’s behind this doesn’t even care who they destroy. Children for Merlin’s sake… they’re supposed to be the next generation of magic.”
Draco’s hand found Hermione’s and gripped it. “Then we’ll make them care.”
The three of them sat together like that for a long time — the kind of silence that wasn’t empty, but filled with emotion too thick for words.
Theo eventually broke it, voice quieter now. “The girl mentioned that the red glow made her throat tingle, but her brother’s didn’t. That could be residue from an ingestion-based trigger.”
Hermione nodded, mind still working. “We’ll need to track down the vendor. Kingsley will have to order a recall on every enchanted confection sold that night.”
Draco’s hand squeezed hers gently. “You’re brilliant. Both of you.”
Hermione turned to him with a tired smile. “You’re biased.”
“Obviously,” he murmured, eyes softening.
Theo looked between them, smirking faintly. “We’ll take the compliment anyway.”
When the clock struck nine, they were still there — the three of them on the couch now, the fire burned down to glowing embers.
Draco leaned back against the cushions, Hermione tucked beside him, Theo sitting close enough that their shoulders brushed.
Through the bond, there was a quiet hum — exhaustion, affection, a shared heaviness threaded with the faint pulse of love.
Hermione broke the silence. “I kept thinking all day… those children could have been ours someday.”
Theo’s head turned sharply toward her, something protective flickering in his gaze. “Don’t,” he said softly.
She nodded. “I know. It’s just… it makes it real. What if this doesn’t get handled before the deadline?” Gods that’s so selfish to think about when it’s happening to people right now.
Draco took a slow breath, his thumb tracing idle circles against her wrist. “Then we do our best to make sure it never happens to anyone else.”
Theo exhaled and nodded. “Agreed.”
Soon, the triad sat on the edge of the bed, their robes and public clothes discarded in a crumpled heap on the floor, their bodies bare and etched with the scars of their struggles. They faced each other, the bond a raw, aching wound, heavy with the terror of losing themselves to the cases nd the fear of what was to come.
Theo broke the silence, his voice low and cracking with raw concern, sitting cross-legged, his fingers trembling as they clutched the silk sheets. “Loves, I can’t—fuck, I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it,” he choked, his stormy yes shimmering with un shed tears, the bond pulsing with his desperate urgency.
“The bond’s been tearing at the seams these past few days, frayed with fear and a stead uncurrent of bleeding anxiety from the uncertainty of these cases. It’s... it’s ripping us apart, making us sharp, jagged, like we’re losing each other I think.”
His voice broke, a tear slipping down his cheek, “Staying in balance is everything—our lifeline. If we let the bond get this worked up, we’ll destabilize it, lose what makes us us. We have to keep working on the case, but we can’t let it devour us. We need to take care of ourselves, nurture the bond, keep our minds and bodies from breaking, or we’ll be no good to anyone—not the victims, not each other.”
His hand reached for Hermione’s, then Draco’s, trembling, “I’m scared, loves—scared we’re slipping away, scared I’m not enough to hold us all together.”
Draco’s breath hitched, his voice a raw, guttural whisper, leaning forward, his hand clutching Theo’s, his other reaching for Hermione.
“Theo’s right—I feel it, like I’m drowning in it, like I’m failing you both too, can’t quite reach you through the haze of it all,” he rasped, his voice cracking with a vulnerability that laid his soul bare, the bond flaring with his fracturing heart.
“I’ve been so fucking emotionally distant I think, loves—cold, like the stress is choking me, making me feel like I’m not enough for you both. The cases, the endless dead ends... they’re eating my soul, making me question everything.”
His fingers tightened on theirs, his body trembling, “We shouldn’t feel guilty for taking care of ourselves, even if it means stealing a few hours from research and leads. I need you—need to feel you, not just the weight of this fucking case.”
A single tear fell freely, his voice breaking, “I’m terrified of losing you, of the bond fading because I’m too weak to hold it together, too broken to be what you need in addition to solving this.”
Hermione’s eyes flooded with empathy, her voice a whisper, her body trembling with the weight of her own terror, her hands clutching theirs so tightly her knuckles blanched.
“I... I feel it too, like I’m crumbling inside and we’re not steady,” she sighed, her brown eyes raw with fear, the bond a searing torrent of her anguish.
“Every moment I’m not working, I feel like I’m betraying those victims, like I’m failing them, failing you both to for not being linked enough with you. I’m so scared—so scared we’ll lose the bond, lose each other, and then what if we don’t solve this either.”
Her heart splintered, her voice barely audible, “I’m terrified I’m not enough, that my love isn’t enough to hold us together. But... you’re right. We need to not feel guilty for focusing on us too. We can’t deny the bond because we’re trying to save the world and loose ourselves in the process.”
Her tears spilled, her body shaking, “I need you both, need us, more than anything else.”
Theo’s smile was fragile, his voice thick with love, “That’s our girl—our heart. Let’s start now making it a regular priority—no case talk, just us, just love.”
He stood, pulling them gently toward the adjoining bathroom, the bond a desperate anchor of their shared need.
“A bath, loves—let’s wash this weight away, just be us for a while.” They moved as one, their bare feet padding softly on the cool marble floor, the bathroom’s sunken tub already filling with steaming water, its surface shimmering under the glow of floating orbs, the air heavy with pine incense and bergamot, the gurgle of enchanted water a soothing promise.
They sank into the tub together, the water lapping at their skin like a tender embrace, Hermione in the center, Draco and Theo on either side, their bodies pressed close.
The water cradled them, easing the tension in their muscles, but their hearts remained raw, the bond a radiant wound of their shared vulnerability.
Theo’s voice was a broken whisper, his arm around Hermione’s shoulders, his lips brushing her temple, “Tell me something true, love—something you’ve been holding in, something just for us.”
The bond pulsed with his desperate plea, his eyes shimmering with fears, his fingers tracing her collarbone, sparking a soft shiver.
Hermione’s voice trembled, her head resting on Theo’s shoulder, her tears mingling with the water, “I... I miss the way we used to be, before the cases stole everything. I miss laughing with you, feeling light, feeling like we were enough.”
Her tears fell faster, her hand clutching Draco’s under the water, “I’m terrified I’m losing you both, that my fear is pushing you away.”
Draco’s voice was a guttural reevaluation, his arm tightening around her waist, his fingers digging into her hip, “Granger, I miss your fire—the way you’d tease me all the time, make my heart race. I’ve been so lost in the cases, I forgot how to be yours, how to make you smile and drive you crazy.”
His lips kissed her shoulder, his mouth hot against her skin, “I’m scared I’m failing you both, that I’m too broken to be your anchor, that I don’t deserve you.”
Theo’s fingers traced Draco’s scarred chest, his voice cracking, “I miss your strength, mate—the way you’d hold us together, even when you were hurting. I’ve been so consumed, I’m losing myself, losing you both, the cases, and my grueling schedule has bene pulling me from you both a lot the last few months. I keep missing… everything.”
He kissed Draco’s jaw, grazing the stubble, “I’m terrified I can’t protect you, that I’ll let you down by not figuring this out, and that my love isn’t enough to keep the bond stable.”
Hermione turned to kiss Theo, her lips soft and lingering, her tears mixing with his, “You’re enough, Theo—always.”
She kissed Draco, their tongues brushing in a slow, love-soaked dance, “You’re my everything too, Draco—never doubt it.”
The bond was a radiant tide of their shared pain and love, their bodies pressed closer, the water lapping at their skin.
They talked for an hour, enjoying the water’s warmth, their voices raw and breaking, baring their souls in the steam, no more mention of the cases, only their hearts, their fears, their love.
Draco confessed, his voice a whisper, “I still hear the Manor’s screams, the Mark burning... I’m scared it’s still in me, that I’ll taint you both.”
Hermione’s voice was fierce, “Draco, you’re our light—you fought it, you’re ours.”
Theo’s was a sob, “I see that curse hitting me in the maze, feel the blood... I’m scared I’ll fail you again.”
Hermione kissed his scar, “You’re our survivor, Theo—never failing us.”
Hermione admitted, “I’m scared I’m not enough, that my love can’t hold us against constant darkness.”
Draco’s voice broke, “Hermione, you’re our fucking universe—your love is everything.”
Theo’s was a whisper, “You’re our home, love—always.”
Their hands roamed, not sexual yet but achingly sensual, tracing scars—Hermione’s battle wounds, Draco’s Dark Mark, Theo’s shoulder scar—caressing skin, grounding each other in touch, their whispers a litany of love and forgiveness, “You’re enough, you’re ours, we love you.”
The water lapped at their bodies, their tears mingling with the steam, the bond a radiant, love-sodden wound healing with every word.
As they stepped out of the tub, the water cascading off their skin in shimmering rivulets, they wrapped themselves in warm, charmed towels, their bodies pressed close, their eyes locked in a desperate gaze.
Hermione’s voice was a broken whisper, “Thank you, loves—for holding me together.”
Draco kissed her forehead, his tears falling, “We’re us, Granger—always, no matter what.”
Theo’s arms encircled them, his voice raw, “Together, loves—forever.”
Theo’s voice was a soft, shaky whisper, his hand brushing Hermione’s damp curls with a tenderness that belied the raw emotion in his eyes, “Loves, this... talking, being here with you both—it’s helped me feel grounded again, like I can finally breathe without drowning.”
His fingers lingering on her cheek, “I was losing myself in the cases, loves—slipping into this dark, endless hole, but you—you’re my anchor, my light.”
Draco nodded, his voice rough with emotion, stepping closer, his hand resting on Theo’s shoulder with a grip that quaked with tenderness, “Same, mate. Feeling you both, hearing your hearts beat with mine... it’s pulling me back from the edge.”
His silver eyes flicked to Hermione, a predatory glint sparking beneath his vulnerability, his cock hardening fully beneath his towel, “But the bond—” his voice dropped to a husky, filthy whisper, “—it always craves when we’re physical, too. We can’t let that part slip, loves. It’s the blood in our veins, the fire that keeps us whole.”
The bond flared with his raw, possessive need, his towel slipping slightly to reveal the throbbing length of his cock.
Hermione’s cheeks flushed a deep, burning crimson, her pussy clenching with a sudden rush of excitement, her clit throbbing with a desperate, aching pulse, her voice a shaky admission that trembled with both fear and desire, “You’re right... I’ve been so tightly wound, like I’m coiled in knots I can’t untie, barely breathing under the weight of it all.”
Her eyes shimmered with love and a hesitant, burgeoning arousal, the bond pulsing with her surrender, “The bond—it feels more peaceful when we’re intimate, when we’re close like that, regularly. I need it, need you both, to feel us again, to feel whole.” Her pussy throbbed, her heart racing with the intensity of her confession.
Draco’s grin turned predatory, his silver eyes blazing with a mix of love and ravenous hunger, his voice a low, filthy growl that sent shivers down her spine, “Fuck, Granger—knew you’d feel it missing too, you minxy little witch.”
He stepped closer, his towel dropping to the floor with a soft thud, revealing his hard cock, fully erect and glistening with pre-cum, his hand sliding to her arse, squeezing the firm flesh with possessive intent, “Been thinking about this arse all fucking day, love—want to keep exploring what we started, want to make you scream for us.”
Theo’s eyes darkened with arousal, his towel falling to reveal his hard cock springing free, the apadravya piercing glinting like a cruel jewel in the candlelight, “Gods, love—that’s so fucking hot. I’m in, want to see you stuffed and writhing.”
The bond flared with their shared, predatory desire, their bodies closing in on her like wolves circling their prey, their love and need a fierce, undeniable force.
They lifted her with effortless strength, their hands gripping her thighs and waist, carrying her to the bed and throwing her onto the emerald silk sheets with a thump that made the mattress creak protestingly, the fabric cool and slick against her damp skin.
They crawled up with her, their movements slow and deliberate, their eyes blazing with devotion and hunger, Draco on her left, Theo on her right, their bodies pressing close, the heat of their skin searing against hers.
Draco’s voice was a filthy, commanding growl, “On your side, love—spread those gorgeous thighs for us, let us see that pussy.” Hermione hesitated, her pussy throbbing with slick, her clit pulsing with desperate need, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and arousal, “Draco... Theo... yes, I want it.”
Theo’s grin was naughty but thick with arousal, his cock twitching, “Fuck, love—you saying yes to this, it’s got me so hard I could burst.”
Draco reached into the nightstand drawer with a predatory smirk, pulling out a small, silver anal plug—two fingers wide at its widest, sleek and tapered with a smooth, rounded tip, engraved with delicate, glowing runes that pulsed faintly with charmwork, its base gleaming with a tiny, faceted emerald that caught the candlelight like a wicked promise, the plug charmed to vibrate subtly when activated, its weight cool and solid in his hand.
“Got this for you, love—been saving it, thinking about your tight little arse swallowing it,” he growled, his voice dripping with filthy love, holding it up for her to see, the runes shimmering, “Want to try it in your arse, love, with me fucking your pussy, the plug buzzing inside you? Tell me you’re sure, Granger—only if you really want it.”
Hermione’s eyes widened, her pussy clenching hard, wetnees intensifying at the thought, her voice a shaky, breathless whisper, “Yes... I’m sure, Draco. I trust you—want it, want you both.”
Theo’s cock twitched violently, pre-cum beading at the tip, “Fuck, love—that’s so fucking hot, your arse stuffed while he fucks you.”
Draco and Theo descended on her like a storm of love and lust, their lips kissing her with desperate fervor—Draco’s mouth claiming hers, his tongue tangling with hers in a slow, hungry, filthy dance that tasted of salt and need, his hands cupping her face with possessive reverence; Theo’s lips on her neck , his hands sliding down to tease her breasts, tearing her towel away.
Her body was bared—her full breasts heaving, nipples hardened to aching, reddened peaks, her pussy glistening, lips puffy and flushed a deep, glistening pink.
“Fuck, love—your body’s a fucking goddess, tits perfect, pussy dripping,” Theo whispered, his voice thick with love, his lips sucking her nipple hard.
Draco’s hands spread her thighs wide, his fingers brushing her pussy lips, parting them with reverence.
“Your cunt’s soaked, Granger—begging for us,” he growled, his voice a filthy murmur, his fingers gyrating her clit with feather-light touches, sparking deep, pulsing jolts but never enough to satisfy, her pussy clenching on nothing.
Theo’s fingers joined, thrusting two into her pussy without much force, curling hard against her G-spot, her moan loud as slick gushed, “Fuck, love—your cunt’s gripping me, gonna make you squirt,” his thumb teasing her clit alongside Draco’s, their touches a synchronized torment.
Their fingers pumped and circled, teasing her to the edge, pulling back, her pussy squirting soft spurts, her moans desperate, “Draco—Theo—please, love you.”
Draco’s hand moved to her arse, spreading her cheeks with deliberate care, his finger coated with Slick Silken, the lube warm and silky as he circled her tight, puckered hole with agonizing slowness, “Relax, love—gonna open this arse slow, make it ready for our plug,” his voice a dirty, soothing mumble, his finger pressing in gradually.
The pressure was soft as her arse clenched, then yielded, sparking a strange, intense shudder that made her gasp, “Draco—fuck, it’s so weird.”
He worked slowly, his finger thrusting in and out, stretching her with patient, reverent care, adding a second finger after long, agonizing minutes, her groans intensifying as her arse adjusted, the sensation foreign but thrilling, her pussy throbbing in response.
“Fuck, love—your arse is so tight, taking my fingers like a good wife,” Draco growled, his fingers scissoring gently, stretching her wider, the lube slick and warm, her moans raw, “Draco—love you, it’s intense.”
Praise filled the air as Draco prepared her, his fingers thrusting deeper, curling to provike pleasure that radiated to her pussy, Theo’s fingers relentless in her cunt, “Your pussy’s loving this, love— your so tight and wet,” their touches building her arousal to a fever pitch, her body trembling.
Draco pulled his fingers out, carefully coating the silver plug with more Slick Silken, the runes glowing faintly as he pressed the tapered tip against her arse, “Breathe, love—push out for me, let it in slow,” his voice a steady, filthy anchor, his hand stroking her thigh, Theo’s fingers pumping her pussy to distract her.
The plug stretched her wider, the pull extensive and prolonged as it slid in inch by inch, her arse resisting, clenching tightly around the widening girth, a sharp, burning push of panic surging through her, “Draco—it’s too big, I can’t—fuck, it hurts!” her voice fearful, her pussy squirting a forceful spurt onto Theo’s hand from the intensity, her hands clawing the sheets.
“Shh, love—you’re doing so fucking good, just breathe, push out, you’re perfect,” Draco murmured, his voice a soothing, filthy lifeline, his fingers circling her clit with gentle precision, sparking warm jolts to ease her, Theo’s fingers curling in her pussy, “You’ve got this, love—feel us, we’re here, you’re safe.”
She took a deep breath. The plug slid deeper, stretching her arse with a slow, burning fullness, the runes humming faintly as they activated, a subtle bzzz sparking jolts that radiated through her walls, the base finally settling against her checks, the emerald glinting in the candlelight.
The sensation was overwhelming—full, foreign, a strange pressure that pressed against her pussy from within, the vibration a low, constant hum that sparked warm, electric jolts, her pussy clenching hard.
“It’s... it’s in, gods, it’s so weird, so full, but... fuck, I think I may like it,” she whispered, her voice quivering with arousal, panic, and relief, her arse adjusting to the plug’s presence, the vibration syncing with her heartbeat, her pussy throbbing in response.
Theo’s grin was brazen but thick with arousal, “Fuck, love—your arse stuffed with that plug, your pussy dripping—it’s so fucking hot.”
Draco’s eyes blazed, his cock throbbing, “Gonna fuck this cunt with it in, love—gonna make you feel everything, gonna make you scream.”
He positioned himself between her thighs, his cock pressing against her pussy, the plug in her arse amplifying the pressure, her walls already stretched and vibrating.
“Feel me, love—my cock and our plug, gonna wreck this pussy,” he growled, thrusting in with a sharp hip buck, her pussy stretching hopelessly tight around him and the plug’s presence, the vibration humming through her walls to his cock, sparking electric, apocalyptic jolts that made him groan, “Fuck, love—feel that plug buzzing against my cock, your pussy’s so tight it’s choking me.”
Minutes stretched into an excruciating eternity of prolonged pleasure, Draco’s thrusts slow and deep at first, his cock dragging against her G-spot with deliberate, grinding rolls, the plug’s vibration amplifying the pressure, plug shifting with each thrust, pressing against her from behind, sparking white-hot, soul-shattering jolts that radiated to her clit.
“Fuck, Granger—your pussy’s stuffed, the plug making you tighter, buzzing through my cock,” his voice a filthy roar, his hips rolling to grind the plug deeper, the runes humming louder, sparking jolts that made her pussy clench, squirting soft spurts with every movement.
Theo knelt beside Draco, his cock hard and throbbing, the piercing glinting as Draco leaned over more, his mouth wrapping around Theo’s cock with a wet slurp, his lips stretching around the thick shaft, the piercing cool against his tongue as he sucked deep, his tongue swirling around the metal bar, tasting the salty, musky pre-cum that beaded at the tip, the slurp-slurp obscene and rhythmic, matching the pace of his thrusts into Hermione’s pussy.
“Fuck, mate—your cock tastes so good, love you,” Draco growled, his voice muffled around Theo’s girth, his tongue flicking the piercing, sparking jolts that made Theo groan, “Draco—fuck, your mouth’s too good, love you.”
Draco’s mouth worked Theo’s cock with relentless, filthy meticulousness, his lips sliding up and down the shaft, the piercing scraping his palate with each deep suck, the gluck-gluck soft as he took Theo to the back of his throat, his tongue lapping at the underside, teasing the sensitive vein, pre-cum coating his tongue in pearly ropes that dripped down his chin.
His thrusts into Hermione’s pussy were brutal, the slap-slap-slap of his balls against her ass echoing, the plug shifting with each slam, the vibration intensifying, “Your cunt’s leaking, love—feel that plug making you drip,”
The dual stimulation—Draco’s cock in her pussy, the plug vibrating relentlessly, the visual of his mouth sucking Theo’s cock—pushed her to the edge, her pussy spasming hard.
“ Draco—Theo—love you!”
Theo’s cock throbbed in Draco’s mouth, the piercing pulsing, “Fuck—Draco, gonna cum,” spattering down Draco’s throat, the gluck loud as Draco swallowed muffled, “Theo—love you!”.
Draco’s thrusts deepened, the plug pressing harder, “Cum for me, love—with our plug in your arse,” his voice a filthy command.
Her orgasm collided, pussy convulsing brutally around Draco’s cock and the plug, the vibration amplifying the shudders, “Draco—love you!”
Draco roared, spilling thick in her pussy , “Granger—ours, love you!”.
Later, when the candles had burned low and the moonlight crept through the tall windows, Hermione shifted to face both of them.
“I’ll go to Kingsley in the morning,” she said. “Show him what we’ve found. If this case started at that match, we can trace it backward — find the vendor, the supplier, maybe even the curse source.”
Theo rubbed his face. “I’ll request hospital security records — check for anyone else who was treated for core reduction anywhere near that time.”
Draco nodded slowly, eyes dark but determined. “And I’ll put my contacts in the League on notice. No more public games until this is resolved.”
Hermione looked at them both, her chest tightening with pride and love. “We’ll do this together.”
The bond pulsed, warm and sure.
And for that brief moment, despite the darkness circling outside the walls, all three of them felt what it was like to breathe freely again — united, unbroken, and ready for whatever came next.
Notes:
Thoughts? On the core depletion or the scene?
Chapter 175: Warnings
Chapter Text
The triad breakfasted together in the study — toast gone cold, parchment stacked high, and tension running quietly under every glance.
Draco’s eyes were fixed on the letter Kingsley had sent at sunrise, the Ministry’s seal cracked open.
“He wants me in by nine. Says they’re forming a joint task force for those new cases to think about Quidditch — League representatives, Aurors, and the Department of Mysteries.”
Hermione nodded, brushing crumbs from her quill notes. “That’s good. It means they’re taking it seriously.”
Theo was buttoning his Healer robes, hair still damp from his morning shower. “It means they’re scared, which might finally be useful.”
Draco stood, fastening his cloak. “Theo, your shift today?”
“Double.”
“Of course, so no one will be with Hemrione,” Draco muttered, though not unkindly.
Hermione smiled faintly at both of them. “I’ll be fine. Narcissa invited me to tea at the Manor this afternoon. She said she wanted to discuss the ‘state of things.’”
Draco groaned quietly. “Merlin help you.”
Theo smirked, kissing her temple. “Don’t let her interrogate you too much.”
Hermione smiled again, though something in her chest tightened — a mixture of nerves and affection. “Wish me luck.”
By ten, Hermione apparated to the ornate wrought-iron gates of Malfoy Manor. The air was fragrant with summer roses and trimmed lavender hedges.
A house-elf greeted her with a polite bow and guided her along the gravel path toward the back gardens, where white parasols shaded tables set with fine china and pastel cakes.
Narcissa Malfoy was already there, pristine as ever in pale blue robes, her hair pinned elegantly back.
She stood when Hermione approached. “My dear,” she said softly, brushing a kiss to Hermione’s cheek. “You look pale. Has my son been working you to death with research for the cases?”
Hermione smiled. “Only slightly. But I’m holding up.”
“Good,” Narcissa said, gesturing to the seat across from her. “Tea?”
“Yes, please.”
As the first pot poured, the conversation stayed polite — garden charms, the unusually warm summer, the peacocks preening near the fountains. But Hermione knew it was only a matter of time before the niceties faded.
They always did with Narcissa.
After a few quiet minutes of sipping and nibbling lemon cake, Narcissa’s tone shifted, gentle but pointed.
“I read about the new cases in the Prophet,” she began. “It’s spreading, isn’t it?”
Hermione set her cup down slowly. “Yes. The investigation’s ongoing, but… it’s worse than anyone thought. Children, public places, Hogwarts students, even a few adults. We still don’t know the source.”
Narcissa’s expression softened, worry flickering through her otherwise composed face. “And Draco?”
“He’s at the Ministry today,” Hermione said. “Working with Kingsley on containment plans.”
“And you?” Narcissa studied her. “You were at St. Mungo’s yesterday, I hear. Helping Theodore.”
Hermione hesitated. “Yes. The Minister ordered it. Two of the children were… younger than Hogwarts age. It was difficult to see.”
“I can imagine,” Narcissa murmured, gaze distant for a moment. “When Draco was small, Lucius used to tell me that sentiment was weakness. But I learned — often the hard way — that caring too deeply is the only strength that ever endures.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “I think I understand that now.”
Narcissa set her teacup down, eyes glinting. “And how are the three of you faring? I can see something has shifted.”
Hermione flushed slightly but didn’t look away. “We’re… closer. In every way. The bond feels stronger. More alive.”
Narcissa nodded knowingly. “It shows. Draco has been calmer these past few weeks — except when it comes to your safety.”
Hermione let out a faint laugh. “He’s still overprotective. He barely let me out of his sight after the last attack.”
“That’s his father in him,” Narcissa said softly. “But unlike Lucius, Draco’s possessiveness comes from love, not control. He fears losing what he finally deserves to have.”
Hermione looked down, tracing her finger along the rim of her cup. “He told me in Luxembourg… that he loves me.”
Narcissa’s eyes softened with quiet pride. “And you?”
“I told him I love him too.”
Narcissa exhaled a long, relieved breath, a faint smile curving her lips. “Good. It’s about time one of you said it aloudto the other.”
Hermione laughed quietly, cheeks warm. “It just… happened. I think it’s been building for a long time.”
“And Theodore?” Narcissa asked carefully.
“He’s been a constant,” Hermione said, her voice tender. “He grounds us both in his love.”
Narcissa leaned back in her chair, thoughtful. “Then you truly are becoming one — not three separate pieces forced together by law, but a bond of your own making.”
Hermione nodded slowly. “That’s what it feels like is developing.”
There was a long pause, the sound of the peacocks calling faintly in the distance.
Then Narcissa said, voice low, “When Draco first told me about the triad, I was… unsettled. Not because I doubted you, my dear, but because I know what public scrutiny does to a heart. And Draco has already lost more than most could bear.”
Hermione’s throat ached. “I know.”
“But,” Narcissa continued, her tone softening, “you’ve both changed him, Hermione. The light in his eyes — it’s one I haven’t seen since he was a boy. You’ve given him a peace I thought he’d never find.”
Hermione blinked quickly, brushing away a tear that had escaped. “Thank you. That means more than you know.”
Narcissa smiled faintly, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “You’ve become my daughter, in all but name. And I am so very proud of you.”
When she finally found her voice again, Hermione whispered, “I worry about what comes next. The attacks, the core crisis — it’s growing faster than we can contain it. I don’t want to think what happens if it reaches Hogwarts again in the new term.”
Narcissa’s gaze turned distant, her expression shadowed by memory. “Then you’ll face it as we Malfoys always have — with grace, cunning, and unity. But with something Lucius never understood.”
Hermione tilted her head. “What’s that?”
“Heart,” Narcissa said simply.
By the time they stood, the sun was top of the sky high, heat rising quickly. Narcissa walked Hermione to the edge of the path where the apparition wards shimmered faintly.
“Tell my son,” Narcissa said with a small smile, “that if he doesn’t bring you for Sunday supper soon, I’ll come fetch you myself.”
Hermione laughed through her lingering tears. “I’ll hold him to that.”
Narcissa’s smile softened. “Be careful, Hermione. The world is darker than it has been in awhile— but you, my dear, were born to bring light into it.”
The bond pulsed faintly at that moment — Draco’s worry echoing through it from the Ministry — and Hermione’s heart ached with quiet love.
“I’ll try,” she said softly, before disapparating.
Not wanting to go home quite yet to an empty manor, Hermione had made a last minute decision to check-in on Ginny who she hadn’t seen since the cookout.
When she knocked on the door, Ginny’s voice rang out. “It’s open!”
Hermione stepped inside to find Ginny Potter, barefoot and radiant in a loose summer dress, her fiery hair pinned back messily as she poured tea into three mismatched mugs.
Across the table, Luna Lovegood-Longbottom sat serenely, her round belly protruding beneath a flowing lilac robe, a necklace of butterbeer corks and tiny silver moons hanging from her neck.
“Hermione!” Ginny grinned, rushing forward to hug her tightly. “We were just talking about you!”
Luna looked up dreamily. “I told Ginny you’d arrive right when the light turned yellow through the window. You always do when you’re about to say something important.”
Hermione smiled, a little flustered. “Apparently I’m that predictable.”
“Not predictable,” Luna said serenely, “just very… you.”
Ginny rolled her eyes affectionately. “Come on, sit down before Luna predicts my Quidditch scores again.”
They settled at the kitchen table, mugs steaming, sunlight painting soft stripes across the wood. A small pile of Prophet clippings sat near Ginny’s elbow — all about her latest games with the Holyhead Harpies.
Hermione nudged the stack. “Still saving them all?”
Ginny shrugged, cheeks flushing with pride. “It’s been a good season. I’m leading in assists and nearly beat the league record for clean catches.”
“Nearly?” Hermione teased.
Ginny laughed. “Fine, fine — almost. But the season’s not over yet… I hope…”
Luna sipped her tea, utterly serene. “It’s because you fly with your heart instead of your hands. That’s why your broom never shakes.”
Hermione smiled at that. “You make it sound like poetry, Luna.”
Luna tilted her head. “Flying is poetry, in a way. It’s about trusting the air not to drop you.”
Ginny snorted into her mug. “That’s one way to describe surviving Bludgers at 120 kilometers an hour.”
Hermione laughed, and for a few blessed minutes, everything felt easy — just the three of them, the sound of tea cups clinking, the soft hum of summer outside.
Eventually, Hermione’s gaze fell on Luna’s rounded belly, barely visible beneath her pale robes. “How are you feeling, Luna?”
Luna smiled faintly. “Heavy in the mornings, light by afternoon. Neville’s been very attentive. He reads the baby Herbology essays at night. I think it likes his voice.”
Ginny leaned her chin on her hand. “Of course it does. The baby’s probably going to be born knowing how to prune Venomous Tentacula.”
Luna’s silvery eyes twinkled. “Perhaps. Or maybe it’ll be born humming. I’ve been hearing music in my dreams lately — low and steady, like wings.”
Hermione smiled softly. “You always did dream differently than the rest of us.”
“Dreaming,” Luna said airily, “is just another kind of thinking. You do it when the mind needs to rest from being too awake.”
Ginny and Hermione exchanged amused glances — the kind only people who loved Luna could share.
It wasn’t until the tea had cooled that Ginny noticed Hermione had gone quiet. She set her mug down with a soft clink.
“All right,” she said. “What’s wrong? You’ve been doing that thing where you smile but your eyes are a kilometer away.”
Hermione hesitated, fingers tracing the rim of her mug. “It’s just… everything. The investigation. The Ministry breathing down our necks about the bond. Every time something goes wrong, Kingsley or the Prophet comes knocking for me to fix it. And when I can’t—” She stopped, her throat tightening.
Luna spoke softly. “You think the world only spins because you push it.”
Hermione blinked, taken aback. “I—”
Luna smiled sadly. “But the world spins on its own, Hermione. Even when you sleep. You just forget that sometimes.”
Ginny reached across the table, placing her hand over Hermione’s. “She’s right. You’ve done enough for ten lifetimes, you know. You don’t have to save everyone every time. It can’t be on you every time something needs fixing.”
Hermione gave a small laugh that wasn’t entirely happy. “Old habits die hard.”
“Yeah,” Ginny said gently, squeezing her hand. “But even heroes need rest. You can’t pour from an empty cauldron.”
The heaviness eased after a moment, replaced by the familiar rhythm of friendship.
Ginny grinned slyly. “Speaking of pouring from cauldrons — how’s the great triad romance? Any dramatic declarations lately?”
Hermione blushed. “Ginny.”
“What?” Ginny said innocently. “You married two of the most eligible men in Britain and became a wealthy media sensation. The public isn’t the only one curious.”
Luna smiled dreamily. “Their bond glows like starlight when they’re together. You can feel it even from far away.”
Hermione blinked. “You can?”
Luna nodded serenely. “It hums. It’s lovely. But it’s not finished yet.”
Ginny frowned. “What do you mean, not finished?”
Luna tilted her head, eyes distant. “It’s like a song that hasn’t reached the final verse. Draco and Hermione sing the same melody now, and Theo’s is strong and steady — but there’s one harmony they haven’t found together yet.”
Hermione hesitated. “Do you think something’s wrong?”
“No,” Luna said softly. “It’s not wrong. Just… still becoming. You’ll know when it’s whole.”
Ginny huffed a laugh. “You know, Luna, half the time you sound like a prophet and the other half like you’re quoting Celestina Warbeck lyrics.”
Luna only smiled serenely. “They’re often the same thing.”
After the laughter faded, Luna’s hand drifted to her belly again. “I keep thinking about the world this child will grow up in. I want it to be softer. Kinder. Without deadlines written into people’s futures.”
Hermione’s chest tightened. “So do I.”
Ginny nodded. “And you’re doing it, you know. You and the boys. The Center, the reforms… people are paying attention. Even Mum says she’s proud of you.”
Hermione blinked back sudden tears. “That means more than you think.”
Ginny smirked. “Well, she also said you look thin and need more pie, but that’s just Molly.”
Luna laughed softly, her voice like wind chimes. “Mothers always see the things love hides.”
Hermione smiled faintly, wiping at her eyes. “You both have such different lives now — it’s strange, isn’t it? How we’ve all become women in such different ways.”
Ginny leaned back. “And yet here we are. Tea, biscuits, world-saving, baby talk, Quidditch gossip… not so different from Hogwarts after all.”
They lingered long past sunset, the kitchen glowing with candlelight and laughter.
When Hermione finally stood to go, Luna rose as well, her movements slow but graceful.
“Tell Draco and Theo the stars are bright for them tonight,” she said mysteriously. “It’s a good omen.”
Hermione smiled. “I’ll… pass that along.”
Ginny hugged her tightly. “And tell them I expect a dinner invite soon. A proper one this time — no work talk.”
Hermione laughed. “I’ll do my best.”
As she stepped out into the warm twilight, the air buzzing faintly with summer insects, she felt lighter — like the weight she carried had shifted, even if only a little.
Luna’s words echoed softly in her mind: The world spins on its own.
By the time Hermione apparated back to Nott Manor, the sky was darkening quickly.
The evening air was warm, the kind that clung to the skin, and she felt both comforted and weary stepping through the front doors.
The manor was quiet except for the faint sounds of movement in the kitchen — house-elves finishing supper.
The soft smell of roasted herbs and bread drifted through the hall, and Hermione followed it surprised to find Theo and Draco already there, dressed down from their long days, sitting across from one another at the table.
Theo looked tired, his robes wrinkled, his hair falling in short loose curls against his temples. Draco had undone his waistcoat and rolled up his sleeves, his tie hanging loose around his neck — all Ministry polish worn thin by fatigue.
Both men turned when she entered.
Draco’s lips curved faintly. “There’s our favorite scholar.”
Hermione smiled softly. “You’re biased.”
Theo stood to kiss her temple, his voice warm but weary. “You look like you had a better day than either of us.”
“I had tea with Ginny and Luna after your mom,” Hermione said, sliding into the seat between them. “They were… grounding. Luna was her usual cryptic self.”
Draco poured her a glass of wine, sliding it toward her. “I envy her sometimes. Blissfully detached from the Ministry’s endless panic.”
Hermione gave him a small smile. “I’m guessing it was a long day?”
Theo nodded, grim. “Long, and no progress. They still can’t determine whether this is a curse or a siphoning spell — or something else entirely. The cores are gone, Hermione. There’s no magical trace left behind. Nothing to analyze. It’s like the magic just... evaporates into thin air, like it never existed at all.”
Hermione frowned. “No residue at all? Not even on their clothing?”
“Nothing,” Theo said. “It’s like it never lived.”
Draco leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Kingsley’s convinced now it’s something ingested or absorbed. The new cases make it too random to be place-specific. I think that’s the best theory we have, but if it’s wrong … well then a lot of bad policy is about to happen.”
Hermione’s brows furrowed. “So it’s targeting people in crowds and public possibly.”
Draco nodded. “Exactly. He’s issuing a public statement tonight. Advising caution in large gatherings until the investigation catches up.”
Theo sighed. “It’ll cause panic.”
“Better panic than another dozen drained people,” Draco replied quietly.
The three of them ate quietly for a while after that, the conversation drifting between lighter things — Pansy’s pregnancy cravings, Luna’s poetic ramblings, Ginny’s last Harpies game — until the heaviness inevitably crept back in.
When dessert arrived, a small tremor of magic hummed through the air — the telltale pulse of wards responding to an incoming owl.
A glossy tawny owl swooped through the open window, a rolled Daily Prophet clutched in its talons. It dropped the paper neatly on the table, hooted once, and disappeared into the twilight.
Hermione exhaled softly. “That’ll be the statement.”
Draco’s jaw tightened as he reached for it, unrolling the parchment to reveal the black-inked headline stretching across the front page.
The Daily Prophet – Evening Edition
MAGICAL MINISTRY ISSUES NATIONAL WARNING ON CORE DEPLETION CRISIS
By Clarissa Penworth, Senior Correspondent, The Daily Prophet
LONDON — In light of a growing number of unexplained magical core depletions affecting young witches and wizards across Britain, the Ministry of Magic released an official statement this evening urging caution in all public spaces and gatherings.
Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt confirmed that an interdepartmental task force—comprised of members from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, St. Mungo’s Healer Corps, specialty select members of the public, and the Department of Mysteries—is investigating the phenomenon.
“The Ministry is treating this situation with the highest level of urgency,” the statement reads. “Until more is known about the cause and transmission of these incidents, we encourage all citizens to act with vigilance.”
Effective immediately, the Ministry advises:
– Avoiding large public gatherings, such as sporting events, markets, and festivals, when possible.
– Refraining from accepting food, drink, or enchanted items from strangers.
– When dining out or purchasing groceries, cast basic contamination and spell-detection charms over all consumables.
– Report any unusual magical exhaustion or sudden spell failure to St. Mungo’s at once.
Though the Ministry has confirmed that ten children and two adults have been affected to date—ranging from Hogwarts attendees to younger children—it stresses that there is no evidence of widespread contagion.
“This is a magical anomaly, not an illness,” said the Minister. “Our healers and enforcers are working tirelessly to identify the cause, and we ask the public for patience and cooperation.”
When asked whether malicious intent is suspected, Shacklebolt acknowledged that “nothing has been ruled out yet.”
Sources close to the investigation indicate that several members of the Wizengamot Heir Council, including Healer-in-Training Theodore Nott and Lord Draco Malfoy, are assisting in the inquiry, as well as possibly their wife, war hero and charms specialist Hermione Malfoy-Granger- Nott .
“We will not allow fear to dictate our society,” Shacklebolt concluded. “But we must act wisely. Protect one another. And above all, remain calm.”
Citizens with information related to the core depletion events are asked to contact the Ministry Task Force directly through secure owl correspondence.
When Draco finished reading aloud, silence filled the room.
Theo leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his temple. “It’s starting. The panic. You’ll see it by morning.”
Hermione nodded slowly. “At least they’re being transparent this time.”
Draco exhaled heavily. “Transparent, yes — but vague. It’ll help a bit, but all this will do is fuel rumors.”
Theo gave a dark chuckle. “Rumors are already running wild at the hospital. Someone told a patient it’s punishment from the Founders for mixing bloodlines.”
Hermione groaned softly. “Merlin, we’re going to be drowning in conspiracy theories by tomorrow.”
Draco folded the Prophet and set it aside, his expression distant. “Kingsley did the right thing, though. It’s the only way to get the public to stop being careless. This… whatever it is, it’s spreading through contact of some sort. We have to slow it down.”
Hermione reached over and took his hand gently. “You did well today, Draco. He trusts you. That means something.”
Draco’s eyes softened, though worry still flickered there. “It’s not enough. We need a lead, Hermione. We need something specific or someone to point to.”
Later, when the dishes were cleared and the candles burned low, they sat together in the living room — the three of them on the long sofa, a bottle of wine between them.
Hermione was curled against Draco’s side, Theo leaning on her other shoulder, all of them quiet as the night deepened.
Through the bond, she felt it — their worry, their exhaustion, the faint undercurrent of hope that hadn’t yet died.
Notes:
well... societal upheaval coming soon ...
Chapter 176: Revelations
Chapter Text
The next morning, London’s magical streets were eerily quiet.
The usual crowd outside the Leaky Cauldron was gone — only a few witches hurried by, casting quick Contamination Charms on their breakfast rolls. Shop windows in Diagon Alley were plastered with handwritten “SAFE FOOD” notices, most of them ignored.
Hermione clutched her cloak tighter as she and Draco made their way toward the Ministry’s visitor entrance. She could feel the fear humming in the air like static, the sort of nervous magic that came before riots.
When they arrived at the Minister’s conference room, Kingsley Shacklebolt was already there, sleeves rolled up, pacing in front of a cluttered table strewn with newspapers and owl reports.
“Thank Merlin,” he said, looking up as they entered. “You two are the only ones who haven’t owled to cancel this morning’s briefing.”
Draco arched an eyebrow. “You mean half the Council’s hiding?”
Kingsley sighed heavily. “They’re not hiding. They’re staying home ‘out of an abundance of caution.’” He made air quotes with one large hand. “The Prophet’s statement did its job — but perhaps too well.”
Hermione frowned, sliding into her seat beside Draco. “What’s the public response?”
Kingsley conjured a stack of fresh reports and let them fan out across the table. “You tell me. Every restaurant in Diagon Alley is empty for breakfast ad brunch already. Markets say only elves have been in. The owner of the Leaky Cauldron floo-called twice, saying he’ll have to shut down if this lasts, most of his patrons checked out last night after the paper. The fear’s spreading faster than the problem itself.”
Draco leaned forward, tapping the Prophet headline with one pale finger. “You wanted vigilance, Kingsley. You got hysteria. The entire hospitality industry’s going to collapse if people stop going out.”
Kingsley met his gaze evenly. “I know. Which is why we need to pivot — immediately.”
He took a deep breath. “Here’s the plan. The Ministry’s going to issue a follow-up statement clarifying that it’s safe to eat out — as long as proper detection charms are used on food and drink. The problem isn’t restaurants; it’s carelessness with anything.”
Hermione nodded slowly. “That’s reasonable. But will the public believe it after yesterday’s panic?”
“That’s where you come in,” Kingsley said, voice steady. “You three — and your circle of Heirs and friends — are trusted. High-profile, war heros, visible, and competent. People watch what you do.”
Draco’s brows rose. “You want us to… what? Stage a dinner party?”
Kingsley’s mouth quirked. “Not a party. Just… be seen. If a few of you are photographed in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade having a meal, it’ll tell the public that it’s safe to live their lives — as long as they’re cautious.”
Hermione blinked. “You want us to lead by example.”
“Exactly.”
Draco gave a humorless laugh. “So now we’re the Ministry’s poster children for public dining?”
Kingsley’s deep chuckle held no real amusement. “Public reassurance campaign, Draco. Optics matter. You know that.”
Hermione folded her arms, thinking. “If it helps the economy, it’s worth it. But it has to be authentic. People will see through it if it feels staged.”
Kingsley nodded. “Agreed. I’d prefer it look like a normal lunch among friends — not a press stunt. But we’ll make sure the right people see it.”
Draco leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. “It might work. If the Prophet catches a few tasteful photographs — maybe you, Theo, myself, Harry, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Pansy, Blaise, Ron — the public would feel reassured.”
Kingsley’s expression brightened. “Exactly what I was hoping for. A mix of Ministry figures and public favorites. You three are central to the story — and frankly, people trust Hermione Granger and Harry Potter more than they trust me.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Kingsley gave a half-smile. “You should.”
Draco’s tone softened. “Still — it’s a risk. If the attack on Hermione was connected to the core drain incidents, being out in public again could make her a target.”
“I’ll be careful,” Hermione said quietly. “Besides, we can’t hide forever. That’s not how you stop fear.”
Draco sighed, his jaw tightening. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“I learned from the best,” she shot back with a small smile.
Kingsley chuckled. “Good. I need all that stubborn bravery working for me.”
They spent the next hour mapping the logistics.
Kingsley would coordinate with the Prophet and the Muggle Relations Office to manage optics.
The triad and their close friends would plan a casual lunch at a visible restaurant in Diagon Alley — somewhere symbolic, but secure.
Hermione suggested The Enchanted Table, a mid-range wizarding bistro known for its enchanted outdoor garden and strong security charms. “It’s open air,” she explained. “That’ll make people feel safer.”
Kingsley nodded. “Perfect. I’ll have security in plain clothes nearby.”
Draco sighed. “I can’t believe this is what it’s come to — dining as a political maneuver.”
Hermione smirked. “It’s no different than your last Ministry gala speech. Fewer forks, more meaning.”
Theo’s absence hung in the air — he was working another long shift — but his name was mentioned often, as part of the task force and as their bonded partner.
When they finally adjourned, Kingsley stood and extended his hand to both of them.
“Thank you. The public listens to you — and right now, we need hope more than theory.”
Draco shook his hand, his expression still sharp but resigned. “We’ll make it convincing.”
Hermione smiled. “We’ll make it true.”
Outside the conference room, Hermione and Draco paused by the atrium fountain.
Wizards hurried past, whispering over folded Prophets and glancing nervously at vending kiosks.
“It’s strange,” Hermione murmured. “Yesterday, we were telling people to stay home. Today, we’re telling them to go out again.”
Draco’s mouth tightened. “That’s politics. Fear one day, reassurance the next. It’s big crowds to avoid and careless eating. Not living life.”
Hermione looked up at him. “You still think it’s the right call?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. If this drags the economy under, people will panic harder. Fear spreads faster than any curse.”
She smiled faintly. “You sound like your mother did.”
He gave a quiet huff of laughter. “Merlin forbid.”
Hermione linked her arm through his. “Come on. Let’s go home. We’ll talk to Theo tonight, make plans for lunch tomorrow.”
Draco glanced once over his shoulder at the fountain’s rippling light — the symbol of magic flowing — and then back at her.
“Let’s hope,” he murmured, “that by the time we’re done, there’s still a world worth saving.”
When Hermione and Draco apparated home that evening, the manor was bathed in amber light, its high windows reflecting the summer sunset.
The air smelled faintly of basil and charmed candlewax — one of the elves had lit dinner candles in the dining room giving it a more romantic glow.
Theo was already home, sitting at the table with his head bent over a cup of tea, healer robes still rumpled and streaked with faint potion stains.
He looked up as they entered, exhaustion softening his features.
“You two look like you’ve been at war,” he said.
Draco shrugged out of his cloak. “We were — with bureaucracy. But you don’t look any better.”
Hermione smiled gently, sliding into the chair beside him. “How was your shift?”
Theo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Busy. Frustrating. We ran every diagnostic spell and potion we could on the two new core depletion cases. Still no magical trace. Nothing detectable — no curse signature, no foreign charm residue. It’s like the magic just… dissolves.”
Hermione frowned. “Like it’s never been there.”
Theo nodded. “Exactly. They’re alive, stable, but their cores are… gone. And there’s no sign it’s reversible. They may be squibs the rest of their lives.”
Draco poured himself a glass of wine, the decanter glinting in the candlelight.
“Kingsley thinks it’s exposure — something passed in crowds. He’s issuing new guidance tonight to counter the panic. But the restaurants and markets are nervous of collapsing. He’s terrified of a public shutdown.”
Theo arched an eyebrow. “Let me guess — he wants a symbol. Something to prove it’s safe.”
“Something like that,” Hermione said, amused despite herself. “He asked us — all of us, with our circle — to lead by example. To be seen out in public tomorrow, casting safety charms and eating like everyone else. If people see us doing it, they might relax.”
Theo gave a tired smile. “We’ve become Ministry morale mascots now?”
Draco smirked faintly. “Apparently so. Poster children for safe dining.”
Theo leaned back in his chair, chuckling. “If you think about it, that’s the most Slytherin solution I’ve ever heard. Control panic through optics.”
Hermione grinned. “That’s why Kingsley wanted Draco in the room.”
Draco looked mock-offended. “Excuse me, I prefer the term strategic thinker.”
Dinner was simple — pasta with lemon sauce, grilled bread, and a shared bottle of red wine. The three of them sat close at the long table, conversation flowing easily between quiet moments and bursts of laughter.
Hermione told Theo about Luna’s odd prophecies and Ginny’s endless teasing of Pansy’s cravings.
Draco described Kingsley’s mix of exhaustion and dry humor, and Theo updated them on St. Mungo’s preparations for the potential “core crisis surge.”
By dessert, Hermione leaned her chin on her hand and said, “We should invite Harry and Ginny to come with us tomorrow. The public trusts Harry — seeing him eating in Diagon Alley would reassure a lot of people.”
Draco nodded immediately. “That’s smart. The Prophet will get photos whether we want them or not. If Harry’s there, the tone will stay positive.”
Theo smirked. “Also, Ginny will probably turn it into a party.”
Hermione laughed softly. “Exactly. We could all use a little fun.”
She reached for parchment and quill, and began to write:
To: Harry and Ginny Potter
We’re having lunch tomorrow in Diagon Alley at The Enchanted Table. Kingsley’s asked us to help reassure the public by being visible — nothing formal, just a meal among friends. It would mean a lot if you joined us. Bring your appetites (and your wands).
Love,
Hermione, Draco, and Theo
Draco sealed it with a press of his wand, and one of the many family owls, a sleek silver one named Selene, swooped in from the perch near the window.
“Take this to the Potters, please,” Hermione murmured, and the owl vanished into the cooling evening.
It didn’t take long. Barely half an hour later, a tapping echoed against the windowpane.
Theo crossed the room to open it, and Selene returned with two letters tied to her leg — one in Harry’s neat handwriting, the other in Ginny’s scrawl.
Theo handed them over, and Draco opened Harry’s first.
*You can count us in. I agree it’s the right move — we can’t let fear run the world again. Ginny’s already planning what she’s wearing, so I assume I’ve lost control of this operation entirely.
What time should we meet you there?*
– Harry
Hermione smiled as Draco passed it to her, and she unrolled Ginny’s next letter with a laugh.
Oh, so we’re saving the world through lunch now? Love it. I’ll wear green — tell Draco he’s buying the wine. Also, I expect dessert. See you at one!
– G
Theo chuckled. “That sounds about right.”
Draco sighed, amused. “Of course she picked green.”
Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder. “It’s good, though. People will see Harry and Ginny relaxed, us laughing, maybe Luna and Neville if they can join later too. It might actually work.”
Draco kissed the top of her head lightly. “It will. Because it’s you leading it.”
Theo’s gaze softened. “And because it’s all of us standing together again.”
After dinner, they moved to the sitting room. The candles flickered low, their wine glasses half-empty, and the world outside was silent.
Theo sat on the floor by the hearth, idly toying with a stray spark from the fire. Draco and Hermione sat curled together on the sofa, her legs tucked under his.
Theo finally broke the silence. “You think this will calm people?”
Hermione nodded slowly. “If even one family goes out to eat again without fear — if one small business doesn’t close — it’s worth it.”
Draco swirled his glass. “Kingsley said something like that today — that hope isn’t just a feeling. It’s an economic stabilizer.”
Theo smiled faintly. “Leave it to politicians to make hope sound like a market term.”
Hermione laughed quietly, the sound soft in the room. “Hope and trust are powerful magic, though. We’ve seen it before.”
The bond between them thrummed gently — warm, alive, grounding.
Theo’s healer robes were discarded an hour later in favor for a soft gray sweater and loose trousers that clung to his lean hips, his frame taut with the day’s exhaustion yet thrumming with a restless, sensual energy.
Hermione lay beside him on the bed, her blouse unbuttoned just enough to reveal the swell of her breasts, her skirt riding high on her thighs, her curls spilling freely across the pillow in a wild cascade of waves.
They were curled together under a light throw, Theo’s arm draped possessively around her waist, his hand splayed across her belly, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate, sensual patterns on her bare skin where her blouse had ridden up, the warmth of his palm searing into her, sparking a molten heat that pooled in her core slowly.
Theo’s voice was a low, husky murmur, thick with reflective desire, his hand never pausing, his fingers circling the soft, sensitive curve of her lower abdomen with a teasing, possessive touch.
“It’s so strange, love—thinking about Luna and Pansy, pregnant with the next generation, little ones who’ll be tearing through Hogwarts someday soon.”
His lips curved into a smile, the bond pulsing with his heated wonder, his fingers pressing a little firmer, tracing the delicate slope of her belly with a sensual, lingering stroke that sent a shiver racing to her pussy, her clit pounding harder.
“Makes me feel older than I am, like we’re the ones passing the torch... but fuck, love, imagining you like that—” his palm flattened against her belly, his thumb brushing slow, torturous arcs just above her skirt’s waistband, the heat of his touch igniting her skin, “—your belly round with our child, it’s doing things to me, making me hard just thinking about it.”
Hermione’s breath hitched sharply, her voice a soft, trembling outburst of stunned surprise, her hand covering his, pressing his palm closer, guiding his fingers in a slow, sensual dance across her belly.
“It is weird, isn’t it? Seeing our friendsabout to become parents, picturing tiny Lovegoods and Parkinsons in the Great Hall.”
Her eyes widened dramatically, a jolt of shock flashing across her face as the bond surged with her heated joy, her body arching into his touch, the slow, deliberate strokes of his fingers sending molten waves through her core.
“But I’m so happy for them. Luna’s going to be such a dreamy, loving mum, filling her little one with stories of nargles and wonder. And Pansy—she’ll be fierce, protective, teaching her kid to own the Slytherin table with that sharp wit of hers.”
She laughed breathlessly, her fingers squeezing his, urging his hand lower, just brushing the edge of her skirt, the swish of fabric sparking electric shivers, “They’ll be brilliant parents, won’t they? I can just see Luna’s baby chasing wrackspurts, Pansy’s strutting like a fashionista.”
Theo’s grin turned rapacious, his voice thick with raw desire, his hand never faltering, his fingers tracing the soft, sensitive skin of her lower belly with slow, sensual circles, dipping just beneath her skirt’s waistband, teasing the edge of her soaked panties, the heat of his palm searing her skin, her pussy throbbing in response.
“They will, love—but you, my perfect wife, you’re going to be a fucking incredible mum someday. I know it, feel it in my soul, in every beat of my heart.”
His eyes locked with hers, the bond flaring with his love and a smoldering, possessive hunger, his palm pressing more firmly against her belly, his fingers splaying wide to claim the soft expanse, caressing with slow, deliberate strokes that traced every curve, sparking a low moan from her lips, her pussy clenching hard.
“I see it so clearly in my dreams sometimes—you with our little one, your curls, your fire, teaching them to be brave and brilliant, to love with everything they’ve got. Our kid, mine or Draco’s, growing right here, kicking under my hand, knowing we all made them together.”
His voice trembled with raw emotion, his fingers dipping lower, brushing the damp lace of her panties, “I’m not ready right now—the cases, the chaos—but fuck, I’m so in love with the idea of you pregnant someday, your belly swollen with our child, made with our love.”
Hermione’s eyes widened further, her jaw dropping in a gasp of stunned realization, “Theo—gods, I... I didn’t expect this, didn’t know I’d feel it so strongly, but it’s, I want it too someday. Not because we have to, but because I want that with you both… a family.”
Her fingers intertwined with his, urging his hand in a slow, teasing circle over her lower belly, dipping just inside her skirt, the swish of fabric sparking shivers that radiated to her pussy, her slick soaking through her panties, dripping down her thighs.
“I’m not ready either, not with everything we’re facing and our programs, but... I can see it so vividly, and it’s shocking how much I truly want it. Me, heavy with our child, you and Draco fussing over me, bickering over whether the baby’s got your piercing grin or Draco’s smirk.”
She laughed, her voice husky with arousal and astonishment, her body melting into his touch, his fingers caressing the sensitive skin just above her pussy, the heat of his palm igniting her, “You’d be such a devoted dad, Theo—teaching them to heal, to love with your whole soul, to be reckless in the best way.”
Theo’s eyes darkened with fresh desire, his voice a low, trembling growl, his hand never pausing, his fingers tracing slow, sensual arcs across her belly, pressing into the soft flesh with a possessive, teasing pressure, dipping lower to brush the soaked lace of her panties.
“Fuck, my heart—I want that so bad, want our little one with your brains, our fire, running around with your curls.” His palm flattened, his thumb brushing torturous circles just below her navel, sparking a soft, needy moan, her pussy tightening, “Draco’d be sneaking them treacle tarts, teaching them to charm their way out of trouble, swearing they’re a Malfoy even if they’ve got all your features.”
The bond flared with his longing, his hand warm and insistent, caressing her belly with a reverence that felt like a vow, his fingers teasing the edge of her panties, the heat of his touch making her pussy throb, her clit aching with need.
Hermione’s voice was a breathless moan, her hand guiding his in a slow, sensual dance across her belly, pressing his fingers closer to her soaked core, “Draco would be unbearable, wouldn’t he? Insisting the baby’s a pureblood prince or princess, even with my Gryffindor heart and muggle heritage.”
Her eyes were dark with desire too now, her body arching into his touch, his fingers caressing with a slow, deliberate rhythm that sent molten heat pooling in her pussy, “I want that glow, Theo—want to feel our child, know they’re all of ours, your hand on my belly like this, but... fuller, heavier, knowing you and Draco filled me with our love.”
Her hand squeezed his, the bond a radiant surge of her love and arousal, “When we’re ready, though—I want it with you both, want to feel you both in that moment, no barriers, just us, our love making our future.”
Theo’s breath hitched, his cock hardening fully, pressing against her thigh through his trousers, his voice a raw, filthy whisper, his hand sliding lower, his fingers slipping beneath her panties to brush her slick folds.
“Fuck, my heart—when we’re ready, no preventions, just Draco’s or my cock filling you, pumping you full of cum, knowing it’s going straight to your womb, making you swell with our child.”
His fingers circled her clit, “Gonna fuck you raw someday, love—cum so deep in this pussy, watch your belly grow, knowing we did that to you, our love flooding your womb.”
His voice trembled with love and lust, his fingers thrusting into her pussy , curling against her G-spot, “Imagine it, love—me and Draco taking turns, filling this cunt with our cum, no barriers, your womb taking it all, making our baby, with our love.”
Hermione’s moans were desperate, “Theo—fuck, yes,” her pussy spasming, squirting creamy floods that soaked his hand, the sheets, her body trembling as his fingers pumped relentlessly, “Want that—your cum, Draco’s, filling me, making me yours, our baby.”
Theo’s eyes blazed, his voice a filthy growl, “Fuck, love—can’t wait for that day, we’re gonna fuck you so full, cum dripping from this pussy, your belly round with our kid.”
He shed his trousers, his cock springing free, the piercing glinting as he positioned himself between her thighs, tearing her panties away with a rip, her pussy bared.
“Gonna fill you now, love—pretend there’s no barrier, gonna pump this cunt full,” he growled, thrusting into her with a slow descend, her walls yielding tight around his girth, the piercing scraping her G-spot deliciously.
“Fuck—your pussy’s so tight, gonna fill it with my cum, imagine it flooding your womb,” his voice a filthy roar, his hips rolling to grind deeper, her moans filling his ears.
His thrusts grew steadily faster, “Gonna cum so deep, love—no prevention potion, just my seed in your womb, making our baby,” his piercing pounding her G-spot relentlessly.
Her orgasm crashed, “Theo—gods!” .
He thrust deep twice more, exploding forcefully inside her.
“Hermione—take my cum, gonna fill your womb someday!” cum leaking out of her around his cock.
They collapsed together, Theo’s body curling around Hermione’s, his cock still inside her, softening slowly as cum and slick dripped from her pussy, pooling on the sheets.
The bond was a radiant with adoration, their breaths heavy, their skin flushed and damp with sweat, the air thick with the musky scent of their intimacy.
Theo’s hand returned to her belly, his fingers tracing slow, sensual circles over the soft skin, his palm pressing gently as if imagining it swollen, his voice a soft, trembling whisper, “Fuck, my heart—feeling you like this, my cum still deep in you... it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to our future being real, to the love we’ll make… all of us together.”
Hermione’s voice was a breathless moan, her body trembling with aftershocks, her hand covering his on her belly, pressing his palm closer, “Theo... gods, I didn’t know I’d feel this way, but your cum inside me, your words—it’s overwhelming, I want children with you both someday!”
Her eyes widened with stunned realization, her pussy clenching around his softening cock, “I was so surprised, Theo—didn’t realize how badly I crave our child and Draco’s soemday.”
Her fingers guided his in a slow, sensual caress across her belly, “I’ll carry your love, Theo—our baby, yours or Draco’s, someday growing right here, feeling you both of your love every time we look at it.”
Hermione’s laugh was husky, her body arching into his touch, “Draco would be insufferable, wouldn’t he? Bragging about his ‘heir’ before the baby’s even born, charming the nursery with little serpent motifs.”
Her hand squeezed his, guiding his fingers in a slow, sensual dance over her belly, “But I want it, Theo—want you both filling me, someday without preventatives, your cum deep in my womb, making our future. “
Theo kissed her deeply, his lips lingering, his hand still caressing her belly, “My perfect witch, my heart—gonna make you ours in every way. Someday, we’ll have a family, all of us together.”
His voice was a vow, his palm pressing warmly against her, his fingers splaying wide to claim her, caressing with a possessive tenderness as they drifted off to sleep.
Notes:
How is Draco going to act when she shares her feelings about kids with him?
Chapter 177: Lunch and Talk
Chapter Text
The noon sun spilled over the cobblestones of Diagon Alley, turning every shopfront into a gleaming reflection.
A faint hum of conversation filled the air — half nervous, half curious — as people peeked out of doorways.
Word had spread fast that they were coming.
The Enchanted Table’s garden terrace glowed with protective wards and floating parasols. The restaurant had let it slip they were coming just that morning, and every seat seemed taken. A handful of Daily Prophet photographers pretended not to be lurking behind their teacups.
When the first crack of apparition echoed, heads turned.
Draco stepped forward first — immaculate in dove-grey robes that caught the light — followed by Hermione in a simple summer dress the color of cream and Theo in his relaxed healer’s insignia brown jacket, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. They looked… startlingly normal.
Hermione smiled at the hostess, who nearly dropped her quill.
“Reservation for Granger-Malfoy-Nott,” she said politely.
The woman nodded so fast her bun came loose. “Y-yes, of course, right this way!”
Draco muttered under his breath, “That’s one way to start a revolution.”
Theo smirked. “A well-dressed one.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Try behaving for an hour, please?”
They were led to the outdoor table Kingsley had discreetly arranged — under a parasol twined with fairy-lights even in daylight. The hum of conversation around them rose again, but no one came too close.
The moment they sat, a cheerful voice called, “Well, this looks terribly official for lunch.”
Harry and Ginny approached, hand in hand, both wearing big sunglasses like Muggles on holiday.
Ginny grinned. “Nice to see you finally convincing people the world isn’t ending Draco.”
Hermione stood to hug her. “Someone has to.”
Harry clasped Draco’s hand, genuine warmth in his tone. “Thanks for including us. Kingsley owled — said this might help calm the chaos.”
Draco smirked. “Yes, apparently we’re all part of the Ministry’s grand PR scheme.”
Theo deadpanned, “Smile for the economy.”
Ginny laughed. “I always do when I spend the Potter and Black vaults.”
Menus floated over to them. The enchanted paper changed fonts depending on who read it; Theo’s displayed neat healer’s print handwriting, Hermione’s organized columns, and Draco’s had elegant calligraphy.
“Brilliant charmwork,” Hermione murmured, studying hers. “Self-adjusting readability matrix.”
Draco leaned over her shoulder. “You’re flirting with typography again.”
“Only when it’s clever,” she shot back.
Ginny kicked her under the table. “You two are insufferably academic even at lunch.”
Harry chuckled. “At least no one’s dueling.”
A server appeared to take drink orders. Draco ordered chilled elderflower wine, Theo asked for sparkling water, Hermione a strawberry lemonade, and Ginny grinned. “Butterbeer, please. It’s too early for wine, even for me.”
Harry added, “Same — but throw in a lemon slice so it looks like I’m being healthy.”
The waiter laughed, clearly relieved by the casual tone. The photographers by the hedge began pretending to photograph flowers instead.
When their food arrived — platters of roasted vegetable and beef sandwiches, crisp salad, and charmed ice-cold soups — Hermione discreetly lifted her wand and murmured a spell over each dish. The food glowed faintly blue, signaling a clean scan.
The nearby patrons noticed. A few imitated her charmwork, murmuring identical incantations.
Ginny caught the ripple of motion and smiled. “Look at that. You’ve started a trend.”
Hermione blushed faintly. “That was the point.”
Draco, carving into his sandwich, added quietly, “You just saved half these businesses. They’ll be toasting you tonight.”
Theo winked. “Preferably with checked wine.”
Harry leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Kingsley said the Prophet has a photographer nearby. Try not to look murderous, Malfoy.”
“I make no promises,” Draco murmured.
Ginny grinned. “Oh, come on. Pretend we’re all best friends.”
“We are best friends,” Hermione said firmly.
Theo nodded. “That’s the scary part.”
Everyone laughed, and the sound drew approving glances from other tables — a ripple of cautious optimism spreading across the garden.
After the first course, conversation loosened. Ginny told an exaggerated story about her last Quidditch match. “The Snitch almost hit the commentator in the face — I swear, if I’d caught it a second later, I’d have been arrested for assault. Maybe it’s a good think the games will be without fans for a bit while they figure out security measures. Save me from witnesses next time.”
Draco chuckled. “Wasn’t that the match where you broke your broom handle on a Bludger?”
“Details,” Ginny said airily.
Theo smirked. “So the famous Ginny Potter loses her temper and weaponizes sports equipment. Good to know.”
Harry groaned. “You should see her at home when the wireless cuts out during replays.”
Hermione leaned toward Draco, teasing. “Maybe we should put you in the stands next time she’s watching a rival team play — see how long you last before she hexes you.”
Draco sipped his wine. “I’d rather wrestle a Hungarian Horntail.”
Theo added, perfectly deadpan, “He’s only saying that because you’d win, Ginny.”
Ginny laughed so hard she nearly dropped her fork.
The warmth was contagious — conversation flowed, food vanished, and even the Prophet reporters started smiling.
At one point, a little girl shyly approached their table holding out a quill and napkin. “Miss Granger? Can I have your autograph? My mum says you make magic safer.”
Hermione blinked, touched. “Of course, sweetheart.” She signed carefully, then added a tiny star charm to make the ink sparkle.
When the girl ran off, Draco said softly, “That’s the moment the Prophet will print — not us drinking wine.”
Theo nodded. “And that’s exactly what we wanted.”
Dessert appeared — floating bowls of lemon custard and charmed fruit that shimmered like sunlight.
The five of them lingered over coffee and conversation.
Harry glanced toward the hedge, where the photographers had lowered their cameras. “I think they got their shots. We can relax now.”
Ginny smiled. “I was relaxed the whole time. You all just need more Quidditch press in your lives.”
Draco snorted. “Or fewer Bludgers.”
Theo leaned back, arms crossed behind his head, eyes half-closed in the sun. “Admit it — this went better than any of us expected.”
Hermione nodded. “People needed to see normalcy. Laughter. Life continuing.”
Draco gave her a rare, soft look. “And they saw exactly that.”
Ginny, catching the glance, grinned. “Oh Merlin, if the papers don’t call you two the new ‘It Couple of Wizarding Britain,’ I’ll eat my broom.”
Theo smirked. “Technically, that would make it an ‘It Triad.’”
Harry laughed. “Try explaining that headline to Rita Skeeter.”
Hermione groaned. “Don’t even joke.”
Draco smirked. “If she starts writing again, I’ll buy the paper just to shut her up.”
When they finally stood to leave, half the restaurant applauded — hesitant at first, then genuine.
Draco looked faintly startled. Hermione’s eyes went wide.
A witch at a nearby table called, “Thank you for not hiding!”
Hermione smiled, a little teary. “You’re welcome!”
Theo squeezed her hand under the tablecloth before letting go.
Outside the bistro, the midday sun burned high and bright. Reporters hovered at a respectful distance, quills twitching.
Harry clapped Draco on the shoulder. “See? You survived public lunch.”
Draco exhaled through his nose. “Barely.”
Ginny laughed. “Smile, Malfoy. You just saved the restaurant industry.”
Hermione leaned close enough for only the boys to hear. “And maybe, just maybe, reminded people that we’re all still human under the titles.”
Theo smiled at her. “You always manage that, love.”
As they disapparated, the applause behind them still echoed faintly — a sound that, for the first time in weeks, felt like hope.
Rain in the evening whispered against the tall windows of Nott Manor.
Inside, the great parlor was lit only by the fire and the spill of candlelight over half-empty wineglasses. The three of them had drifted here after dinner, seeking warmth more than conversation.
Draco lounged on the settee in a white shirt, collar undone, a picture of contained restlessness. Theo sat cross-legged on the rug with his glass balanced on one knee, eyes distant, thoughtful.
Hermione curled into the corner of the sofa, knees tucked under her, the glow of the flames gilding the gold bands on their fingers.
They’d been quiet for a while — the kind of quiet that meant something was working itself to the surface.
Hermione set her glass down on the low table. “I’ve been thinking,” she said softly, the words trembling out.
Theo glanced up first. Draco’s gray eyes shifted toward her, the faintest crease forming between his brows.
“I had… a realization,” she began, tracing the edge of the ring on her hand. “Theo helped me see it. Or rather, he did something that made me understand what I already felt but hadn’t dared to say aloud.”
Theo’s head tilted slightly, calm, open. “Tell him,” he murmured.
Draco sat forward, elbows on his knees. “What sort of revelation?”
His voice was low, wary, though there was no anger in it — just the tension of waiting.
Hermione drew in a slow breath. “You both know the Ministry’s… deadlines. The expectations. About a child… children.” She gave a small, almost rueful smile.
“It’s hung over us since the bond was sealed. I’ve tried not to think of it as anything more than another rule to meet, another test to survive.”
Theo reached for her hand, steady warmth grounding her. She squeezed once, then continued.
“But the other night, Theo well… the whole thing got me really thinking and I relaized — that even if there weren’t a law, even if we lived in some different world… I’d still want a future with the two of you. A home. A family.”
Her throat caught. “And I realized I would have wanted it anyway. I’d have wanted you both without the law.”
The fire popped, bright and sudden. Draco stared into it for a long moment, something fierce and startled crossing his face before it softened into disbelief.
“You mean—” His voice broke off. He swallowed hard. “You mean you want… children. With us. Not because of the Ministry.”
Hermione nodded. “Not because of them. Because of us.”
For a heartbeat, Draco said nothing. His knuckles whitewashed around the stem of his glass. Then he exhaled — a shaky, astonished sound.
“I don’t— I hardly know what to say,” he admitted. “That’s… that’s not something I ever expected to hear from anyone after Astoria. And certainly not something I thought I deserved from you.”
Hermione rose, crossing to kneel before him, taking his hand gently from the glass. “You deserve happiness, Draco. You deserve a future. We all do.”
Theo leaned back against the sofa, voice quiet but sure. “When she told me, it felt right. Not as a duty — as a hope. The law might have forced us into this bond, but what we’ve built since then… that’s ours.”
Draco looked between them, torn between wonder and fear. “And you’d both be ready for that someday? For everything that comes with it?”
Hermione smiled through the sheen of tears. “Not tomorrow. But someday… right before the deadline, yes. I’m not going to do it resentfully, or forced. But because I want it with you. The timing is still off… it’ll be earlier than ideal to me, and I want to wait right till the deadline, but yes, they won’t be requirement children… they’ll be wanted. I think we’d make good parents — in our own strange, blended way.”
Theo chuckled softly. “We’d certainly keep any child well read and over-protected.”
“Merlin help them,” Draco murmured, but his lips curved. The edges of his voice trembled, fragile and full.
They stayed like that — three shapes close together by the hearth, shadows merging on the rug.
The conversation wound between laughter and silence, plans and fears.
They talked about small things: what traits they’d each hope to pass on — Hermione’s stubbornness, Theo’s steadiness, Draco’s impossible precision. They spoke about what kind of home they’d want their children to grow up in, the kind of world they still wanted to shape.
Eventually Hermione leaned into Draco’s shoulder, Theo’s hand resting against the back of her neck. The bond thrummed faintly, warm as the firelight.
Draco’s voice was rough when he spoke. “If we do this — when we do this — I want it to be because of our love. Because we’ve made it safe. Because it’s ours.”
Hermione closed her eyes, heart swelling. “It already is.”
Theo raised his glass in quiet salute. “To someday,” he said.
Draco met his eyes, then hers. “To someday.”
Their glasses touched — a soft chime like a promise sealed — and for the first time that evening, all three of them smiled without reserve.
Notes:
Anyone think they have a handle on what's happening with the cores draining?
Chapter 178: Star Wishes
Notes:
These next two chapters are very special birthdays.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The next week of July passed in a blur of research, but no developments. Hermione, Theo, and Draco were pleased no new cases had popped up, but progressively more frustrated by the lack of clear answers surrounding the draining.
Most days were spent with Theo at the hospital, and Hermione with Draco buried in the Nott, Malfoy, or Black libraries. Evenings were spent as a trio with Theo, and a few nights with friends over like Blaise and Pansy one night who insisted on a billiards tournament (Blaise won much to Draco’s shame).
The world felt like it was standing still holding its breath for the next shoe to drop.
By the time the last few days of July rolled around, the trio was very much looking forward to a weekend of birthday parties. Neville’s that evening, and Harry’s the next day.
The trio had breakfast together in the morning, and Theo had left for a shift in a hurry, promising he would be home in time for the party for sure. Draco had spent most of the day in hi study catching up on Malfoy Industries investment portfolio, and Hermione had spent the morning outside in the sunshine, reading in the orchard before heading into the library after a shared lunch. There, she had all but given up on finding anything useful for their mystery, but had been enjoying pursuing the extensive and unique collections the Nott family had accumulated over centuries.
The library of Nott Manor was a sanctuary of ancient knowledge and a crucible of electric, soul-baring allure.
The air was thick, almost suffocating, with the musty, intoxicating scent of aged parchment, the faint, honeyed sweetness of polished wood warmed by the afternoon sun streaming through a high, arched window.
Dressed in a soft, cream-colored sundress that clung to her curves like a second skin, the neckline dipping to reveal the full, heaving swell of her breasts.
Her curls were loose and wild, she stood by a shelf in a secluded corner, her fingers trembling as they traced the spine of a curious, velvet-bound book titled Ars Amatoria Magicae.
The tome, charmed to glow with a soft, violet shimmer when touched, detailed magical sex positions and rituals, its pages filled with intricate, hand-drawn illustrations of entwined bodies and spells woven to heighten pleasure to transcendent levels.
Her cheeks flushed a deep, burning crimson as she flipped through it, her eyes locked on a passage about Legilimency during intimacy—using mind-reading to share thoughts, emotions, and physical sensations.
Her pussy throbbed with a rush of desire, her clit pulsing with a desperate, aching heat, the bond flaring with her intrigued arousal as she bit her lip.
Draco entered silently, his lean frame clad in a fitted black shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal the faint scars on his forearms, trousers clinging to his lean hips, his silver eyes glinting with playful mischief as he caught her.
“Granger,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing, leaning against a shelf with a casual grace, his eyes sharp with interest, “caught you red-handed, love, blushing like a first-year over a dusty old book.”
His grin was wicked but warm, the bond flaring with his amusement and curiosity as he stepped closer, peering over her shoulder at the open page, his breath hot against her neck, sparking a shiver that rippled down her spine to her core.
“Ars Amatoria Magicae? Naughty little witch, sneaking off to read about magical fucking. What part’s got you so intrigued, hm? Spill it, love.”
His fingers brushed her arm, sparking a shock of heat that made her pussy clench, the bond pulsing with his playful teasing, his cock hardening fully as he sensed her arousal through the bond.
Hermione’s cheeks glowed red, her voice trembling with embarrassment as she clutched the book to her chest, her eyes darting away from his piercing gaze.
“Draco!” she gasped, her voice a mix of flustered indignation and shy curiosity, “I... I was just curious, that’s all.”
She swallowed hard, her heart pounding, the bond radiating her vulnerability like a warm, crackling spark, “There’s a section about... Legilimency during sex. Sharing thoughts, feelings, sensations—it sounds so intense, so intimate, like you’re inside each other’s minds, feeling everything together. We already have emotions in the bond, but this is thoughts too…”
Her voice softened, her eyes meeting his, shimmering with raw vulnerability and curiosity, “I didn’t expect to find it, but it... intrigues me. It sounds like it could make us even more one, but it’s also... scary, letting you see every part of me—every thought, every doubt.”
Her mind swirled with nervous excitement, “What do you think, Draco? Have you ever thought about it?”
Draco’s eyes darkened with a blazing desire,his voice dropping to a husky whisper laced with raw emotion, “Fuck, Granger—that’s hot as hell, and it’s tearing my fucking mind apart thinking about it.”
He stepped closer, his hand brushing her arm, fingers lingering on her skin, sparking a shiver that radiated to her core, the bond pulsing with his passion and arousal.
“You’re in luck, love—I’m trained in Legilimency. I could try it with you, if you want—feel every pulse of your pussy, every thought in that brilliant, beautiful head of yours, share my pleasure, my love, every fucking thing in my soul.”
His voice shook with openness, his thumb brushing her jaw, his silver eyes shimmering with love and a desperate, aching anticipation, “It’d be like we’re one, Granger—mind, body, soul, feeling every shiver, every moan, every fucking heartbeat together. I’d see everything, love—your fears, your desires, and you’d see me, all my flaws, my need for you, my love that’s burning me alive.”
Her love for him anchored her, her voice full of honesty, “I’m... nervous, Draco, but I trust you with everything—my heart, my mind, my soul. It sounds so intimate, feeling your thoughts, sharing every sensation—it’s thrilling, but it’s scary, letting you in so completely, letting you see every doubt, every fear.”
Her eyes shimmered with trust, her voice softening, “I want to try, love—with you. I want to feel you in my mind, to make it us, to share everything—every thought.”
Draco’s smile was tender, “You’re my fucking everything, Granger—gonna make this perfect for you, make it ours,” he murmured, kissing her deeply, tongues tangling with love-soaked passion, the bond flaring with their shared desire.
He guided her to the mahogany desk in the corner, its polished surface cool under her hands as he bent her over gently, her sundress riding up to bare her thighs, her lace panties soaked.
“Fuck, love—your arse looks perfect bent over like this, begging for me,” he growled, his voice thick with love, pulling her panties down slowly, the lace dragging against her skin with a teasing friction, baring her pussy.
He knelt behind her, kissing her inner thigh with reverent adoration, his breath hot against her skin, “Gonna read you now, love—feel me in your mind,” he whispered, casting a gentle Legilimens, his mind crashing into hers like a warm tidal wave, flooding her with his thoughts—Gods, she’s so fucking beautiful, her pussy’s dripping, love her so much it hurts, need her, want her forever—and her arousal, a blazing, trembling inferno that echoed in his mind, amplifying their pleasure into a shared, pulsating, mind-shattering tide amplified by the bond.
Draco cast Slick Silken, his fingers shimmering with silky, warm lube, parting her pussy lips.
“Fuck, Granger—your pussy’s dripping, I feel it in my fucking soul,” he growled, his thoughts flooding her mind like a torrent—Her cunt’s so wet, so tight, love her, need her, she’s mine, fuck, she’s everything—amplifying her arousal, her pussy clenching.
Two fingers thrust into her pussy, curling hard against her G-spot.
“Feel that, love? Your cunt’s begging, and I’m feeling every fucking pulse in my mind,” his voice raw with love, his thoughts a vivid, relentless rush—Her pussy’s gripping me, so fucking perfect, love her, want to drown in her—doubling her pleasure, sparking electric jolts that made her moan, “Draco—love you, feels so intense!”
Her thoughts echoed back—He’s in my mind, gods, feeling everything, his hard cock, his love, love him—the bond and Legilimency creating a feedback loop of pleasure, their minds entwined as one, every sensation amplified into a roaring, shared ecstasy.
He lingered, his fingers pumping slowly, curling against her G-spot with deliberate, reverent precision, his thumb circling her clit with teasing, agonizing care, his thoughts flooding her—Fuck, she’s gushing, her pleasure’s mine, love her so much it’s killing me—amplifying the sensation.
“Your pussy’s a fucking dream, Granger—I feel every shiver, every pulse in my soul,” he growled, his mind sharing the tight, wet heat of her walls, the sensation a vivid, pulsating rush in her mind, doubling her pleasure.
He spent time there, his fingers exploring every inch of her pussy, curling, thrusting, teasing her clit, her thoughts echoing back—His fingers, gods, so good, he’s in me, love him, need him—the Legilimency amplifying every sensation, every shared emotion, their minds a single, blazing entity.
Her pussy spasmed, her thoughts a desperate plea—More, Draco, love you, feel you, want you—his mind responding—She’s so fucking perfect, her cunt’s ours, love her forever.
He freed his cock, thrusting into her pussy with a brutal long hard push, her walls widening to take his length.
“Take my cock, Granger—fucking this perfect cunt, feeling you in my mind,” he roared, hips slamming with desperate force.
His thoughts flooded her like a storm—Her pussy’s gagging me, so fucking tight, love her, need her, she’s my fucking world, need deeper, harder, claim her for us—her moans raw, “Draco—I feel you everywhere!”
Her thoughts echoed back—His cock’s filling me, his mind in mine, love him, gods, need him, more, harder, deeper, mine—the Legilimency amplifying every thrust, every sensation, their minds a single, pulsating entity, their shared thoughts driving them higher—She’s mine, love her, feel her—He’s in me so deep, love him, want him forever.
His thoughts a relentless voice in he mind—Her cunt’s gripping me so tight, fuck, I’m hers, love her, need her forever, stay buried in her for all time—amplifying her pleasure, her pussy spasming with every thrust.
“Your pussy’s mine, Granger—feel me loving you, every fucking inch,” he growled, his mind sharing the heat of her walls, the sensation of her slick, tight grip, sparking apocalyptic jolts that made her scream, “Draco—fuck me harder!”
Her thoughts flooded him ore—He’s in me too deep, gods, so much, love him, need him—amplifying her climax, sharing his own pleasure.
Her orgasm was hard and potent, pussy quivering ferociously around his cock, squirting creamy floods that drenched his thighs, the desk, her scream high pitched, “Draco—I’m… can’t wait!”
His thoughts—She’s cumming, fuck, so perfect, love her, she’s mine, I did that to her, so hot—amplified her climax, a shared, mind-shattering explosion.
He snarled, pulsing jets of cum into her pussy, “Granger—ours, fucking love you!” his thoughts alive wire in he rmind—Filling her, baby, take it all, so deep, so good, she’s my fucking everything.
He pulled out carefully, his fingers taking his leaking cum, pushing it back into her pussy, “Keep it in, love, hold it in there—our cum belongs in this cunt,” his voice was possessive, his thoughts persistent—She’s full of me, love her forever, she’s ours, going to have my baby someday, round with our child, someday, pump her womb full.
They collapsed onto the floor sharing fevered kisses as he finally left her mind.
By the time Theo had returned and they had dressed for the party, the moon had just started to rise when Hermione, Theo, and Draco followed the trail of floating lanterns through the edge of the forest near the Longbottom estate.
The path was lined with wildflowers charmed to glow faintly purple, petals pulsing in rhythm with soft music drifting ahead — an old Celestina Warbeck love ballad turned instrumental.
Theo adjusted his grip on the picnic basket they’d brought. “Remind me again—how did Luna convince Neville that he needed to take a long nap before dinner?”
Hermione smiled, a fond sort of amusement lighting her eyes. “She told him the moon was in an inconvenient phase for surprises. Which, apparently, he accepted without argument.”
Draco, walking just behind her, muttered, “If I’d told you the moon was in an inconvenient phase, you’d have written a thesis on why it wasn’t.”
Hermione glanced over her shoulder, smirking. “Because you’d be wrong, Draco.”
Ahead, the forest opened into a small clearing ringed with lanterns hanging from high branches.
At the center stood a long table draped in burgundy and gold cloth, a line of candles running down its spine, flickering.
Bunting made of old Gryffindor scarves fluttered overhead. A dozen friends were already there — Harry and Ginny, Pansy and Blaise, Cho and Ron, a few other Hogwarts alumni laughing as they levitated dishes into place.
And in the middle of it all, Luna Lovegood was barefoot in a sundress the color of early dawn, adjusting an enchanted garland of silver stars around a very bewildered Neville.
“Surprise!” the group chorused.
Neville blinked, wide-eyed, then laughed so hard the candles nearest him shuddered. “You absolute menace, Luna.”
She beamed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You needed to be celebrated properly. The moon agrees.”
Dinner began with the clink of goblets and the rustle of plates.
Platters of grilled summer garden vegetables, roast phesant, and charmed bread that never fully cooled floated down the table.
Wine shimmered in goblets like bottled sunset.
Draco leaned back, clearly impressed despite himself. “Remind me never to underestimate Luna’s event planning.”
“She planned it using something called intuition,” Theo replied, passing Hermione a dish. “You should try it sometime.”
Hermione smiled into her glass. “He’d explode.”
Across the table, Harry was laughing with Neville about some ill-fated third-year Herbology experiment.
Ron chimed in with a memory about Snape confiscating their fertilizer bag during potions class because it was “emitting sounds of despair.”
Ginny snorted into her drink. “You were all hopeless.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You set the greenhouse on fire once.”
“That was accidental spontaneous combustion,” Ginny corrected.
“Which you caused,” Harry muttered affectionately.
Draco watched the easy laughter, his expression softer than it used to be.
“I never thought I’d find this… so comfortable with this crowd,” he said quietly.
Hermione nudged his shoulder. “That’s because you never had people around you who let you relax before.”
He looked at her then, gratitude flickering behind the practiced calm. “Until now.”
Theo smiled faintly, cutting his chicken. “It’s nice, isn’t it? Having this. Friends who survived and still laugh.”
When the last plates had cleared themselves away, Luna clapped her hands and a towering chocolate cake appeared in mid-air, frosted in emerald vines and tiny sugar-puff flowers.
The candles burned with harmless blue flames that spelled out Happy Birthday Neville.
“Make a wish, my love,” Luna said serenely, sliding her hand into his. “But not too loudly. The stars might try to grant it prematurely.”
Neville grinned, squeezed her hand, and blew out the candles to loud applause. The cake immediately split itself neatly into slices, drifting to each guest.
As everyone ate, Pansy leaned across the table toward Hermione. “You know, if Luna ever gives up the Quibbler, she could make a fortune as a wedding planner.”
“She’d terrify every traditional bride in Britain,” Hermione replied, licking chocolate from her spoon.
“That’s why it would be brilliant.”
Theo smothered a laugh. “You’re in a mood tonight.”
“I’m always in a mood lately. I also need another piece of cake because the baby wants it’s own.” Pansy said primly.
Neville, overhearing, lifted his glass. “To moods, then. And to friends who put up with them.”
Everyone echoed the toast. The stars seemed to shimmer brighter for a moment, as if joining in.
The forest had grown hushed after dinner, a living cathedral of whispering leaves.
Fireflies blinked like lazy sparks between the lanterns overhead.
The friends lingered around the long wooden table, some finishing their wine, others curled up on picnic blankets spread out over the moss.
Someone — probably Blaise — had charmed the fire pit to shift colors with each pop of the logs: blue to gold, then violet to rose.
Draco had leaned back on his elbows beside Hermione, eyes half-lidded in contentment, while Theo argued quietly with Harry about whether dragons or hippogriffs were the more intelligent species.
Neville sat in Luna’s lap, laughing at her insistence that bowtruckles had wet dreams.
And then Luna suddenly went still.
She tilted her head back, eyes wide and bright. “Oh,” she breathed. “Look.”
Every head turned upward.
A streak of light cut across the sky — brilliant, white-gold, blazing for only a few seconds before fading into darkness.
Then another followed, twin to the first, trailing soft silver sparks.
A murmur rippled through the group.
“A shooting star,” Ginny whispered, clutching Harry’s arm. “Merlin, it’s gorgeous.”
“No,” Luna corrected gently, her voice almost reverent. “That was a wish arriving early. And another one leaving.”
Pansy smiled faintly. “You really do make everything sound like poetry, Lovegood.”
“It isn’t poetry,” Luna said, dreamy and sure. “It’s a moment. And moments are what the stars listen for.”
Theo chuckled. “Then what do they do when they hear one?”
“They send you one back,” Luna said simply, standing now, hair silver in the moonlight. “Everyone should make a wish before it fades completely. If you don’t, it just floats away with no one to keep it company.”
Neville grinned, squeezing her hand. “All right, everyone — wish away.”
Hermione looked up at the now-quiet sky. The last trace of the streak was fading, soft as smoke.
Around her, she could hear murmured laughter — Ginny elbowing Harry to take it seriously, Ron muttering something about food never running out, Blaise whispering a wish in Pansy’s ear that made her laugh.
Theo’s hand brushed hers under the table. “You’re wishing,” he said softly.
“How can you tell?”
“Because you’re quiet, and you only ever get that quiet when you’re holding something close.”
She smiled, eyes still fixed on the stars. “Then what are you wishing for?”
Theo tilted his head. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”
Draco, overhearing, gave a low hum of amusement. “And if you don’t, she’ll probably figure it out anyway.”
Hermione turned toward him, the firelight catching in her curls. “What did you wish for, then?”
Draco’s mouth curved, wry but warm. “Something that’s already happening,” he said. “But it doesn’t hurt to ask the stars to keep it steady.”
Across the clearing, Luna was twirling slowly, barefoot on the grass, her laughter like bells.
“Remember!” she called out. “When the stars answer, they rarely do it directly — you have to keep your eyes open for where they hide your wish.”
Neville laughed, pulling her close. “Then I’ll just have to spend the rest of my life looking.”
“That’s the point,” she replied simply.
The clearing fell quiet again, just the crackle of fire and the faint hum of night.
For a long moment, everyone watched the sky — friends bound not just by years or battles, but by the fragile, luminous thread of hope.
Draco’s hand found Hermione’s; Theo’s brushed her other.
She didn’t need to say her wish aloud — it was already glowing faintly between them, warm as starlight and steady as love.
After cake came presents.
They gathered on a blanket near the firepit Luna had conjured. A soft hum of magic kept away the summer insects and wrapped them all in warmth.
Harry handed Neville a neatly wrapped package. “It’s from both of us.”
Neville tore the paper to reveal a set of fine dragonhide gloves, embossed with a small lightning bolt, giving a light laugh. “These are—Harry, Ginny, they’re perfect.”
“Better grip for repotting Venomous Tentacula,” Ginny said. “Also Golden Trio souvenirs, apparently.”
Ron presented a stack of rare Herbology journals he said he’d found in the attic over the joke shop during a renovation, and Cho a small bonsai-like plant that glittered faintly silver from her family’s own collection.
Pansy and Blaise’s gift — a set of enchanted shears that trimmed precisely to Neville’s spoken measurements — drew a round of impressed whistles.
When it came to the triad’s gift, Theo gestured for Hermione to explain. “This was her idea.”
Hermione passed Neville a long, narrow box.
“It’s a soil-enrichment charm stone. Ancient runic pattern. I charmed dit myself. You bury it in the center of your greenhouse, and it self-adjusts to the nutrient needs of the plants. It’s self-sustaining magic.”
Neville stared at it like it was a miracle. “This is… brilliant. You made this?”
“Draco helped refine the runes to be fair,” Hermione said.
“And I made sure it won’t explode if you sneeze near it,” Theo added.
Neville laughed, touched beyond words. “You three—thank you.”
Luna rested her chin on his shoulder, eyes bright. “See? You are loved as deeply as you love the world, my dear.”
Later, as the fire crackled low and the others drifted into soft conversation, Hermione found herself sitting beside Luna on a log bench, watching Neville show Ron how to properly pot a small moon-bloom plant Luna had brought to give him.
“He’s happiest when his hands are in the dirt,” Luna said, voice distant and fond. “He says he doesn’t need much, but really he does — soil, sunlight, and people who understand him.”
Hermione smiled. “That’s not so different from the rest of us.”
Luna turned those wide silver eyes on her. “No. You’ve all been growing, too. You just don’t always notice your own roots until someone else points them out.”
From across the clearing, Theo called something teasing to Blaise, who responded with mock offense; laughter followed.
Draco was standing by the lantern line, talking to Harry — not tense, just talking.
Hermione felt something gentle in her chest unfurl. “You’re right,” she whispered. “We’re all growing.”
When the party began to thin, Luna stood in the center of the clearing, raising her wand. “Before anyone leaves,” she said, “a blessing.”
Tiny silver lights burst upward, forming shapes of flowers and vines. They spun together until the sky above them glowed like a greenhouse of constellations.
“May what you plant grow,” she intoned softly. “May what you love stay. May what you fear fade.”
Neville took her hand. “That’s beautiful,” he murmured.
“It’s a borrowed spell,” she said. “From the moon, of course.”
As everyone tilted their heads back to watch, Draco slipped an arm around Hermione’s shoulders, Theo’s hand resting at her back.
She leaned into both of them, feeling the warmth of their bond hum in time with the music of the night.
Neville’s laughter rang through the clearing, echoing like a promise.
The clearing had thinned out as the night deepened. Most of the guests had already apparated home — Ron and Cho last seen laughing arm in arm, Ginny half-carrying Harry after too many refills of enchanted mead.
Now only a handful remained around the glowing embers: Luna and Neville, curled together beneath a blanket; Blaise and Pansy, sharing a quiet argument over who had eaten the last sugared plum; and the triad, seated close by on a log, Hermione nestled between Draco and Theo.
The fire crackled lazily, throwing off small bursts of green and gold as the last logs smoldered down.
Luna looked up at the sky, still bright with constellations. “You can always tell a good wish,” she said dreamily, “because the stars shimmer a little longer after it’s made. They like being part of something hopeful.”
Neville smiled, tracing circles on her arm. “What did you wish for, then?”
She looked at him like it was the simplest thing in the world. “For our child to have a heart as gentle as yours, and a mind as curious as mine. Oh, and maybe for fewer Wrackspurts in the nursery.”
Neville laughed softly. “That’s a good wish.”
Draco glanced between them, the faintest hint of a smile ghosting his lips. “You’re both disgustingly endearing.”
“Jealous?” Pansy teased from across the fire, leaning into Blaise’s shoulder.
“Not in the slightest,” Draco replied smoothly, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed him. “My life is already too full of idealists.”
Theo raised his glass, grin sharp and affectionate. “And yet you stay.”
Hermione nudged him. “That’s because he secretly likes it.”
Draco huffed. “I never said I didn’t. I simply maintain that optimism should come with a warning label.”
Theo tipped his glass toward Hermione. “All right, then, bookworm. Since Luna started it—what did you wish for?”
She hesitated, fingers running along the edge of her cup. The firelight caught in her hair, turning it copper-bright.
“I wished for time,” she said finally. “Time to make things right. To help the children losing their magic. To fix what’s broken… and maybe to keep us all together long enough to see it happen.”
Theo’s hand found hers under the blanket, steady and sure. “That’s a very Hermione wish.”
Draco gave a low murmur. “And a good one. Though you could have wished for something easier, like an endless supply of tea.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “I don’t need to wish for things I already have.”
Theo looked at her, eyes soft. “Meaning?”
“Meaning the things that matter most to me aren’t out of reach.”
Draco’s smirk faded; for a heartbeat, he looked almost undone by the simplicity of it. “You always know how to say the right thing,” he said quietly. “Even when I don’t deserve it.”
Luna’s voice drifted across the clearing. “That’s because she listens to the stars properly. Most people talk over them.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “I wished for a decent night’s sleep. Does that count?”
Blaise grinned. “Not if you wake me up again with your snoring.”
“I don’t snore.”
“Yes, you do since you started sleeping on your back for the baby.”
“I purr,” Pansy corrected imperiously, to laughter all around.
Theo leaned back, arm around Hermione’s shoulders, watching the sparks drift up into the sky. “What about you, Draco? You still won’t tell us what yours was?”
Draco looked into the fire for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then, softly: “No. But I’ll tell you what it wasn’t. It wasn’t for the stars to change anything. Just… to leave it as it is. Right now.”
Hermione’s chest tightened. She reached for him, threading her fingers through his. “That’s the best wish of all.”
Across the fire, Luna smiled faintly, watching them. “The stars like that one,” she whispered. “They’re flickering just for you.”
For a while, no one spoke. The air was warm and heavy with the scent of moss and smoke. The fire burned low, and the stars above shimmered like a living promise.
When the final log collapsed into embers, Theo stood and stretched. “All right, my sentimental friends. Time to get everyone home before Luna starts asking the moon to join us.”
“The moon’s always with us,” Luna said, serene.
Theo laughed. “Of course it is.”
As they began gathering cloaks and empty cups, Hermione lingered for a final glance at the sky. A faint streak of light crossed the horizon again — smaller this time, softer.
She smiled, whispering a thank-you only the stars could hear.
Notes:
What do you think Theo wishes for?
Chapter 179: For Harry
Chapter Text
The morning sun was already bright when the portkey deposited the small group on a wide patch of grass just beyond the parking lot. The air smelled faintly of popcorn, sugar, and summer heat.
Hermione steadied herself, blinking against the sudden glare. “All right,” she said, smoothing her blouse and looking around. “Everyone’s got all their limbs?”
Theo looked down at his shoes suspiciously. “I think so, though something about this place feels… sticky.”
“It’s called pavement in July,” Hermione said with a laugh. “Welcome to Muggle amusement parks.”
Ahead, bright banners flapped above the gates — cartoon animals, roller coasters, and the words FUNLAND spelled out in glittering lights. Ginny was nearly vibrating with excitement, clutching Harry’s hand.
“You have no idea how hard it was to keep this a surprise,” she told him. “You said once your cousin used to come here while you had to stay home. So—here we are. Your very first trip. Happy Birthday!”
Harry blinked, speechless for a second, then smiled — slow, genuine, boyish. “Merlin, Gin… this is perfect.”
Ron slung an arm around Cho’s shoulders. “If we all get motion-sick, I’m blaming you.”
Cho snorted. “You always blame someone else.”
Draco, meanwhile, was eyeing the gates as though they were a test. “So the objective is to… pay for the privilege of being flung about by unstable machinery?”
Hermione grinned. “Yes, and you’ll love it.”
Theo shaded his eyes, watching a coaster climb and drop in the distance. “I’m intrigued and horrified simultaneously.”
“You’ll fit right in,” Ginny said cheerfully, tugging everyone toward the ticket line. “Come on, birthday boy first!”
Harry laughed, letting himself be pulled forward — and as they passed under the archway, music blared, the smell of fried food intensified, and the day officially began.
Their first stop was the carnival row — a stretch of colorful booths promising everything from oversized stuffed bears to goldfish in plastic bags.
Ron stared at a stall of rings meant to be tossed over bottles. “This looks easy,” he said, grabbing a handful of rings after handing over a few Muggle notes Hermione had transfigured for them.
Ten minutes later, he hadn’t landed a single one.
“I swear that bottle moved are you sure these aren’t magical?” Ron muttered.
Draco, leaning casually against the counter, smirked. “Or perhaps coordination simply isn’t your strength, Weasley.”
“Oh yeah?” Ron grabbed another ring and threw. It bounced off Draco’s shoulder.
Theo coughed to hide his laugh. “That looked deliberate.”
“Maybe it was,” Ron said.
Hermione shook her head. “You’re both children.”
“I prefer the term competitive adults,” Draco said, tossing one ring—and it landed neatly around a bottle neck. The booth attendant blinked, then handed him a huge stuffed dragon.
Draco looked pleased. “Clearly I’m talented.”
Theo took the dragon from him, turned it around, and smirked. “It’s pink.”
“Real men wear pink,” Draco replied without missing a beat.
Ginny and Cho were busy trying their luck at a dart-throwing booth, giggling over their uneven aim.
Harry finally managed to pop one balloon, earning himself a small stuffed owl. “Meet Mini-Hedwig,” he said proudly, holding it aloft.
Hermione smiled, heart swelling at the sight of him so happy. “I think she’d approve.”
She shrunk everyone’s prizes down discretely and put them in her beaded bag for later.
“Now this is my kind of chaos,” Ginny said as they piled into the bumper car arena.
Hermione, Theo, and Draco shared one car, cramped together — Draco at the wheel, of course. “I don’t trust anyone else driving.”
“Considering you’ve never driven a car in your life, that’s rich,” Hermione muttered.
He glanced over with a grin. “How hard can it be?”
Seconds later, they were spinning in circles after Theo accidentally hit the accelerator instead of the steering bar. “Left! Left!” Hermione shouted, laughing uncontrollably as they collided with Ron and Cho’s car.
“Oi!” Ron shouted. “Malfoy, you did that on purpose!”
Draco smirked. “You make an easy target, Weasley.”
Meanwhile, Harry and Ginny had joined forces and were circling everyone with practiced teamwork, colliding with such force that sparks flew. “Gryffindor wins again!” Ginny whooped.
When the ride ended, they staggered out, hair static-frizzed and faces flushed from laughter.
Theo pressed a hand to his temple. “I think my organs are rearranged.”
Hermione grinned. “See? Muggle fun.”
“I’ve rarely felt more alive or more concussed,” Draco muttered, smoothing his hair. “Let’s eat before someone challenges me to another death machine.”
They found a shaded picnic table near the carousel. Hot dogs and fries were served from a nearby stand, the smell so potent it made even Draco stop complaining.
Hermione unwrapped hers. “Trust me, this is classic.”
Theo eyed the hot dog suspiciously. “This doesn’t look like any animal I recognize.”
“That’s the mystery,” Harry said with a grin, already halfway through his.
Ginny licked mustard off her finger. “If you’re going to eat Muggle food, do it properly.”
Draco took a cautious bite—and paused. “...All right, I’ll admit this isn’t dreadful.”
Hermione grinned. “That’s practically high praise.”
They shared chips, teased each other over ketchup smudges, and then found a cotton candy stand.
The pink cloud spun into existence on a paper cone, and Theo looked utterly bewildered.
“It’s sugar?” he asked. “Just… sugar?”
“Exactly,” Hermione said, tearing off a bit and feeding it to him.
He blinked as it melted on his tongue. “It vanishes.”
“Magic,” she teased.
“Blasphemy,” Draco muttered, though he was secretly enjoying his own cone of blue.
They wandered the park after that digesting before the next ride. Harry kept shaking his head in wonder, the boy inside him shining through every smile.
By mid-afternoon, they stood in line for the biggest ride of the park — The Sky Serpent. Its metal rails twisted into the clouds, loops gleaming in the sun.
Draco stared up. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh, yes,” Ginny said, smirking. “You’re getting on. Everyone is.”
Theo was torn between fascination and mild terror. “It looks unsafe.”
“That’s part of the thrill,” Hermione said brightly.
“You have a very concerning definition of thrill,” Draco replied.
Still, they climbed into the seats — Harry and Ginny in front, Ron and Cho behind, and the triad taking the back row.
The safety bar clamped down with a click, and the cart began to climb.
Theo’s hand found Hermione’s; Draco’s rested lightly on her knee, trying to appear composed.
“Why does it sound like it’s going to fall apart?” Draco asked through clenched teeth.
Hermione just laughed. “Because it’s fun!”
The cart crested the hill, paused—and then plunged.
Screams filled the air, half terror, half exhilaration. Hermione’s laughter was bright and wild; Theo yelled something incoherent, and Draco’s curses to Salazar were lost in the wind.
They looped, twisted, and dove until even Harry was breathless with joy.
When the ride finally slowed to a stop, no one spoke for a long moment.
Draco blinked, wind-tossed and pale. “If you tell anyone I enjoyed that—”
“You did enjoy it,” Hermione said, grinning.
Theo nodded solemnly. “I think he screamed louder than anyone else.”
“I did not—”
“Yes, you did,” they chorused.
He gave up trying to argue, laughing helplessly.
The next ride loomed ahead like a collection of spinning teacups gone mad — painted in dizzying stripes and glinting metal.
Hermione announced proudly. “A classic.”
Draco crossed his arms. “It looks like a torture device.”
Theo tilted his head. “You say that as though that’s a bad thing.”
Harry was already tugging Ginny toward the line, grinning. “Come on — it’ll be brilliant!”
Moments later, the group was scattered into the colorful cars. Hermione and Theo squeezed in with Draco, who was still muttering about “muggle safety standards.”
As the ride began to spin, Hermione laughed and threw her hands up. Theo leaned into the turn, shouting over the blaring music. “You said this was fun! My equilibrium disagrees!”
Draco, white-knuckled, yelled, “This is worse than a Hippogriff dive—Hermione!”
“Oh, hush and enjoy it!” she laughed.
The car whirled faster, spinning backward as music and lights blurred together.
By the time it slowed, Draco’s hair was a perfect disaster, Theo’s laughter was still echoing, and Hermione was breathless with glee.
Ron staggered off his ride two rows over. “I think I just saw my soul leave my body.”
Cho patted his arm. “It looked like it enjoyed the ride.”
Bright yellow and towering three stories high, the giant slide caught Ginny’s eye next. “That one. We’re doing that one.”
They climbed the narrow stairs, burlap mats in hand. Draco eyed his dubiously. “You expect me to sit on this and trust gravity?”
“Exactly,” Theo said. “Science, Malfoy.”
At the top, the view stretched over the whole park — glittering rides, balloons, and people below. Hermione could almost feel the childlike thrill buzzing in the air.
“Ready? Let’s race!” Harry called from a few lanes over.
They all sat, clutching the mats. Hermione counted down. “Three… two… one—go!”
They shot down in a flurry of shrieks and laughter. Hermione’s curls streamed behind her; Draco’s aristocratic composure was obliterated in one long yell. Theo reached the bottom first and rolled off the mat, laughing so hard he could barely stand.
Hermione arrived next, collapsing beside him. “You cheated somehow.”
“Talent,” he said smugly.
Draco arrived last, glowering as he brushed off imaginary dust. “Undignified,” he muttered.
Theo grinned. “You loved it.”
Draco tried to scowl but failed entirely. “I hated how much I loved it.”
After a quick snack break — fresh hot popcorn and sweet lemonade — Ginny dragged everyone toward the Fun House.
“I don’t trust this,” Draco said as they entered the maze of warped mirrors.
Theo examined his reflection, which now had three heads. “Oh look, this one’s accurate,” he said dryly.
Hermione giggled, her laughter bouncing off the glass. She turned a corner and bumped right into… herself. “Oh!”
Draco’s voice echoed from somewhere nearby. “Hermione?”
“Here!” she called, laughing again as his reflection appeared in ten different mirrors — all pouting in varying degrees of indignation.
“Absolutely cursed,” he grumbled.
Theo appeared beside her, waving his hand. “It’s like dating in another dimension.”
“Or seeing all your bad angles at once,” Hermione added.
When they finally found the exit, Ron stumbled out with his hair sticking up. “That was a nightmare.”
Harry grinned. “You just walked into the same wall three times.”
“I was testing its structural integrity!”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Sure, brother.”
As evening crept-up, they gathered near a food cart. The smell of sugar and dough drifted on the air.
Hermione bought a plate of golden fried dough dusted with powdered sugar and cinnamon. “This,” she said reverently, “is non-negotiable.”
Theo bit into a piece and immediately choked on the sugar. “Sweet Merlin—that’s lethal.”
Draco, lips white with sugar, looked unimpressed. “This is absurdly messy.”
“But good,” Hermione teased.
He sighed. “Yes. Infuriatingly good.”
Harry and Ginny shared a stick of candied apple, while Ron and Cho fed each other bits of caramel popcorn.
By early dusk, the summer heat began to fade into a gentle breeze, and the group wandered toward the park’s glittering and lite-upcenterpiece — a massive Ferris Wheel, its carriages painted in neon candy colors that gleamed under the sun.
Ginny grinned. “We have to go up — best view in the park!”
Theo squinted up at it. “That thing doesn’t even have magic keeping it up, does it?”
Hermione laughed. “That’s the fun part — it relies entirely on engineering and physics.”
Draco muttered, “Two things I don’t trust.”
But he followed her anyway.
They split into pairs and trios — Harry and Ginny taking one car, Ron and Cho another, and the triad squeezing into a blue carriage trimmed with gold. The door shut with a soft clang, and the wheel lurched to life with a low hum.
As they began their slow ascent, the park spread out below them — a kaleidoscope of motion and color, children’s laughter floating up through the air.
Theo leaned back, one arm draped along the bench behind Hermione. “I’ll admit, this is… oddly peaceful.”
Draco glanced out the window, his pale hair catching the last bit of sunlight. “I still don’t like how it sways.”
Hermione smiled softly. “Look down there — the roller coaster, the food stands, the lake. You can see the whole world from up here.”
She turned her gaze to Draco, who was still pretending not to enjoy it. “You don’t have to like the ride,” she said. “Just the view.”
His lips quirked faintly. “I like the view.”
Theo laughed quietly. “He’s getting sentimental again.”
“Blame the altitude,” Draco muttered, but the corner of his mouth didn’t lose its smile.
The carriage reached the very top and paused there, suspended above the park.
The wind brushed through Hermione’s hair, and for a brief, perfect moment, the world was quiet — just the three of them, the sunlight, and the soft creak of the wheel.
Below, Harry’s laughter floated up faintly from his own carriage. Hermione looked out across the sky and whispered, “Happy birthday, Harry, you made it.”
Around dusk, the group made a stop — the merry-go-round, its painted horses gleaming under twinkling bulbs. Soft organ music floated through the air, old-fashioned and wistful.
Harry hesitated as they approached. “You know, Dudley used to ride these all the time,” he said quietly.
“I wasn’t allowed. Aunt Petunia said I’d ‘embarrass them and it was a waste of money.’”
Ginny squeezed his hand. “Then it’s about time you had your turn.”
He smiled faintly. “All right. Let’s ride.”
They climbed onto the platform, scattering across the carved horses. Hermione chose one with golden roses on its mane, Theo straddled a black stallion that reared dramatically, and Draco — predictably — chose a silver one with a carved serpent around its base.
As the ride began to turn, soft lights rippled across their faces. The horses rose and fell, the world spinning lazily in a circle of color and laughter. Ginny leaned over to Hermione. “This feels like being eleven again soemhow.”
Hermione nodded. “It does.”
Draco’s voice was quieter, more reflective. “It feels… simpler.”
Theo chuckled. “That’s the point, Malfoy. You’re allowed to have fun.”
For a few blissful minutes, it was all warmth and motion — Harry grinning like a kid as Ginny whooped beside him, Ron pretending to race Cho’s horse, Hermione laughing as Theo’s horse rose higher than hers.
When the music slowed, Harry looked around at his friends — the people who had survived so much darkness to get to this brightness. His eyes were wet, though his smile never faltered.
“I think,” he said softly, “this has been the perfect day.”
Hermione smiled at him, heart full. “You deserve perfect days.”
Theo nodded, reaching over to steady her as the ride came to a stop. “We all do.”
The park was just about to close down, but the thrill wasn’t over. Ginny pointed toward the massive roller coaster again, its lights flickering against the darkening sky.
“One last ride!” she shouted.
“Not a chance,” Draco said immediately.
Theo grinned. “Oh, come on — think of the reputation you’d have if the Draco Malfoy faced down muggle engineering and survived twice.”
Hermione laughed. “He has a point.”
Draco groaned but followed them anyway. The ride’s metal clanked beneath them as they climbed, the whole park spread out below like a sea of color.
When the drop came, their screams echoed across the night — wild, unrestrained, alive.
As the sun fully dipped below the horizon, the park lit up in a thousand twinkling bulbs. They shared a final round of ice cream, sitting on a hill overlooking the ferris wheel.
Harry leaned back on his elbows, watching the lights. “You know,” he said softly, “I used to dream about this. Just a normal day. No dark lords, no prophecies. No awful relatives. Just… friends. Laughing.”
Ginny leaned into him, smiling. “You’ve more than earned it.”
Hermione’s eyes softened. “You have.”
Theo raised his cone in mock salute. “To Harry — who survived the world, and somehow still likes us enough to share his birthday with lunatics.”
Draco’s voice was quiet but warm. “Happy birthday, Potter. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it was a good day.”
Harry chuckled. “Coming from you, that’s a lifetime achievement.”
Muggle fireworks began overhead — streaks of red, gold, and silver lighting up the night sky. The group fell silent, watching.
Hermione looked at Harry, at the friends around her, and thought of how much they’d all endured to get here — to something so beautifully, absurdly normal.
And for once, she didn’t feel the weight of saving anyone. Just the joy of being alive.
By the time they all tumbled through the front door of 12 Grimmauld Place, the sun had long vanished, the clock hooting 8pm.
The air inside was cool with magic and faintly spiced with vanilla and buttercream — Kreacher had clearly been preparing for hours.
Ginny stepped in first, laughing as she kicked off her shoes. “Kreacher, you’ve outdone yourself!”
From the kitchen came the old elf’s gravelly mutter. “Miss Ginny exaggerates. I did as ordered. Master Potter deserves a fine cake for once in his life.”
Harry smiled softly, touched despite the elf’s usual dour tone. “Thank you, Kreacher. Really.”
Draco raised a brow at the words Master Potter. “Interesting title. Has a ring to it.”
Theo elbowed him lightly. “Jealous?”
“Hardly,” Draco muttered, though the smirk stayed on his face.
The scent of warm frosting filled the air as everyone wandered toward the dining room. The lamps flickered to life at a whispered charm, bathing the old Black family home in a cozy golden light.
Theo leaned close, murmuring, “It’s strange, isn’t it? How it feels… like home now, not a Black heirloom.”
She smiled. “That’s because they built something better here.”
In the dining room, the long wooden table was nearly buried under platters — bowls of crisps, bottles of butterbeer and pumpkin fizz.
But the centerpiece stole everyone’s attention: a towering chocolate spice cake, decorated with flying golden snitches made of sugared gold leaf.
Ginny clapped her hands. “All right! Everyone sing!”
Harry groaned, but laughter drowned him out as the group broke into an enthusiastic, off-key chorus of “Happy Birthday.”
Even Draco joined in quietly, his tone deep and smooth under the chaos of Ron and Theo’s unrestrained shouting.
When Harry blew out the candles, confetti exploded from the snitches, showering the table in glittering gold flakes. Hermione chuckled. “That’s absolutely your doing, Ginny.”
“Obviously,” she said proudly.
Neville and Luna arrived right on cue, stepping through the floo as the lights dimmed slightly for effect. Luna wore a crown of daisies, her silvery dress flowing like moonlight; Neville followed, carrying a small basket wrapped in enchanted vines.
“Sorry we’re late for cake,” Luna said dreamily, “Neville insisted we stop by the greenhouse. He said Harry deserved something alive.”
Neville blushed faintly and held up the basket.
Inside, a small, magical bonsai tree glowed faintly gold.
“It’s a Golden Spriggan Tree. Rare, but harmless. It changes leaf color with the owner’s mood.”
Harry’s eyes softened. “That’s… incredible. Thank you.”
“It’ll be red when you’re angry,” Luna added, “and pink when you’re in love.”
Draco smirked. “I suspect yours will stay pink, Potter.”
Harry rolled his eyes, laughing. “Let’s hope it doesn’t go black with irritation.”
After cake, the group migrated to the living room, plates and drinks in hand. Someone had charmed the fireplace to flicker with soft blue flames, and an old record player in the corner hummed quietly with the sound of string music.
Ginny perched cross-legged on the rug. “All right, present time! We all pooled for some of these.”
Theo handed over a small wrapped package first. “This one’s from us — though you might find Draco’s wrapping job a bit… dramatic.”
Harry unwrapped it carefully to reveal a sleek, enchanted quill and journal set embossed with the crest of the Wizengamot. “You’ll need this for the autumn sessions,” Hermione said. “And don’t even think of pretending you’ll remember everything without taking notes.”
Draco added, “The journal resists fire and stains. Thought you might need that around Weasley.”
Ron raised a hand. “Oi! No explosions from me this year, thank you.”
From Neville and Luna came the Spriggan Tree, which Luna set carefully on the mantle. “It likes to hear stories,” she said seriously. “You should read to it before bed.”
“I’ll… keep that in mind,” Harry said, smiling faintly.
Ron and Cho handed over a badly wrapped large odd shaped package. The wrappings pushed aside to reveal a clock not unlike the one at The Burrow, but with only two hands.
Ron, explained “It’s from my whole family as well not just us, Dad helped with the enchantments like theirs… he says it will be easy to add kids to it some day. I thought… well, you’d like to know everyone is safe all the time, so you don’t have to worry.”
Harry’s eyes glassed over, “Ron… this is… it really means a lot you know. Thank everyone please for me.”
Ron nodded flushed.
Ginny’s gift came last — a broom maintenance kit carved with runes that would adjust to magical air currents. “I know you’ve got all the fancy Auror gear,” she said, “but this one’s from me for your personal broom, not the Ministry issued one.”
He kissed her cheek. “Perfect. Everything’s perfect.”
As the night deepened, laughter filled the air like a warm embrace.
Cho and Ron sat near the fire sharing a blanket, debating whether wizard chess should count as a “sport.”
Theo and Draco were sprawled together on the opposite couch, Theo idly tapping a glass with his wand to make soft musical notes.
Hermione leaned against the armrest beside them, listening to Harry talk with Neville about Quidditch sponsorships and how much better Luna’s nursery looked now that Neville had spelled the baby’s mobile to float around without raining.
Luna, meanwhile, was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a small bit of frosting on her chin, gazing at the fire. “Isn’t it funny,” she said suddenly, “how birthdays used to be reminders of survival… and now they’re about joy again?”
The room went still for a heartbeat — quiet, reflective.
Ginny reached across and squeezed her hand. “You’re right. It feels good, doesn’t it?”
Theo nodded. “It feels… deserved.”
Harry smiled faintly. “You lot made sure of that.”
Hermione leaned her head back on the sofa cushion, closing her eyes for a moment. “You did that for yourself too, Harry. You let yourself live.”
For a long while, the only sound was the crackle of the enchanted fire and the low hum of music — a peace that none of them took for granted anymore.
As midnight approached, Luna rose, twirling her empty wine glass thoughtfully. “Before we go, we should make another wish. It’s still your birthday, Harry.”
He looked at her, amused. “What should I wish for this time?”
“Nothing greedy,” she said serenely. “Just something true.”
He thought for a long moment, then smiled softly. “All right. I wish we keep finding reasons to laugh like this. No more wars. No more walls between us.”
“Good wish,” Neville murmured, raising his glass.
Theo nodded. “I’ll drink to that.”
Ginny leaned in close to Harry, whispering, “That’s the best one you’ve ever made I bet.”
Draco, in an uncharacteristically open moment, added quietly, “I’ll do what I can to help you make it come true.”
Hermione’s heart swelled at that — the honesty of it, the shared hope that things could stay good, that peace could actually last.
As everyone began to drift home through the floo, Harry lingered by the mantle, watching the little Golden Spriggan Tree. Its leaves shimmered faintly pink and gold.
Ginny slipped her hand into his. “It likes tonight.”
He smiled. “So do I.”
Behind them, Draco, Hermione, and Theo stood close together near the doorway, still warm from laughter, the faint golden rings on their fingers catching the firelight.
It wasn’t just friendship binding this little world anymore — it was the quiet miracle of rebuilding together. Of choosing life, love, and laughter again, collectively.
And as the clock struck midnight, it was clear that this — this peace — was worth every storm they’d endured to find it and they would all keep fighting to keep it.
Notes:
I hope you enjoyed this scene, it's meant to be carefree :)
Chapter 180: Writing Laws
Notes:
Quick scene here, they are preparing for the fall when full sessions restart.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Rain tapped softly against the tall windows of the Nott Manor library — a steady rhythm that blended with the occasional rustle of parchment and the faint clink of teacups.
The great oak table in the center of the room was scattered with scrolls, quills, and half-eaten pastries.
Draco leaned back in his seat, posture effortlessly composed despite the mountain of papers in front of him. “I’d like to officially state,” he drawled, “that I preferred these meetings before Neville started taking minutes.”
Neville, calm as ever, didn’t look up from his parchment. “You preferred them when you didn’t have to be accountable, Malfoy.”
Theo grinned. “He’s got you there.”
Hermione sipped her tea, hiding her smile behind the cup. “At least someone’s organized enough to keep track of what we agree to besides me.”
Harry, seated beside her, snorted. “You mean what we argue about for three hours before we agree.”
“That’s called democracy,” Blaise said dryly, flipping through a folder of proposed legislation. “Painful, but effective.”
The soft glow of enchanted lanterns lit their faces, turning the scene intimate — the old-world majesty of the library contrasting sharply with the modern reformers who now occupied it.
Hermione set down her tea and leaned forward, her tone thoughtful.
“We’ve addressed childhood muggleborn integration, the child stipends for bonded couples, and the educational reform for early magical awareness. But there’s still one glaring hole we haven’t touched.”
Theo looked up. “Employment equality?”
“Exactly,” Hermione said. “We can legislate access to education all we want, but if muggleborns can’t find fair-paying jobs afterward due to prejudice, it’s a half measure.”
Draco nodded slowly. “And pureblood firms are still riddled with nepotism. Most won’t even interview outside their circles.”
Blaise raised an eyebrow. “You’re talking about your own family’s firm, aren’t you?”
Draco’s mouth twitched. “I said most.”
Harry tapped his quill against his parchment. “So, what’s the endgame here? A mandate? Quotas?”
Hermione hesitated. “Not quotas — they’d only breed resentment. But maybe tax incentives for businesses that hire diversely. Or funding for muggleborn entrepreneurs.”
Theo grinned. “Merlin, you sound like a proper Ministry official.”
She rolled her eyes. “Someone has to try to do better.”
Neville looked up from his notes. “Could we tie it to your center, Hermione? A sort of partnership — the Granger Center helps families early on, and this new bill helps them build their lives once they’re grown.”
Draco’s expression softened with genuine admiration. “That’s… actually brilliant, Longbottom.”
Neville shrugged modestly. “Luna says I have my moments.”
Theo lifted his cup. “To Neville’s moments, then.”
They all clinked their teacups lightly, laughter breaking the tension for a moment before sinking back into strategy.
The laughter faded, and the tone grew more serious. Hermione unrolled a parchment map of magical Britain, small dots glowing where major wizarding businesses were headquartered.
“These,” she said, “are the biggest employers in the magical sector. Some will support reform — the Weasley twins’ company, for one. But others…”
Draco grimaced. “The Greengrass family. The Selwyns. And don’t forget the Rosiers — they’ve already accused the Ministry of ‘moral dilution.’”
Harry exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Of course they have.”
Blaise leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Then we’ll need allies outside our usual circle. People who can speak to the economic side of things — like the goblins.”
Theo nodded. “They won’t do it for free.”
“No,” Hermione said, “but they’ll do it for fairness. And they’ve got no love for elitist policies.”
Draco’s eyes flicked to her, admiration flickering beneath the calculation. “You realize, of course, that every generation since the Founding has failed to pull this off.”
“Then it’s about time someone succeeded,” Hermione said softly.
The words lingered, quiet but powerful — the sound of conviction woven through the rain.
As their discussion drifted into the logistics of drafting, Theo rose and stretched, moving to refill the teapot with a lazy flick of his wand.
The scent of bergamot and clove filled the air.
He glanced toward Hermione, who was absently twirling her quill, and smiled faintly. “Do you ever stop? Just sit and be proud of what you’re doing?”
She blinked, caught off guard. “There’s too much left to fix.”
“Exactly my point,” Theo said. “You’ll fix it all, but you’ll forget to live if you’re not careful.”
Draco murmured from his seat, “She’s doing both. You just don’t see it.”
Theo raised an eyebrow, amused. “Defending her, are we?”
Draco smirked. “Always.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but her smile was soft. “You two are insufferable.”
“Perhaps,” Draco said lightly, “but we’re yours.”
For a heartbeat, the others looked up — Harry hiding a grin behind his teacup, Neville pretending to take notes — before the conversation resumed, easy and affectionate.
As the afternoon waned into early dusk, the outlines of their new bill took form. Parchments covered the table — notes in Draco’s precise script, Hermione’s looping handwriting, and Harry’s practical bullet points.
Neville had begun drafting the introduction:
“The Fair Employment and Opportunity Act”
A proposal to ensure equal access to work and enterprise for all magical citizens, regardless of blood status or lineage.
Theo leaned back, satisfied. “It’s ambitious. But if we pull this off, we’ll actually be changing lives — not just writing pretty words.”
Draco’s tone was cool but sincere. “We’ll do it. Between Potter’s publicity, Hermione’s logic, and my diplomacy, it stands a chance. We can introduce it at the first session in the fall.”
“And my charm,” Theo added.
Harry grinned. “Mostly Hermione’s logic.”
“Obviously,” she said.
The mood was lighter now, buoyed by shared purpose.
Outside, the rain had stopped; faint evening light streamed through the tall windows, gilding the edges of their papers.
Neville set down his quill. “You know… if someone told me five years ago I’d be here, working with Draco Malfoy on legislation, I’d have hexed them or thought they were drunk on firewhiskey.”
Draco gave a dry smile. “And five years ago, I’d have let you think I hated you.”
They all laughed — the sound of a generation healing in real time.
When the meeting finally adjourned, Harry and Neville lingered near the fire, still discussing amendments, while Blaise checked the clock and sighed. “If I’m late for dinner again, Pansy will send a search party. She’s gotten even more… particular since the pregnancy.”
“Tell her we’ll dedicate the bill to her,” Theo said.
Hermione laughed softly. “That might actually appease her.”
After the others departed through the floo, the triad remained in the quiet library.
Hermione stood, stretching. “We actually did really good work today.”
Draco came to stand behind her, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder. “We always do, when it’s for something that matters.”
Theo brushed a stray curl from her face. “And when we do it all together.”
She looked between them — the Slytherins who had become her anchors, her allies, her partners, her family — and felt the quiet hum of the bond between them, warm and steady.
“This,” she whispered, “this is how we change the world.”
Draco pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “One law at a time.”
Theo smiled, his voice soft. “And one cup of tea.”
Hermione laughed — quiet, heartfelt, full of love.
Outside, the rain had stopped completely, leaving the scent of earth and promise drifting through the open window.
The future waited — vast, uncertain, and ready to be remade.
Notes:
What other legal changes do you think they should be working on in the coming year? Leave me comments.
Chapter 181: Breathing Salt
Chapter Text
Hermione had barely finished wrapping up with a family at The Granger Center when she found Draco leaning against the doorway with his usual poised smirk and a small bouquet of lavender in hand.
“You promised,” he said smoothly. “As of today, no more work here for a week.”
She blinked. “Draco, you can’t possibly think—”
“Too late,” Theo said, stepping up behind him, his grin boyish and wide. “We’ve already packed your bag.”
“My—what?”
“Vacation before your classes resume. We’ve all got to get out of Britian to take some deep breaths away from everything.” Draco said, offering her the lavender like a peace treaty.
“Just for four days, that’s all Theo could get off, but it’ll be good to get out. Blaise and Pansy are already waiting.”
Hermione stared between them, caught between exasperation and a smile. “You’re serious?”
Theo nodded. “Utterly. You deserve the sea and sun. And we deserve to see you not reading a Ministry report or running out the door to come here.”
She sighed, pretending defeat. “You two are impossible.”
Draco’s smirk softened. “We prefer determined.”
Hermione took the lavender, rolling her eyes but unable to hide her grin. “Fine. But if I get sunburnt, you’re both sleeping outside.”
Theo laughed. “Deal.”
The portkey dropped them onto a cliffside overlook just as the late afternoon sun turned the Adriatic golden.
Below, the sea stretched wide and glittering, waves brushing white stone.
The villa perched above the coast looked like something from a painting — all white walls, arched windows, and balconies overflowing with bougainvillea.
Pansy and Blaise were already waiting on the terrace, Pansy in oversized sunglasses and a flowing linen cover-up, holding two glasses of chilled cherry juice.
“It’s about time!” Pansy called, tossing her hair. “I was about to start to pretend to drink without you.”
Blaise grinned. “Correction: she already did.”
Theo dropped the bags with a groan. “Good. I’ll catch up.”
Hermione stepped to the edge of the terrace, taking in the endless blue horizon. “It’s beautiful.”
Draco moved beside her, quiet for a rare moment. “You needed this,” he said softly. “We all did.”
She looked up at him, smiling. “You were right.”
“Say that again,” he teased.
“Don’t push it.”
Pansy clapped her hands. “Enough sentiment! Swimsuits, drinks, and the sea — in that order.”
They clamored into the home to get ready for a late afternoon beach day. The afternoon moved easily into evening as the ladies sunbathed amongst the large rocks and sand, and the boys got overly competitive in a game of modified beach volleyball.
The tide swept in towards dusk, and they scrambled to pickup their towels and bags before they got drenched, shrieking with laughter as Blaise’s foot sunk into the sand, and he fell head first into the next incoming wave.
The easy going laughter continued through a lite dinner on the terrace together of fresh garden salad toped with prime cuts of steak and a raspberry vinaigrette, followed by a refreshing key lime pie. The mood was cheerful and teasing, with Pansy quick to delivery her classic barbs about the boy’s need to get more glamorous swim trunks, and how Hermione wasn’t allowed to bring a book to the beach the next day again.
By the time the stars were rising, and their glasses were empty, Pansy was complaining about the baby sucking the life out of her so much lately, and Blaise ushered her off to their rooms, apologizing for the early turn-in.
The triad poured another round of wine, and chatted under the stars for a bit longer about everything and nothing, before also turning in for the night.
The expansive canopy bed dominated the space, its king-sized frame carved from pale driftwood, draped in crisp, ivory linen sheets.
The air was a heady, intoxicating blend of the briny tang of the sea crashing against the cliffs below, the sweet, citrus bloom of lemon groves drifting up from the terraced gardens along the cliffs.
The triad bond thrummed with a tender, celebratory intimacy—Hermione’s joyful relief a radiant, glowing pulse in their chests, Draco’s possessive adoration a steady, enveloping heat, Theo’s playful devotion a sparking, vibrant energy that made their golden rings shimmer like captured stars.
Hermione lay in the center of the bed, her sundress long discarded in a silken puddle by the door, her body a vision of freckled curves under the moon’s caress thru the open window. Draco and Theo flanked her, their bodies bare and glistening with a faint sheen of sweat from the warm summer night air, Draco’s lean body, his cock at full attention straining toward her with insatiable need. Theo was relaxed but coiled with playful energy through the bond.
Hermione’s voice was a soft, breathless whisper, her hand tracing the jagged Sectumsempra scars across Draco’s chest, her fingers lingering with reverent love, “My loves—first night here, let’s make it count.”
The bond flared with her desire, her pussy pulsing with a slow, aching need. Draco’s grin was greedy, his silver eyes blazing with possessive adoration, his voice a low, filthy rumble that sent quivers flying down her backbone, “Fuck, Granger—you want us right now? Gonna worship this perfect body, make you scream so loud the sea hears it.”
Theo’s stormy eyes darkened with teasing enthusiasm, his voice a playful growl, “Let’s start with you two—69, love, your dripping pussy on his face, his cock down your throat, then after I’ll take his arse and make him feel every inch of me while he begs for it.”
They moved with excited, well-practiced synchronization, the moonlight casting their shadows around the room.
Draco lay back on the bed, his scarred torso glistening, his cock standing proud like a sculpted marble column, the veins pulsing with need, pre-cum dripping in a steady stream onto his abs. Hermione straddled his face in reverse, her thighs framing his head, her pussy hovering inches above his mouth, scent of her arousal filling his senses.
“Fuck, love—your cunt’s dripping for me, smell so fucking sweet, gonna tatse so good,” Draco growled, his hands gripping her thighs with bruising force, pulling her down until her pussy smothered his mouth, his tongue lapping her folds.
His tongue circled her clit with firm preassure, flicking the engorged bud, sucking it hard between his lips, making her thighs tremble, her pussy tightening.
Hermione’s moan was soft, a desperate cry in the night, “Draco—fuck, your tongue’s destroying me!”
Her hands braced on his hips, her lips parting to take his cock, the head salty and musky with pre-cum, her tongue swirling around the veined shaft with slow, deliberate worship, tracing every ridge, every pulse, before sucking the head deep, her throat clenching around his length, chocking abit as she tried to take him all, the wicked curve of him hitting the back of her mouth.
She bobbed her head, her curls jumping wildly, her lips stretching tight, her tongue flicking the sensitive underside, making Draco’s hips buck, his cock twitching in her mouth.
Draco pushed at her, flipping them so she was against the mattress now, and he could be on all fours above her. She took him back into her mouth, her hand softly rolling his balls.
Theo knelt behind Draco, his hands spreading Draco’s arse cheeks with hunger, the moonlight glinting off the faint scars on his back, “Fuck, mate—your arse is mine, gonna take you so hard,” his voice a promise, his piercing grazing the sensitive rim, sparking shivers that radiated through Draco’s body, making his cock pulse harder in Hermione’s mouth.
Theo glazed his fingers with Slick Silken, the lube warm and smooth, thrusting two in ay onc eintially, curling hard against Draco’s prostate, pressure relentless as Draco’s arse clenched, then yielded, making him groan into Hermione’s pussy, the vibration sending her higher.
“Gonna fuck you while you eat her cunt, love—gonna make you feel me so deep,” Theo barked, adding a third finger, stretching Draco wider, the lube dripping down his cheeks.
Draco’s moan vibrated against Hermione’s pussy, a guttural mmmm that had her bucking up, “Theo—fuck, do it,” his tongue sucking her clit harder, his fingers thrusting into her pussy alongside his tongue, curling against her G-spot, her slick squirting onto his face in creamy floods.
Theo positioned his cock, the piercing glinting as he pressed the swollen head against Draco’s hole, thrusting in with a slow, deliberate push.
“Fuck, love—your arse is so tight, taking my piercing like a champ,” Theo groaned, his hips rolling gradually faster, the slap-slap of his balls against Draco’s arse building a stable pace, the piercing dragging against Draco’s inner walls, amplifying every sensation.
The 69 was a chorus of love-making, Draco’s tongue lapping Hermione’s pussy with relentless greed, “Your cunt’s gushing, love—taste like fucking paradise, gonna drink every drop,” his voice muffled against her folds, sucking her clit with brutal force, his fingers pumping her pussy, three fingers deep with a harsh punishing pace.
Hermione’s mouth worked Draco’s cock with enthusiasm, her tongue tracing the thick veins, sucking the head until it popped from her lips, pre-cum coating her chin in glistening strands, her hands stroking his base, twisting with each bob of her head, “Draco—your cock’s so fucking big” her voice muffled, her throat clenching as she took him deeper, the curve hitting her gag reflex, sparking tears.
Theo’s thrusts into Draco’s arse were slow and deep, “Fuck, mate—your arse is milking my cock so good,” his voice a filthy growl, his hands gripping Draco’s hips, fingers digging into the flesh, leaving red marks.
His pace hastened, the piercing beating Draco’s prostate, sparking jolts that made Draco’s cock pulse harder in Hermione’s mouth, pre-cum flooding her throat in salty ropes.
“Gonna fuck you till you cum, mate—gonna fill this arse till its bursting while you eat her pussy,” Theo roared, his thrusts intensifying.
“Cum on my face, love—squirt for me, drown me in your cunt,” Draco’s voice a muffled command, sucking her clit hard.
Hermione’s mouth was a frenzy on Draco’s cock, “Draco—cum in my throat, love you!”.
Theo’s thrusts into Draco’s arse were growing erratic and shallower, “Cum for us, mate—let her taste you,” his voice pleading.
Draco’s cock pulsated aggressively in Hermione’s mouth, spilling thick, hot ropes of cum down her throat, as she swallowed quickly trying to keep up with it, “Hermione—fuck,take it all!” his moan vibrating into her pussy, pushing her over.
Hermione’s orgasm crested, “Draco—too much!”
Theo’s thrusts deepened again, “Fuck—Draco, take all of me!” trickling sprays of cum into Draco’s arse.
They collapsed in a tangled heap, bodies slick with sweat, slick, and cum, kissing with desperate lips. Hermione’s lips on Draco’s, tasting herself, Theo’s on Draco’s neck, then Hermione’s—whispering, “Love you, always,” the bond humming happily between them.
The next morning dawned bright and cloudless.
By mid-morning, the five of them were spread along the private stretch of beach below the villa — towels and parasols scattered across the sand, cool drinks within reach.
Theo and Blaise were halfway through a competitive sandcastle-building contest (“structural integrity points count double”), while Pansy lay sprawled on a striped chair, reading a glossy magazine and making snide comments about their “architecture failures.”
Draco, shirt unbuttoned, sat beside Hermione beneath an umbrella, both of them reading much to Pansy’s dismay. Or rather — Hermione was reading. Draco was pretending to, occasionally glancing at her over his pages.
“You’re staring,” she said without looking up.
“I’m admiring,” he corrected.
Theo called out from where he knelt in the sand. “Draco, if you’re done being domestic, grab the shovel. We’re building a moat.”
Hermione smiled into her book. “Domestic?”
“Don’t encourage him,” Draco muttered.
Pansy sighed dreamily. “This is paradise. Sun, sand, and no curses.”
“Don’t jinx it,” Theo said.
Hermione’s laughter floated across the warm air.
Mid-day, Theo, Pansy, and Blaise remained outside, their laughter a faint, mocking echo, while Hermione and Draco had slipped back inside to prepare lunch.
Hermione stood in the open-plan kitchen, her emerald bikini a vision of devastating temptation—thin strings tied at her hips and neck, her curls loose and wild from the sea, damp strands clinging to her sun-kissed shoulders like dark, desperate vines.
Draco leaned against the counter, his black swim trunks low on his hips, his scarred torso glistening with seawater.
Draco’s voice was a low, reverent murmur, breaking the silence like a confession, stepping closer, his hand brushing her hip, “Granger, love—you in that bikini... it’s fucking breaking my self-control.”
His fingers traced the string at her hip, sparking a shiver that radiated to her core. Hermione’s breath hitched, her knife pausing mid-slice, her voice trembling with a mix of arousal and raw, soul-deep vulnerability, “Draco... Theo’s just outside below with Pansy and Blaise, they could come in any moment.”
Her eyes met his, shimmering with trust and a fragile, aching love, the bond a radiant wound of her fear and desire.
Draco’s hand slid to her arse, squeezing gently, his voice, “I know, love—but I need you, need to feel you, all of you, like I’ll shatter without it.”
His lips brushed her neck, his cock hardening fully, pressing against her thigh, the heat searing through her bikini.
She nodded.
He led her to the bedroom, closing the doors and warding them to muffle the beach’s laughter, the world outside fading to a distant hum. They stood by the bed, Draco’s hands untying her bikini with worshipful care, the strings falling away like broken vows, baring her body—breasts heaving, nipples tight and begging, pussy glistening .
“Fuck, love—you’re everything, I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, shedding his trunks, his cock springing free, thick and veined, head flushed purple and leaking pre-cum.
He laid her on the bed, face-down, her arse raised on a pillow, his hands spreading her cheeks with a tenderness that belied his hunger, “Gonna take this virgin arse, love—slow, make it ours, make it love. You want that?”
She hesitated, “Yes… but let’s go slow, I’m a bit nervous… want you though.”
Draco coated his fingers with Slick Silken, his hands gentle as he circled her tight, puckered hole with agonizing slowness, “Relax—breathe for me, let me in, I’ve got you, I’ll never hurt you,” his voice a soothing tone, his finger pressing in gradually, her arse clenched, then yielded, sparking a strange, feeling causing her muscles to tense.
“Draco—fuck, it’s intense,” her voice trembled, the bond pulsing with her fear and love.
“I know—I’m here, you’re so brave, so perfect, I love you,” he whispered, his voice quivering with emotion, kissing her spine, his free hand stroking her clit with gentle, reverent circles to ease her, “You’re giving me your soul—I’ll cherish it, I swear.”
Draco’s finger thrusted in and out with patient, reverent care, stretching her slowly, “Your arse is so tight, love—taking me, trusting me with everything,” his voice was warm and calm, adding a second finger after long, agonizing minutes, her arse adjusting, the burn easing into a thrilling, overwhelming fullness.
Hermione’s moans were low, “Draco—it’s... it’s so much, but I want you, need you,” her pussy throbbed.
“You’re my everything,” he whispered, his fingers scissoring gently, curling to spark jolts that radiated to her pussy, his other hand never leaving her clit, “You’re so strong, giving me this, I don’t deserve you.”
He added a third finger, the stretch more intense, her arse initially clenching but yielding, “Draco—fuck, it’s full,” her voice was a breathless moan,
“You’re perfect, love—taking me, opening for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with adoration, his fingers thrusting slowly, stretching her wider, the lube warm and slick, her moans growing softer, “Love you, Draco—keep going.”
Draco slipped his silver Malfoy signet ring from his finger, the crest glowing faintly as he charmed it to vibrate with a low, pulsing bzzz, pressing it against her clit, the cool metal warming against her engorged bud, sparking electric jolts that made her pussy clench.
“Feel this, love—my ring on your clit, gonna help you take me,” his voice a filthy, loving murmur, the vibration syncing with her heartbeat, easing her tension.
He coated his cock with lube, the head pressing against her arse, his hands steady but trembling with emotion, “Push out, love—slow, I’m here, you’re safe” his voice a steady, loving anchor, the ring’s vibration intensifying on her clit.
The stretch was fierce, his cock wider than his fingers, her arse resisting with a ferocious clench, a sharp, burning pain that made her gasp, “Draco—fuck, it’s too big, I can’t!” her voice nervous with fear, her body tensing.
“Shh, it’s ok—breathe, push out, you’re doing so good, I’ve got you,” Draco murmured, his voice warm with love, stilling completely, kissing her shoulders, “I love you, Granger—never want to hurt you, you’re my world. You’ve got this.”
The ring’s vibration pulsed harder against her clit, sparking warm, electric jolts to ease the pain, “Relax, love—let me in, I’m yours, always.”
Thead of his cock began slowly inching in, the stretch agonizing, her arse clenching hard, the burn intense, “Draco—it hurts, but... don’t stop, I need you” she whispered, her voice raw with intensity.
The head popped past her ring with a sudden give, the fullness overwhelming, sparking a strange, thrilling jolt, “Draco—fuck, it’s in… it’s … weird”.
“You’re perfect, love—taking my cock, your arse is mine now,” he whispered, his voice thick with awe, thrusting slowly, inch by inch, his cock filling her arse, the curve pressing against her walls, sparking jolts that radiated to her core.
The ring’s vibration on her clit intensified, the bzzz syncing with his thrusts, “Feel my ring, love—making your clit sing, helping you take me,” his voice in her ear.
Draco’s thrusts were achingly slow, each one a deliberate, loving act, his cock dragging against her inner walls with gentle, relentless thrusts, an intimate rhythm, the lube warm and slick, her arse stretching to accommodate him, the fullness a thrilling, overwhelming pressure that mad eher groan with every movement.
“Fuck, love—your arse is so tight, taking every inch of me, your amazing” his voice a filthy, loving murmur, his hips rolling to grind deeper, the curve of his cock pressing against her sensitive walls.
The signet ring’s vibration pulsed relentlessly against her clit, the bzzz a constant, electric hum that amplified every sensation, “Your clit’s throbbing under my ring, love—feel it, let it help you cum,” his voice comanded, his hand holding the ring steady, the crest pressing into her engorged bud.
Draco’s thrusts continued steady and deep, never rushing, each one a vow of love, the, his cock filling her arse completely, the raw, intimate stretch sparking jolts that radiated to her pussy, her clit pulsing with every slow grind under the ring’s vibration.
“Your arse is perfect, love—milking my cock, making me yours,” his voice quivered with emotion, his free hand gripping her hip with reverent care, “You’re my heart, Granger—feel me, feel us, this is ours.”
The ring’s bzzz intensified, sparking white-hot jolts, her pussy spasming, squirting more with each gentle thrust.
Theo’s laughter drifted faintly from the beach, but they were lost in each other, Draco’s thrusts slow and deep, “Gonna cum in your arse, love—mark you as ours, love you,”.
The ring’s vibration pushed her higher, her orgasm building to the tipping point “Draco—fuck, your ring, it’s too much!”
He spilled into her arse, as she came undone at the same time.
They kissed, and quickly showered off, dressing before the group returned for lunch.
When Theo entered, he gave Draco a knowing look, having felt their emotions through the bond and guessing what had happened. He sent Hermione a discrete wink and she blushed, nearly choking on her lemonade.
That afternoon, they wandered into the nearby coastal village — all cobbled streets and colorful rooftops glowing in the sun.
Pansy and Hermione walked arm in arm ahead, darting into tiny shops filled with local crafts and shells. Draco, Theo, and Blaise trailed behind, carrying bags and complaining loudly about how long “just five more minutes” really took.
Hermione stopped at a stall selling handwoven bracelets. She picked up one made of blue and copper threads. “It matches the sea.”
Draco took it gently from her hand and bought it before she could protest. “Then it suits you.”
Theo grinned. “Smooth.”
Draco ignored him. “Consider it a souvenir.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “You’re going to spoil me.”
“Exactly the point.”
Later, they all sat at a seaside café, sipping chilled strawberry lemonade as gulls circled overhead.
The conversation meandered from light teasing to politics, from Pansy’s pregnancy plans (“can’t wait till I can drink champagne at the next gala”) to Blaise’s new business investments in France.
Theo leaned back in his chair, content. “I could stay here forever.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Hermione murmured, gaze lost in the horizon.
Dinner that night was on the villa’s upper balcony, overlooking the water. The table was lit by floating candles, the scent of rosemary and lemon drifting on the breeze.
They ate grilled swordfish and roasted vegetables, drank local wine, and told stories — ridiculous Hogwarts memories and gossip from the Ministry alike.
When dessert levitated in — a creamy Croatian cake Hermione couldn’t pronounce — Theo cut her a piece with mock solemnity. “For our fearless leader.”
Draco raised his glass. “To survival, sanity, and holidays with minimal explosions.”
Pansy smirked. “Low bar, darling, but I’d drink to it.”
Hermione laughed. “To friendship, then.”
The clinking of glasses echoed softly under the stars.
After midnight, when the others had gone to bed, Hermione found herself wandering down to the beach barefoot. The moon hung low and silver, waves lapping quietly against the shore.
Theo followed a few minutes later, wordless, joining her where she stood at the edge of the tide. The silence between them was peaceful, thick with understanding.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I almost forgot what it feels like to not be waiting for something awful to happen.”
She looked up at him, moonlight reflecting in her eyes. “That’s why we came. To remember that we can still have this.”
Draco appeared then, barefoot as well, carrying three glasses and a bottle of wine. “Thought you two might want company.”
They grinned.
Draco smirked. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Didn’t want to.”
They sat together on the sand, the waves close enough to touch, sipping wine in the dark. The bond between them thrummed softly — a pulse of safety, warmth, belonging.
It wasn’t the fierce, desperate magic of survival; it was quieter, steadier. The kind that meant harmony.
The next day, they all slept late, sunlight spilling over tangled sheets and lazy limbs.
By mid-morning, everyone was out on the terrace again — Pansy sketching the cliffs, Blaise reading, Theo and Hermione leaning against the railing with their feet touching.
Draco brought them coffee, hair still mussed from sleep.
Pansy sighed dramatically. “Do we really have to go back?”
Hermione smiled. “Unfortunately, yes. Civilization needs us.”
Draco glanced toward the sea, voice soft but certain. “The world doesn’t stop for us. But it can slow down once in a while.”
Notes:
Things have been a bit too calm lately.
Don't get used to it.
Chapter 182: For Ginny
Chapter Text
The evening rain had stopped just as the floo flared green in Grimmauld Place’s kitchen. The triad had just gotten home that morning from their quick summer escape and were ready to celebrate their friend.
Hermione brushed ash off her sleeve and laughed at the burst of color before her that Harry had managed— balloons bobbing near the ceiling, a banner that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY GINNY! in flickering gold letters, and the smell of pizza already filling the air.
Ginny turned from the counter, grinning, her fiery hair tied up messily with a ribbon. “About time! We thought you were going to spend another week in paradise without us.”
Theo stepped out behind Hermione, carrying a small wrapped box. “Tempting, but we didn’t want you to have to eat all the pizza alone.”
Draco followed, looking unusually casual in rolled-up sleeves and no tie. “This is what passes for a party now? Greasy food and candles?”
“Exactly,” Ginny said, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the table. “Tonight, you’re one of us, Malfoy. No fancy dinners. Just dough, cheese, and chaos.”
Harry appeared from behind the kitchen island with two pizzas levitating beside him. “And a dangerous amount of butterbeer.”
Hermione laughed, warmth rising in her chest.
By the time everyone arrived—Blaise and Pansy, Luna and Neville, Ron and Cho—the table was covered with boxes of pizza in every imaginable topping.
Someone had conjured floating lanterns that cast a golden glow across the mismatched chairs.
Pansy set down a bottle of sparkling wine. “If we’re doing muggle food, we’re at least doing wizard drinks, even if I have to just watch you enjoy them.”
Ginny raised her glass. “To turning another year older and still better at Quidditch than everyone else here combined.”
“Hey!” Harry and Draco protested.
She smirked. “Especially you, Potter.”
They clinked glasses. Laughter spilled easily. Crumbs and jokes followed—Theo accidentally set his napkin on fire with an over-zealous warming charm; Blaise claimed it was retaliation from the pizza for calling it “pedestrian cuisine.”
Hermione leaned back, watching her friends—their faces glowing in the candlelight, their laughter overlapping—and felt something ache gently in her chest. After everything, they were here. Whole.
Draco caught her gaze from across the table, as if sensing her thought. He didn’t smile—he just gave her that subtle, knowing look that said, I feel it too.
After dinner, Harry dimmed the lights with a flick of his wand. “All right, everyone—time for cake.”
The massive confection floated in from the kitchen— vanilla with strawberry frosting with tiny broomsticks spinning lazily around the edges.
Ginny groaned. “You didn’t.”
“Of course I did,” Harry said. “You only get one birthday a year, best enjoy them.”
She blew out the candles, the room erupting into cheers and applause.
Luna handed her a box wrapped in silver paper. “It’s from us,” she said serenely. “Open carefully—it hums.”
Ginny peeled back the paper to reveal a custom-charmed quill that left a trail of glittering red ink in midair. “So everyone will know your fiery thoughts,” Luna explained.
Theo leaned toward Hermione and murmured, “Do you think Luna ever isn’t poetic?”
Hermione smiled. “I hope not.”
She handed her their gift, small and done up in navy paper with glimmering stars.
Ginny laughed at the shape, “I’m finally the recipient of a Hermione book choice, aren’t I?”
Hermione flushed.
“Oh… this is going to be useful! I may actually do some reading that’s not assigned!” Ginny gushed, having revealed the book to be ‘The Top Ten Strategies That Have Won World Cups’, already flipping through the moving illustrated pages showing breathtaking broom maneuvers.
When she put the book to the side, Cho handed her a tiny box with a maroon bow. Gently, Ginny removed the top, her face breaking out in a grin.
“Oh, thanks guys! These are gorgeous.” She titled the box to show the crowd what was inside, tiny sapphire starburst stud earnings. “These actually match a dress I just got for the next time I can convince Harry to take me out dancing again!” Harry avoided her eyes, and Theo nudged him in the shoulder.
Pansy dramatically cleared her throat, “Nothing but the best for the Potter heiress.” Blaise passed her an envelope from inside his jacket pocket.
“OHHHH!” Ginny shrieked in delight when she read the card inside.
“Darling, I’m expecting you take me with you of course as the plus one!” Pansy beamed charmingly.
Ginny addressed them all, “Apparently, Pansy and I are going to be spending a day being pampered at that new high end muggle day spa that opened in London’s North-end last month! Mud baths, exfoliating seaweed facial, a mani/pedi, and a rock salt massage!” Pansy looked quite pleased with herself, and Balise smiled at them indulgently.
Finally, Harry turned to the hall closet, retrieving a very telling long thin package. The boys in the room held their breath in anticipation as she opened it, her own excitement visible in the low sparks emitting from her hair ends.
“Harry, we talked about this! It was way too expensive, I said we could just wait till it had been out for a bit and the price went down!”
Harry looked a bit bashful, but proud, ‘And I told you that there’s no point in having a full vault if I can’t spoil my wife sometimes, besides… technically it’s for your career.”
The paper ripped off the reveal what Draco, Blaise, and Theo had been anticipating. They all sucked in breaths of wonder.
An elegant and sleek jet-black broom, with blue tipped twigs at the tail lay acrossed the table in front of Ginny. The silver words ‘Lunar Eclipse 3000’ glittered on the handle.
“Potter, how did you even get that already? I own a big share in the factory that’s producing them, and haven’t even touched one yet. They aren’t being released to the public market for another two weeks,” Draco drawled.
Harry beamed even brighter, kissing Ginny on the temple before responding. “Well, every once in a while being ‘The Chosen One’ does have its advantages! Happy Birthday Gin, love you.”
Theo, Ron, and Blaise chuckled, while Draco looked mildly offended.
By nine o’clock, the bottles were mostly empty and the laughter louder.
Pansy clapped her hands. “Right! No party’s complete without a drinking game. Truth or Dare. You all drink, Luna and I just play!”
Hermione groaned. “Pansy—”
“Oh, don’t worry, Granger,” Pansy said wickedly. “I’ll go easy on you. Maybe.”
They circled on the rug in the sitting room—glasses refilled, the fire crackling nearby. Luna sat cross-legged, humming softly; Ron looked vaguely terrified; Blaise looked thrilled.
Pansy went first. “Theo—truth or dare?”
“Truth,” Theo said lazily.
“What’s the worst potion disaster you’ve ever caused?”
He grinned. “Fifth year. Accidentally created sentient slime. It chased Crabbe through the dungeon for half an hour before eating his shoe off his foot.”
Everyone burst out laughing.
Then Blaise turned to Hermione. “Your turn, Granger. Truth or dare?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Truth.”
He smirked. “Who’s the bigger pain to live with—Draco or Theo?”
The room erupted into laughter. Hermione pretended to think seriously, glancing between the two men. “Depends on the day. Draco can be rather infuriating, but Draco’s also more organized, and Theo leaves half-finished tea cups everywhere.”
Theo pointed his glass at her. “Slander.”
Draco drawled, “You didn’t deny being difficult.”
Pansy smirked. “I ship it.”
The night blurred into comfort. Laughter rolled between clinking glasses, and soft music drifted from a wireless in the corner.
They told old stories—Hogwarts memories, war moments softened by time, ridiculous childhood dreams.
Neville confessed he’d once thought Aurors wore capes.
Ginny admitted she’d nicked Harry’s Firebolt during sixth year and returned it before he noticed.
Draco shocked everyone by saying he’d taken ballet lessons as a child—“Mother insisted on grace,” he said dryly, to Pansy’s gleeful cackling.
The fire crackled louder as the game stretched into its second hour, everyone loosened by wine and butterbeer, sprawled across couches and cushions.
Someone had vanished the coffee table entirely, leaving room for the circle of friends cross-legged on the rug.
“Right,” Ginny said, wiping laughter tears from her eyes after Neville’s confession about falling asleep in the greenhouses and waking up with vines in his hair.
“My turn. Hermione, truth or dare?”
Hermione groaned, already wary. “Truth. I don’t trust your dares.”
Ginny grinned wickedly. “Fine. What’s one thing you’ve done with either of them—” she gestured vaguely toward Draco and Theo “—that would scandalize the Prophet if they found out?”
Hermione’s jaw dropped as laughter erupted around the circle. “Ginny Weasley Potter!”
Ron groaned loud, “Ginny, not all of us want to know that!”.
Theo smirked but patted her shoulder. “You don’t have to answer that, love.”
“Absolutely not,” Hermione said primly, cheeks flushed. “Next question.”
“You forfeited,” Ginny declared. “Drink!”
Hermione sighed, downing a sip of wine as Draco chuckled beside her. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“I’m enjoying your discomfort,” he replied, low and amused. “It’s charming.”
Pansy was next, chin in hand, looking delightedly dangerous. “Alright. Draco—truth or dare?”
He gave her a flat look. “Truth.”
“Coward,” she teased. “Fine. Who’s better at kissing—Theo or Hermione?”
The room erupted. Blaise nearly spat out his drink.
Draco, maddeningly calm, leaned back against the sofa. “Different styles entirely. I decline to compare. Apples to oranges.”
Theo laughed. “Diplomatic answer.”
“Coward’s answer,” Pansy said smugly.
“Or,” Draco countered smoothly, “a man who values his limbs and place in the martial bed.”
Hermione snorted into her glass. “Smart choice.”
Blaise smirked and turned toward Theo. “Your turn, Nott. Truth or dare?”
Theo leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Dare.”
Blaise grinned, clearly prepared for this. “Kiss the person to your left.”
Theo turned—Hermione sat there, blinking—and gave Blaise a mock salute.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
The kiss was brief but lingering enough to draw wolf-whistles from Ginny and Pansy.
Hermione’s cheeks flushed bright, though her eyes sparkled. Draco, beside her, didn’t move—he just raised his glass and murmured, “Noted Nott.”
Pansy laughed. “Oh, this is far too entertaining.”
Theo smirked. “Told you I play to win.”
Luna tilted her head dreamily, eyes distant. “I think it’s my turn,” she said softly. “Neville. Truth or dare?”
Neville blinked. “Er—truth, I guess?”
She smiled serenely. “If you could talk to one plant as a person, which would you choose?”
Neville visibly relaxed, then laughed. “Easy. The Womping Willow. Someone’s got to ask what it’s so cross about.”
The group roared with laughter.
Even Draco cracked a rare smile. “It’s probably furious about being rooted next to the lake for decades with only the giant squid as a friend.”
“Wouldn’t you be?” Luna said simply.
Theo murmured to Hermione, “I love her.”
“I know,” Hermione whispered back. “Me too.”
“Alright, Luna,” Ginny said. “Your turn to pick.”
Luna looked straight at Pansy. Pansy raised her eyebrow in challenge, “Dare.”
“I dare you,” Luna said calmly, “to tell everyone what you actually want to name your baby.”
The room went completely still for a heartbeat.
Pansy froze, eyes darting to Blaise, whose eyebrows had shot up in surprise. “You know?”
Luna smiled faintly. “Of course.”
Pansy exhaled, shaking her head but smiling despite herself. “Alright, fine. Don’t laugh. We’ve been thinking… Cassian. After Blaise’s grandfather. But, I kind of always had this idea that my son would be named Albert. It’s a silly childhood dream, what we’ve picked is much more meaningful. I’m ok with it.”
Hermione’s smile softened. “That’s beautiful.”
Theo raised his glass. “To Cassian.”
“To Cassian,” everyone echoed warmly, clinking glasses.
Draco gestured toward Harry. “Your turn, Potter. Truth or dare.”
Harry grinned, leaning forward. “Truth”
“Alright then,” Draco said, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Tell everyone the most embarrassing thing Ginny’s ever caught you doing.”
Ginny’s eyes widened. “Draco!”
Harry groaned, face red already. “Merlin’s beard, alright—she walked in last year on me trying to charm my yule cake to sing White Christmas, but it wouldn’t stop doing a dirty rap version of Jingle Bells. I don’t know why, but it just kept getting louder and more off key… I had to vanish the whole cake before the rest of her family showed up!”
The room exploded. Ginny was laughing so hard she nearly fell off her chair.
Ron was dying, “You what?”
Harry buried his face in his hands. “It was supposed to be romantic and cheerful.”
“It was adorable,” Ginny said through tears of laughter. “Tone-deaf, but adorable. If my mom had heard it though… oh my merlin.”
Theo grinned. “You two might actually be worse than us.”
Hermione, cheeks pink from wine and laughter, took her turn. “Alright. Blaise. Truth or dare.”
“Truth,” he said immediately.
She narrowed her eyes. “Coward.”
“Pragmatist.”
“Fine,” she said, smirking. “Who’s your best secret keeper between Pansy and Draco?”
Blaise didn’t hesitate. “Myself.”
The whole group burst into laughter.
Theo clapped him on the back. “Honest man.”
Draco raised a brow. “Typical Zabini answer.”
Pansy smirked. “And that’s why we get along.”
“Last one,” Ginny declared, cheeks flushed with wine and glee. “For the birthday girl—truth or dare?”
She pointed at Hermione.
Hermione groaned. “Again?”
Ginny nodded, wickedly.
Hermione sighed. “Fine. Dare.”
Ginny’s grin widened. “I dare you to stand up, look at both your husbands, and tell us—honestly—which of them you’d trust more to plan your next surprise.”
Draco folded his arms. Theo smirked. The room held its breath.
Hermione stood, pretending to think deeply. “Theo,” she said at last.
Theo looked smug. “Because I’m so thoughtful?”
“Because,” Hermione said sweetly, “Draco’s surprises tend to involve international travel and mild panic attacks about the luxury level on arrival.”
Draco laughed. “You love my surprises.”
“Sometimes.”
Theo grinned. “Point for me.”
Hermione sat back down, smiling at both of them. “But in fairness… I trust you both. Just in very different ways.”
And for a quiet moment—amid the laughter and empty glasses—the air softened. The teasing gave way to something gentler. Something real.
The game drifted apart eventually.
The triad sat close on the couch as the others drifted into conversations—Hermione leaning against Draco’s shoulder, Theo’s hand resting against her knee. They didn’t need to speak much; the hum of the bond between them felt calm again, peaceful.
Harry raised his butterbeer in a final toast. “To Ginny—may you always fly higher than the rest of us.”
“To Ginny!” they chorused.
She grinned, cheeks flushed with laughter and firelight. “And to all of you—for surviving adulthood this long with me.”
By midnight, the guests had begun to trickle out. Pansy and Blaise departed via floo in a burst of dramatic blue flame; Neville and Luna left hand in hand, Luna humming something about starlight pudding.
Ron and Cho were last, waving as they disappeared through the front door. “Same time next year Ginny, I’m expecting calzones too next time!,” Ron called.
Theo nodded. “Less politics, more pizza toppings.”
They gathered their belongings, and made for the floo together, smiling and happy.
They didn’t know that peace had just taken its last breath before the storm.
Notes:
A break in the case about to come....
Chapter 183: Twenty-Days
Chapter Text
It had been twenty days since the last new case.
Twenty days since Theo’s emergency owl had arrived in the middle of the night.
Twenty days since any student, adult, or child had woken up hollow-eyed, their magic gone.
For once, the wizarding world had exhaled and started to relax again..
At Nott Manor, the triad had almost learned how to breathe again.
The mornings had become simple — breakfast in the garden, Hermione working on proposals for the new employment act and pre-reading some fall charms texts, Theo on late morning healer training shifts, Draco alternating between Ministry meetings and stubbornly protective domesticity.
Each evening felt like a balm. Books, wine, shared laughter.
Sometimes they stayed up late enough that even the wards seemed to hum contentment.
Hermione had begun to think, perhaps the danger had passed, that somehow whoever was causing it had given up, died, or been captured for a different crime.
Then came the owl.
The evening of August 17th was soft and violet — one of those late summer nights that still carried the warmth of afternoon. Hermione was reading in the parlor when the sharp crack of apparition outside startled her.
Theo’s voice rang through the corridor. “Hermione? Draco? We’ve got a problem.”
She was on her feet instantly, heart already sinking. “What happened?”
Theo strode in, still wearing his healer robes, a small scroll clutched in one hand. His expression — tight, controlled — said everything.
Draco followed from the hall, sleeves rolled, tie loose. “Tell us.”
Theo handed him the scroll. “St. Mungo’s. A new case. Not a student.”
Hermione froze. “An adult?”
Theo nodded grimly. “Thirty-eight. Pure-blood. No history of illness. Magical core readings: zero.”
The quiet that followed was suffocating.
Draco’s jaw tightened. “Who?”
Theo hesitated. “Cody Travers.”
Hermione’s mind raced — an old family name, one of the surviving pure-blood lines that had fled the country during the last war.
“Merlin,” she whispered. “If this is spreading to adults like that, then everything changes.”
Draco’s expression darkened. “It also changes who’s paying attention.”
By morning, chaos had already returned to the Ministry.
Hermione and Draco arrived early, hand in hand but tense, greeted by the sight of memos flying so thick through the corridors they looked like flocks of startled birds.
Inside Kingsley’s office, Harry was already waiting, sleeves rolled up, face drawn.
“Travers collapsed at a private business dinner last night,” he said, sliding a report toward them. “Witnesses say he’d been complaining of dizziness for two days. But he wasn’t even in a public place for the last week, just at his own manor. By the time Healers got to him, his core was undetectable.”
Theo arrived moments later, exhausted but steady. “I saw the readings myself. It’s the same magical signature — or lack thereof. Whatever’s happening, it’s not limited by age, blood, or location anymore.”
Hermione took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. “So the theories about public spaces being the source—”
“Gone,” Harry said. “And with Travers, the Wizengamot’s going to start screaming for immediate answers.”
Draco folded his arms, every inch the Malfoy heir again. “They’ll also start demanding suspects.”
Kingsley nodded gravely. “And scapegoats.”
By noon, the Daily Prophet had its headline:
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
PUREBLOOD BUSINESSMAN STRUCK BY CORE-DRAIN CURSE — MINISTRY CONFIRMS CRISIS CONTINUES
By Celestina Fane, Senior Correspondent
In a shocking turn of events, prominent pure-blood Cody Travers was admitted to St. Mungo’s late last night after reportedly losing all trace of magical ability.
This marks the latest known case of unexplained magical-core depletion — and the third among adult wizards.
Sources inside the Department of Mysteries confirm that Minister Shacklebolt has reactivated the crisis task force to explain the case.
A Ministry statement urges calm, assuring the public that “no evidence yet points to more than an isolated incident” and that “public spaces remain safe with vigilance”.
Unnamed Wizengamot officials, however, are calling for “heightened monitoring” of magical interactions and renewed restrictions on experimental spellwork.
The Malfoy, Nott, Longbottom and Black families have reportedly reconvened their alliance of heirs to assist in stabilizing public morale.
“We will not allow fear to destroy the unity we’ve fought to build,” said Draco Malfoy when asked for comment outside the Ministry Atrium this morning.
…………………………
Hermione set the paper down, fingers trembling slightly. “They quoted you.”
Draco gave a humorless laugh. “At least they used the one sentence that wasn’t furious.”
Theo rubbed his temples. “I’ve had three reporters loitering outside the hospital already just this morning trying to ge tin pretending to be family of patients. And we still have no idea where it’s happening.”
That afternoon, the triad retreated to their library again. The once-soothing space now felt charged, restless.
Books floated open across every surface — runic theory, curse reversal, the physiology of magic. Hermione’s hair had slipped from its bun, tendrils framing her tired face as she read.
Theo leaned over a table, cross-referencing case notes. Draco paced like a caged thing.
“There’s no trace of any spellwork at all on Travers? Maybe even something to stun or confuse him?” Hermione asked.
Theo shook his head. “None. His wand wasn’t even nearby. Whatever’s happening seems ambient — environmental, maybe.”
Draco stopped pacing. “Environmental? Then why the delay between cases?”
“Could be exposure,” Theo said softly. “Could be something cumulative.”
Hermione rubbed her temples. “So we’re looking for something that builds up over time… but only affects magic users. He was at home though all week. How could he be exposed to something when he was in his own house?”
The words hung between them, heavy as thunderclouds.
By evening, they’d achieved nothing but exhaustion.
Draco sat on the couch, rubbing his eyes, when Hermione brought him tea. “You’ve been pacing for hours.”
“I’m supposed to protect people,” he said quietly. “And I can’t even protect you without knowing where this comes from.”
She knelt in front of him, setting the teacup aside. “Draco, this isn’t your fault.”
He laughed, sharp and bitter. “Isn’t it? My family’s name is on every cursed artifact list ever written. The moment this started, people looked to me.”
Theo crossed the room, his healer’s calm steady but strained. “They’re looking to all of us now. I don’t even think this is caused by a curse object.”
Draco looked up, eyes glassy. “And if it spreads? If it hits one of us next?”
Hermione took his hand, then Theo’s, pressing them together. “Then we face it as one.”
The air between them shimmered faintly — the bond pulsing with shared emotion.
For a moment, the ache lessened.
Night fell heavy and uneasy. Rain lashed the windows again, wind rattling the warded panes.
Hermione sat awake in the library long after the others had gone to bed, reading by wand-light.
The clock chimed midnight when a knock echoed faintly at the manor’s front doors.
Her wand was in her hand instantly.
Theo appeared on the stairs seconds later, hair rumpled, wand drawn. Draco followed, his expression dark and sharp.
Hermione opened the door — and froze.
A young Auror stood there, soaked and pale, holding a sealed envelope marked with the Ministry sigil.
“Urgent dispatch for Lord Nott,” he said shakily. “From the Department of Mysteries. They’ve… they’ve confirmed a new magical pattern.”
Theo’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of pattern?”
The Auror swallowed. “Sir… it’s spreading faster now. Two new cases — just tonight.”
Hermione’s stomach dropped. “Who?”
The Auror hesitated. “A Ministry clerk… and a Gringotts curse-breaker. Both adults. Both collapsed within an hour of each other.”
Draco’s hand tightened on Hermione’s shoulder.
The fragile calm of the last three weeks shattered like glass.
Notes:
*plays jaws music*
Chapter 184: International Food
Chapter Text
The next day the news only got worse. Theo had come home mid-shift to tell them Cody Travers had become the first victim to pass away. The cause was yet to be officially confirmed but appeared to be suicide.
“Guy like that… sees only a life of being a squib ahead. Thinks it’s not even worth living as a disgrace in his circles.” Theo softly explained to Hermione.
Draco agreed, “It’s likely his family would have disowned him in the long run if his core couldn’t be restored.”
“That’s… crazy.” Hermione gasped.
“The worst part is he hardly even gave us much information to use to figure this out… and now we can’t really cross-reference him with he others. We only really know he hadn’t been out in any major public places for a week leading up to it. Only had some dinner guests over a few days… and all of them have already been interviewed and cleared. We have no idea where the exposure could have come from. I’d like to check out the estate for anything residual but his families not allowing it.” Theo frowned.
Hermione agreed, “That’s pretty selfish of them to not want to help stop this from happening again.”
“There’s a rumor too, that there’s already been a new intake today, but I was headed off duty when I heard about it, so I can’t confirm,” Theo looked sad and frazzled.
“Actually just before you got here I got a letter about it…Curse-breaker from Gringotts, a Ministry clerk, and now today a pair of traders who’ve been moving between England and the continent,” Draco replied grimly, sliding the parchment across the table. “All collapsed within forty-eight hours of one another.”
Hermione felt her stomach sink as she read. The handwriting was unmistakably Kingsley’s, sharp and controlled even under pressure.
Your presence is requested at St. Mungo’s this morning.
The pattern is accelerating. The victims are conscious, but weak.
You, Hermione, and Nott will meet Potter there.
Theo met her eyes over his teacup. “Looks like our holiday from crisis is very officially over.”
She nodded quietly. “Let’s find out what we’re up against.”
The hospital was unusually silent when they arrived.
Healers moved quickly but quietly nodding to Theo, their robes whispering against the polished floors.
Every door to the Containment Wing bore new ward sigils, freshly glowing.
Harry met them outside the first room, looking drawn but focused. “They’re all stable—physically. But it’s the same story: no detectable core. It’s like… it was never there.”
Draco’s voice was low. “That’s all the same as before.”
Harry said grimly. “Come on. The curse-breaker’s awake enough to talk.”
They entered the room.
A man in his thirties lay propped up on white pillows, skin pale against the sterile sheets. His hair was streaked with gray dust, his eyes hollow.
When he looked up, Hermione saw the faint shimmer around his fingertips that meant magic trying to respond—and failing.
“Name?” Theo asked gently, pulling a chair beside the bed.
“Ronan Vance,” the man rasped. “Gringotts—curse-breaking team Delta.”
Hermione leaned forward. “Mr. Vance, when did you first notice something wrong?”
“Three days after coming home,” he said. “Felt… drained. Thought it was the flu. Then my wand stopped responding. Went back to the bank—they sent me here.”
“Where were you working before that?” Draco asked.
“Old tomb south of Cairo. Nothing unusual, just… residual protective wards. Basic stuff.”
Theo exchanged a glance with Hermione. “You didn’t handle artifacts directly?”
“Only the cataloguing,” Vance said weakly. “But… there was this one charm seal we couldn’t read. Ancient, but active. When we tried to open the chamber, the seal flared—then went dark.”
Hermione’s heart thudded. “And no one else on your team showed symptoms?”
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
Draco’s expression hardened. “Get his full team’s names to St. Mungo’s quarantine. Immediately.”
Harry nodded, already stepping aside to contact the Auror on duty.
The second room held a middle-aged witch with kind eyes and trembling hands.
Her name was Celia Parkhurst, a Muggleborn clerk in the Floo Regulation Office.
“I don’t understand how this could happen to me,” she said softly, clutching her tea. “I don’t work with cursed items or… anything dangerous.”
Hermione sat beside her. “Celia, can you tell us about the days before this started?”
The woman frowned in thought. “Just normal routines. Work… dinner with my sister. Oh—there was that department luncheon. The Minister stopped by for a moment, everyone shook hands. There was a toast, too—imported wine.”
Theo made a note. “Imported?”
“Yes,” Celia said. “From the continent. Some new trade partner, I think.”
Hermione’s fingers stilled on her notebook. “Do you remember where exactly it was from?”
“France, I think. Burgundy. The label had an odd symbol—like a spiral inside a sun.”
Draco’s gaze sharpened. “That’s not a normal vintner’s mark. That’s a rune.”
Harry exhaled slowly. “If it was enchanted—Merlin help us—it could’ve spread through half the Ministry.”
Theo shut his notebook. “We’ll have to trace that shipment. I imagine someone cast the spells on the bottles or glasses to check for curses though. A Ministry event… should have been following Ministry precautions. ”
Their final stop was a shared ward with two beds side by side.
The traveling traders, Marla and Deacon Clervain, looked even worse than the others—ashen, frail, eyes sunk deep as if the life had been leeched from their veins.
Draco murmured diagnostic spells as Theo spoke softly to them.
Marla’s voice was barely audible. “We sell potions… charms… jewelry. We travel between the markets—Belgium, Germany, France.”
“When did you start feeling sick?” Hermione asked.
Deacon coughed weakly. “Three days ago. Same time we unpacked. We’d just come back from Lyon.”
“Did you eat or drink anything unusual there?” Theo pressed.
“Street vendors mainly,” Marla whispered. “Pastries. Sweet, flaky… I remember because there was glittering sugar on top—like enchanted frost.”
Draco’s head snapped up. “You’re sure it was enchanted? Didn’t you run a diagnostic spell before eating?”
“Yes,” she said faintly. “It sparkled. We thought it was decorative. Honestly, all the Ministry messages said public areas in Britian… no one said anything about contimanated food abroad too, so why would we?”
Hermione’s stomach turned. “That’s not necessarily decoration—that could be containment dust. Used in transference rituals. Or maybe it was just a normal pastry, it’s impossible to know now.”
Harry’s jaw tightened. “So now food and drink are suspect internationally, not just here.”
Hours later, they sat in an empty Healer’s office, parchment and files spread across the table.
Hermione had gone nearly silent, her quill tapping against the wood as she tried to map connections that refused to align.
Theo poured another cup of cold coffee. “Curse-breaker from Egypt, floo clerk drinking imported wine, traders from Lyon… no common place, no shared contacts.”
“Except one thing,” Draco said quietly. “All of them handled or ingested something foreign. Artifacts, wine, food.”
Harry nodded. “You think it’s being distributed international via food?”
Draco met his gaze. “It’s too coordinated not to be.”
Theo rubbed his temples. “But how? No magical residue. No direct curse signature.”
Hermione looked up slowly. “Because maybe it’s not a curse. It could be a siphon.”
They all turned to her.
“A what?” Harry asked.
She stood, voice gaining strength as she spoke. “It’s an old theory in magical ethics—about tethering a person’s core to an external object to drain its energy over time. If someone’s developed a way to do that remotely—through enchanted consumables—it wouldn’t leave residue.”
Draco exhaled. “So you think someone’s collecting the stolen magic it’s ot just vanishing into nothing.”
Hermione nodded. “And if that’s true, they’re storing it somewhere. For something.”
The silence in the room was heavy.
Theo finally broke it. “Then the question isn’t who’s losing magic anymore—it’s who’s gaining it.”
Kingsley appeared at the door near dusk, weary but determined. “You four have done well today. St. Mungo’s is setting containment charms around the victims’ rooms. But this… this changes the scope.”
Hermione rose. “If there’s siphoning, we’ll need authorization to track ritual energy transfers. Across borders even. And other countries need to put out the same food cautions as we have too.”
“You’ll have it,” Kingsley said firmly. “But I need discretion. The public is frightened enough.”
Harry nodded. “We’ll keep it quiet until we’re actually sure. This is just our best working theory right now, but we don’t have evidence it’s right.”
Draco folded his arms. “Quiet doesn’t stop whoever’s behind it.”
Kingsley met his eyes. “No. But it might give you time to find them before they strike again.”
As the Minister left, the four of them exchanged a silent look—one of exhaustion, dread, and resolve.
Theo murmured, “It’s starting to feel like the war again.”
Draco covered her hand with his own. “And this time, we end it before it starts.”
Notes:
Thoughts on what's happening to all these folks?
Chapter 185: What Goes Unsaid
Chapter Text
The Ministry atrium was alive in the morning rush, voices echoing off enchanted ceilings painted like a cloud-swept sky.
Hermione adjusted her satchel, clutching the parchment Kingsley had just signed to grant her clearance to the Department of Mysteries, Theo hanging momentarily back to keep talking to Ministry members about his medical diagnostics.
Draco was back at Malfoy manor, once again trying to pour through the family text collections… this time looking for soemthing that might tie into their newest theory.
Her thoughts were already turning over arguments and hypotheses—possible explanations for siphoning without residue, the theory that magic could be consumed without leaving a signature.
She was halfway across the foyer when a familiar voice drifted through the air like a song.
“ Hermione! ”
Luna Lovegood stood beside the registration desk, a scroll of building permits clutched in her hand, her robes an improbable blend of lilac and sunflower yellow over her very round belly.
Her silver radish earrings swung as she turned, smiling in that distant, knowing way that made people wonder if she saw things that weren’t there—or simply more than they did.
“Luna!” Hermione smiled despite herself, slowing to meet her. “What brings you here?”
“Oh, just a permit for an expansion,” Luna said dreamily. “Neville wants to grow a new strain of moonlight orchids. They bloom when they hear laughter. We thought it would be fun for the baby.”
Hermione blinked. “When they hear— right.”
Luna tilted her head. “You look very serious today. Like someone about to walk into a storm on purpose.”
“I have a meeting with the Unspeakables,” Hermione said. “We think the core-draining cases might be caused by a siphon that isn’t showing magical residue.”
“That sounds rather dreadful,” Luna murmured. “But it makes sense, doesn’t it? If you pull too much light through a prism, you stop seeing the colors.”
Hermione frowned. “You mean… the siphon could be too strong to register?”
“Or too delicate,” Luna said serenely. “Sometimes the biggest magic hides best when it’s pretending to be small.” She glanced at Hermione’s hands, her eyes flickering toward the faint silver glow of the bond-rings still visible.
“You and your boys should be careful not to hide too much of yourselves. Magic doesn’t like secrets between hearts. Your still not entirely bonded, don’t be scared to fully share.”
Hermione opened her mouth to ask what that meant, but Luna was already smiling a goodbye, tucking her permit under her arm.
“Say hello to the Unspeakables for me. They never answer when I owl them.”
And just like that, she floated away toward the lifts, leaving Hermione standing in the crowd, unsettled and oddly comforted all at once.
The Department always felt colder than it should.
The descent spiraled her down through corridors that dampened sound and memory alike. At last, a black door shimmered into existence and opened without a touch.
Inside, the Unspeakable—tall, masked, his voice distorted by enchantment—waited beside a table filled with floating crystal phials and thin, wavering strands of light tethered between them like veins.
“Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott,” the voice said. “We’ve been expecting you from the Minister.”
Hermione took a steadying breath. “You’ve reviewed the St. Mungo’s data?”
“We have,” the Unspeakable said. “And what you’ve suggested… is possible. Theoretically. But it contradicts what we know about normal siphons.”
He gestured, and one of the glowing threads stretched outward, curling like smoke. “Traditional siphoning leaves a trace—burns in the aura, disruptions in the field, or a mark where the transference occurred. These victims are… clean. Too clean. They have no magical markings on their flesh. Their cores are simply gone.”
“Could it be a contained siphon?” Hermione asked, moving closer. “Something that transfers essence without the usual ritual marks?”
“In principle,” he replied, “but it would require power beyond anything recorded since the Founders. To drain a person’s core and erase the scar of extraction itself— that’s rewriting the laws of magical biology.”
Hermione’s brows knit. “Unless the act itself wasn’t extraction. What if it’s… redirection? A core invited to dissolve rather than torn away? Or what if it’s hiding, but not really gone?”
The Unspeakable stilled. Even through the mask, the pause was heavy.
“That would mean manipulation of the victim’s own will. A compulsion subtle enough to make their magic cooperate.”
“Exactly,” Hermione said. “Maybe something that makes the victim’s core believe it’s meant to unspool. Or something that encourages it to leave almost voluntarily? Could cores be… sentient?”
He nodded slowly. “Then the residue wouldn’t be external. That opens many theoretical possibilities. It could be psychic, emotional, something internal we don’t know yet. Cores on their own shouldn’t be sentient themselves, but as you see in the triad bond… they can have preferences.”
She felt a shiver trace her spine. “So it’s not just about dark magic—it’s about intent or maybe convincing the cores to go elsewhere?”
The Unspeakable’s head inclined. “We’ll test the victims for thoughtform interference and emotional resonance. This is highly unlikely to be the case… it’s purely hypothetical in nature. But… I must warn you, if this is true, you’re not looking for a simple curse. You’re looking for a magician who understands the human heart itself as well as the wand.”
Hermione nodded, throat tight. “Then we’ll need to be careful.”
“More than careful.” The Unspeakable leaned in. “If someone has learned to feed on magic this way, every act of fear, love, or loss around them could become a thread to pull. Protect your bond, Mrs. Malfoy-Granger-Nott. Especially now.”
When she stepped back into daylight an hour later, the noise of the atrium felt too bright, too ordinary. Wizards hurried past clutching parchment, fireplaces roared, and somewhere above, the fountain’s golden phoenix sang its silent song.
Hermione looked down at her faintly glowing ring, thinking of Luna’s words—magic doesn’t like secrets between hearts—and the Unspeakable’s warning echoing behind them.
She squared her shoulders, the determined glint of the old war-Hermione stirring beneath her calm. Whatever this siphon was, whoever was behind it—they were going to find them.
That night the manor was quiet in that way old houses are quiet—settled, listening. A late summer rain scraped the windows, then softened, leaving the orchard smelling like green apples and wet bark.
They didn’t bother with the formal dining room. Hermione set a tray on the low table in Theo’s private parlor—soup she hadn’t tasted while stirring, bread torn by hand, a pot of mint tea still sighing steam.
Theo dropped into the corner of the sofa with the bone-deep posture of someone who had been bracing all day.
Draco didn’t sit at first—he paced, jacket off, sleeves unbuttoned and pushed to his elbows like he’d run out of places to put his tension.
Hermione waited until he passed behind the sofa and brushed her fingers to his sleeve in passing. He stopped. The smallest concession, but he stopped.
“Eat,” she said gently. “Both of you.”
Theo huffed a tired laugh. “Bossy.”
“Alive,” Draco corrected, finally lowering himself on her other side. “That’s the word.”
They ate because she asked. Quietly, without pretense, the way people who’ve seen hospital corridors all day eat: gratefully, mechanically, then a second time because the body remembers it needs warmth. When the bowls were empty, Theo leaned back and stared at the ceiling beams.
“‘Siphon,’” he said, tasting the syllables. “I kept hearing it all the way home. It fits… and I hate that it fits.”
“It’s elegant,” Draco said, which in his mouth was an indictment. “And it’s cowardly. Outsource the crime to a pastry cart.”
Hermione tucked one leg beneath her. “If I’m right, there’s a central vessel somewhere receiving the transfers if they’ve figured out how to make it work properly—something big enough to anchor a ritual net across borders. You can drain a core slowly without setting off alarms if you scatter the intake to a slow drain. It’s… horrifyingly clever.”
Theo turned his head. “Then the way through is the vessel. Find it, we find them.”
“And we don’t know where to begin,” Draco said, jaw tightening. “The wine, the sugared pastry, whatever was on that tomb seal— none of those follow-ups resulted in leads. Nothing was amiss when they were looked at more.”
Hermione looked at both of them, felt the tug in her chest that was not merely worry, not merely love—an echo she had learned to listen to.
The bond—thin silver threads of awareness—warmed with the shape of their emotions: Theo’s restless calculation, Draco’s contained fury; both threaded with the same quiet fear.
She set her teacup down. “We’ll make a new map. Tonight. No heroics—just minds and parchment. We’re better together than anything this is.”
Draco’s mouth softened. “Bossy,” he echoed, but this time it sounded like relief.
They cleared the table, spread parchment, pinned it with candlesticks. Hermione drew three circles—Egypt, Ministry, Lyon—then sketched faint rivulets outward: supply chains, import permits, market routes.
Theo added healer symbols for symptom onset, course, failure points; Draco wrote names with a calligrapher’s precision—Gringotts contacts, portmasters, the trader network’s fixers.
“What if the common path is customs?” Theo mused. “Things touched en route—warehouse staff, inspectors—anyone who handles a lot of some things and a little of everything.”
Draco tapped the parchment above the word permits. “Add the Department of International Magical Trade. If someone slipped enchanted stock into legitimate shipments, they either bribed a clerk or replaced paperwork.”
Hermione circled both, then drew a diamond around them. “Paper leaves a trail. Good. And the pastry dust—containment powder used in transference. Could be bespoke, but the sparkle they described makes me think it was dressed up to pass for edible glitter. Look at suppliers who sell to both apothecaries and high-end patisseries. Even though the pastries checked this morning weren’t with it… doesn’t mean an earlier batch couldn’t have been contaminated.”
Theo watched her hand move and, without comment, slid his fingers under her wrist to steady the page.
The touch was practical; the bond thrummed with something not practical at all—gratitude, the warmth of being met mind-for-mind after a day of horror.
Draco noticed.
Hermione felt him notice—an almost-electric awareness that sparked, then softened, and for once the last few days did not turn inward and brittle with all their anxieties.
He reached for the inkpot, refilled her quill without being asked, and when his knuckles brushed hers, the bond flared very gently, like a lantern turned up a notch.
They worked in murmurs and fragments. The rain returned. Midnight crept close.
When they finally leaned back, the page was no longer a mess of isolated circles but a lattice—lines and logic, guesses with teeth.
Theo blew out a breath. “It’s ugly—but the lattice gives us asks for Kingsley in the morning. Customs rosters, import logs, catering contracts, and—Merlin help me—pastry wholesalers.”
Draco glanced between them. “And while the Ministry churns, we could quietly speak to Gringotts about that tomb seal. They won’t like it. But they will like international panic less. Let’s write them.”
Hermione nodded, rubbing the ink smudge from her middle finger. “I’ll draft the letters before bed.”
“Bed,” Theo said, the word bone-tired, fond. “Radical concept.”
They didn’t disperse.
No one suggested it; no one stood.
The parlor fire had burned to a steady ember-glow that made the shelves look like old forests.
Theo tipped sideways until his shoulder found Hermione’s, the weight of him a question. She answered by leaning in. Draco’s arm lifted almost absently, then anchored along the back of the sofa behind them, a fold of warmth that felt like a vow without words.
“I keep thinking of the kids who may not have magic to grow old with,” Theo said quietly. “If someone is harvesting magic, for what? A weapon? A ritual? A person?”
Hermione closed her eyes. “We have to remain positive, we need time to stop it.”
“We don’t know that,” Draco said, but his voice was softer than the words. “We don’t know anything except that we are now very interesting to anyone who likes power.”
Hermione felt the flex of his fear through the bond—sharp, protective, alive. S
he turned, reached across Theo, and set her hand to Draco’s forearm where it rested along the sofa’s back. He looked down at her hand, then at her.
“I’m here,” she said.
He nodded once, like accepting a command from a general he trusted. “I know.”
Theo’s thumb was moving—just a slow absent stroke against the seam of her sleeve, a soothing he perhaps didn’t know he was offering.
Hermione recognized it for what it was: the way Healers tell panicked bodies to come back. She laced her fingers with his, let the bond carry what the mouth did not, gratitude.
The room settled around that.
“Will you—” Draco broke off, frowned, tried again. “If anything about this starts to feel wrong—if you feel anything off through the bond—you say it outloud. I don’t know they won’t come for something so special.”
“I will,” she said.
He looked at Theo. “You too.”
Theo’s mouth quirked. “I am constitutionally incapable of shutting up about my feelings. Of course if it felt weird I’d say something.”
“True,” Draco said, dryness hiding relief. “Infuriating.”
Sleep, when it came, only agreed to a compromise. T
hey rose once, without speaking, as if the same thought had flickered through three heads. Hermione pulled on Theo’s oversized cardigan, Draco a black sweater; Theo grabbed a blanket.
They stepped out to the covered conservatory that faced the orchard, where the rain had pulled silver threads through the dark.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, the three of them under the old beams, listening to the soft drum of water on the lawn.
Hermione inhaled the wet grass, the smell earthy and rain.
“Do you remember,” she said, voice low, “the night by the Black Lake in eighth year—the first time I said I didn’t know where I’d go after school? The world felt… big and empty. And then it didn’t.”
Theo’s smile was a line of light in profile. “I remember.”
Draco’s fingers found hers again. “I remember not understanding when Astoria died how I’d ever be allowed to have this,” he said simply. “And then being told by the universe that I was… required.”
Hermione huffed a soft laugh. “We do have a bureaucratic star-crossedness.”
“Tragically sexy,” Theo murmured.
She leaned her head on his shoulder. Draco leaned his temple to hers. The bond hummed.
“Let’s be very clear,” Draco said, his voice the calm of decisions already made. “We will not be frightened apart. Whoever is building this siphon, if that’s what it is, whatever they intend—it will not be permitted to take us first.”
“Seconded,” Theo said.
Hermione squeezed their hands. “Carried.”
They went back inside when the chill began to nibble at their ankles. Draco locked the windows with a precise flick; Theo dimmed the sconces to a warm dusk.
“Our room?” she asked, unsure why she asked; they knew the answer.
“For sleep,” Draco said, like a promise, like a boundary he would protect on nights when the world wanted too much.
“For sleep,” Theo echoed, and held her gaze a heartbeat longer, an entire language in that glance.
In the suite, she curled between them under the weight of quilts that smelled faintly of lavender.
Theo’s breathing evened faster than he knew; Draco’s tension bled out by degrees as he slept.
Hermione lay awake a few minutes longer, watching firelight shiver against the carved wardrobe, listening to the rain gentling toward silence.
The bond was a quiet chord between them—three notes distinct, held in the same hand.
“Goodnight,” she whispered into the dark, not sure to whom.
Two squeezes answered—one at either hand.
Sleep finally came, not as surrender but as a strategic truce. The map on the parlor table would be waiting in the morning. So would the world.
For tonight, the house held them. And they held each other back, the bond humming.
Notes:
Why does Luna think their bond isn't fully sealed? Comment!
Chapter 186: Magic Stollen
Chapter Text
The morning light slanted across the manicured hedges of the Malfoy gardens, warm and deceptive against the chill that always lingered here—a kind of inherited stillness of the Dark Lords residence.
The roses Narcissa tended herself were in perfect bloom, their white petals edged faintly with green, a reminder of the family colors. A silver tea service floated between them on command, setting itself down atop a small wrought-iron table.
Draco poured the first cup for his mother—out of habit, out of reverence—and Hermione followed suit, sitting gracefully across from Narcissa. The soft clink of china seemed to echo in the silence that followed, until Narcissa finally smiled her cool, careful smile.
“It’s been far too long since I’ve had you both to myself,” she said, voice silky but edged with something sharper. “You’ve been quite the subjects of attention lately. My friends in Wiltshire talk of nothing else—every dinner party, it’s all ‘the Triad this, the Triad that.’
I can hardly read the Prophet without seeing you three on the front page.”
Draco made a low sound in his throat that was half amusement, half irritation. “They’ll get bored eventually.”
“I doubt that,” Narcissa murmured, stirring her tea once before setting the spoon aside. “It isn’t every generation that sees a bonded triad—least of all one involving a Malfoy, a Nott, and a Granger.”
She looked directly at Hermione as she said it, tone polite but probing. “You’re making history, my dear. You must know that.”
Hermione smiled tightly. “We’re just… trying to make it work, Lady Malfoy. For ourselves first, and for the sake of stability. There’s nothing glamorous about paperwork and politics.”
Narcissa’s lips twitched. “Oh, don’t undersell yourself. You’ve done what most women never could—earned the Ministry’s blessing, and my son’s trust. That’s quite a feat.”
Draco shifted slightly in his chair. “Mother.”
“Yes, yes,” she said airily, waving one hand. “I know, darling. I’m prying. But you must forgive me—when one’s only child binds himself magically to two other people, one does wonder how the heart fits into it all. Hermione has already informed me you all love each other, I’m just making sure it still stands.”
Hermione took a sip of tea to hide her smile. “It’s not easy,” she admitted. “But we’re… learning each other. Growing together. The bond is stronger now than any of us expected it would be.”
That answer seemed to please Narcissa, though her sharp eyes lingered on Hermione for a moment too long—measuring, weighing. Then she turned toward Draco, her tone softening.
“And you, my love? You look tired. Has Kingsley been overworking you again?”
“Just busy,” Draco said evenly. “We’ve been… dealing with something at the Ministry, I’m sure you’ve seen the papers. A theory about the core drains.”
Narcissa’s brows lifted delicately. “Ah yes. The tragedy in the papers. The children and the curse-breaker. Ghastly business.”
“That’s one word for it,” Draco muttered. “We think it might be deliberate. A siphoning spell—something that drains magic itself without leaving a trace. Hermione’s been working with the Unspeakables. There’s talk of it being ritual in nature.”
The teacup paused halfway to Narcissa’s lips. “A siphon?” she repeated. “I’ve heard of such things in theory, but… nothing so subtle.”
“That’s what makes it so dangerous,” Hermione said. “There’s no mark. No aura residue. The victims are simply… empty.”
Narcissa set her cup down carefully, the faintest frown creasing her brow. “And you think this could be organized? Intentional?”
Draco nodded. “We’re almost certain. But we don’t know who exactly, or how widespread it is. Which brings me to something I wanted to ask you.”
She turned to him expectantly.
“In either war,” he began slowly, “did you ever hear the Dark Lord—or any of his inner circle—talk about anything remotely like this? Anything about stealing or reclaiming magic from others?”
Hermione’s fingers tightened around her cup, watching Narcissa closely.
For a moment, the older witch’s expression softened—not with nostalgia, but with the haunted familiarity of old ghosts.
“No,” she said at last, voice quieter now. “Not in the form you’re describing. Voldemort—” She stopped herself, lips pressing together at the name, and then continued more carefully, “—he was never subtle. His methods were about domination, destruction, not… redirection.”
She looked down at her tea for a long moment, then back up at them both.
“But the idea of what you’re describing… yes. It existed. That rhetoric was everywhere. The whisper that Muggle-borns had somehow stolen magic that rightfully belonged to pureblood lines. That the world had fallen out of balance because of it.”
Hermione swallowed, a familiar ache tightening in her chest. “So he believed magic was finite.”
“Precisely.” Narcissa’s gaze was steady now, sharp as glass. “He used to say the same thing often—that purity was power, and that the corruption of blood meant the corruption of magic itself. He wanted to reclaim what he thought had been stolen by wiping out muggles. Perhaps,” she added, her tone heavy with irony, “someone out there has taken that madness and refined it. Made it efficient. More about taking back rather than destroying.”
Draco leaned back, exhaling hard. “Merlin. I’d hoped it was something new—something we could fight without dredging up the past.”
“The past never stays buried, my dear,” Narcissa said softly. “You of all people should know that.”
A silence stretched among them, broken only by the hum of summer insects.
Hermione reached across the table without thinking and brushed her fingers over Draco’s wrist—just a brief touch. The bond hummed faintly, a soothing thread through the tension.
Narcissa noticed, and though her expression didn’t change, her eyes softened. She poured herself another cup of tea, more quietly this time.
“I’ll make a few discreet inquiries,” she said. “Among the older families. If any of them have heard whispers like this, I’ll know soon enough.”
Draco inclined his head. “Thank you, Mother.”
She smiled faintly at both of them, then said, with that familiar slyness that so often cloaked her concern, “And in return, you can tell me whether the manor’s sitting room is going to need a nursery sooner rather than later.”
Draco groaned, Hermione flushed scarlet, and Narcissa merely sipped her tea, looking deeply satisfied.
“Ah,” she said sweetly, “so that’s a not yet. I’ll take it as progress.”
And for the first time that week, Draco laughed—tired but genuine—as the sun dipped behind the hedgerows and the roses shone white in the fading light.
That evening, the dining room at Nott Manor was full again, but the atmosphere was warmer than the week’s tension would have suggested.
The long table had been shortened to half its length for intimacy, draped in dark green linen, and the fire burned low and steady in the grate.
A vase of hydrangeas—Hermione’s quiet attempt at normalcy—sat in the center beside a decanter of wine that Blaise had brought “because Malfoy’s cellar has gone too predictable.”
Pansy, radiant and sharp-tongued as ever at two and a half months pregnant, had already claimed her seat and her glass of sparkling alcohol free elderflower cordial.
Her bracelets chimed whenever she gestured—which was often with the amount of animated hang gestures she’d bene making complaining about how many times at night she had to throw-up thanks to ‘Blaise’s spawn’.
Hermione brought in the last dish—roast lambchops with lemon and thyme—and set it beside the salad Theo had made earlier that afternoon after rounds.
Draco poured the wine; Blaise twirled his glass, appraising.
“So,” Pansy said with a wicked grin, “who’s ready to talk about cursed pastries and political doom over dinner?”
Theo groaned softly, earning a smirk from Draco. “Leave it to you, Pans, to make that sound like a party theme.”
She smiled sweetly. “Darling, if anyone can make magical catastrophe fashionable, it’s me.”
Hermione finally sat down across from Blaise, quill and parchment already at her elbow despite Draco’s pointed look.
“We need to understand how international magical imports actually move,” she said. “If cursed or enchanted items—or food—are entering the system undetected, how could that happen?”
Blaise dabbed his mouth with his napkin, thinking. “You’re assuming it’s one point of failure, not several,” he said.
“Every shipment—whether from the Continent or beyond—passes through at least six checkpoints. Export inspections, transport charms, port authority, customs verification, internal Ministry records, and—if it’s food—agricultural spell checks. That’s before it even lands in a shop.”
Theo whistled low. “So, six chances to miss a siphoning charm. That seems like a lot of negligence if it’s true… or a lot of greased palms.”
“Six chances to tamper,” Blaise corrected. “If someone’s smart, they’d work through legitimate routes. Embed the siphon component into goods that are already enchanted—self-cooling wine bottles, preservation charms on fruit, anti-spoilage wards on pastries.” He leaned back. “Then, it’s not an import problem—it’s a regulation one.”
Draco frowned. “Which would mean they’re using bureaucracy as a smokescreen.”
“Exactly,” Blaise said, pleased to have an attentive audience. “Think about it. Do you know how many crates cross the North Sea every day? Thousands. You can’t detect every micro-ward hidden in packaging runes.”
Hermione’s quill was flying. “Then whoever’s doing this isn’t just powerful—they’re organized if this is there method. They’re a whole network.”
Theo’s brow furrowed. “And international.”
“Almost certainly,” Blaise said. “Either that, or they’re inside the Ministry with clearance codes to approve documentation without inspection.”
Pansy sipped her cordial with exaggerated innocence. “So basically, you’re all saying we’re doomed.”
Draco gave her a look. “You’re glowing with maternal optimism.”
“I’m glowing because of hormones and charm-enhanced highlighter, thank you,” Pansy replied. “Don’t mistake that for faith in bureaucrats.”
Hermione laughed softly, grateful for the levity even as she scribbled another note.
When the plates were cleared and replaced with bowls of summer peach pudding and whipped cream, the conversation deepened.
Theo looked at Blaise. “If cursed stock is moving through legitimate routes, we need the list of all international traders tied to the pastry imports, the wine shipments, and anything linked to magical foods.”
Blaise raised an eyebrow. “You do realize that’s several thousand names.”
“Then we start with ones who’ve changed shipping partners in the last six months,” Hermione said. “That’s when the first case appeared.”
Pansy set her spoon down, expression softening. “You’re all talking like investigators again. It’s giving me déjà vu.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “It’s hard not to slip into that mode when the stakes are this high.”
“You just… look tired, love,” Pansy said, surprisingly gentle. “You’re carrying the world on your shoulders again.”
Draco’s gaze softened too. “We’re sharing the weight now,” he said quietly, looking at Hermione. “All of us. We will take car eof her.”
That was when the bond between the three of them hummed—soft, silver, felt more than seen.
Even Blaise paused, glancing between them with the faintest flicker of awe, as if he could sense it.
“Merlin’s beard,” he muttered, half-joking. “Every time I see you three together, I feel underdressed for the metaphysical.”
“Please, no more romantic propaganda,” Pansy said dryly. “I’m pregnant. I’ll start crying for no reason.”
Hermione smiled, cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and affection. “We’re just trying to make sense of everything.”
Pansy gave her a long, assessing look—the kind that cut past words. “Well, darling, if anyone can save the world and still remember to eat dessert with a smile, it’s you.”
Later, when the table had been cleared and the conversation drifted toward softer topics, the group moved to the parlor.
Pansy stretched out on the divan, Blaise perched beside her with a protective hand on her knee, while Draco poured brandy for the others.
Theo glanced at Hermione over his glass. “We’ll need to cross-check Blaise’s theory with Kingsley tomorrow. Maybe we can have the Auror Office quietly inspect imports before public panic sets in. I’ll write Harry first thing.”
Hermione nodded. “And I’ll contact the Unspeakables again. If these siphons are embedded in enchanted packaging, they might pick up on resonance signatures.”
“Or,” Blaise said, “you could let me poke a few contacts in Amsterdam and Prague. The trade routes run through both.”
Draco smirked. “You mean your black-market friends.”
“Please,” Blaise said loftily. “They prefer the term unregistered consultants.”
Pansy chuckled, hand absently resting on her stomach. “Whatever you call them, just make sure our son grows up in a world where his magic stays his own.”
The room went quiet at that, for just a moment—soft, hopeful silence filling the air.
Theo raised his glass. “To the future—and keeping it intact.”
Draco clinked his against Theo’s. “And to the pregnant menace who still terrifies every waiter in Diagon Alley.”
“To me,” Pansy said sweetly, “and my impeccable taste in friends who might save the world again.”
They all laughed. The sound filled the manor’s high ceilings, echoing like fragile warmth against everything they’d seen.
And when the night finally quieted, Hermione caught Draco’s hand beneath the table, Theo’s fingers brushing hers on the other side—three points of light, steady in the dark, ready for whatever was brewing.
That night, they didn’t just go sleep, but spent the evening placating the bond with quiet, slow, loving devotion. By the time they drifted off, the triad was much too exhausted to have nightmares about the things to come.
Notes:
I know this got very plot driven the last few chapters, don't worry... alittle smut will come soon to hold you all over =P
Chapter 187: Dessert
Chapter Text
The sun was already high when the morning owls arrived, the kitchen of Nott Manor dappled in honey-colored light through the tall windows.
Hermione was halfway through a cup of tea when a familiar tawny owl swooped in, scattering a few crumbs from the table and landing neatly beside her plate.
“Harry’s office owl,” she murmured, untying the parchment from its leg.
Draco looked up from the other end of the table, half-dressed for the Ministry but still lingering over his coffee. Theo, already in summer linens and bare feet, was leaning against the counter, idly slicing strawberries for breakfast.
Hermione unfolded the letter. Harry’s handwriting was quick but legible, as always—confident strokes and the faint smudge of ink near the edge.
Hermione,
I’ve reviewed your theory about the import networks and shared it with the Auror logistics division. We’re combing through shipping records, both magical and Muggle-interfaced, for irregularities, but doing it quietly.
The Minister doesn’t want panic, and honestly, neither do I—people already think there’s a curse lurking in their morning tea.
We’ll handle this carefully. If you or Malfoy find anything concrete, tell me right away.
Stay safe—and for Merlin’s sake, take a break.
–Harry
Hermione exhaled softly, handing the letter to Draco, who scanned it with a frown before setting it down beside his plate.
“At least he’s moving,” Draco said. “Quietly’s better. If we start shouting about cursed imports, every idiot in Diagon Alley will go into lockdown.”
Theo hummed in agreement, popping a strawberry into his mouth.
“Then it’s settled. Today we don’t shout. Or research. Or strategize. Hermione your banned from thinking about siphons, curses, or anything that drains souls or sanity.”
Hermione blinked. “Theo, we can’t just—”
He grinned, utterly unapologetic. “Yes, we can. You’re forgetting I finally have a day off and you have a tendency to ignore the concept of rest. Consider this a healer-prescribed intervention.”
Draco chuckled as he stood, straightening his tie. “For once, I agree with him. The world will still be a mess in two hours.”
Theo pointed at him with mock severity. “You, my good man, are not off the hook. Ministerial duties are an acceptable exception, but the moment you return, I expect you to leave your Malfoy-level brooding in the foyer.”
Draco smirked, smoothing his cuffs. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Hermione smiled faintly at both of them, warmth threading through her chest despite the weight of recent days. “So you’re serious about this ‘no drain talk’ rule?”
Theo came around the table, leaning down just enough for his breath to stir her curls. “Two full hours,” he said. “Out in the orchard. I’m packing a basket, and you’re bringing nothing but your wand in case of bees to save me.”
Draco’s low laugh filled the room as he collected his case files. “Good luck enforcing that, Nott. She’ll last twenty minutes before mentioning the Unspeakables.”
Theo’s grin was pure mischief. “Oh, I’ve got ways of keeping her distracted.”
Hermione turned scarlet, and Draco left for the Ministry looking considerably more amused than he had in earlier that morning.
By late morning, the heat of summer had settled over Wiltshire like silk. Theo had picked a spot near the edge of the orchard where the shade from an old apple tree spilled across the grass in soft patches of gold and green.
A blanket spread beneath it, a basket beside, and a gentle hum of magic keeping the bugs away—Hermione had to admit, it was perfect.
The air was rich with the sweet, heady scent of fruit, the earthy tang of moss-covered stone walls, and the faint, lingering trace of blooming lavender from the nearby herb garden.
She arrived barefoot, hair loosely braided, her dress light and fluttering in the breeze.
Theo, sprawled lazily on his elbows, looked every bit the picture of summer indolence—shirt sleeves rolled, sunglasses charmed to dim the sunlight, a faint smile playing on his lips.
“You made sandwiches,” Hermione said, kneeling beside him and peeking into the basket. “And chilled cider. I’m impressed.”
“I’m a man of many talents,” Theo said with mock pride. “And before you ask, yes, the sandwiches are spelled not to get soggy. I know how you feel about damp bread.”
She laughed, settling beside him. “This is actually wonderful.”
“I told you,” he said, handing her a cup of cider. “Two hours of pretending the world isn’t unraveling.”
They clinked glasses. For a while, it was quiet except for the sound of distant bees and the whisper of the breeze through the trees.
Hermione lay back, staring up through the shifting canopy, feeling tension she hadn’t realized she carried begin to ebb.
Theo turned his head to look at her, his voice softer now. “When’s the last time you did absolutely nothing for a whole day?”
“Probably before Hogwarts,” she admitted with a small smile. “I’ve always been better at doing everything.”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling back. “You’d drive me mad if you weren’t so brilliant.”
Her laugh came easily. “And yet here you are, stuck with me.”
“Best decision I’ve made,” he murmured.
Their eyes met, and for a long moment, neither spoke. The bond thrummed faintly—warm, steady, intimate. Hermione felt his calm, his affection, even the thread of desire beneath it that neither of them acted on.
For that moment, it was enough just to feel seen.
Theo reached into the basket again, pulling out two glossy apples.
“Alright,” he said, tossing one lightly to her. “Here’s the game. Every time you accidentally bring up the case, you have to take a bite.”
Hermione arched a brow. “That’s a punishment?”
“You’ll see. These are magically sour.”
She rolled her eyes but played along, sitting cross-legged and biting into hers when she accidentally muttered something about Ministry regulations. She made a face; Theo laughed so hard he nearly spilled the cider.
They ended up sprawled on their backs again, watching clouds drift by and pointing out shapes—Hermione insisting one looked like a kneazle, Theo arguing it was clearly a puffskein. The laughter felt easy, natural, like beside the lake at Hogwarts in 8th year.
Theo’s voice was a low, faltering murmur, barely above a whisper, his hand hovering near her shoulder , “Love, this orchard’s got me thinking—all this quiet, just us, the air so thick with... with everything we are, has me thinking of everything I’m terrified to still show you of myself.”
His grin faltered, collapsing into a grimace, the bond flaring with his excruciating embarrassment, his eyes darting away in panic before forcing them back to hers , his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
“You’ve... you’ve shared some of your fantasies with me and Draco, love—things that made you blush, but you were so brave, so fucking brave.”
His hands fidgeted, one twisting the hem of his shirt until the fabric strained, the other clawing at his thigh, “I... I think I need to be brave too, need to share something with you, even if it’s... fuck, it’s so embarrassing. I’m a bit worried you’ll think I’m broken, think less of me... be put off”.
Hermione’s eyes widened with a fierce, aching love, her hand covering his trembling fist on “Theo—you being this open is important. We all need to trust each other, just remember how much I love you.”
Theo’s breath hitched, his cheeks burning hotter, his voice dropping to a hesitant, filthy whisper ,“Alright, love—don’t... don’t laugh, please, but... have you ever thought about pegging me?”
He watched her closely, the bond flaring with his vulnerability, his legs shifting restlessly, one knee bouncing frantically, his gaze flickering to the ground in panic before forcing it back up.
Hermione’s brow furrowed, her head tilting in genuine confusion, her voice soft but puzzled, “Pegging? Theo, I... I’ve no idea what you mean. Is that some Healer fantasy term I missed?” Her eyes searched his, the bond pulsing with her open-hearted curiosity.
Theo’s laugh was a choked, desperate sound, his face flaming, muffling a groan of mortification, “No, love—not a Healer thing. It’s... fuck, it’s when you’d wear a strap-on, a dildo, and fuck my arse with it.”
His stormy eyes darkened, his leg bouncing anxiously, “I’d be on my back or my knees, you thrusting into me, taking control. It’s... it’s about power exchange, love—me giving you everything, surrendering completely, letting you dominate me, own me in a way that scares the hell out of me but also makes me ache for you.”
His voice dropped, his hands fidgeting restlessly, one tugging at his collar now, “It’s not just the act—it’s the trust, the vulnerability. You in charge, me giving you my control, my heart, feeling you take me completely. I want it because... because with you, I feel safe enough to let you have more control and power. Draco—he fucks me, and it’s intense, it’s love, but it’s different. With him, it’s as male equals, it’s fire, it’s us meeting in the middle. With you... it’s you holding me, you seeing me at my most exposed, my most needy, letting me give you everything without fear of judgment. You’re my heart, Hermione—your strength, your compassion—it’s why I crave this with you, why it’s different than just filling this need with only Draco.”
Hermione’s eyes widened, her voice a breathless mix of surprise and soul-deep love, “Theo... gods, power exchange? You want me to... to dominate you, to take you like that?”.
Her hand squeezed his, the bond surging with her love and a trembling uncertainty, “I really have no idea how I feel about it, love. It’s new, daunting—taking control like that, holding your vulnerability. But... if it’s a fantasy you want, something that means this much to you, I’m not going to deny you at least trying it sometime.”
Her voice quivered, her eyes shimmering with love, “I want to understand you, Theo—want to give you this, to love you in every way, even if its new for me too.”
“Fuck, love—you’re open to it? That’s... that’s everything to me, more than I dared hope. I was nervous you’de think it was really weird, especially because of Draco already physically providing this already.”
The bond flared with his love, “It’s about us, love—you holding my heart, my control, me trusting you with everything. Doesn’t have to be now—just knowing you’d try, that you’d take me... it means you see me.”
Hermione’s voice was soft, “Theo—love you, if it’s what you need, we’ll try it.”
Her eyes shimmered with affection, “Just... go slow with me, like you always do. I want to understand it, to make it good for you, to hold you like you hold me.”
They leaned closer, their foreheads touching, the bond a radiant, love-soaked embrace, their hearts bound in their tender, vulnerable intimacy.
Eventually, she turned her head toward him, her voice quieter. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For reminding me I’m still a person outside of all this chaos. That we’re all still us underneath too.”
Theo reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “That’s what we promised, isn’t it? To live in the moments that feel right.”
She squeezed his hand gently, the bond humming like a heartbeat between them.
By the time Draco returned that evening, the orchard was quiet again.
Hermione and Theo were sitting side by side on the back steps of the manor, half-finished mugs of tea beside them. The sun was getting low, gilding everything in amber.
Draco’s footsteps on the gravel made them both look up. He looked exhausted, but there was something resolute in his posture—a faint gleam of hope in his eyes.
“Kingsley’s agreed to push for cooperation with France, Germany, and Italy,” he said. “We’ll start cross-referencing import data by Monday.”
“That’s good,” Hermione said, standing. “Real progress.”
“Progress and politics,” Draco muttered. “But we’ll take it.”
Theo got to his feet, stretching. “Well, I made sure she didn’t think about any of it for at least two hours. She passed.”
Hermione smiled. “Barely.”
Draco chuckled, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles—a rare, soft gesture. “You two look like you’ve spent the day in a painting.”
Theo grinned. “Draco... love, earlier in the orchard with Hermione, I... I told her something, something I’ve been carrying for a while, something that’s been eating at me.”
His grin faltered, “You’ve... you’ve seen me at my most open, mate, but this... this is different, this was something I was worried might change how she sees me for asking for.”
Draco’s silver eyes widened with concern, his hand reaching for Theo’s, squeezing gently, “Theo—what is it? You know you can tell me anything, no judgment, never.”
Theo’s breath hitched, “Alright, mate—don’t... don’t laugh, please, but... I asked Hermione if she’d ever consider pegging me.”
He observed Draco carefully, “It’s not just the act—it’s the trust, the vulnerability. Her in charge, me giving her my control”
Draco’s eyes expanded, then darkened with a storm of emotions—shock, arousal, and a fierce, possessive love that made his cock twitch violently, his voice a low, filthy growl thick with desire, “Fuck, Theo—you want our Granger to fuck your arse? To take you like that, own you completely?”
His hand gripped Theo’s thigh, his cock hardening, “That’s... gods, that’s so fucking hot, mate—your vulnerability, giving her that power, trusting her with your soul.”
His eyes flicked to Hermione, blazing with adoration, “And you, love—open to it? Fuck, you’re perfect, taking his heart like that.” His voice cracked, the bond surging with his love and a raw, exposed need, “I’m... I’m in awe of you both, baring yourselves like this. Theo, it’s not weak—it’s the bravest fucking thing, giving her your control, your heart. I love you both so much.”
Theo’s cheeks flushed deeper, “Draco... I was so embarrassed, thought you’d think it’s weak, but... fuck, I need it, need her to have me like that.”
Draco’s hand squeezed his shoulder, “Weak? Mate, it’s the bravest fucking thing—giving her your control, trusting her with your soul.”
His eyes locked with Hermione’s, “Love, you holding him like that, taking his arse... gonna make me cum just thinking about it.”
Draco grinned, lightening the emotional mood, “Speaking of fantasies, you deviants... I’ve got one I’ve been jerking off to for a fewweeks, and we’re fucking doing it tonight.”
He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, “I want you as our dessert, Granger—gonna slather this perfect fucking body in chocolate, cream, fruit... and me and Theo are gonna lick every goddamn drop off your skin, suck it from your tits, your cunt, your arsehole, till you’re a sticky, begging mess for our cocks.”
Hermione’s breath caught in a sharp gasp, “Draco... fuck, yes—make me your dessert.”
Theo’s eyes softened with worshipful adoration, his voice a tender, reverent murmur, “My heart, you’re our goddess—every inch of you sacred, we’ll cherish you, taste you like the treasure you are.”
Draco grabbed them both roughly, popping them all into the suite, imeddiately helping each of them yank off their clothing, and summoning a variety of fruits, creams and desserts to sit on the bedside tables.
Theo’s fingers scooped a dollop of warm ganache, smearing it across Hermione’s breast in a thick, velvety swirl, the chocolate dripping in slow, obscene rivulets down her curves, “Your beauty, love—this chocolate on your skin, it’s an offering to you.”
Draco started at her neck, his tongue lapping the strawberry’s juice he’d poured there with a slow, deliberate slurp, sucking the skin hard enough to leave a blooming mark, his teeth grazing her pulse point, “Fuck, you little wife—your neck’s dripping with this juice, gonna mark every inch of this body.”
His voice was a filthy growl, his cock throbbing, pre-cum dripping onto the sheets as he dragged the strawberry lower, circling her nipple, painting it red with juice before sucking it into his mouth with a wet pop, “These tits—fucking made for my mouth, this berry juice mixing with your sweat, so delicious.”
Theo’s mouth descended on her other chocolate-smeared breast, his tongue swirling around her nipple in broad, reverent strokes, lapping it clean with long, worshipful slurps that echoed in the room, “My love, your breast is perfection—this chocolate melting on your sacred skin.”
His lips closed around the peak, sucking with gentle devotion, the pop soft as he pulled back, strings of chocolate and saliva connecting them, his tongue flicking the sensitive bud, mading her pussy clench.
“Theo—need more,” she moaned, her hips bucking.
Draco drizzled whipped cream in thick, swirling ropes across her belly, the cool dollop making her arch with a gasp, her pussy throbbing, then dragged a ripe strawberry through the cream, feeding it to her mouth first, their tongues tangling over the fruit in a messy, juice-dripping kiss.
He licked the cream from her navel with flat, broad strokes, his tongue dipping into the sensitive dip, circling slowly, then plunging deeper, “Your belly’s a fucking buffet, cream dripping into your cunt, gonna eat this hole till you’re begging for my cock to split it open.”
Theo smeared more ganache between her thighs, his fingers parting her pussy lips, the thick chocolate coating her folds in a glossy, obscene layer, dripping down to her arsehole, “My goddess, your pussy is divine—this chocolate on your lips, gonna have to clean you up.”
His tongue plunged into her pussy, lapping the chocolate-slick mix with tender, adoring strokes, teeth grazing her clit, sparking white-hot jolts, “Your essence, love—mixed with chocolate, it’s heaven”
His fingers thrust in alongside his tongue, curling against her G-spot with gentle reverence, as slick and ganache frothed, her pussy squirting a creamy-chocolate flood onto his chin, dripping down his neck.
Draco poured more cream over her mound, letting it cascade down her pussy lips, mixing with Theo’s chocolate, his tongue lapping the mess with broad, greedy strokes, “Fuck, this cunt’s a dessert bar, cream and chocolate dripping from you… so hot”
His fingers joined Theo’s in her pussy, four digits stretching her wide, the wet glide deafening, pumping relentlessly, “Cum for us, our sexy little dessert!”
Her orgasm crashed like a tidal wave, pussy shuddering hard around their fingers, squirting, her scream loud, “Draco—Theo—love you, fuck!”
Theo flipped her onto her flat back, his cock—piercing glinting with her slick—thrusting into her pussy without warning, the metal scraping her G-spot with every inch, “Take me, love, let me worship you inside.”
His hips moved with tender devotion, the slap-slap soft, “Your sacred cunt, love, so tight.”
Draco knelt by her head, his cock slapping her lips with a lewd wet thwack, “Open that mouth, Granger—suck my cock, gonna fuck your throat while he prays to your pussy.”
She took him deep, her throat clenching, pre-cum and slick coating her tongue as it dripped from her mouth.
Theo’s thrusts were loving, the piercing carassing her G-spot gently, “Cum for me, my goddess—let your pussy sing for me,” her pussy spasming repedatedly, “Theo—Merlin!”.
Theo spilled with a moan, “Hermione—my heart, so good!” cum overflowing back out her channel in pearly rivers mixed with dessert remnants.
Draco pulled from her mouth, taking Theo’s place, his cock slamming into her cum-filled pussy, the mix of Theo’s cum and slick frothing around their joining, “My turn, feel Theo’s load coating my cock!”
His hips pistoled with intense force, the slap-slap-slap deafening, her pussy trying to take him deeper, “Cum again, Granger—squirt this messy hole, show me how much you love being our dessert !”
Her orgasm came on command to him, “Draco—love you!”.
Draco growled, thrusting balls-deep once more, spilling scorching ropes, “Granger—fucking take my cum!” cum overflowing, dripping in sticky rivers down her thighs.
They collapsed, licking the last traces of dessert from her skin—Draco sucking cream from her nipples with filthy slurps, “These tits—still my favorite dessert,”.
And Theo lapping chocolate from her thighs with worshipful kisses, “Your body, love—my eternal altar.”
They kissed her with filthy, loving mouths, “Our perfect dessert,” the bond a radiant, indulgent embrace.
Notes:
Your welcome =P
Chapter 188: Towards Coordination
Chapter Text
The Burrow looked even more crooked and alive than usual that Sunday morning.
The smell of bacon, toast, eggs, baked ham, and Mrs. Weasley’s famous blackberry preserves drifted through the open kitchen windows, carried on the late-summer breeze that rustled the laundry line full of colorful robes.
Somewhere in the garden, gnomes scurried as if they knew better than to come near when a Weasley gathering was in full swing.
When the triad apparated at the edge of the garden path, the sound of chatter and laughter was already spilling out the open door. Hermione smiled, taking in the familiar chaos—shoes on the stoop, enchanted pans scrubbing themselves, and Molly’s voice floating out above it all.
“Come in, come in, loves! You’re just in time for brunch!”
Draco looked faintly alarmed by the cacophony, though he tried to mask it with a dignified adjustment of his sleeve. Theo just chuckled and leaned toward him.
“Relax, mate. No one’s ever died of too much friendliness.”
“Not yet,” Draco muttered, but Hermione caught the twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth before he followed her inside.
The kitchen table had clearly been expanded by several feet and still looked barely big enough. Harry and Ginny were already there, Ginny glowing with the easy warmth of being back home.
Ron and Cho sat a few seats down, looking relaxed and—Hermione noted with quiet satisfaction—more comfortable in their presence than they had been in months.
Percy was fussing over the teapot, Fleur and Bill were helping their daughter, Victoire, butter a mountain of pancakes, and George was telling something scandalous enough to make Angelina swat his arm with a dishcloth.
“About time you three showed up,” George said as the triad entered. “Thought the Ministry had chained you to the desks.”
“Practically did,” Theo said cheerfully as he pulled out a chair for Hermione. “But Hermione bribed them with reason and I bribed them with baked goods.”
Draco sat beside her, posture impeccable, but the slight smirk on his lips suggested he was enjoying himself more than he’d admit.
“Don’t mind us,” he said dryly. “We’re just here to observe how the other half survives brunch without constant reminders to keep elbows off the table, and the frown of family portraits.”
That earned a round of laughter—especially from Ginny, who poured him a cup of tea and said, “You’ll survive fine, Malfoy. Everyone does. Even Harry.”
Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Barely. Molly still tries to feed me like I’m fourteen and underfed.”
“You were,” Molly called over her shoulder, brandishing a frying pan. “And I still don’t trust you to eat properly when Ginny is on tour!”
Hermione giggled, leaning toward Draco. “Just eat what she gives you. It’s easier to surrender.”
“I’m surrounded by savages,” he whispered, but he was smiling when he picked up a scone.
Halfway through brunch, conversation turned—as it inevitably did—to current events. Percy, precise even as he passed the jam, cleared his throat.
“I trust all of you have seen the Ministry’s latest advisory? About the magic depletion? Absolutely dreadful. I’ve been reviewing trade compliance records myself—there’s talk of implementing stricter ward inspections.”
Theo nodded, setting down his mug. “That’s good. The fewer unchecked goods, the better. It’s not isolated anymore. The Unspeakables are certain someone’s engineered a system that doesn’t leave traces.”
George grimaced. “You’re telling me people are losing their magic, and no one’s got the faintest idea how? I would have thought by now they’de know exactly how and by who.”
“That’s about the shape of it,” Hermione said softly. “It’s deliberate. Not a random curse, not an accident.”
Fleur leaned forward, her silver hair catching the light. “Mon dieu. To lose one’s magic... c’est une mort lente. I would rather—how you say—lose my wand hand.”
“That’s what we’re trying to prevent,” Hermione said. “We’re close to understanding the mechanism. Once we know how it’s being done, we can attempt to counter it perhaps and find those repsonsible.”
Arthur, who’d been quietly buttering a roll, spoke up gently. “You’ll find it. You lot have a knack for saving the world when the rest of us are five steps behind.”
That earned smiles all around—and broke the tension just enough for Angelina to chime in, “So, Hermione, I hear you’re running a Muggle help center now? The Granger Center?”
Hermione brightened. “Yes! It’s going well, actually. We’ve been helping Muggle families navigate Hogwarts letters, explaining the basics of magical life. It’s rewarding.”
“That’s incredible,” Cho said warmly. “I wish something like that had existed when we were first at Hogwarts. My best friend’s parents nearly fainted when they first saw a levitating teapot apparently.”
Laughter rippled through the table again, even from Draco, who murmured, “They should be grateful it wasn’t a singing cauldron.”
“Don’t tempt George,” Ron said. “He’ll make one.”
After brunch, everyone drifted outside to the garden. Tables cleared themselves as Molly charmed the leftover dishes to hum contentedly in the sink.
Ginny and Fleur conjured a lazy parasol over the picnic table while Bill set up a makeshift hoop for a toddler-sized Quidditch game with Victoire, who shrieked with laughter every time the Quaffle went the wrong way.
Hermione sat beneath the shade tree, sipping lemonade. Draco was beside her, sleeves rolled up, helping Victoire charm the Quaffle to sparkle midair.
The image of him—careful, smiling faintly, coaxing magic into play—warmed her chest in ways she didn’t expect.
Theo joined her, balancing two glasses of butterbeer. “They’re starting to like him more,” he said quietly, nodding toward the Weasleys.
“I think so,” Hermione said softly. “He’s learning to like them, too.”
Theo leaned back in his chair, eyes following Draco as Victoire threw her arms around his neck. “He looks almost human when a kid hugs him.”
Hermione elbowed him lightly. “Theo! He’s always a human.”
“I said almost.”
Her laugh carried through the garden, light and unburdened.
As late afternoon painted the Burrow’s crooked rooflines gold, the family gathered once more around the picnic table. Molly refilled everyone’s glasses with homemade elderflower wine, and Arthur stood with a small, fond smile.
“To family,” he said simply. “Whatever shape it takes, however it grows—may it always find its way home.”
They all raised their glasses—Harry’s hand linked with Ginny’s, Ron’s arm around Cho, Theo’s shoulder brushing Hermione’s as Draco leaned in slightly closer.
“To family,” they echoed.
The laughter resumed, warm and alive, the air filled with flickering lanterns and the smell of Molly’s blackberry crumble cooling by the window.
For a few hours, the world outside—the Ministry, the curse, the fear—felt distant.
And when Hermione looked across the table, she saw Draco laughing with George over some absurd prank idea, Theo teasing Fleur about her accent, Ginny’s head on Harry’s shoulder, and Ron trying (and failing) to keep a straight face as Victoire enchanted his hair bright pink.
Here, in the Burrow’s backyard glow, they were just people again—flawed, funny, and, for this one quiet evening, at peace.
Three days later, the Ministry of Magic was humming with quiet tension.
The grand conference chamber—a circular room beneath the domed ceiling of the Department of Magical Cooperation—was already half-full when Hermione, Draco, and Theo stepped through the brass doors.
It wasn’t often that the Ministry called together everyone—Aurors, Unspeakables, trade officials, and department heads—all under one roof. That in itself spoke to how serious things had become.
The long obsidian table at the center gleamed under the enchanted skylight, and as the trio took their seats near the center, Hermione felt the faint hum of nervous energy in the air.
Kingsley Shacklebolt stood at the far end, conferring quietly with two senior Unspeakables cloaked in deep indigo. Harry, seated further down, gave them a quick, reassuring nod.
Draco’s hand brushed hers under the table—steadying, protective. Theo sat on her other side, quill already in hand, eyes sharp and focused.
“Let’s begin,” Kingsley said, his deep voice quieting the room. “We’ve all been running in parallel for weeks, and it’s time to lay out what we know—and what we still don’t.”
Harry was the first to stand. “The Auror Office has spent the last ten days reviewing every incident reported with missing magical cores.”
He paused, glancing around the table with a deep frown. “We’ve found no concrete physical link among the victims—no shared relatives, no singular locations, and no consistent exposure to a particular object, person, or spell. What is consistent is the complete absence of magical signature following the depletion. It’s as if their cores were never there.”
A low murmur spread across the table.
Kingsley nodded grimly. “Thank you, Harry. Unspeakables?”
One of the robed figures rose, their voice distorted slightly by the enchantments that cloaked their identity. “We’ve confirmed what Hermione Granger initially proposed—that this is not standard siphoning. Traditional siphon rituals leave scars on the soul and skin, and a distinct residue of magical transfer. None of these victims exhibit that. We’ve also ruled out natural core collapse, which has its own predictable magical echoes. What we’re seeing is… cleaner. Surgical almost.”
Theo’s quill paused mid-word. “Cleaner?”
The Unspeakable inclined their head. “Imagine pulling the roots from a tree without disturbing the soil. That is the precision we’re observing.”
A chill went through the room.
Hermione swallowed hard, then stood to speak. “I met with the Unspeakable Department privately last week, and I agree with their analysis. This level of subtlety suggests not just knowledge—but experimentation. Someone’s refining a method that removes magic without harming the physical body. That’s not just dark magic—it’s scientific malice.”
Kingsley’s gaze sharpened. “Do you have a working theory?”
“Yes,” she said. “If the drain isn’t happening through spellcasting or ritual, it could be happening through exposure—through a carrier medium. Food, enchanted packaging, or magical trade goods… maybe something else even.”
Draco rose beside her, a natural complement to her rhythm. “We’ve started investigating international supply chains for goods that circulate in both the Muggle and magical markets. Blaise Zabini’s analysis suggests that if this is a deliberate infiltration, it would take advantage of high-volume imports—potions ingredients, charmed edibles, preservation goods, anything consumed en masse.”
“Which,” Theo added, “would explain why no spell traces remain on the victims. They’re ingesting or handling something designed to bypass magical detection altogether.”
A stern witch from the International Trade Bureau cleared her throat. “We’ve done our own checks of all incoming shipments over the last six months. No contraband, no cursed cargo, no flagged anomalies.”
Draco’s voice was calm but cutting. “And how many inspections were done manually, rather than by automated charm relay?”
The witch hesitated. “Approximately twenty percent.”
Theo leaned forward. “So eighty percent of the shipments haven’t been touched by human inspection—just run through detection wards that might not register the siphoning charm if it’s woven inside standard preservation enchantments.”
The silence that followed said everything.
Kingsley exhaled slowly. “Which means this could have slipped through entirely legitimate channels.”
Harry spoke up again. “We can start working with the Auror network abroad—especially in France and Germany—to cross-check their import reports for the same window. If they’re seeing similar symptoms, we might confirm whether it’s truly international.”
Hermione nodded. “And if not, it narrows it down to something distributed primarily here.”
Kingsley’s gaze swept the room. “Good. We’ll establish that contact immediately.”
Draco’s face hardened. “So we were right. It’s likely a network, not a rogue individual with a vendetta.”
Kingsley nodded slowly. “That changes everything.”
The meeting stretched on another hour—departments coordinating strategies, Aurors planning inspections, Unspeakables preparing containment protocols. When at last the group began to disperse, Kingsley motioned for Hermione, Draco, and Theo to stay behind.
When the room finally emptied, he spoke in a quieter tone. “You three are to continue your independent coordination, but quietly. We can’t risk this leaking to the public. The moment the press learns that someone might be harvesting magic, panic will do more damage than the curse itself.”
Draco nodded grimly. “Understood.”
Kingsley’s gaze softened as it moved to Hermione. “You’ve done incredible work so far, all of you. But I mean it this time—take care of yourselves. Whoever is behind this… they’ll have noticed your involvement by now.”
Theo’s hand brushed Hermione’s back in silent agreement. “We’ll watch each other.”
Kingsley gave a single, grave nod. “Good. Because this isn’t just about dark magic anymore—it’s about power. And whoever wants to control that… won’t stop at just stealing magic.”
The three of them stepped out into the atrium, the hum of the Ministry filling the air around the golden fountain. For a long moment, they said nothing.
Then Theo muttered, “Surgical magic siphoning through trade routes. Resonance anchors hidden in trinkets maybe. Merlin’s bones.”
Hermione exhaled. “It’s deliberate. Organized. And if it’s connected to that rhetoric Narcissa mentioned—the idea of taking back magic—then this isn’t just science or greed. It’s dark ideology.”
Draco’s eyes darkened, his voice low and fierce. “Then we end it. Before anyone else loses their magic. Or worse.”
Hermione looked up at him, feeling the hum of their bond—a single, unified thread of resolve.
“Together,” she said softly.
And as they stepped into the green flare of the Floo, leaving the Ministry behind, none of them could shake the feeling that the pieces of something far older—and far darker—were beginning to move.
Notes:
hmmm.... still building the theory brick by brick.
Chapter 189: No Promises Just Faith
Notes:
Families are getting concerned as the fall term is about to start
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The Granger Center was bathed in warm sunlight, its large front windows letting in the hum of traffic mixed with the faint sounds of quills scratching parchment inside.
The wards glimmered faintly—charms to keep wandering Muggles without intention from noticing anything too extraordinary.
Inside, Hermione moved through the front hall with the ease of someone who had built this place from her dreams and determination.
Children’s charmed glittery drawings of broomsticks, owls, and misshapen cauldrons covered one wall, while a small stack of pamphlets labeled “So Your Child is Magical!” sat beside a bowl of lemon drops on the welcome desk.
Draco, decidedly out of place in his formal attire yet quietly steadfast, was reviewing parchment forms beside her.
His button down sleeves were rolled to the elbows, and though he’d muttered something earlier about “administrative tedium,” Hermione had caught the faint gleam of pride in his expression as he watched her speak to families.
“Next family is the Millers,” she said, glancing at the clipboard. “Muggleborn daughter—Eliza. Eleven years old. She got her Hogwarts letter last week.”
Draco gave a small, approving nod. “And they’ve heard the rumors, I take it?”
Hermione sighed. “It seems everyone has. But it’s important they hear the truth from us, not the papers.”
The door opened, and the Miller family stepped in—two Muggle parents and a small, freckled girl clutching a brand-new wand box to her chest. Her wide brown eyes flicked anxiously between the two waiting to greet her.
Hermione smiled warmly. “Mr. and Mrs. Miller, Eliza—welcome. I’m Hermione Granger, and this is my husband, Draco Malfoy. We’re so glad you came in today.”
Mr. Miller shook her hand, still looking uneasy. “Thank you for meeting us, Ms.—ah—Mrs. Malfoy. We just… well, we wanted to talk before we make any decisions about Eliza going to that school.”
Eliza’s fingers tightened around her wand box. “Mum, I want to go.”
Mrs. Miller put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We know, love, but we just want to be sure it’s safe.”
Draco gestured toward a sitting area in the corner, warded subtly for privacy. “Let’s sit,” he said, his tone softer than they expected. “We’ll answer everything we can.”
As they settled, Hermione leaned forward, her expression open and calm. “You’ve probably heard about children who’ve been… affected. I want to assure you—what’s happening is not coming from Hogwarts. The Ministry and our teams have investigated every part of the school. The danger isn’t there.”
“But we read,” Mr. Miller began hesitantly, “that it’s students losing their… their—”
“Their magic,” Hermione said gently, finishing for him. “Yes, and adults too. But not because of Hogwarts. We believe it’s tied to something external—something that affects both magical and Muggle spaces. We’re working to find out what. Hogwarts remains one of the safest places in the magical world. The wards there are ancient and powerful.”
Draco added, his voice low and sure, “I was one of the few allowed in during the investigation. If there were even a hint of danger on the grounds, the extensive teams there this summer would have found it. Your daughter’s far safer there than in the open world. She could get impacted staying home with you in a muggle space even.”
Mrs. Miller glanced between them, her brow furrowed. “But what if it gets worse? You can’t promise—”
“No,” Hermione interrupted softly. “We can’t promise nothing bad will ever happen. But I can promise that she’ll have professors, Aurors, and people like us working around the clock to make sure she’s protected. And that she’ll have a chance to grow into who she’s meant to be.”
Eliza’s small voice piped up then. “I want to learn spells. I want to see the castle.”
Hermione smiled. “You will. And I’ll be there sometimes too—I’ve agreed to occasionally fill in as needed for the charms professor. There’s a few days this fall I will be there. Maybe one day, I’ll see you in my classroom.”
That coaxed a small grin from the girl, and even her parents looked visibly soothed.
Draco leaned forward, tone almost conspiratorial. “If it helps,” he said, “Hogwarts has protective spells that guards against almost every known magical threat from outsiders. It’s older than any dark wizard alive today. The walls remember everyone who’s ever called it home. It looks after its own.”
Mrs. Miller’s eyes softened, and she reached for her daughter’s hand. “Alright. We’ll send her.”
Eliza’s face broke into a radiant smile. “Really?”
Hermione’s heart lifted as she nodded at the family. “Really.”
When they left, Draco exhaled, glancing sidelong at her. “You’re good at this, you know.”
Hermione smirked. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
By mid-afternoon, the Center buzzed with activity. A small crowd of magical parents had gathered near the noticeboard where flyers for “First-Year Orientation” and “Wand Safety Basics” were pinned.
Hermione moved from table to table, answering questions about Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and helping one anxious grandmother who was trying to understand how to owl her grandson at school without sendinga howler by mistake.
Across the room, Draco was leaning against the reception counter, quietly instructing a group of wide-eyed fathers on how to hire someone to ward their homes against accidental magic—teacups floating, doors slamming, and the occasional sudden indoor storm.
“No, Mr. Patellia, the key is intent,” he explained, wand twirling gracefully between his fingers. “Your son isn’t breaking the furniture on purpose. His magic responds to emotion. It’s more like a sneeze than sabotage. At his age, he lacks any control. That’s what they’ll be taught at Hogwarts.”
That earned chuckles from the group. Hermione, watching him from the corner of her eye, smiled to herself. There was something healing about seeing Draco—so long the product of privilege and pressure—calmly teaching nervous Muggles about controlling their children’s power.
When she joined him a few minutes later, he was finishing an explanation about accidental transfiguration.
“You’re rather good with them,” she said softly.
“I grew up watching people terrified of what they didn’t understand,” he replied, glancing at her. “I’d rather they not make the same mistake.”
She touched his arm, a wordless acknowledgment of the change he’d made—and the man he’d become.
By evening, the crowd had dwindled, and the Center was quiet again. Hermione closed the front desk while Draco extinguished the floating lanterns one by one.
“That was a long day,” she murmured, rubbing her temples.
He moved behind her, his hands brushing over her shoulders, easing the tension there. “You did good work today.”
“So did you.” She leaned back slightly into his touch, closing her eyes for a moment. “You know, when I dreamed this place up, I never imagined you’d be such an active part of it.”
He smiled faintly. “I didn’t either. But I can’t imagine you doing it without me coming too sometimes.”
Hermione turned, looking up at him with soft eyes. “Me neither.”
They stood there a while, framed by the fading golden light through the windows—the world outside uncertain, the future still shrouded in questions—but for that quiet moment, surrounded by warmth and purpose, they were exactly where they needed to be.
Notes:
Draco with kids... just kind of melts my heart a bit.
Thoughts on him and Theo as possible fathers?
Chapter 190: Evolution
Chapter Text
The boutique, Luxe Intime, was a hidden sanctuary of refined sensuality, concealed behind a warded façade off Diagon Alley that masqueraded as a quaint antiquarian bookshop, its true elegance unveiled only to those with the right connections—and a Malfoy name.
Inside, the salon was a haven of understated luxury: polished black marble floors veined with silver reflected the soft, golden glow of crystal chandeliers.
The walls were draped in deep indigo velvet, embroidered with subtle, sound-dampening runes that ensured absolute privacy, while glass cases displayed hand-crafted toys of obsidian, rose-gold, and enchanted silicone, their surfaces shimmering with latent magic.
The air was a delicate blend of sandalwood incense, jasmine oil, and the faint, clean scent of premium lubricants, the soft hum of a charmed harp in the corner weaving a soothing, intimate melody.
It was the morning of August 31, the final day of summer before Hogwarts students would return, and just a few days before Hermione’s own charms fall semester would begin.
Draco had arranged a private appointment at Luxe Intime, the wizarding world’s most exclusive sex toy emporium.
The owner, Vivienne, a poised witch with a knowing smile, had cleared the premises, leaving only the soft glow of the chandeliers and the faint clink of crystal as she prepared a private viewing tray.
Hermione stood in the center of the salon, her cream linen dress clinging to her curves, the fabric sheer in the light to hint at the swell of her breasts, her curls loose and wild, her brown eyes shimmering with a storm of curiosity, and nervousness.
Draco stood beside her, his tailored black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the scarred plane of his chest, his trousers hugging his lean hips, his silver eyes soft with love and a quiet, excited pride as he watched her, the bond pulsing with his desire to make this moment a shared act of love for Theo—and for them.
Draco’s voice was a low, tender murmur, his hand resting on the small of her back, “Hermione —I know you’re nervous about pegging Theo, and fuck, I’m in awe of you for even being here.” His eyes softened, the bond flaring with his adoration, “This is his fantasy, but it’s a shared one of us both too—making him feel loved, seen, held in a way only we can. Being here with you, choosing this together... it’s us, love, building something for him.”
His fingers brushed her hip, the swish of fabric soft, “I’ll guide you through every detail, love—every toy, every charm. This is about us, loving Theo together.”
Hermione’s cheeks flushed, her voice a trembling mix of nerves and love, her hand covering his on her back, squeezing gently, “Draco... I want to do this for him, for us, but... gods, I’m scared I’ll get it wrong.”
Draco led her to a velvet-lined glass case displaying an array of strap-on harnesses, each a masterpiece of craftsmanship and enchantment.
“First, the harness, love—needs to feel like an extension of you, let you move with him, love him with every thrust.”
He lifted a black leather harness, buttery soft yet sturdy, with rose-gold buckles that gleamed warmly, the O-ring enchanted to pulse and resize for any dildo, its inner lining charmed with a subtle warming rune and a textured pad to stimulate her clit with each movement.
“This one—leather so supple it’ll hug your hips, buckles that safety lock so you can thrust deep without losing control. The O-ring resizes with a thought, and this pad—” he pressed it gently against her mound through her dress, the hum of magic sparking a soft jolt, “—will grind your clit, love, make you feel him as you take him.”
Hermione’s pussy tingled, her voice a breathless whisper, “Draco... it’s beautiful. I can see us in it already.”
He smiled, his eyes shimmering with love, setting it aside and moving to the dildos on a rosewood pedestal, each one a work of art.
“Now the cock, love—needs to be Theo’s dream, make his heart sing as much as his body.”
He selected a midnight-blue silicone dildo, 6.5 inches long, moderately thicker than Draco with a gentle, upward curve, the shaft etched with delicate, enchanted ridges that pulsed faintly with warming runes, the base flared and charmed to vibrate in sync with the harness’s O-ring.
“This one—curves to kiss his prostate with every thrust, ridges to caress his walls, make him feel you, love. It warms to your touch, vibrates when you want it to. Theo’ll feel your love in every inch, Hermione.”
Hermione’s eyes shimmered, “Draco... it’s perfect for him, for us.”
He added a bottle of Slick Silken Supreme, the glass vial glowing with a pearlescent sheen, the lube enchanted for extra glide, a tingling sensation that built to a warm pleasure, and a faint, aphrodisiac scent of jasmine.
He guided her to a display of prostate massagers, selecting a sleek, obsidian plug, 4 inches long with a tapered tip, the shaft bulbous and textured with raised, enchanted spirals that pulsed with a low, rhythmic vibration. The flared base was set with a tiny lion with an emerald eye that glowed when activated, charmed to send targeted pulses to the prostate.
“For prep, love—this plug’ll open him gently before you play, the vibrations waking his prostate till he’s aching for you.”
Draco turned her to face him, his hands cupping her face, his voice soft and thick with love, “Hermione—I know you’re nervous, feel it in the bond, see it in your eyes. But you doing this for Theo, for us—it’s the most beautiful thing. “
His eyes glinted, “I’ll teach you, love—every thrust, every angle, how to make him feel your love so deeply he’ll never forget it. We’re a family, Hermione—you, me, Theo—and this is us giving him everything he deserves.”
Hermione’s eyes shimmered, her voice quivering with love, “Draco... I’m scared I’ll mess it up, but being here with you makes me feel a bit better. I love you, love him—let’s make this perfect for him, for our family.” They kissed, the bond a radiant embrace, their foreheads pressed together, hearts intertwined.
They purchased the harness, dildo, lube, and plug, Vivienne wrapping them in charmed silk that shimmered with privacy runes.
Draco’s arm linked around her waist, his lips brushing her temple, “Love, you’re gonna make his fantasy real. Your so perfect.”
The sun was low on the horizon when Hermione and Draco apparated back to the sprawling green of Nott Manor after shopping and a late lunch.
The scent of lavender from the garden drifted through the open doors, the faint hum of wards wrapping around them like a sigh of relief. Af
But as soon as they stepped through the front foyer, the atmosphere shifted.
Theo was waiting for them near the fireplace, his Healer’s robes still faintly wrinkled, his hair tousled from running his hands through it one too many times. The expression on his face said it all—tight, grim, and far too familiar.
Draco froze mid-step. “What happened?”
Theo’s gaze flicked between them, then he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’d better sit down first.”
Hermione’s stomach sank. “Theo…”
He exhaled. “An hour ago, the Aurors reported another case. Not a student this time.”
Draco’s jaw clenched. “Go on.”
“The victim was Barnaby Ellis,” Theo said quietly. “Elderly wand restorer. Had that tiny shop off Diagon Alley—‘Ellis & Sons Magical Repairs,’ though the son’s been gone for years.”
Hermione gasped softly. “I know that shop. He fixed my first wand after the war. He—oh, Merlin.” She sank into the nearest armchair, eyes wide. “He’s dead?”
Theo nodded. “Yes. Found collapsed behind the counter by a customer. His magical core—completely gone. It’s the same pattern as the others. No trace residue, no curse marks, no spell signatures. Healers confirmed it.”
For a moment, the room was completely silent except for the ticking of the ornate grandfather clock.
Draco began pacing, his expression hard. “So it’s spreading even more. But to cause death…? This… this changes everything.”
Theo leaned against the mantel, arms folded. “It’s the first confirmed death case from the drain. If the theory about environmental or ingested exposure was right, this shatters it. Ellis rarely left his shop. He lived above it. Barely interacted with anyone, he wouldn’t have been easy to drug.”
Hermione’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Then it’s not about where people go. It’s who’s being targeted.”
Theo nodded grimly. “Possibly. But there’s no clear link between him and the other victims. No shared bloodline, no shared objects, no known dark connections. I checked with St. Mungo’s—his magical signature had been perfectly stable until this morning.”
Draco stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing. “Someone’s testing something. Refining it. If it’s reaching adults now… they’ve perfected whatever they’re doing.”
Hermione swallowed hard. “And if they can drain adults, that means the scope could grow exponentially. Hogwarts wards won’t matter. No wards will.”
Theo’s voice softened, but there was steel beneath it. “The Aurors are sealing off Ellis’s shop for investigation. Harry’s already there. He sent a message—he wants to meet tomorrow morning with all of us and the Minister.”
Draco muttered, “Of course he does.” Then he crossed to Hermione, crouching in front of her. “You’re pale.”
“I’m fine,” she said automatically, though she wasn’t. “Just… tired. And angry. He was kind. He shouldn’t have—” Her throat caught.
Theo joined them, crouching beside Draco. “We’ll find who’s behind this, Hermione. Whoever’s doing it is making it personal now. They’re daring us to see the pattern.”
Hermione nodded faintly, staring at the dancing firelight in the hearth. “Then we’ll find it. And when we do… we’ll end it.”
Draco rested a hand on her knee, his voice low and certain. “Together.”
Theo gave a small nod. “Always.”
The flames crackled softly in the heavy silence that followed.
Outside, a storm began to gather on the horizon, lightning flashing faintly behind the trees—ominous and electric, as if the world itself sensed that something darker was drawing near.
Notes:
Thoughts? This is the last I'll get up tonight.
Chapter 191: Fall Term Begins
Chapter Text
The next morning dawned warm and bright — one of those deceptive early September days where the sunlight felt gentle even though the world beneath it was anything but.
Hermione had woken earlier than Draco, though she hadn’t slept much. The dream of the flickering lights of Ellis’s shop had followed her into the morning, her mind still haunted by what they didn’t yet know.
She was standing at the kitchen counter, absently stirring cream into her tea, when Draco entered. His hair was still damp from the shower, sleeves rolled to his elbows, but even rested, the tension lingered in his shoulders.
“Theo’s at the hospital already,” he said quietly, crossing the room to press a kiss to her temple. “He wants to review Ellis’s autopsy himself.”
Hermione nodded. “He’ll notice something the others won’t.”
Draco sighed. “Let’s hope so. I don’t like how quickly this is escalating.”
Before she could answer, a burst of green flame erupted in the fireplace, and a familiar voice called, “You two ready for brunch, or should we eat everything ourselves?”
Harry stepped out of the floo, brushing soot off his jacket, followed by Ginny, radiant in summer linen and sunglasses perched atop her head.
“Perfect timing,” Hermione said, smiling faintly. “Come in.”
Ginny set a wrapped package of pastries on the table. “Mum insisted I bring scones. And bacon sandwiches. And possibly enough food to feed the entire Auror department. She said it was rude if we just came over and ate your food without contributing.”
Harry chuckled as he poured tea for himself. “She’s convinced you’re all too thin to be saving the world.”
Draco smirked faintly. “You could remind her some of us prefer subtle diplomacy to heroics.”
“Yeah,” Harry said dryly. “And yet somehow, you still end up in the papers as much as I do.”
Hermione’s eyes flicked between them with fond amusement. “Please behave. I haven’t had enough caffeine for this.”
They gathered around the long breakfast table near the veranda. Beyond the glass doors, the orchard shimmered in the morning light — a deceptively peaceful backdrop to their uneasy conversation.
Harry’s tone sobered as he spread a parchment on the table. “So. Ellis’s case.”
Ginny frowned. “We saw the report. They still can’t trace the source?”
Draco shook his head. “Nothing so far. No magical residue, no curse mark. Just… empty. As though his magic evaporated before he died.”
Harry nodded grimly. “We swept the shop twice. There was a faint trail leading to the back alley, but it dispersed quickly — whoever did this covered their tracks well. Kingsley thinks it’s deliberate escalation. He was a personal selection.”
Hermione leaned forward, her voice quiet. “It feels deliberate. They want attention. Fear. The drain cases were horrifying, but children—people assume they were accidents originally, or rare cases of artifact meddling. An elderly shopkeeper dying in the middle of Diagon Alley with no core?”
“It’s a message,” Draco finished, jaw tight.
Ginny looked between them, eyes dark. “Do you think it’s connected to the old pureblood ideology? What your mother said about taking magic back from the ‘undeserving’?”
Draco’s expression darkened. “It’s possible. And that’s what frightens me. The rhetoric never truly died, it just went quiet. If someone’s reviving it…”
Hermione swallowed, her fingers curling around her teacup. “Then this could be the beginning of something worse than even the war.”
For a moment, silence settled over them — broken only by the faint chirping of birds and the clinking of cups.
Then Harry cleared his throat, softer now. “Whatever this is, we’ll find it. We always do.”
Draco snorted. “That’s what worries me.”
Ginny smiled faintly. “And yet, we’re all still standing, aren’t we?”
Hermione reached across the table, squeezing Draco’s hand. “For now,” she said. “But I’m done waiting for the next victim.”
Harry nodded slowly. “Then we’ll meet again tomorrow — I’ll bring updates from the Auror office. Kingsley’s having the trade bureau expand its inspections. He’s worried this thing’s moving faster than the investigation.”
Hermione exhaled deeply. “At least we’re not fighting alone this time.”
Ginny gave her a small smile. “You’re never alone, Hermione. Not anymore.”
After Harry and Ginny left — Ginny hugging Hermione tightly before Flooing home — the manor was quiet again. The afternoon sunlight poured through the wide windows, illuminating the breakfast table still cluttered with empty teacups and crumbs.
Draco was flipping through the morning Prophet when the sound of wings brushed the air. A tawny owl swooped through the open window, dropping a sealed letter onto the table before flying off again.
Hermione reached for it, brow furrowed. “It’s from the Department of Mysteries.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “They do love their punctual timing.”
She broke the wax seal and unfolded the parchment. The handwriting was elegant, impersonal — Ministry official script.
To Mr. Draco Malfoy, Mr. Theodore Nott, and Mrs. Hermione Malfoy- Granger-Nott:
As part of the ongoing evaluation of triadic magical bonds, you are requested to appear for your next compliance review with the Department of Mysteries on Sept 29th, at 10:00 a.m. in Chamber 7B.
Please bring documentation of magical stability readings, health assessments, and any updates regarding shared emotional or physical manifestations of the bond since your last appointment.
Attendance of all three bondmates is required.
Sincerely,
Unspeakable A. Vale
Department of Mysteries, Magical Bond Division
Draco groaned quietly. “Merlin save me from bureaucratic meddling.”
Hermione folded the letter neatly. “You know it’s part of the law.”
He shot her a pointed look. “So is minding one’s own business.”
Despite herself, she smiled. “It won’t be that bad. It’s been months since the last one. They’ll probably just confirm everything’s stable and send us on our way again.”
“Assuming we all behave,” he muttered, smirking slightly.
Hermione rolled her eyes, setting the parchment aside. “Well, best not to give them a reason to think we’re not stable, don’t you think? You tell Theo not to fuck around with them this time.”
Draco’s gaze softened then — the sharpness fading into something quieter, deeper. “You always sound like you’re trying to convince yourself too, Hermione.”
She blinked, then laughed softly. “Maybe I am.”
He reached across the table, brushing his thumb along her knuckles. “We’ll be fine, Hermione.”
Outside, the wind rustled through the orchard trees, carrying the faint scent of lavender and summer warmth — a rare moment of calm in the storm they all knew was far from over.
The next morning, Hermione woke before dawn to the quiet sound of rain against the windows. It was the soft, steady kind of drizzle that blurred the edges of the orchard outside and made everything smell faintly of damp earth and mint.
For a moment, she simply lay there, the gentle rhythm of Draco’s breathing beside her grounding her in the present, Theo already come and gone again.
Today was the first day of the new term at the Charms Institute, and despite everything that had happened over the summer, she felt that familiar mix of anticipation and focus—though this time, laced with a thread of anxiety that had nothing to do with coursework.
She rose quietly, showered, and dressed in her teaching robes: deep plum trimmed with gold, the ones Theo had charmed to resist ink stains after her first year as a Mastery candidate.
By the time she reached the kitchen, Draco was already there, hair still tousled, wearing his Ministry cloak over his pressed shirt.
He was leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee when she entered.
“Off to reform the next generation of spellcrafters? I really wish you’de take an aurror with you. ” he asked, voice teasing but soft.
Hermione smiled faintly. “Something like that. I just hope I can get through a single lesson without someone bringing up the drainings. But, I’ll be fine. I won’t leavethe grounds, and come straight home after class is out. I don’t need to waste their resources when they should be working on the case investigaitons.”
Draco frowned. “They’re going to, Hermione. It’s all anyone’s talking about in the Ministry corridors, too. And until Kingsley’s new measures show results, that won’t change.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “But I can’t let fear stop the world from turning.”
He crossed to her, brushing a hand against her cheek. “You sound like yourself again.”
“Good,” she whispered, leaning briefly into his touch. “Because I’m tired of feeling like I’m constantly running after something I can’t see.”
He smirked slightly. “Welcome to adulthood.”
“Coming from you, that’s rich,” she murmured with a small smile, kissing him quickly on the check before heading for the floo.
As she stepped into the emerald flames, she caught the faintest echo of his voice behind her—low, protective, but fond.
“Be careful, Hermione.”
The atrium of the Charms Institute was a high-domed space lined with enchanted glass that reflected the stormy morning outside.
As Hermione stepped through the threshold, the familiar scent of parchment, polish, and spell dust enveloped her.
But there was tension in the air today. Small groups of students huddled together, whispering in corners, parchment clutched in restless hands. She caught fragments of conversation as she passed:
“—said it was an adult this time, a shopkeeper—”
“—my brother’s at Hogwarts; Mum’s terrified—”
“—they’re saying even purebloods aren’t safe now—”
Hermione exhaled softly, setting her satchel on her desk in the front of the large seminar room. The chatter dimmed slightly when she entered—respect tinged with curiosity. Her fellow students, mostly young witches and wizards in their twenties working toward mastery certification, regarded her as both colleague and living legend.
Master Beri tried to smile reassuringly as everyone took their seats. “Good morning, everyone. I hope you’ve all had a restful break.”
A nervous laugh rippled through the room. Someone near the front muttered, “Depends how you define restful.”
Master Beri raised an eyebrow but kept her tone calm. “I know there’s been a lot of talk—rumors, reports, speculation. And I’m not going to pretend the magical drainings aren’t frightening. But part of what we do here—what you are training to do—is understand magic. Investigate it. Control it. Fear grows where knowledge is missing.”
A hand went up—a young witch named Mirabel, bright-eyed but visibly tense. “Professor, is it true it’s affecting anyone? Even adults now?”
She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Yes, an adult case was confirmed. But that doesn’t mean everyone is at risk. The patterns are still unclear, and the Ministry is investigating. You should all know firsthand how complicated advanced magic is.”
Another student spoke up, voice sharp with anxiety. “But if they can’t find the cause—how do we defend ourselves?”
“That’s why vigilance matters,” Hermione said firmly, speaking up over her classmates murmurs.
“Not paranoia—vigilance. We strengthen wards, we examine what we consume, and we report anything strange immediately. Beyond that…” She glanced around the room, her expression softening. “We keep living. Magic is part of who we are. We don’t stop using it because we’re afraid.”
Silence settled, heavy but steady. Then, finally, someone in the back said quietly, “You sound like you believe that.”
“I have to,” Hermione replied simply. “Because if we stop believing in our own magic, then whoever’s behind this has already won.”
Master Beri gave her a small smile and a nod, and moved onto the lesson.
By the end of her afternoon lecture, the tension had eased a little. The room felt almost normal again—the soft crackle of wand sparks as students practiced spell reconstruction, the rhythmic hum of incantations.
As the last students packed up around them, Mirabel lingered behind.
“Hemrione Granger-Malfoy-Nott?” she asked hesitantly.
Hermione looked up from her notes. “Yes, Mirabel?”
“I just wanted to say… thank you. For not pretending everything’s fine. It helps to know someone like you is working on it.”
Hermione smiled faintly, touched. “You’re welcome. And remember—magic may be mysterious, but it’s also resilient. Don’t let fear take that from you.”
As Mirabel left, Hermione turned back to packing up her bag. For a moment, she allowed herself to breathe, to feel the familiar hum of the classroom—the scent of candle wax and old books—and let the weight on her chest ease just a little.
Then, as if summoned by the moment’s calm, a bright stag galloped into the room, Harry’s voice booming;
“Another case. Aurors on scene. ”
Hermione exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging.
By the time Hermione apparated back to Nott Manor, the skies had darkened again.
The late summer air hung thick with the promise of another storm, thunder rumbling faintly in the distance. Draco was already waiting for her in the front hall, his cloak on, his jaw set tight.
“Theo’s just flooing in from St. Mungo’s,” he said as soon as she stepped through the door.
“Harry sent word — another case, this time a younger adult. Twenty-two. Works in one of the apothecaries off Diagon Alley. Collapsed during a lunch rush.”
Hermione’s stomach dropped. “Was it public? Were people there to see it happen?”
Draco nodded grimly. “Far too many.”
The fireplace behind him flared green, and Theo stepped out, looking grim and tired, the sleeves of his Healer’s robes rolled up. “He’s already at the morgue,” he said quietly, dusting ash off his cuffs. “Same signature — or lack of one. It’s as if the core was siphoned cleanly out of him. We think it over pulled or was too strong a cure maybe, tried to keep taking even when there was no core left… maybe that’s what killed him.”
Hermione felt a chill crawl up her spine. “That’s what Harry’s message said… ‘another case.’ He didn’t specify the location.”
“Back alley behind O’Malley’s Apothecary,” Draco said. “They’ve sealed off the area, but Kingsley authorized us to join the investigation directly.” His eyes met hers. “Ready?”
She swallowed, nodding once. “Yes.”
Theo squeezed her shoulder briefly, and the three of them apparated together.
They landed in the narrow lane behind O’Malley’s, the faint scent of potions and herbs still lingering in the humid evening air.
The street was cordoned off with magical barriers, faintly glowing blue. Aurors milled about, taking notes and casting detection charms, while a few uneasy shopkeepers watched from their doorways.
Harry spotted them immediately and came forward, his expression grim. “I figured you’d come right away.”
Draco’s voice was low and sharp. “You should’ve called sooner, it’s bene a few horus since this happened.”
“I wanted to be sure before we drew more attention,” Harry said, gesturing toward the narrow space between the buildings. “He was pretty young, and we weren’t sure that’s what killed him at first. He collapsed right there. Witnesses said he was fine one minute, then screamed and dropped the next. It was over in seconds. We orginalyl thought heart attack.”
Hermione followed him toward the spot, her wand out, scanning the area. “Any trace magic?”
Harry shook his head. “Nothing detectable. Not even the faint residue of the core itself.”
“That’s impossible,” Theo murmured. “Every living being has a residual energy field. Even after death, it lingers normally.”
“I know,” Harry said quietly. “And yet here we are.”
Hermione crouched, touching the cobblestones. Her wand pulsed faintly, the detection spell flickering to life.
At first, she saw only the usual signatures—wand discharges, traces of healing charms—but then, at the edges of perception, something faint, almost translucent.
“Wait,” she whispered. “There’s something… here. Like a residual vacuum, not magic but the absence of it.”
Theo knelt beside her, repeating her spell with a Healer’s variant. His brow furrowed. “She’s right. This isn’t a curse residue—it’s a void. Like the magic itself was consumed.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “You mean eaten.”
Hermione stood, brushing off her robes. “Yes. Which means whatever’s doing this isn’t just draining—it’s taking the energy and storing it. Whatever was storing it must have been here… at least momentarily.”
Harry nodded grimly. “That’s been our theory too, but this confirms it. There’s a pattern forming. If it’s being collected now, there’s an endgame. It means they’ve perfected it apparently.”
Theo frowned. “Any connections between the victims yet?”
Harry handed him a parchment. “That’s the worst part. None that make sense. Different ages, backgrounds, blood statuses, jobs, some similar locations between a few, but nothing between them all. The only shared factor is public exposure for the majority, but not all is before the collapse. Crowded places.”
Hermione looked up sharply. “Then it still could be an enchanted object moving between hands like a coin. Or a contagion charm — something that builds until it finds a host to drain. Maybe even a pathogen. Nothing is really ruled out.”
Draco crossed his arms. “So, essentially, a magical parasite is possible even.”
Theo grimaced. “And one we likely can’t see.”
Hermione rubbed her temples. “If that’s true, we’ll need to trace every object the victims handled in the twenty-four hours before the incident. Wands, jewelry, food containers, coin purses—everything.”
Harry sighed. “You sound like Kingsley. He’s already set up a task force specifically for that. But it’ll take weeks and may never be complete. It’s impossible to know every single thing someone touched. We do it all the time in ways we don’t even notice.”
“Then we don’t wait weeks,” Hermione said, determination hardening her voice. “We start with what’s here at the moment.”
As they began combing the area, Theo stopped suddenly near a drain grate. “Hold on.” He crouched down, casting a charm to illuminate dark traces. A faint shimmer appeared—a wisp of silvery magic clinging to the stone, almost invisible unless seen at the right angle.
Hermione’s heart quickened. “What is that?”
“Not residue from a spell,” Theo murmured. “It feels… biological.” He held his hand over it, eyes closing briefly as he read the magical current. “Like it’s alive almost or was before at least.”
Draco immediately raised his wand. “Alive how?”
Theo shook his head, brow furrowed. “I don’t know. But it’s gone inert now, gone. Whatever it was, it detached after the incident.”
Harry knelt beside them. “So, it was here. And then it moved on.”
Hermione exhaled sharply. “A parasite. A magical entity that feeds on cores of the host.”
“That’s not supposed to be possible. There would still be a magical signature in the victims afterward from it feasting on them.” Theo muttered.
Draco glanced at him grimly. “Supposedly, neither is draining magic from a child, but we’re months into that impossibility.”
By the time the investigation wrapped up, the street had fallen quiet again. The aurors began lowering the wards, shopkeepers reopening their doors with uneasy glances. The scent of rain mixed with potion fumes as the clouds above broke again, light drizzle falling.
Hermione leaned against a lamppost, exhausted but still running through possibilities in her mind. “What if its actually sentient, it might seek out specific energy signatures — weaker ones, maybe, or those who’ve recently performed a lot of magic... or something that makes them seem like an easy target.”
“Or it could be random,” Theo said. “If it’s acting on instinct, it might not care who it feeds from. Or maybe it’s very purposely only being activated and sent to selected individuals? Specific targets of whoever is casting it.”
Draco stood beside them, cloak pulled tight, expression unreadable. “Either way, it’s hunting in our world. Which means sooner or later, it’s going to come too close to someone we care about.”
Hermione shivered despite the warm air. “Then we need to find the culprit before that happens.”
Harry joined them, voice steady but heavy. “Kingsley wants a meeting tomorrow morning with all departments — Aurors, Unspeakables, Healers, and you three.”
Draco’s eyes flicked to Hermione and Theo. “So, the entire magical government.”
Harry nodded. “Pretty much.”
Theo’s tone was grim. “Then maybe we’ll finally get answers.”
But Hermione, watching the dark clouds gathering again over Diagon Alley, couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning — that the real storm was still coming.
Notes:
I know some of you have realized, Luna's due date is here =P
Chapter 192: The Summit
Notes:
Still lots of confusion, but maybe narrowing down what's happening abit.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was nearly three in the morning when the silvery light slipped under their bedroom door.
Hermione stirred first, the faint shimmer waking her even before the voice reached them.
The Patronus—a lion that glowed with warm, steady light—bounded into the master suite and stopped at the foot of their bed, flickering like moonlight on water.
Neville’s familiar, kind voice echoed through the quiet:
“She’s here! Luna’s had the baby! Both of them are doing brilliantly, npoproblems at all with the pond birth. Luna is nursing her under the sky right now. We’ve named her Celine Longbottom—after the moon, who Luna says was her midwife. Hermione, she’s yours and Harry’s godchild! We can’t wait for you to meet her.”
The lion blinked its bright eyes once before dissolving into a soft mist of silver.
For a heartbeat, the room was still. Then all three of them started laughing—sleepy, disbelieving, overjoyed laughter.
Hermione pressed her hand over her mouth, eyes bright. “Oh—oh my goodness, they did it!”
Theo rubbed at his eyes, his voice still rough from sleep. “Celine. That’s… actually perfect. Of course Luna would name her after the moon. Now they have a bond with their names.”
Draco sat up against the headboard, his blond hair a tangle and his expression somewhere between exhausted and utterly delighted. “I should’ve placed a wager,” he muttered. “I said she’d go into labor under a waxing moon. Typical Luna.”
Hermione turned toward him, grinning, her curls a halo in the dim light. “You’re smiling.”
“I’m not smiling,” Draco said—though he was, undeniably, a small, soft curve of his mouth that looked far younger than usual. “I’m… mildly pleased for them. That’s all.”
Theo laughed quietly. “You’re as sappy as the rest of us, Malfoy. Admit it.”
Draco gave a halfhearted glare that didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe I am. Don’t make me repeat it.”
Hermione leaned over and kissed his cheek, then Theo’s. “They’ll be such wonderful parents,” she whispered. “I’m so proud of them both.”
Sleep was impossible after that. Within half an hour, the three of them were sitting in their private parlor in silk robes, nursing mugs of chamomile tea. The fire was low, casting gold against the rain-dampened windows.
Theo stretched his legs across the rug, eyes half-closed. “I still remember the day Luna told us she was pregnant— The Burrow as Neville’s yule gift.”
Hermione smiled faintly, stirring her tea. “She did. She said Celine had been waiting a long time to join them.”
Draco gave a quiet, incredulous snort. “Of course she did. Merlin, that woman…” He shook his head, but there was no edge to his voice. “Still, she’s remarkable. They both are.”
“She’ll make such a whimsical mother,” Hermione said softly. “And Neville—he’ll be grounding and gentle. That child will grow up in the happiest home in Britain.”
Theo chuckled. “The most herb-scented one, at least.”
That made all three of them laugh again, the kind of laughter that came easy in the small hours when the world felt suspended in peace.
For a moment, Hermione leaned back in her chair, looking between them—Draco with his thoughtful silence, Theo with his soft, crooked grin—and felt a swell of something deep in her chest.
“This,” she murmured, “is what life’s supposed to be about. Moments like this. Babies being born, friends finding joy again, moving forward—even if it’s brief.”
Draco met her gaze across the low firelight. “Then we hold onto it while it lasts.”
By the time the first blush of sunrise touched the horizon, the tea had gone cold. The air outside was still damp and heavy with mist.
Theo leaned his head on Hermione’s shoulder, half-asleep again, while Draco stood at the window watching the early light stretch across the orchard.
“Celine Longbottom,” Hermione whispered into the quiet, tasting the name again like it was magic itself. “It sounds like hope for the future world.”
Draco turned from the window, his expression soft. “It is.”
Theo smiled drowsily. “When they’re ready for visitors, we’ll bring flowers.”
“Roses?” Hermione asked.
“Moon lilies,” Draco said before Theo could reply. “Something that shines in the dark.”
Hermione’s smile deepened, her heart aching in the best way.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “Exactly that.”
That morning, a restless heaviness filled the air around the Ministry of Magic. Even before Hermione, Draco, and Theo arrived, the Atrium buzzed with an undercurrent of tension — the kind that whispered through every conversation and echoed off every marble tile.
Posters warning “REPORT SIGNS OF MAGICAL WEAKNESS IMMEDIATELY” had been plastered near the lifts overnight. Someone had even scrawled across one in ink: If they can take theirs, they can take ours.
The sight made Hermione’s stomach twist.
Theo walked beside her, eyes shadowed from another nearly sleepless night.
“That kind of fear spreads faster than any curse,” he murmured.
Draco, on her other side, gave a low hum. “And the Ministry’s doing nothing to stop it. Kingsley needs to get ahead of this before panic becomes policy.”
They reached the large oak doors of Conference Chamber Twelve — a room normally reserved for interdepartmental councils or wartime strategy meetings. Today, the gilded placard outside bore new words etched hastily in brass:
JOINT TASK SUMMIT ON CORE DEPLETION EVENTS
Hermione inhaled deeply before pushing the door open.
Inside, the vast circular chamber was already crowded. Aurors in deep blue robes stood beside Unspeakables in their charmed masks. Department heads murmured quietly near the enchanted map of Britain hovering in the center of the room — each recent drain location marked with a pulsing red sigil. There were too many of them now.
Kingsley Shacklebolt stood at the head of the table, his towering presence commanding even among chaos. He gave a short nod as the triad entered.
“Thank you for coming. We’re ready to begin.”
Hermione, Draco, and Theo took their seats beside Harry, who looked as though he hadn’t slept either.
When the room quieted, Kingsley began.
“Since last spring, we’ve had seventeen confirmed core depletion incidents. seven students, 2 minors, eight adults. No geographical pattern, no shared environment, no magical signature. Yesterday’s case marks the second adult death within Diagon Alley itself.”
He gestured toward the glowing map. “This is not a localized curse. It’s something larger — something spreading.”
An Unspeakable — a tall woman whose voice was muffled behind her mask — spoke next. “Our research suggests an external siphon mechanism. But unlike standard parasitic enchantments, there’s no residue of magical transference. The core energy simply… ceases to exist leaving no magical trace of the curse or extraction magical method.”
Draco leaned forward. “You’re saying it’s being destroyed, or put somewhere?”
“Not destroyed we don’t think… at least not the two recent ones that resulted in death,” she said quietly. “Collected in those cases we think.”
A chill settled over the room.
Hermione’s quill stilled midair. “Collected for what purpose?”
“That,” Kingsley said heavily, “is what we’re here to determine along with by who.”
The room broke into measured chaos — voices overlapping, hands gesturing over parchment and floating maps. Hermione found herself slipping easily into analytical rhythm, her logical mind running through each possibility.
“Could it be object-based?” asked a Healer from St. Mungo’s. “Some cursed artifact passing from victim to victim?”
Theo shook his head. “We mostly ruled that out months ago. The only way that method words at this point is if it’s something like a coin. Then we’d detect trace spellwork or residual energy though in the shops where eit circulated, which we haven’t. We’ve found nothing — it’s like the drain happens from within. The other possibility that isn’t entirely ruled out is something consumable… pasteries, candies… we have antidotes from victims of eating publicly before the drain sets in, but none of them the same food items or same vendors.”
Harry frowned. “What about a person? Someone moving between places, carrying it with them purposively?”
Draco’s voice cut in, cool and sharp. “You think one wizard could drain so many cores without being impacted by the object themselves too or having witnesses? Even the Dark Lord left residue when he toyed with soul magic.”
“Perhaps,” An Unspeakable said suddenly, her tone dreamy but sure, “it’s neither person nor object. Perhaps it’s an idea. Something that grew when the world began to fear magic again.”
Everyone stared.
Kingsley blinked. “An… idea?”
She nodded faintly. “Fear feeds dark things. Always has.”
Hermione studied her thoughtfully muttering. “You might be closer to right than anyone even realizes.”
Kingsley gestured for order. “Whatever the source, our task now is containment. Effective immediately, Auror patrols two-fold will increase around high-traffic areas. Trade imports from Eastern Europe are under review. And,” his gaze swept the room, “we’ve authorized the Department of Mysteries to collaborate with St. Mungo’s and the Triadic Division.”
Theo looked up sharply. “Is that your name for… us?”
“Yes,” Kingsley confirmed. “Your bond’s readings make you uniquely capable of detecting magical dissonance we believe. The Unspeakables believe it could act as a natural stabilizer — or a detector.”
Draco scowled faintly. “So now we’re magical barometers, and we don’t even know it, great.”
Harry shot him a look. “You did volunteer to help.”
“I volunteered to solve this, not to be turned into a Ministry experiment.”
Hermione placed a gentle hand on Draco’s arm under the table — grounding him. “It’s fine,” she murmured. “If it helps find the truth, we’ll do it, and if it’s too much, we stop.”
Kingsley nodded approvingly. “Your next triadic evaluation at month’s end will include resonance testing. The goal is to identify whether your collective field reacts differently in areas touched by the drain.”
Theo exhaled slowly. “We’ll cooperate. But if this bond starts showing signs of instability because of Ministry meddling— we’re out.”
“It won’t,” Kingsley said firmly. “You have my word.”
The session ran nearly three hours before Kingsley adjourned it. When the doors opened, the gathered officials spilled out into the corridor, voices echoing off the stone walls — anxious, subdued, hopeful all at once.
Hermione lingered behind with Draco and Theo, staring at the glowing red marks still hovering over the map.
So many points of light. So many lives.
Draco finally broke the silence. “He’s scared,” he said quietly. “Kingsley. He hides it well, but it’s there.”
Theo rubbed a hand over his face. “He has reason to be. If this spreads beyond anything we imagine din the spring…families… borders… all of society.”
Hermione’s voice was soft but certain. “Then we make sure it doesn’t keep going as bets we can.”
Draco looked at her, his grey eyes catching the reflection of the red-glowing map. “You’re still trying to save the whole world like it’s your job. And it’s honestly not.”
“Someone has to,” she said.
Theo smiled faintly, exhausted but proud. “Then it’s a good thing you married two men foolish enough to follow you into it.”
Draco’s smirk returned, low and warm. “Foolish? Perhaps. But not regretting it yet.”
Hermione shook her head with a quiet laugh, her heart tightening with affection — for them, for all of it, for the fragile hope still clinging to the edges of their lives.
Outside, the storm finally broke.
Thunder rolled over London, and through the tall windows of the Ministry, rain began to fall — soft at first, then relentless.
The world felt small again, fragile and electric.
Notes:
Well at least Luna and the baby are doing well....
Chapter 193: The First Years
Chapter Text
The morning was still half-dreaming when the owl arrived. The golden light of early dawn filtered through the tall windows of the breakfast room, pooling softly over untouched teacups and the thin curl of steam rising from Theo’s mug.
Hermione was reading quietly by the window, and Draco was halfway through the Daily Prophet, scanning the newest opinion column condemning the Ministry’s “lack of decisive leadership.”
It was the soft tap-tap-tap of claws on the glass that made Theo look up.
The owl was a stately barn owl with streaked feathers and a faintly official-looking seal on its leg — crimson wax stamped with the emblem of Hogwarts.
The moment he saw it, Theo’s stomach tightened.
“From McGonagall,” he murmured, rising from his chair.
Draco lowered his paper immediately, his eyes sharp. “At this hour?”
Theo untied the letter carefully, fingers steady but his pulse rising. The parchment was thick and slightly crinkled, the handwriting unmistakably McGonagall’s — sharp, precise, but… heavier somehow. The kind of script written in worry.
He began to read silently, then again aloud for them both.
Dear Mr. Nott,
I regret that I must reach out to you under troubling circumstances, but I know your work with the Ministry investigation — and your own training in magical medicine — may provide insight where mine does not.
Two of our first-year students, both from Muggle-born families, arrived earlier this week for the start of term. Each was recorded years ago in the Masterbook of Magical Children as confirmed magical, and both received their Hogwarts letters this summer without incident.
One family, as you may recall, even visited The Granger Center earlier this year to discuss the transition to the magical world — I believe you and Mrs. Granger spoke with them personally.
In their first classes, however, both children showed no ability whatsoever to perform even the most basic charms. At first we suspected nerves, accidental suppression, or wand incompatibility.
Madame Pomfrey has now confirmed — after exhaustive testing — that both children possess no trace of a magical core.
I hardly need to tell you what this implies.
Either the Masterbook itself has erred (an impossibility, as you well know), or these cores were somehow drained or destroyed over the summer months — undetected, as the children had not yet begun to channel magic.
I will be notifying the Ministry formally within the hour, but given your proximity to both the investigation and these families, I wanted you to hear it directly from me first.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
When Theo’s voice trailed off, the room felt painfully still.
Hermione’s book slid shut in her lap. “The Masterbook can’t be wrong,” she whispered. “It’s bound by generational enchantments and linked to the Line of Magic itself — it’s how Hogwarts has identified magical births for over a thousand years.”
Draco had gone completely still, his teacup halfway to his lips. “So it isn’t wrong,” he said quietly. “Which means the drain isn’t limited to active magic users anymore.”
Theo nodded, his face pale. “If these two were drained before they’d even cast their first proper spells… then someone knew they were magical somehow before they’re even doing real magic.”
Hermione pressed her hands to her mouth, voice fearful. “And we never would have known. Muggle families can’t detect it. No one would notice until the letters came and the magic didn’t.”
Draco swore under his breath, standing abruptly. “This changes everything. It’s not just targeting students at Hogwarts, or adults with publicly seen magic… whoever it is knows about upcoming magic as well. But, only The Masterbook has that information at Hogwarts for only the eyes of the Headmaster.”
Hermione paled considerably, shaking her head, “No, that’s how it was before we changed the law… now that families are informed when their child’s names shows up in the book at all by the Ministry, not just when it’s time for Hogwarts, the book is also accessible by the Ministry Department that informs muggle families as well at the first manifestation.”
Theo sank back into his chair, the parchment still in his hand. “Minerva was right to send this straight to us. We worked with those parents at the Center.” His throat tightened. “I remember that little girl. She was so excited about her wand.”
Hermione closed her eyes, a tear slipping free. “They thought they were stepping into a world of wonder, and now it’s nothing. And by changing the law we caused this, the book only being in the hands of the headmaster would have never allowed anyone to know about these kid’s magic. We literally handed someone a list of kids to target who they otherwise wouldn’t have even known were magical.”
Draco cut her off gently but firmly, his hand finding hers. “We’re not going to let it continue.”
Theo folded the letter carefully, his expression grim but resolute. “No. We’re not.”
He looked up, meeting both of their gazes. “We need to write to the Ministry. Now. Kingsley, Harry, the Unspeakables — all of them. This means there’s someone either passing on or using the names in that book who shouldn’t be.”
Draco nodded sharply, already reaching for his wand. “We’ll write the letters right now!”
Hermione stood, her voice steady again despite the storm brewing in her chest. “And the children. We owe it to them to find out what happened.”
Outside, the morning light had turned a cold, gray gold — beautiful and brittle all at once.
A few hours later the sky hung heavy with late-summer rain when Hermione and Draco apparated to the quiet street corner that housed The Granger Center.
The familiar brick façade—warm and welcoming, with its ivy-draped windows—felt different today. It had always been a symbol of hope. Now, with McGonagall’s letter folded tightly in Hermione’s pocket, it felt more like a place of reckoning.
Inside, the Center was quieter than usual. The front desk witch gave Hermione a somber nod, as if she already knew what had brought them. The air smelled faintly of tea, parchment, and nervous waiting.
Two families sat in the small consultation parlor—one couple clutching each other’s hands, another mother sitting alone, her son pressed close against her side. Both children looked wide-eyed and frightened, their Hogwarts letters still clutched like talismans. The scarlet wax seals had been opened, but the parchment was folded carefully—as though refusing to let go of what should have been.
Hermione’s throat tightened at the sight. These were her families—the ones who’d walked through these doors months ago full of wonder and joy, asking the same hopeful questions her parents once had.
Now their eyes were searching hers for answers she didn’t yet have.
“Mrs. Granger,” the first mother said quickly, rising as Hermione entered. “We—we came as soon as Professor McGonagall told us. She said you might explain—”
Hermione shook her head softly, her voice gentle. “Please, call me Hermione. And yes—we’ll do everything we can to help you understand what’s happening.”
Draco stepped up beside her, calm and steady in his dark robes. His tone, though measured, carried the quiet authority of someone who’d spent years smoothing crises in the Ministry halls.
“Why don’t we sit down?” he suggested. “We’ll take this one step at a time.”
The parents nodded, and they all gathered around the small round table in the consultation room. Draco conjured a pot of tea without a word; Hermione noticed the faint tremor in one of the mothers’ hands as she accepted a cup.
Hermione began carefully, her words chosen as if each one might break the air.
“First—I want you to know this is not your fault. Your children were born magical. The MasterBook of Magical Children does not make mistakes.”
One of the fathers, a kind-faced man with tired eyes, asked quietly, “Then where did it go?”
Hermione hesitated. “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
Draco picked up gently, his tone even and reassuring. “Over the past few months, there have been incidents—rare, but increasing—where witches and wizards of all ages have suddenly lost their magic. Until now, every case involved someone who had already been at least partly magically trained or from magical families where there would have been a public assumption of magical children. These two… they’re the muggleborn youngest we’ve seen with this occurring yet.”
The mother of the boy swallowed hard. “So they’ll never—? He was so excited. He’s been reading about spells and potions every night since the letter came.”
She brushed at her eyes. “He told his school friends he was leaving. Now he’s supposed to leave Hogwarts and go back to muggle school…?”
Draco’s jaw tightened faintly. “I know,” he said quietly. “It’s cruel. It’s… unforgivable, what’s happening.”
Hermione reached across the table, resting her hand on the woman’s. “We can’t promise what the future holds yet. But there’s a chance—small, but real—that the cores can be restored someday. Magical energy may not always be truly destroyed, it’s sometimes displaced or siphoned. If we can find what’s doing it, we might be able to reverse it.”
The woman blinked through tears. “And if you can’t?”
Hermione’s voice softened. “Then your children will still have full lives. Hogwarts’ staff and the Ministry both will ensure they’re supported as they transition back to muggle life with you, just as any other child would be. And you’ll always be welcome here—this Center will remain open to them, no matter what. Their lives, would largely go back to what they were before you knew they had magic.”
Draco added, “They may not have magic right now, but that doesn’t take away who they are. They’ve already proven they have courage, coming here today, being at Hogwarts the last week while unable to preform with their peers. That counts for something.”
His words surprised even Hermione a little. There was something deeply sincere beneath his cool composure—something that reached the parents in a way her logic couldn’t.
The father nodded slowly, his expression trembling between grief and relief.
When the families left an hour later, the rain had finally started. The children walked close between their parents, still clutching their Hogwarts letters like faint memories of what could have been.
Hermione watched from the window, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “I feel like I failed them,” she whispered.
Draco stepped behind her, resting his hands gently on her shoulders. “You didn’t. You gave them honesty—and hope. That’s more than the Ministry has managed in weeks.”
“They deserve better than hope,” she said softly. “They deserve answers and a solution.”
He nodded slowly. “Then we’ll find them.”
Hermione turned slightly, searching his face. “You handled them so well today. You were calm. Kind.”
Draco’s eyes flickered—vulnerable, thoughtful. “You think I can’t be kind?”
“I think it’s not something you give lightly in all your normal formailty,” she said gently.
A faint smirk ghosted over his lips, though his voice stayed quiet. “Perhaps not. But they reminded me of what it felt like to want magic—before I ever knew the weight of it.”
Hermione reached up, covering his hand with hers. “Then maybe that’s what this fight’s about, really. Protecting the wonder for the future.”
Draco didn’t answer right away. He just leaned down and kissed the top of her head—so soft it almost wasn’t there.
“Then let’s make sure no one else loses it,” he murmured.
And outside, through the glass, the two drained children turned down the street—still holding their letters. Still believing, in some small way, that magic might one day return to them.
Notes:
So, someone's targeting muggleborn first years before they even go to Hogwarts .... :(
Chapter 194: Harry's Demand
Chapter Text
The owl slammed into the study window so hard that Hermione startled, her teacup sloshing over the saucer.
The thud was followed by the frantic flapping of wings. Draco moved first—quick, controlled in his focus. He crossed the room in two strides, unlatched the window, and let the bird in.
It dropped a single folded letter onto the rug before taking off again into the rain.
The parchment skittered to Hermione’s feet. She didn’t need to open it to know something was wrong; the air had already shifted, gone taut with the same cold dread she’d learned to recognize during darker years amplified now by the bond.
Still, she stooped to pick it up and unfolded it carefully. She read outloud:
“BACK OFF.
Let nature take its course. This is not your fight.
Continue and there will be consequences.
Hermione Malfoy-Granger-Nott — you will make a fine example. You will be next.
Watch yourselves.”
Her hands trembled slightly as she read. The words burned into her vision — you will be next — leaving the rest of the sentence to fall away like ash.
Theo was beside her in an instant, warm hand steady over hers. Draco stood frozen near the window, his face gone pale with rage, every muscle drawn tight.
“Who sent it?” he asked, voice dangerously even.
“There’s no signature,” Hermione murmured, she waved her wand. “No identifying charm either. It just… appeared and the owls long gone.”
She folded the parchment and tucked it into her sleeve before he could snatch it away. “We’re not burning this. Harry needs to see it.”
Theo nodded once, already raising his wand. His fox patronus burst from the tip and vanished through the wall, silvery tail flicking once as it sped away toward London.
Harry arrived not long after, still in his auror uniform, and the air in the room seemed to thicken with purpose. Hermione handed him the letter silently. He read it twice, jaw tightening as he set it down.
“This isn’t a prank obviously,” he said. “Someone knows where you live, what you’re been doing, and that you’re getting close to something. They’re warning you off. This is very serious.”
Hermione crossed her arms tightly, chin high even as her voice wavered. “We can’t stop now. There’s finally leads…”
“I’m not saying stop,” Harry replied, tone softening, “but you need protection. Starting tomorrow, you’ll have an auror with you at all times again when you’re at the Charms Institute or in public. That’s not up for debate.”
Draco bristled immediately. “She doesn’t need a babysitter. I can accompany her and keep her safe myself.”
“She needs to stay alive,” Harry shot back. “And you can’t guard her alone from outside every classroom door if there’s a network of these people, Draco. You know that.”
Draco’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t argue again.
Harry continued, steady and sure. “And I want you all to stay at Grimmauld Place for a few days. It’s unplottable, and I’m the Secret Keeper. I’m sure Kingsley will agree it’s safest—at least until Bill and his team can strengthen the wards here more.”
Hermione’s shoulders stiffened. “I’m not running scared because someone sends a threat. That’s what they want.”
Theo’s voice cut through the tension, quiet but firm. “It’s not running, Hermione. It’s regrouping. I’d feel better if you went — if we all went. Draco and I will come with you. Just for a few days, until the best ward-casters in Europe can get here. We will have Bill’s team, and hire someone good from off continent.”
Draco’s eyes flicked toward Theo, then back to her. The muscle in his jaw twitched. “I hate this,” he admitted, low and rough. “But he’s right. We’ll go with you. You won’t be out of my sight.”
Harry exhaled, some of the sharpness in his posture easing. “Good. I’ll arrange everything with Kingsley. Ginny will be glad for company, she’s got a few days off from training now anyway, though you’ll have to tolerate her fussing. She’s getting nearly as bad as Molly.”
Hermione hesitated, torn between pride and reason. “Only for a few days,” she said at last. “I’m not letting them dictate my life or letting them take me from my home.”
Draco reached for her hand, his thumb brushing gently across her knuckles. “No one’s dictating anything,” he said softly. “We just need to be extra cautious.”
Theo leaned closer, his tone lighter but his eyes serious. “Pack light. Bring your favorite teapot—it’ll make Grimmauld feel less like a bunker.”
That earned him a watery smile.
Harry tucked the letter into his coat. “I’ll get it to Kingsley personally. We’ll run every charm we can on it to get an orgin. Until then, don’t open your door for anyone you don’t know tonight. Let the wards scream if they have to.”
When he left, the house felt too quiet. Draco immediately began layering new wards, magic pulsing through the walls like a heartbeat. Theo brewed a calming draught that none of them touched.
Finally, Hermione sat between them on the couch. “I hate this,” she whispered.
Draco’s arm slipped around her shoulders, pulling her close. “So do I.”
Theo leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “But at least we’re together. And when we come back, this manor will be more secure than Gringotts.”
Hermione nodded, exhaustion tugging at her edges. The letter felt heavy in her mind, but the weight of their bond was heavier — grounding, real, unshakable.
“We’ll go to Grimmauld in the morning,” she said softly. “And then… we’ll make sure no one ever sends something like this to us again.”
Draco pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “That’s my witch.”
Theo’s quiet laugh rumbled beside her. “Our witch.”
They all tossed and turned all night, barely getting sleep.
The next morning dawned gray and heavy with fog, the kind of morning that seemed to stress against the manor walls. Hermione woke to find Draco already dressed, standing by the window with his wand out, eyes scanning the sky for the faintest movement of wings.
Theo moved quietly around the bedroom, shrinking their luggage into neat, enchanted pouches that would fit in their pockets.
No one said much at breakfast. The house-elves had prepared tea, toast, and fruit, but the mood was too tense for appetite. Draco’s hand never left Hermione’s shoulder; Theo’s, resting on her knee beneath the table, was steady as stone.
When the fireplace flared green and Harry stepped out of the Floo, the tension deepened. He looked tired but purposeful, an Auror’s sharpness still in his eyes.
“Everything’s ready,” he said. “Grimmauld is sealed and Ginny’s expecting you. She’s already threatening to stuff you with treacle tart the second you walk through the door.”
Draco gave a small, dry smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course she is.”
Hermione stood and brushed invisible dust from her robes. “We’ll be back by the end of the week,” she said, glancing between them all as if daring anyone to challenge it.
Theo offered her a small smile. “Or when Draco’s convinced the new wards are impenetrable, whichever comes first.”
That drew the faintest huff of amusement from Draco. “You’re mocking me.”
“Only a little,” Theo said lightly, and the warmth in his tone eased the edge of the morning just enough for Hermione to breathe again.
They flooed one after another into Grimmauld Place. Hermione stepped out first into the drawing room, coughing a bit from the soot, and felt the wave of magic—ancient, complex, and protective—wrap around her like a second skin. The bond hummed with familiarity, and released tension.
Ginny appeared from the kitchen with her hair in a loose braid, hands still dusted with flour. “You’re here!” she exclaimed, immediately crossing the room to hug Hermione. “Harry told me about the letter. You poor thing—you must be terrified.”
“I’m all right,” Hermione lied, smiling faintly as she hugged her back. “Mostly annoyed.”
“That’s my girl,” Ginny said with a grin. She looked past her toward the men emerging from the fireplace, brushing soot off their sleeves. “Malfoy, Nott—welcome to my house again. Now you get to slum it with us! Don’t track ash through the hallway; Kreacher’s been sulking for days about the rugs because Ron did and he couldn’t get it out easily.”
Theo chuckled. “Understood.”
Harry reappeared behind them, brushing his hands off. “I’ll let you three get settled. Hermione, your old room’s been done up for you, feel free to make changes that make you lot feel more at home. Kingsley’s sending a rotation of Aurors to stand guard outside and accompany you. You won’t even notice they’re there.”
Draco’s jaw flexed. “I’ll notice.”
Harry ignored the bite in his tone. “I’ll also have Tonks’ mother—Andromeda—stop by later. She’s worked on warding for the Department of Mysteries in her youth; she can advise on whoever Draco hires.”
Hermione reached out to squeeze his arm. “Thank you, Harry.”
He gave her a small, genuine smile. “Always.”
Later that afternoon, Hermione sat curled on the sofa in the Grimmauld library with a cup of tea in her hands. The old house was quieter than she remembered—its shadows calmer now, its old magic less haunted.
Ginny sat opposite her, flipping through a magazine, occasionally shooting her looks of quiet sympathy which was getting rather old.
Draco was at the writing desk in the corner, drafting a letter to his mother about the development, and Theo had gone upstairs to unpack.
“Do you ever get used to this?” Hermione asked after a while, voice soft. “The constant danger? The feeling that someone’s watching, waiting?”
Ginny set her magazine aside. “Not really,” she admitted. “But you learn to live despite it. You laugh louder. You love harder. You find joy where you can, because otherwise the fear wins.”
Hermione nodded slowly, tracing the rim of her teacup.
Draco turned from the desk. “She’s right,” he said quietly. “And I’ll be damned before I let anyone take that from you.”
There was no arrogance in his tone this time—only quiet, fierce conviction.
Hermione met his gaze, something deep and warm flickering between them. “I know,” she said.
That evening, they all sat down to dinner with Harry and Ginny. The table was loud with laughter and conversation—the twins’ youthful pranks retold for the hundredth time, tales of old Quidditch matches and Ministry chaos. For a few hours, it almost felt normal.
When they finally returned upstairs, the house was still, the wards humming faintly like a heartbeat in the walls. Hermione slipped into bed between Draco and Theo, feeling the tension of the last two days finally beginning to fade.
For a long time, none of them spoke. Then Draco, voice rough and low, said, “before the week is over, I’m buying every warding manual ever printed. We’ll make the manor a fortress.”
Theo chuckled softly in the dark. “I’m fairly certain it already was, the Nott’s were always good warders.”
“Not enough,” Draco murmured.
Hermione turned toward him, pressing her palm to his chest where his heart beat hard under her hand. “We’ll make it enough,” she said. “Have Bill check it out, and hire who ever you want. I just want to go home and have us all feel safe there.”
And with that promise lingering in the air, the triad drifted into uneasy, shared sleep—bound by magic and love.
Notes:
Even Hermione is getting freaked out now.
what would make them all feel safe?
Chapter 195: Danger All Along
Chapter Text
The next morning broke gray and heavy with mist, the air pressing close around Grimmauld Place making the windows fog.
The street was quiet—too quiet for a Monday in the city—and for a moment, Hermione could almost imagine they were the only ones awake in the world.
Downstairs, the smell of toast and spiced tea drifted from the kitchen. Draco stood at the counter, half-dressed in formal robes, his expression tense as he read over a neat stack of parchment. Theo was already pouring tea for both of them, healer’s robes on, trying to lighten the mood.
“Your timetable,” Theo said, sliding the parchment toward him. “Five of them from different parts of Europe, and one from Singapore. Bill Weasley’s coordinating with them at the manor this morning”
Draco nodded, distracted. “Good. We’ll start with the perimeter wards, then the interior protections. They’ll need at least four days.”
Hermione looked up from her seat at the table. “Four days?”
He gave her a sharp look, though the worry beneath it was for her, not at her. “Nothing worth doing quickly is worth trusting, Hermione. You want it secure, it’ll take time. The manor’s large, the wards complex. They’re binding them to us—our bond, our signatures. That’s delicate work.”
Theo’s hand brushed hers briefly under the table, grounding. “It’s safer this way. We’ll stay here with Harry and Ginny until they finish. It’s actually a bit fun to spend some time with them.”
Hermione sighed, torn between reason and the pull of home. “I hate the thought of strangers combing through our magic and home while I’m not there.”
Draco’s eyes softened. “I’ll supervise every inch of it. They won’t breathe wrong without me knowing.”
Theo smirked into his tea. “So in other words, they’ll be terrified before lunchtime.”
That earned him a faint smile from Hermione, and even a soft huff from Draco.
Hermione’s auror escort met her outside the floo connection—Auror Edgerton, all broad shoulders and quiet seriousness. His patronus was, rather absurdly, a squirrel, much to Draco’s dismay and Theo’s delight, but he’d proven steady and capable the last two days.
He walked her to the classroom door, nodding to a few gawking students. “I’ll be right here, ma’am.”
“Just Hermione,” she said automatically, trying to smile.
Inside, whispers rippled through the classroom. She’d gotten used to it, almost—her name, the triad, the Prophet articles. They were curious, half-scandalized, half-impressed.
Professor Allerton greeted her warmly. “Welcome, Mrs. Granger-Nott-Malfoy. I hope things are… calmer today?”
“Not particularly,” she admitted, settling into her seat, “but at least I’m learning something useful if anyone hexes me in the hallway.”
That earned her a laugh from the class, and the rest of the lecture passed in a blur of wandwork and theory. Still, she could envision Edgerton’s presence outside the door like a heartbeat—constant, watchful.
By midmorning, six ward-casters had arrived at Nott Manor. Draco met them in the entryway with Bill Weasley at his side, both men radiating quiet authority.
“This place is already a fortress,” Bill said, glancing at the shimmering gold lattice visible only to trained eyes. “But you’re right to double down after that letter. People are barmy, better safer than not. We’ll rebind the core wards to your family’s shared magic. It’s complicated, but it’ll recognize the three of you—no one else.”
Draco nodded. “Good. Hermione must be untouchable here.”
The team spread across the grounds, marking sigils with enchanted chalk. Every few minutes, the air trembled faintly with the hum of new magic settling in.
Bill whistled low. “You’re binding layers from four magical traditions—Roman, Gaelic, Greek, and Arithmantic.”
“I want redundancy,” Draco said. “If one fails, the others hold.”
The French witch leading the team gave a small, impressed smile. “You think like a battle mage.”
“I learned from the brutalist strategist,” Draco replied shortly, his mind flicking to Snape.
They worked through the afternoon until the sky began to darken. By the time Theo apparated over from his healer rotation, the air around the manor shimmered faintly—alive, but still unanchored.
“How’s it looking?” Theo asked, handing Draco a coffee.
“Promising,” Draco said, running a hand through his hair. “But it’s going to take three more days to stabilize. The wards are sensitive to our bond—every emotional fluctuation could interfere until the core alignment finishes.”
Theo grimaced. “Then we better not argue.”
Draco shot him a look. “I never argue.”
Theo snorted. “Right. You just command the weather to behave.”
Hermione returned through the floo late that evening, tired but relieved. The old Black house welcomed her with its odd warmth—creaky, soot-scented, warm, alive.
Ginny met her in the sitting room, feet tucked under her on the couch, Crookshanks’ black twin Pudding, purring on her lap. “Long day?”
“The longest,” Hermione said, dropping her bag beside the armchair. “How’s Harry?”
“Still at the Ministry. But he said to tell you the Prophet’s calming people down a bit now that they know you’re under protection.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “That’s something.”
A sharp crack signaled Theo’s arrival, followed by Draco’s in the back garden. They came in faintly windblown and smelling of chalk dust and ozone. Draco looked exhausted but proud.
“The first stage is complete,” he said, sitting beside her. “The manor’s reacting to us already. They’ll start the resonance bindings tomorrow.”
“Which means?” Ginny asked curiously.
Draco smirked faintly. “It means if anyone even thinks of stepping onto the property without our permission, they’ll find themselves repelled halfway to France.”
Hermione reached over and touched his wrist lightly. “You’ve done enough for one day.”
He looked at her—truly looked at her—and some of the tension bled from his face. “Maybe,” he said softly. “But cant relax, not until it’s finished.”
The three of them sat together in the guest suite they shared at Grimmauld Place, after a rowdy and cheerful dinner with Ginny, the only light coming from the fire and the faint glow of Hermione’s charmed notes scattered across the table.
Theo leaned back on the couch, eyes half-closed. “Another three days like this and I might start believing Draco’s wards can keep Death itself out.”
Draco gave him a sharp look. “That’s the idea.”
Hermione smiled faintly, curling between them. “It’ll be worth the wait. And until then…” she rested her head against Draco’s shoulder, reaching for Theo’s hand, “…we’re safe here. Together.”
Theo’s thumb brushed over her fingers, slow and steady. “That’s all that matters.”
She kissed each of them squarely, lingering, a silent reassurance that the bond between them was still strong.
Outside, Grimmauld Place creaked softly, its old wards humming in tune with the triad’s bond—a temporary sanctuary, holding strong while another was being built brick by invisible brick back home.
The next day, fog clung to the hedgerows along the Nott Manor drive, silvering the air as the ward-casters arrived again.
Six cloaked figures fanned out across the lawns, their voices rising in low, ancient cadence. Draco stood at the top of the stone steps with Bill Weasley at his side, both grim-faced.
Something was wrong. He could feel it—the wards weren’t merely unsettled from being rewritten. They were resisting.
Bill swore softly in old Cornish, tracing glowing runes in the air. They flared crimson, then sputtered to ash.
“That’s interference,” Bill muttered. “Someone’s been tampering with the very outer ring.”
Draco’s pulse spiked. “You’re certain?”
Bill nodded grimly. “Subtle work. Whoever did it knew how to mask their trace signatures. I’d guess they started months ago—chipping at the edges where no one would notice unless they were very astutely attuned. These are Nott family wards, very ancient, Theo at his age… probably was never trained in such subtlety of attempts as this would have been.”
Draco’s stomach turned cold. Months. That meant before the first threatening letters possible even. Before any of them realized how vulnerable they were.
He straightened, voice clipped. “Lock down the outer most grounds. No one apparates in or out without my approval of Theo’s.”
Bill flicked his wand, sending blue fire racing along the hedgerows. “Done.”
By late morning, the ward-casters had mapped the weak spots—tiny slivers of corrupted magic threaded through the estate’s perimeter. They pulsed faintly under detection spells, invisible otherwise.
Theo arrived from St. Mungo’s mid-day, still in healer greens, hair windblown. He caught Draco’s expression before he spoke.
“Tell me,” Theo said quietly.
“They’ve been trying to get in,” Draco replied, voice low. “Whoever’s behind the siphonings most likely I would think—they’ve been at the wards for months. The damage is minimal, but it’s deliberate. So sumbtle, you never would have even known to look for it.”
Theo exhaled through his nose, the calm of a man trying very hard not to panic. “Do they know who?”
Bill shook his head. “No magical signature left behind of course. Whoever did it knew how to scrub their traces. But they weren’t nearly strong enough to break through. They were testing for weaknesses.”
“Like a burglar rattling windows,” Theo muttered.
Draco nodded. “Exactly.”
Theo ran a hand through his hair. “Then we make the windows unbreakable.”
Bill hesitated, then said, “Draco, there’s one more measure. It’s old magic—ancient family warding. Blood rites. I wouldn’t suggest it if the situation weren’t escalating.”
Draco turned sharply. “Blood wards? Bit dark for Hermione’s taste…”
Bill nodded. “From both the Malfoy and Nott lines. They’d bind the manor to your combined ancestral magic, reinforcing the walls against any intruder not of your bloodline—or Hermione’s, since the triad bond already ties her magic to yours. But it requires direct participation from your nearest living relatives of title. Theo doesn’t have any, but you would need…”
“My mother,” Draco said quietly.
Bill nodded. “And your father’s line through you has a particularly strong rite—it would make this place nearly untouchable.”
Draco looked toward the manor’s distant windows, the shadows of centuries behind them. “Then we’ll do it. All of it.”
By the time he apparated back to Grimmauld, it was already dark. The lamps in the sitting room glowed gold, the fire crackling softly. Hermione was curled in an armchair with parchment and tea, and Theo sat cross-legged on the rug reading over medical notes. Harry was looking over files at the table.
The instant Draco appeared, Hermione’s head lifted. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He didn’t answer right away. He dropped his gloves onto the table, then paced once before saying flatly, “Someone’s been working against the wards. For months.”
Harry sat up straight. “You’re serious?”
Bill’s words echoed in Draco’s mind—testing for weaknesses.
He nodded. “Subtle interference. They didn’t get in, but they’ve been trying. The perimeter’s compromised.”
Hermione set her tea down, hands trembling slightly. “So they could’ve been planning the attack on the gala for that long.”
“Or longer,” Theo said darkly.
Draco rubbed at his temple. “Bill thinks we should add ancestral blood wards. Malfoy and Nott lines together—it’ll make the estate nearly impenetrable.”
Hermione frowned, trying to recall her Arithmantic theory. “Those rituals require direct family involvement.” And they aren’t really light magic… nor dark either. Morally grey magic right?
Draco nodded. “My mother. She’s the Lady Malfoy. Her blood carries the authority to seal it. I’ll write to her tonight.”
Theo glanced between them. “That’s not light magic to people besides us, Draco. Hermione would need to participate too.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “But it’s very protective. Old, binding, sacred magic. I’d rather risk magic exhaustion momentarily than lose her.”
Hermione stood, crossing the room to him. She rested a hand on his sleeve. “Then we’ll do it. Whatever it takes.”
Long after Hermione and Theo had gone upstairs, Draco sat at the small desk in the guest room, quill scratching over parchment by candlelight. The letter had to be worded carefully—formal but honest.
His mother would understand the gravity in his tone.
Mother,
I would not ask this if it were not dire. The ward-casters discovered evidence of intrusion attempts upon the manor—months old. No breach occurred, but Bill Weasley believes the most secure path forward is to bind the estate with both Malfoy and Nott ancestral blood rites. That means I need you, as Lady Malfoy, to lend your blood and presence to the ceremony tomorrow.
This is not only about safety. It is about legacy—our family, and the woman who now bears our bond. I will not allow the walls of our home to fall to cowards in the dark.
Please come to Nott Manor tomorrow morning. Bill and the ward-casters will be waiting. Bring whatever relics you deem fitting for the rite. I trust your judgment more than anyone’s.
With love,
Draco
He sealed it with the Malfoy crest and sent it off with a Potter owl, watching until the bird vanished into the night.
When he turned, Hermione stood in the doorway, robe loosely tied, eyes soft with understanding.
“You couldn’t sleep either?” she asked quietly.
“Not until it’s done,” he said. “Not until it’s safe. Until you’re safe.”
She crossed to him, resting her forehead against his. “Then tomorrow, we make it safer together.”
Theo’s sleepy voice drifted from the hall. “You two planning to save the world again before breakfast?”
Draco smirked faintly, the tension breaking for just a breath. “Something like that.”
“Come to bed.”
Notes:
That's a long time to have bene trying to get into the wards.
How do you think the blood rite will go?
Chapter 196: Blood Wards
Chapter Text
The following morning dawned, the sky a watercolor blur of gray and rose above Grimmauld Place.
Hermione woke to the sound of Draco pacing softly near the window, already dressed and fastening the clasp of his cloak. His expression was sharp, composed, but the tightness in his shoulders betrayed him.
Theo stirred beside her, squinting into the early light. “You’re up before the birds again,” he mumbled.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Draco said without turning. “The ward-casters start at eight. Mother will arrive just after.”
Hermione sat up, tying her robe and reaching for her wand to braid her hair. “You look like you’re going into battle.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “In a way, I am.”
Theo rolled over onto his back. “You’re the only person I know who treats household maintenance like a war campaign.”
Draco finally turned to them, mouth twitching. “We’re not mending leaky pipes, Theo. We’re binding blood and legacy into the bones of your estate. You might forgive me if I don’t treat that lightly.”
Hermione rose and crossed the room, smoothing the fabric of his sleeve. “You treat everything that concerns the people you love as if the world depends on it,” she said softly.
His eyes softened. “That’s because sometimes it does.”
By the time they went down to breakfast, Ginny was already awake, hair tied messily atop her head, nursing her tea. “You’re off early,” she said around a yawn. “Everything alright?”
Draco nodded, accepting a mug from her. “Today we finish the wards at Nott Manor hopefully. My mother’s joining us to anchor them with Malfoy blood magic.”
Ginny blinked. “That’s… not something you hear every day over eggs.”
Theo chuckled, reaching for toast. “We’ve discovered it’s best not to overthink life with him.”
Hermione smiled faintly but said nothing, her thoughts somewhere between fear and gratitude. She could already feel the pulse of the manor from the wards that had bene placed over the course of the last few days, they were all more in touch now with their manor—a faint echo of Draco’s nervousness mixed in through the bond.
Harry appeared moments later, still in his Auror uniform, tie half-askew. “Morning,” he said, sliding into a chair. “You three are heading over for the final round, right? Bill said the fresh wards are stable now.”
“Yes,” Draco confirmed. “But we found evidence someone’s been tampering with them for months as you know, and we were hoping you could discretely look into that.”
Harry swore under his breath. “We’ll pull records of magical disturbances in Wiltshire, cross-reference with known sympathizers. But if they’re that good…” He trailed off, jaw tight. “Just—watch your backs.”
Draco met his eyes squarely. “I always do.”
Ginny gave Hermione’s hand a light squeeze. “Let me know when it’s done. I’ll bring scones next time you invite me to your fortress. I was rather hoping to have you here one more night.”
Hermione smiled, managing a small laugh. “You’ll be the first guest once it’s safe again.”
They apparated from the courtyard behind Grimmauld Place straight into the crisp Wiltshire morning. The moment they appeared, the magic in the air pressed down around them—dense, humming, and alive.
The manor’s sprawling façade shimmered faintly under layered enchantments, lines of golden wardlight snaking over the roof like veins of sunlight caught mid-pulse. Six ward-casters moved methodically across the lawns, their robes trailing through the mist as they prepared sigil markers and rune stones.
Bill spotted them immediately, striding forward with a parchment roll in hand. “Morning, all. We’ve mapped out the main leyline intersections—you’ll see the new lattice glowing at dusk once the bindings stabilize. But before we can anchor them permanently, we’ll need to begin the blood rites.”
Draco nodded, his tone all business. “My mother’s on her way. You’ll brief her when she arrives.”
Bill inclined his head. “Of course. I’ll also need blood from you, Healer Nott, and Hermione as the third point in the triad. That last connection is key—the wards must recognize the triad bond as a living anchor, not just family lineage.”
Hermione looked out across the grounds, heart fluttering in her chest. “Will it hurt?”
Bill hesitated. “Not physically. But it can be… intense. The magic is ancient and emotional—it knows you, feels you. It remembers everything you’ve bound together.”
Theo reached for her hand, squeezing lightly. “Then it’ll be fine,” he said with quiet conviction. “We’ve all been through worse.”
Draco’s gaze softened as he looked at both of them. “We’ve been through everything.”
A rustle of displaced air drew their attention toward the edge of the drive. Narcissa Malfoy apparated in, elegant as always in pale silver robes embroidered with faint green thread, a delicate emerald clasp at her throat.
Her wand was already in hand, and her expression was calm but fierce—the bearing of a woman who had stood in both war and grief and learned not to flinch from either.
“Mother,” Draco said, moving to greet her.
She kissed his cheek and then, to Hermione’s surprise, pulled her briefly into an embrace as well. “My dear,” Narcissa said quietly. “You mustn’t thank me for coming. This is my home too, now we’re all family. If my blood can make it safer for you—it’s already yours.”
Hermione’s eyes prickled, and she swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
Theo inclined his head respectfully. “It’s an honor to have you with us, Lady Malfoy.”
Narcissa gave a small smile. “Please, Theodore. We’ve shared enough dinners and my son now—call me Narcissa.”
Theo grinned faintly. “Then you must call me Theo.”
A ripple of warmth broke through the tension then, brief but real.
As the ward-casters began laying out the ritual circle on the north lawn, Draco and Bill oversaw the details, tracing glowing runes into the grass. Narcissa stood at the center, wand poised, eyes half-closed as she murmured under her breath in old Latin. Hermione could feel the magic vibrating faintly under her skin, as though the very ground was breathing in anticipation.
Theo came to stand beside her, brushing her fingers lightly. “You alright?”
She nodded, gaze still fixed on the ritual site. “It’s strange… it feels alive already. Like the house knows what’s about to happen.”
“It does,” Draco said softly, approaching them. “It’s part of us now. After this, nothing can touch it.”
The late morning light warmed their faces as the team finished the final glyphs. The air shimmered gold and blue where the sigils intersected. Hermione could smell the faint tang of iron and herbs, and magic itself—bright, electric, and ancient—pulsed just below the surface of her awareness.
Narcissa looked up, voice serene but commanding. “We’re ready to begin.”
Draco nodded once, then turned to Hermione and Theo. His tone was softer now, but no less certain.
“Stay close,” he said quietly. “Once we start, there’s no stepping away.”
Hermione’s heart thrummed, but her voice was steady. “We wouldn’t dream of it.”
The air over the north lawn shimmered as though reality itself were holding its breath.
A soft wind stirred the runic dust, carrying the scent of earth, salt, and something faintly metallic.
At the center of the vast ritual circle, six ward-casters stood in formation, wands raised. Draco, Theo, Hermione, and Narcissa formed the inner ring.
Bill’s voice carried across the lawn, low and precise.
“Once begun, the blood rite cannot be interrupted. Each donor speaks their family’s vow, offers the cut, and lets the blood fall within the sigil. When the triad completes the vow, the wards will fuse to the manor’s ley-core. Do you all understand?”
Four nods answered him.
Bill drew his wand and tapped the ground. The sigils flared alive—interlocking spirals of blue , green, and silver, the ancient Malfoy crest merging with the angular geometry of the Nott seal. A third pattern—unfamiliar and newer—formed between them, woven from the triad’s shared signature.
Hermione’s pulse quickened. The light seemed to hum with memory—centuries of whispers, oaths, and echoes buried in the land itself.
Narcissa stepped forward first. She removed one delicate glove and pressed the tip of her wand against her palm. A small bead of blood welled, bright and rich as garnet.
Her voice rang clear in Latin older than Hogwarts itself:
“By the line of Malfoy, by the blood of my marriage house and the Black’s of my youth, I bind this home to the safety of its kin. May no darkness cross its threshold unbidden; may its walls remember love before fear.”
The blood fell onto the central rune, hissing faintly as it sank into the earth.
A ripple of silver light spread outward, washing over the grass and stone like moonlight poured from a chalice.
Draco closed his eyes, the energy vibrating in his chest. When he opened them again, the sigils pulsed once in acknowledgment—the manor knows her.
Narcissa exhaled slowly and stepped back. “Your turn, my son.”
Draco raised his wand, his voice steady though it shook faintly with emotion.
“By the name of Malfoy reborn, I offer my blood to strengthen these walls, to honor those we failed and protect those we love. Let no deceit pass these gates; let our bond guard this family until magic itself fades.”
He drew the small cut, letting the crimson thread fall beside his mother’s.
The air shuddered—alive, crackling with power. Where the blood touched, the runes flared to white fire, then settled to gold.
Hermione felt it through the bond—his pulse, his devotion, his fear and fierce protectiveness—each emotion reverberating like a heartbeat shared between them all.
Theo’s hand brushed hers gently. “Ready?”
She nodded, voice shaky. “Yes.”
Theo stepped forward next. His wand rose, calm and deliberate.
“By the house of Nott, I call upon our roots deep in the soil of Albion. Let strength and constancy guard this place; let the loyalty of those bound by choice be as strong as those bound by blood.”
When his blood joined the circle, the blue runes brightened, twining around the gold—Malfoy and Nott, lineage and choice, merging in luminous harmony.
The ground seemed to hum a low chord while the wind picked up—earth and wind resonating together.
Hermione stepped into the center.
Every rune flared brighter as she moved—the manor recognizing the bond, the union of magic that tied them together.
Bill’s voice softened. “When you’re ready.”
Her wand hovered above her palm. The cut was small, but the magic that rose from it was immense—thrumming, warm, alive.
She spoke slowly, from the heart rather than any rehearsed phrase:
“By my bond and by the love we’ve built, I tie my future to these walls, my hope to their peace. May this house shelter those who seek light, and may it stand, unbroken, for as long as we believe in each other. May it always protect our family.”
The drop of blood struck the soil—and the circle erupted.
Light surged upward like a living thing, engulfing them in a column of gold and silver flame.
Hermione gasped—the energy wasn’t cold or hot but whole, flowing through every nerve and thought, through Draco and Theo beside her, through Narcissa, through the bones of the manor itself.
In that suspended instant, she saw flashes—lost memories layered over centuries:
children running through the orchards, the old ballroom lit for winter feasts, Narcissa cradling an infant Draco by firelight, the triad themselves stepping into the threshold months earlier for the first time as a married family.
Then, as one, the lights spiraled upward and vanished into the clouds.
The air stilled. The earth exhaled.
No one spoke for several seconds.
Then one of the ward-casters murmured reverently, “It’s done.”
Bill ran a diagnostic charm, his expression breaking into a grin. “Wards are sealed—stronger than anything I’ve ever seen. They recognize the three of you and Lady Malfoy as primary anchors. Even the gods would have trouble forcing entry now.”
Narcissa let out a slow breath. Her hand quivered slightly as she replaced her glove. “Good,” she whispered. “Then it was worth it.”
Draco stepped forward, catching her hand before she could lower it fully. “Thank you.”
She studied him with quiet pride. “You’ve built a family worthy of the name, my son. That’s all any mother could want.”
Theo, still pale from the power coursing through the ground, offered her a respectful nod. “You were magnificent, Narcissa.”
Her eyes softened. “So were you, Lord Nott.”
Hermione stood between them, feeling the thrum of the wards echo faintly through her bones—steady and alive, like a pulse matching her own.
The manor felt different now—watchful, warm, protective.
Draco caught her gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment before softening. “It knows you,” he said quietly. “You’re part of its heart now.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Then maybe it’s finally at peace, rid of it’s past.”
Theo looped an arm loosely around her waist, exhaustion and relief mingling in his voice. “Let’s hope we get to be too.”
Notes:
I feel like they need to celebrate their fortress being on lockdown...
Chapter 197: The Aftermath
Chapter Text
By twilight, the manor already felt different.
Where once the air had held an old, uneasy stillness, it now thrummed softly—alive, aware, protective of them. Even the shadows seemed warmer, the chandeliers glowing with steadier light, as though the house itself finally exhaled after holding its breath for years.
Dinner was simple by Malfoy standards but perfect in its intimacy: roasted pheasant, late summer greens, glazed beets, and a bottle of deep red wine that Narcissa insisted on opening from the Nott family cellar.
They dined in the small east wing dining room, the one Hermione liked best because of its ivy-framed windows and the view of the orchard where the new wardlights shimmered faintly like fireflies.
No elves serving, no formal guests—just the four of them, exhausted and quietly content.
When the plates were cleared, Narcissa rose, glass in hand. Her expression was elegant, but the faint tremor of emotion in her voice made it softer than usual.
“To safety,” she said. “To family, by blood and by bond. May these walls never again know fear.”
Draco’s throat worked as he raised his own glass. “To you, Mother. For everything you did—today and always to protect me.”
Theo lifted his as well, grinning faintly. “To the women who keep us alive despite ourselves.”
That earned the smallest of laughs from Hermione, and even Narcissa’s lips twitched. They drank, the clink of crystal echoing softly through the room.
Later, they migrated to the drawing room where a low fire burned, casting golden light across the marble floor. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was comfortable, the kind that came only when all words had already been spoken through shared experience.
Theo lounged on one end of the couch, tie undone, head tipped back against the cushions. Draco sat beside Hermione on the rug before the fire, still in his rolled-up shirtsleeves, his posture finally relaxed.
Narcissa had taken the armchair nearest the hearth, reading absent-mindedly, though the book had barely turned a page in half an hour.
The smell of warm wood and old books filled the air.
Hermione leaned lightly against Draco’s shoulder. “It feels different,” she murmured. “The whole house—it’s warmer somehow.”
“It recognizes you,” Narcissa said without looking up. “When a home has been bound to a family through blood magic, it mirrors its masters. For many years, this place reflected fear and grief because of it’s history. I suspect it was never fully keyed to all of you after your marriage before today. Today it felt… love again. I haven’t felt that here since before the wars, when Theo’s mother was still the Lady of the house pregnant with him.”
Her words landed softly, rippling through the quiet.
Draco reached up to trace his thumb along Hermione’s hand where it rested against his arm. “Then we did it right,” he said. “For once on the first try.”
Theo cracked one eye open. “I could get used to right.”
Hermione smiled, a faint laugh escaping her. “You say that like it’s a new concept.”
“It is,” Theo replied dryly, earning a smirk from Draco.
After tea was summoned in, Narcissa set her cup down and turned toward Hermione with a gentler expression than Hermione had ever seen her wear.
“I meant what I said earlier,” Narcissa said quietly. “You’ve brought something back into this family that I thought we had lost forever. Not just care—heart.”
Hermione felt her chest tighten. “That means a lot, truly. I wasn’t sure, at first… how I fit here.”
“You fit,” Narcissa said simply. “Because you want enough to make yourself fit. That’s what keeps old magic alive—intention.”
Across the room, Draco was pretending not to listen, but the faint curve of his mouth betrayed him.
Theo murmured from the couch, “And here I thought I was the sentimental one.”
“You hide it better,” Hermione teased.
“Barely,” he said, smiling.
As the fire burned low, the ward-casters’ magic continued its faint pulse through the manor, a heartbeat echoing softly beneath the floorboards. The triad could feel it through their link—the hum of shared energy, calm and steady, stronger than it had ever been.
Draco’s voice was quiet. “Do you feel that?”
Hermione nodded. “It’s like the house is breathing.”
Draco’s hand found Hermione’s; Theo reached over to clasp Draco’s wrist, their circle complete even without formal spellwork.
The bond glowed faintly under their skin—just enough for Narcissa to notice and smile.
“Hold on to that,” she said. “That glow is what helped protect you today. It’s what will keep saving you.”
Hermione looked from Draco to Theo, her heart full and heavy all at once. “We will.”
When the house finally went quiet and Narcissa had retired for home, the three of them found themselves still sitting on the rug before the embers, too comfortable to move.
Theo stretched out with a soft groan. “When we ever have kids, they’ll never sneak out past these wards.”
Draco chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Good. I plan to sleep soundly knowing that.”
Hermione, curled against both of them, smiled tiredly. “You’ll make insufferable parents.”
“Probably,” Theo said. “But we’ll keep them safe.”
Draco’s hand brushed her hair back, his voice barely a whisper. “Like we keep you.”
Her heart tightened with warmth. “All of us,” she corrected softly.
“We keep each other.” Theo added as he pulled them up, leading them to their chambers for the rest of the evening.
Soon, Hermione lay against Theo’s chest, her nightgown slipping off one shoulder to reveal the curve of her breast, her curls a wild spill across the pillow. Draco lounged nearby.
Theo’s arm wrapped around her, his fingers lightly stroking her back, his cheeks flushed with a soft pink that deepened as he gathered his nerve.
Theo’s voice was a low, intimate rumble, his fingers pausing on her back, “Love, this first night back... I want to celebrate it by giving you all the control, letting you dominate me.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed, her hand stilling on his chest, her voice soft and curious, “Theo... All the control—like, in bed… tonight?”
Theo nodded, his cheeks flushing deeper, “Yes, love—tonight, I want you to peg me, like we talked about if you feel ready. This feels like the right night to be emotionally vulnerable with you both, to let go completely, to trust you with everything.” His eyes shimmered with emotion, his hand cupping her face, “I love you, Hermione—love us. Let’s do this, if you’re ready.”
Hermione’s heart swelled, “Yes, if it’s what you want tonight, I’m ready. I love you, and I trust us.”
They moved with tender, worshipful care, Hermione’s hands shaking slightly as she fastened the leather harness around her hips, the rose-gold buckles glinting in the lantern light, the O-ring pulsing faintly with enchantment, the textured pad pressing against her clit with every shift.
The midnight-blue silicone dildo locked into place, the base vibrating subtly in sync with the harness. Theo knelt on the bed, leaning forward on his hands and knees, his body bare and tense with trust, his back arched slightly, his arse raised and exposed, his cock hanging heavy between his legs.
He glanced back at her with a mix of eagerness and nervous resolve, his cheeks flushed and breath already uneven.
Draco sat beside them, his hand on Theo’s shoulder, his voice a steady, loving command, “He’s ready, Hermione—start with the lube, coat your fingers and his hole, slow and plenty.”
Hermione nodded, her hands slick with the purchased Slick Silken Supreme, the lube warm and tingling.
She circled Theo’s tight, puckered hole with gentle, hesitant unsure strokes, the schlick soft as she pressed one finger in slowly, Theo’s arse clenching then yielding, making him gasp, “Hermione—fuck.”
Hermione’s voice reassured him, “Theo—relax for me, I’ve got you.”
Draco’s voice was gentle, “Good—add a second finger now, scissor them slowly, stretch him open, let him feel your care.”
Hermione did, each movement soft and deliberate, Theo’s arse adjusting, his moans growing more frantic, “Fuck, love—it’s intense, but it’s good,”
Draco’s hand stroked Theo’s back, “You’re doing beautifully, mate—breathe, let her in.”
Time slipped by in preparation, Hermione’s fingers thrusting deeper, curling to graze his prostate, sparking jolts that made his cock leak pre-cum, “Theo—love you, you’re so open for me,” her voice in awe.
Draco’s voice was steady, “Now a third finger, love—twist them gently, make him ready for you.”
Hermione complied, Theo’s arse stretching, his moans rising around the room, “Hermione—love you, it’s... it’s everything, feel so close to you already, cant wait for more.”
Draco’s voice was soft, “He’s ready, love—lube the dildo again, press slow, let him push out, talk him through it.”
She slicked it again. Hermione positioned the dildo, the tip pressing against Theo’s hole, her hips trembling in anticipaiton, “Love—I’ve got you, here I come” her voice a loving whisper.
Draco’s instructions were clear and reassuring, “Slow, love—press steady, let the ridges do the work, tell him how you feel.”
The stretch was intense for him, Theo’s arse resisted a bit initially, clenching tight as she tried to work in, a sharp sting making him gasp, “Hermione—fuck, it’s big, wider than Draco,” his voice trembling a bit at the uncomfortable stretch.
“Breathe, mate—push out, let her in, you can take it,” Draco guided, his hand on Theo’s hip, “You’re safe, we love you.”
Hermione braced more pressure downward, the dildo inching in reluctantly, the ridges rubbing his walls, sparking jolts, the warming runes making it feel alive.
“Fuck, love—it’s you, filling me so perfect,” Theo moaned, his arse yielding after long, patient minutes, the dildo fully in, the base pressing against his skin, the vibration humming through both of them.
Hermione’s first thrusts were slow, tentative, but deliberate, the harness grinding her clit with each push, sparking her own pleasure, “Theo— feel me taking you?” Her voice quivered with excitement, her heart swelling with the power, the trust.
Draco’s voice was an anchoring guide, “Deeper, try to angle up, hit his spot, make him feel every ridge, tell him he’s yours.”
Hermione adjusted, the dildo’s curve grazing his prostate, spurring intense pleasure that made his cock leak, “Hermione—gods, your so good at this, it’s so much!”
Hermione’s thrusts grew more confident, the vibration amplifying her pleasure, her pussy sopping wet, “Theo— this is... us. She me how this makes you feel”.
She gave him a few deeper and rougher thrusts, and Theo came, spilling acrossed the sheets in front of him, “Hermione—can’t wait… you finish too, keep taking.”
Hermione’s hips kept a steady momentum, rocking her clit against the vibrating harness, driving herself higher, her orgasm followed Theo’s quickly, pussy squirting against the harness, her wail deep and ear-splitting.
Draco came stroking himself, spilling on Theo’s back, “You both, mine—you’re so perfect.” The bond a radiant embrace, hearts bound in their tender, loving intimacy.
As they collapsed, Hermione’s voice was a shaky whisper, “Theo... gods, that was... intense. Holding you like that, taking you—it’s overwhelming, I didn’t expect to feel so... powerful, so connected like that.”
Her eyes shimmered, the bond pulsing with her love, “It scared me at first that I would do it wrong, or hurt you, but... I actually loved it, loved seeing you surrender to me, loved being your strength.”
Theo’s voice was a low whisper, his hand reaching for Hermione’s and Draco’s, his fingers intertwining with theirs, his stormy eyes shimmering with unshed emotion, “Love... gods, that was... you were everything, taking me like that, holding me, it was more than I even hoped it would be.”
His body quivered with aftershocks, his arse still tingling from the stretch, his voice cracking with raw gratitude, “I felt so... seen, so loved. I’m both of yours, completely.”
His free hand brushed her cheek, his thumb wiping a stray tear off her check.
Draco’s voice was a steady, affectionate murmur, his hands moving with reverent care to unbuckle the harness fully from her, the rose-gold clasps clicking softly as he eased it from her hips, “Our wife—you were fucking incredible, Hermione, taking him, owning him with your love so beautifully.”
His silver eyes glistened, the bond flaring with his adoration, his fingers tracing her thighs where the harness had left faint red marks, massaging the skin with gentle, circling strokes.
He leaned to kiss her inner thigh, his lips warm and lingering, sparking soft shivers, “Let us care for you now, love—our perfect witch.”
Hermione’s voice was a breathless whisper, her body still quivering with the intensity of the intimacy, her pussy throbbing with aftershocks, “Draco... Theo... I didn’t know I could feel this way about this type of act—holding him, taking him, it’s... it’s shattered me, in the best way.”
Her brown eyes shimmered with love and a quiet, overwhelming vulnerability, her hand reaching for Draco’s, pulling him closer, “I was scared, but you both... you made it ours, made it love.”
Theo’s hands joined Draco’s, his fingers massaging her thighs with slow, worshipful strokes, his touch feather-light yet grounding, “My heart—you were so strong, so gentle, it was absolutely perfect.”
His lips brushed her knee, then trailed up her thigh in soft, reverent kisses, “Let us love you now, ease every ache, show you our gratitude.”
Draco fetched a warm, damp cloth charmed with soothing runes, the fabric infused with a faint lavender essence, wiping her sweaty skin with tender care, cleaning the slick and lube from her pussy and thighs, his fingers lingering on her swollen lips, parting them gently to clean every fold, “Your cunt’s still dripping, love—our perfect wife, let me worship it,”.
His thumb circled her clit with feather-light touches, sparking soft moans.
Theo’s hands moved to her breasts, his fingers massaging with gentle, circling strokes, kneading the soft flesh, his thumbs brushing her nipples in slow, adoring arcs, “Your tits, love—so perfect, so sensitive, let me soothe them,” his tongue grazing her nipple as he leaned to kiss it, his lips warm and lingering, sucking gently.
Draco’s cloth moved lower, wiping her arse where the harness had pressed against it, his fingers massaging the tender skin, “Your arse, love—fucking gorgeous.”
Draco’s cloth was discarded as his hands took over, his fingers dipping into her pussy with slow, loving thrusts, encouraging her as he curled them against her G-spot, “Your cunt’s still throbbing, love—let me make it sing again, show you how much we adore you,”
Theo’s lips moved to her other breast, sucking with gentle devotion, his tongue swirling around her nipple, “My goddess—your body’s our altar, your so sexy and perfect” his voice a worshipful murmur, his hand sliding to her thigh, massaging the muscles with slow, grounding strokes.
Hermione’s moans were soft, her body arching into their touch, “Draco—Theo—love you,” her pussy clenching around Draco’s fingers, beginning to convulse again.
Draco’s fingers thrust deeper, his thumb circling her clit faster, “Cum for us, love—one more, our perfect witch,”.
Theo’s lips trailed to her neck, kissing her pulse point, “You’re our heart, love—let us hold you.”
Her orgasm was more gentle this time, pussy spasming, squirting out lightly.
They held her, kissing her scars, whispering vows, Draco’s fingers easing out, Theo’s hands cradling her face, the bond a humming in delightful pulses of care and adoration.
Notes:
The manor has pretty high level blood wards now, it should be very safe.
Chapter 198: The Break
Chapter Text
The Charms Institute auditorium hummed with a nervous energy. Students whispered behind parchment screens, half-studying, half-gossiping about the continuing magical core crisis.
Even Professor Kettleburn’s usually animated gestures seemed taut with strain.
Hermione sat near the front, quill poised, Auror Dawlish was stationed beside the door like a silent sentinel.
Her coffee sat untouched on her desk. She was too tired, too frightened, too focused.
“Today,” Kettleburn announced, “we turn to high-level magical displacement: absorption enchantments versus summoning siphonwork.”
Hermione’s quill stilled.
“Absorption enchantments,” he said, “draw magic into the caster or object present from the enviroment. Summoning siphons, however, call magic across space into a distant vessel — often through ritual tethering. Rare. Illegal. Devastating if misused.”
Hermione’s breath caught.
Her heartbeat thudded loud enough she feared the whole room could hear it.
Across space.
Into a vessel elsewhere.
No trace on the victim.
Normally form environmental elements… but what if…?
A magical core summoned out of the body to a far off placer rather than drained into something physical on site.
Her fingers trembled as images flashed in her mind and she wrote quick notes:
- Most of the victims felt nothing at first.
- No curse traces left on them.
- No chaos where the event occurred, almost like it hadn’t happened where they fell.
- Magic gone — like it was never there.
She whispered to herself, “They aren’t being emptied in person, at least not anymore… they’re being called away.”
Not a poison.
Not a curse.
Not something in the victims psyche.
Somehow the delivery of spellwork so precise it was brought into contact with just the magical core and left no trace.
A summoning siphon ritual anchored somewhere unknown, targeting witches and wizards individually, stripping their magic like plucking threads through a needle’s eye — sending core-essence into a hidden reservoir.
A remote extraction.
A magical theft at a distance.
What if the outliers in the start and the deaths had been experimentation to get the process right. Initial failures.
Her vision blurred. The parchment in front of her suddenly made sense — all the fragments, the dead ends finally arranging themselves into one horrifying line.
Someone wasn’t draining magic around the victims by direct contact with them.
Someone was summoning their magic elsewhere.
A spell cast from afar somehow delivered directly to their cores.
A ritual repeated.
Targeted.
Deliberate.
And it was growing, becoming more efficient in harvesting.
She rose from her seat before she fully realized she had moved.
Draco was waiting for her in the courtyard, immaculate in tailored robes, blond hair catching the sun. He straightened when he saw her face.
“Hermione? What—”
“A summoning siphon,” she blurted, clutching her notes. “Draco — the cores aren’t being stolen directly in person. They’re being called away into a vessel we haven’t found yet.”
His expression sharpened. “A ritual-tether siphon? That’s dark-arts theory level— never heard of it in real life.”
“Worse,” Hermione breathed. “There’s no trace because the magic itself never touches the environment, somehow the spell is only ever touching the core itself. I don’t know yet how it gets to the core without touching anything else in the body, but the magic goes straight from the victim into whatever container they’re using far away.”
Draco paled.
“So someone is harvesting cores like a remote farm almost.”
Hermione nodded, eyes bright with fear.
“Collecting them somewhere. For storage. Or… activation.”
“For grand power or redistribution,” Draco finished grimly. “Merlin’s sake.”
Her hands shook.
“We need to tell Kingsley right now.”
The Minister’s private chamber was rarely tense. Today, it thrummed with dread.
Hermione spread her diagrams across the polished oak table. “It’s not poisoning. Not runes on the body. No artifact planted nearby. No curse.”
She pointed to her notes: magical conduit arrays, ritual fields, metaphysical tethers.
“It’s distance-based siphonwork. A summoning ritual repeatedly pulling magic from living sources into a vessel elsewhere. Still unsure how the spell gets directly to the core with zero magical trace on the body, but it has to be somehow.”
The Unspeakable stiffened.
“That magic would require obscene amounts of foundational energy and a Summoner Anchor.”
Hermione nodded.
“And they’re doing it repeatedly without triggering the Trace. That means someone has found a way to bypass magical law by tethering the summons to the victims’ cores themselves.”
Harry’s voice dropped.
“So when these kids collapsed — the caster could be half a world away?”
“Yes,” Hermione whispered. The vessel could be too, most likely to keep it safe.”
“And it’s filling,” Draco murmured. “With stolen cores.”
Kingsley’s jaw set like iron.
“For what purpose?”
Hermione swallowed hard.
“To create or empower something catastrophic I imagine. There’s nothing good that comes from gathering magic cores…”
A silence fell so thick it felt like a storm building pressure.
Harry finally spoke, quiet and a bit afraid:
“Like creating a magical weapon.”
Hermione whispered, “Or to empower a person… powerful enough to rival any living wizard. Redistribute the magic to many… or one.”
NA hour later, Hermione leaned against the marble wall outside the chamber, dizzy with the weight of it.
Draco touched her wrist gently.
“You realize what you’ve just done?” he murmured.
She forced a breath. “Put myself directly in the crosshairs. Done exactly what the note said not to do.”
His expression softened — terrified, protective, reverent.
“We’re going to find whoever’s doing this,” he whispered fiercely.
“And when we do — they will learn exactly what a bonded triad looks like when it protects its own.”
Theo’s calm but curious presence brushed across her bond — distant from St. Mungo’s, but warm, steadying.
She exhaled slowly, letting the bond soothe her racing thoughts.
That evening, the manor was quiet except for the distant hum of the wards outside, still being reinforced day by day by the blood ritual. The fireplace in the library glowed low, throwing amber light across the room.
Hermione sat curled up on the couch, bare feet tucked beneath her, parchment scattered around her like fallen leaves.
Draco stood by the window, glass of brandy in hand, staring out into the dark. Theo, just home from the hospital, sat beside her — hair disheveled, healer robes still wrinkled from a long shift — his hand resting over hers on the arm of the sofa.
No one had spoken for a few minutes.
Draco’s voice broke the silence, low and strained.
“So now when the media catches whiff of this the entire bloody world will know we’ve found something, and every dark witch and wizard with half a brain will want to stop you before you figure it out fully. As if the target on your back wasn’t already big enough.”
Hermione looked up, eyes tired. “We didn’t confirm anything. Kingsley was careful. But yes — rumors spread fast.”
Theo’s tone was softer. “It’s not just rumors. The Unspeakables are already detecting faint summoning traces in the two dead adult victims now that they know what to look for. It fits your theory.”
Draco turned sharply. “And it paints a target on her back.”
Theo met his gaze, calm but firm. “And on ours. That’s what a triad bond means. Never alone.”
Draco’s hand tightened around the glass. “It’s not enough to just have an aurror escort. Not when someone out there is ripping magic straight out of people’s cores from half a continent away.”
Hermione rose quietly, stepping to him. She laid a hand on his arm, grounding him. “We can’t stop living because of fear, Draco. We fight smart. We protect each other. I’ll be extra careful.”
For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then his shoulders dropped.
He turned to her, cupping her face with both hands, thumb brushing her cheek.
“You keep giving the world pieces of yourself,” he murmured. “And I don’t know what I’d do if one day it took too much.”
Theo came up behind her, wrapping his arms around both of them.
“It won’t,” he said simply. “We won’t let it.”
For a few long breaths, they stood there in silence — magic humming faintly between their joined hands, the bond warm and pulsing with quiet unity.
The next afternoon, the Ministry conference room buzzed with subdued intensity. Kingsley sat at the head of the table, an Unspeakable beside him, and folders stacked high with parchment evidence. The triad sat together across from them — Draco in black, Theo still in healer green robes, Hermione clutching her notes.
The Unspeakable adjusted her hood.
“Preliminary scans confirm faint summoning residue in some victims — consistent with core displacement, not decay. No runic fragments were found, meaning the ritual was conducted external. Mrs. Malfoy-Nott’s theory appears correct. Still unknown how the spell actually touches the core in the first place though. Delivery method from afar seems impossible.”
A low murmur rippled through the room.
Kingsley leaned forward.
“So we can confirm: a modified summoning siphon spell is being used somehow, drawing magic into a containment site somewhere off our grid… anywhere in the world basically?”
“Yes,” the Unspeakable said gravely. “But we still don’t know where. Or how many have been used.”
Hermione’s voice was quiet but steady.
“If we can triangulate the magical signatures — trace the direction of the summoning pull from multiple sites — we might locate the vessel.”
Theo added, “If we can detect the frequency of the siphon’s magical call, I might be able to adapt a healer’s diagnostic charm to register it early — maybe even stop a drain in progress.”
Kingsley nodded. “Do it. All of it. Quietly. We can’t risk panic.”
Draco’s tone was cool and cutting.
“Too late for that. People already feel unsafe.”
And he was right — because just outside the Ministry, owls were swarming newsstands.
By the time the triad returned to Nott Manor that evening, a copy of Witch Weekly was waiting on the kitchen counter, dropped by an overeager delivery owl.
The headline took up nearly the entire front page:
"Dark Summoning at Large? Rumors Swirl Around Core-Drain Investigation"
By Kora Flint Jr., Witch Weekly Exclusive
Unconfirmed reports from inside the Ministry suggest that a new working theory has emerged regarding the mysterious loss of magical cores affecting wizards and witches across Britain.
According to unnamed sources, investigators are now exploring the possibility of a summoning-based siphon — a spell capable of remotely drawing core magic into a containment vessel located far from the victim.
While Ministry officials have neither confirmed nor denied this speculation, public unease continues to grow.
A Ministry spokesperson (believed to be closely involved in the investigation) insisted that "progress is being made," though declined to comment on the rumored involvement of Mrs. Hermione Granger, whose recent research at the Charms Institute has reportedly guided the investigation in new directions.
The Ministry urges calm, reminding citizens to remain vigilant but avoid unfounded panic. At this time, there is no evidence that the drainings are linked to any known dark organizations.
Witch Weekly will continue to monitor this developing story.
Draco exhaled sharply, tossing the paper onto the table.
“Unnamed sources,” he muttered. “Unconfirmed my arse. They might as well have signed your name in fire across Diagon Alley.”
Theo sat down beside Hermione, frowning. “At least it isn’t an attack piece on her chatacrter. It’s careful. Respectful, even.”
“That’s not the point,” Draco snapped. “Now everyone who’s been waiting to exploit this knows she’s the one who cracked it.”
Hermione folded the paper quietly.
“They were going to find out eventually,” she said. “But if it gives the public hope that progress is being made — that the Ministry isn’t blind to this — then maybe it’s worth it.”
Theo gave her hand a squeeze.
Draco sighed, tension bleeding out of his shoulders.
“I hate that you’re right.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “It’s one of my most annoying traits.”
The bond between them thrummed with warmth — a reminder that even with the storm rising, they still had each other.
Notes:
Hemione's birthday is coming fast... can she even enjoy it with this all going on?
Chapter 199: Birthday Pleasure
Notes:
Can't miss her birthday even with chaos in the world.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
By Friday evening, Nott Manor was glowing with soft candlelight.
The long dining table gleamed beneath garlands of floating lights — Theo’s charmwork, a shimmer of pale gold that made the crystal glasses and silver forks twinkle.
Hermione stood in the doorway of the dining room, taking in the sight: the fire crackling low in the hearth, flowers from the Granger Center garden filling the vases, the smell of something delicious drifting from the kitchen where the elves worked.
Draco appeared at her side, impeccably dressed in black but softer tonight — no wariness, no tension.
He touched her hand.
“No talking about the investigation,” he said firmly.
Theo, following behind with two bottles of wine, nodded in mock severity.
“Doctor’s orders. And husband’s.”
Hermione laughed, the sound light. “I don’t know if I should be more afraid of the doctor or the husband.”
Theo grinned. “Probably both.”
They shared a look — teasing, fond — and for the first time in weeks, the air between them felt like it used to: easy, unburdened.
The first to arrive were Harry and Ginny, stepping out of the floo in a burst of green flame.
Ginny’s hair gleamed like living copper in the candlelight; Harry was balancing a gift bag awkwardly under his arm.
“Happy birthday, Hermione!” Ginny exclaimed, hugging her tightly.
Harry followed, smiling. “You look great. You actually look… rested. Miraculous considering.”
“Birthday miracle,” Hermione said dryly. “Draco insisted on a early bedtime last night, so I wouldn’t be grumpy and tired. Don’t get used to it.”
Next came Pansy and Blaise — impossibly stylish as always — and finally, Luna and Neville, the last to appear.
Luna had a faintly glowing blanket bundle in her arms: baby Celine, her cheeks rosy and small hands curled under her chin.
Hermione’s breath caught as Luna came forward.
“Would you like to hold her?” Luna asked dreamily.
Hermione nodded, and Luna gently placed the baby in her arms.
Celina blinked up at her — eyes the softest grey-blue — and yawned.
“She’s perfect,” Hermione whispered.
Neville looked so proud it nearly broke her heart.
“She really is,” he said quietly. “Luna’s convinced she smiled in her sleep last night.”
Luna tilted her head. “She dreams about moonlight,” she said serenely. “You can tell.”
Everyone smiled — it was so perfectly Luna.
Dinner was a feast: roast venison, a cheesy pasta, roasted garden vegetables, buttered potatoes, and warm bread, all courtesy of Theo’s menu.
Draco poured the wine, insisting on doing so himself, and Pansy teased him that he looked like a waiter from an expensive café.
“Careful, Parkinson,” he said smoothly. “I charge for service. You can’t afford me.”
Blaise snorted. “He’s more likely to buy the restaurant than work in it.”
Laughter rippled around the table.
The tension that had haunted them for weeks finally melted in the comfort of food, friends, and conversation.
Ginny told stories about Quidditch training camps — harrowing, hilarious tales of broom malfunctions and last-minute weather charms.
Luna, rocking Celine in her lap, spoke dreamily about her recent research into magical flora that bloomed under moonlight.
Neville blushed as Pansy started a dramatic retelling of how she’d first realized she was pregnant — halfway through a wine tasting, of course — and Blaise looked as though he wanted to crawl under the table.
Theo leaned toward Hermione.
“This,” he murmured, watching everyone, “is what you fight for. Remember that.”
She smiled, eyes bright. “I know.”
Draco caught her gaze from across the table — one of those quiet looks that said everything without needing to be spoken.
After dinner, they all migrated to the sitting room for cake and gifts.
A large vanilla pink-and-gold flaked cake floated in on its own, candles dancing in mid-air.
Everyone sang terribly. Hermione laughed so hard she nearly cried.
Pansy handed over a long, elegant box first.
“Practical and fabulous,” she declared.
Inside was a deep red silk robe embroidered with gold thread — luxurious but subtle.
“For when you’re running the world and need to look good doing it from bed,” Pansy added.
Hermione hugged her, laughing.
Harry and Ginny’s gift was a delicate gold bracelet, set with a tiny sapphire.
“Something just for you, just because,” she said softly. “No symbolism, no politics. Just pretty.”
Neville and Luna’s gift came wrapped in brown paper — inside was a hand-drawn portrait of the triad with all their friends at their wedding, painted by Luna herself in dreamy watercolor.
Hermione’s breath caught again.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
Luna smiled. “I only paint what’s true and real.”
Draco and Theo exchanged a look, then stood together.
“Joint gift,” Theo said. “Had to open it last.”
Inside was a small, crystal-inlaid box, no bigger than her palm. Security charms fo the highest level radiated off it.
When she touched it, it glowed — soft golden light spilling across her hands.
Her name appeared inside, etched in light, beneath the words:
To remind you that every day you change the world — and us with it.
Her throat tightened.
Theo brushed her shoulder gently; Draco’s hand found her wrist, warm and steady.
“I love you both,” she whispered.
“We know,” Draco said softly.
“But it’s nice to hear.”
After everyone had gone — Luna with sleeping Celine, Ginny laughing as Harry tried to steal leftover cake to take home — the manor grew quiet again.
The triad lingered by the dying fire, empty glasses on the table.
Hermione leaned into Theo’s side, Draco’s hand tracing idle circles along her arm.
“I think that was one of my least fussy birthdays, I enjoyedit,” she said finally.
Theo pressed a kiss to her hair. “You deserved a good one.”
Draco murmured, “And tomorrow we’ll worry about the rest of the world again.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “But not tonight.”
Soon they were sprawled on the bed in silk robes ripped open, Hermione in the center, her emerald robe open to bare her breasts heaving with desperate anticipation, nipples swollen into tight, angry-red peaks that screamed for teeth, her thighs splayed wide.
Draco knelt to her left, his black robe pushed aside to expose his lean, scarred torso and his thick-veined lengthy beast.
Theo mirrored him on her right, his crimson robe flung wide, his cock standing rigid, pre-cum bubbling from the slit as he took her in.
Draco’s silver eyes blazed with desire, “Happy birthday—tonight, you’re our queen, and we’re going to pleasure you till you can’t move.”
His breath scorched her ear, his teeth sinking into her lobe lightly, drawing her intake of breath, “Gonna fuck you till you’re a screaming, squirting wreck—me and Theo, all night, till your all wrong out.”
Theo’s eyes burned with worshipful madness, his voice a reverent hymn, “My heart, you’re our goddess—every inch of you divine, going to make you feel so good for your birthday. Try out a few new goodies we got to help.”
His fingers traced her breast in a slow, adoring spiral, the touch electric, “Your beauty, love—this skin, these curves, they’re our salvation.”
Draco attacked her neck, his tongue lashing her pulsepoint, sucking the skin until it bruised purple, his teeth grazing her.
His voice was a possessive roar, his cock hard as a rock against his stomach, as he dragged his tongue lower, circling her nipple with a vicious swirl, sucking it into his mouth with a wet pop that echoed in the room.
“These perfect tits—fucking built for our mouths.”
He snatched a Vibrant Orb from the nightstand—a fist-sized, rose-gold sphere enchanted with pulsing runes, its surface humming with a low bzzz—pressing it against her nipple, the vibration sparking white-hot jolts that made her pussy convulse, “Feel this toy, Granger—this orb’s gonna make your tits sing, vibrate your nipples till you’re screaming.”
Theo’s mouth descended on her other breast, his tongue worshipping her nipple in broad, reverent strokes, “My love, your breast is perfection.”
His lips closed around the peak, sucking with fanatical devotion, the pop a soft prayer as he pulled back.
He grabbed a Pleasure Wand—a slender, obsidian rod with a glowing emerald tip, charmed to pulse with targeted vibrations and warmth—trailing it across her breast, the hum intensifying as it circled her nipple, “Your sacred body, love—gonna make your skin sing with pleasure.”
Draco’s hands pushed her thighs apart, his fingers tearing her pussy lips open wide for their gaze, “Look at this cunt, love— it wants more.”
He plunged a Pulse Plug into her pussy—a thick, black silicone toy with a flared base, its surface etched with runes that pulsed with rhythmic vibrations, the bzzz sparking apocalyptic jolts as it stretched her walls and pulsed against her g-spot.
“Take this toy, birthday girl—this plug’s gonna fuck your G-spot till you’re squirting like a geyser.”
His tongue licked alongside it, lapping up her dropping slick with ravenous strokes, sucking her clit with hard force, “Tastes like fucking nirvana, Granger—your pussy juice is such a delicacy.”
His fingers flicked her clit, “Draco—fuck, so much!” she screamed, her hips grinding.
Theo’s lips trailed to her neck, kissing her pulse with soft, adoring presses, “My goddess, your body is divine, your so sexy coming undone for us.”
He activated a Siren’s Bead—a string of enchanted pearl beads, each pulsing with a different vibration frequency—sliding one into her arse, the bzzz driving her wild.
Draco’s voice was a deep bellow, “Cum for us, Granger—squirt this greedy hole, flood us in your juice till we’re drowning!”
Her orgasm detonated like a supernova, pussy convulsing with seismic violence around the toy, her scream a primal roar, “Draco—Theo—so good, fuck!”
Theo quickly removed the toys, his cock—piercing glinting with her arosal—speared into her pussy, the metal pounding her G-spot with every inch of movement, “My heart, take me, love, let me worship you inside.”
His hips moved with fanatical devotion, the slap-slap of balls against ass a sacred rhythm, her pussy clenching around him in creamy cataclysms, “Your divine cunt, love—milking me.”
He reinserted the Siren’s Bead into her arse with ease, the bzzz amplifying his thrusts.
Draco knelt by her head, his cock slipping against her lips, “Granger—suck my cock, gonna skull-fuck you while he prays to your pussy.”
She took him deep, her throat spasming, pre-cum and his pre-cum coating her tongue in a filthy flood.
Theo’s thrusts were loving but forceful, the piercing driving her crazy, “Cum for me, my goddess—let your pussy erupt for me,” her pussy responded, pulsating hard against him, “Theo—ugh!”
Theo roared, cum erupting in pearly tsunamis deep inside her.
Draco ripped himself from her mouth, claiming Theo’s place between her legs, his cock pistoling in her cum-filled pussy, the mix of Theo’s cum and slick frothing out her entrance, “Cum again, Granger—squirt this ruined hole, prove you’re our perfect birthday girl!”
Her orgasm exploded, pussy convulsing with seismic fury around his cock, “Draco—ugh, love, so much!”
Draco yelled, thrusting balls-deep, unleashing a torrent of scorching seed, “Granger—fucking love you, take my cum!” cum erupting in sticky, pearly floods.
They all collapsed, licking her clean with filthy, loving mouths.
Theo lapping her thighs with worshipful kisses, “Happy birthday, our perfect wife”.
Notes:
They're not quite done celebrating.. don't worry =P
Chapter 200: Vienna
Chapter Text
The next morning dawned warm and bright. Hermione woke to the smell of coffee and something sweet baking downstairs.
She stretched, blinking in the pale light, half expecting the day to begin like any other.
Instead, she found a note propped on the nightstand, written in Theo’s neat, looping hand.
No work. No research. No worry. No saving the world for forty-eight hours.
Dress comfortably for city walking. Bring your wand and nothing else. We already packed for you.
— T & D*
She frowned, smiling despite herself.
“Nothing else?” she muttered aloud, tying her hair back.
When she walked downstairs, Theo and Draco were waiting in travel robes — Draco with that smug, I-planned-something look, and Theo holding out a steaming mug of coffee like a peace offering.
“Surprise birthday trip,” Theo said.
Draco added smoothly, “For your continued survival under ridiculous levels of stress.”
Hermione blinked. “You’re joking.”
Draco raised a brow. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
Theo set down the coffee. “Bring a cloak. It’ll be cooler where we’re going.”
The world spun with the sharp pull of portkey travel, and then they were standing in a cobblestoned square framed by elegant white façades and iron balconies dripping with flowers.
The morning air smelled faintly of rain and pastries.
Vienna.
Hermione’s eyes went wide. “You brought me to Austria?”
Draco smiled, pleased by her astonishment.
“The Malfoys own a townhouse here. Old, quiet, heavily warded, unplotable, and unoccupied. It seemed perfect.”
Theo looped her arm through his. “Also, it’s known for coffee and chocolate. That might have influenced the decision for me.”
Hermione laughed — the real, unguarded kind they’d both missed hearing.
They spent the morning wandering through winding streets and open markets, pausing every few minutes to taste something new: a warm apple strudel from a street cart, a tiny cup of espresso thick enough to stand a spoon in, chocolate so rich it nearly melted before she could bite it. Draco said he had hired them private security for being in public here, but refused to point them out to her as they blended in with the crowd.
“I want us to feel safe, but not feel watched. Just pretend you don’t even know they’re there at all, so we can all enjoy this together,” he came commanded her.
Draco looked fully relaxed for the first time in weeks, his hand brushing hers as they walked.
Theo carried a camera charm, insisting on capturing every silly, unguarded smile from them all.
By midday, they’d reached Schönbrunn Palace.
Theo led them through the hedged paths of the gardens, pointing out the marble statues and fountains. The roses were in late bloom, scenting the air with summer.
Hermione paused before one of the fountains, tilting her head back to watch the spray of sunlight scattering in the water.
Draco stood behind her, quiet. “It suits you,” he said softly.
She turned, smiling. “The fountain?”
He shook his head. “The traquility.”
Theo joined them, tossing a coin into the water. “For luck,” he said. “Or protection. Maybe both.”
She leaned into them both — his shoulder on one side, Draco’s hand finding her waist on the other — and for a moment, it was as if the world had stopped spinning.
Early that night, they dined at a candlelit table on the balcony of their townhouse, overlooking the city. The spires of St. Stephen’s glowed golden against the indigo sky; violins played somewhere far below.
Theo poured wine while Draco carved roast duck, the scene domestic and oddly dreamlike.
“To Hermione,” Theo said, raising his glass.
Draco echoed softly, “To our brightest star.”
Hermione blushed, eyes shining in the candlelight.
“You two are impossible,” she murmured.
“Completely,” Theo agreed. “That’s why you love us.”
Evening had just fully settled over Vienna like velvet, the air soft and humming with distant carriage wheels and the sound of violins drifting from open windows.
Hermione was brushing her hair after a shower when a knock came at the door to the room.
Theo stepped in first, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
He was dressed in a dark suit — perfectly fitted, tie undone just enough to look effortless. Behind him, Draco appeared in black as well, all precision and elegance, his platinum hair gleaming against the crisp collar.
Hermione blinked at them both. “What are you two up to?”
Draco smirked faintly. “You’ll see.”
Theo held out a long box, wrapped in gold paper and tied with silk ribbon.
“For you,” he said. “Because your birthday isn’t over yet.”
She set down her brush, curiosity piqued, and untied the ribbon.
Inside was a gown — a masterpiece of dark rose silk that shimmered like rose wine in the candlelight. The neckline curved high elegantly, the back low, and the skirt flowed like water.
Hermione’s breath caught.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“It’s enchanted,” Draco murmured. “Weightless. And charmed to never wrinkle.”
Theo grinned. “And it looks better on than in the box. So get ready — we leave in twenty minutes.”
She blinked, laughing. “You’re not going to tell me where we’re going?”
Draco leaned in, voice low and teasing. “If we told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
When the enchanted carriage stopped, Hermione stepped out onto polished marble steps and froze.
Before her stood the grand facade of the Vienna State Opera — vast, illuminated, magnificent.
The golden light spilled out from the great archways, and elegant witches and wizards in gowns and suits streamed inside.
She turned to them, eyes wide.
“You brought me here?”
Theo offered his arm, smiling. “You said by the Black Lake once you’d always wanted to hear a live orchestra in one of the old-world halls, I remembered.”
Draco took her other arm, his smile small but proud. “We listen when you talk, Granger.”
Inside, the lobby gleamed with chandeliers and marble columns. Gold leaf trim lined every doorway; the air smelled faintly of perfume and champagne.
A string quartet played near the staircase while ushers in dark velvet cloaks guided guests to their boxes.
Draco had, of course, secured one of the VIP private boxes — rich red velvet seats, an open view of the stage, and a small table holding chilled wine and petit fours.
Hermione stood by the railing, taking it in — the sea of people below, the rustle of gowns, the low murmur before the lights dimmed.
“This is…” she whispered, unable to finish.
Theo’s voice was soft beside her ear. “Amazing?”
She nodded. “Perfect.”
The orchestra began.
A swell of strings filled the air — bold and mournful, tender and fierce all at once. The opera was La Traviata, though she didn’t realize it until the soprano’s voice rose, clear and pure as starlight.
She sat between them — Theo on her left, Draco on her right — their shoulders brushing lightly in the dark.
During the second act, as the violins soared, Theo’s hand found hers.
He didn’t look at her; he didn’t need to. His thumb traced slow, lazy circles over her skin.
On her other side, Draco sat perfectly still, but his magic hummed to them — a soft, steady pulse she could feel through the bond, protective and calm. When she glanced at him, he was already studying her — something quiet and unspoken passing between them before his gaze returned to the stage.
For a long time, there was only music — the ache of it, the beauty, the sense that the world had narrowed to this one moment in time.
When the opera ended, applause thundered through the hall.
Draco stood, helping her to her feet, his hand lingering at her back searing her skin as they stepped out into the gilded corridor.
Theo had somehow already acquired three glasses of champagne.
“To art,” he said, handing her one. “And to surprising the most impossible woman in Europe.”
Hermione laughed, eyes shining. “You two really outdid yourselves.”
Draco’s mouth quirked. “You’re worth the effort every time Hermione.”
They lingered on the steps outside afterward enjoying the atmosphere, the night air cool and clean.
The city glowed gold around them — the sound of hooves on cobblestones, a street violinist playing somewhere down the block.
Theo leaned closer, his voice quiet.
“You happy, love?”
Hermione turned, meeting his eyes.
“Yes,” she said softly. “More than I can say. Probably more than I really should be in times like these.”
Draco reached out, brushing a loose curl from her cheek.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because that was the whole point.”
The three of them stood together in the light spilling from the Opera House, Vienna alive and glittering around them for a few more moments before their carriage pulled up, whisking them back to the privacy of the townhouse.
The room was a decadent cocoon of Renaissance splendor, its frescoed ceilings depicting entwined lovers bathed in the soft, golden glow of a dozen floating orbs, their molten amber light pooling in gentle rivers across the massive four-poster bed.
It was midnight and they had just shed their formal attire—Hermione’s gown lay in a silken puddle on the marble floor, leaving her bare, her skin flushed with wine and the lingering thrill of the performance.
Draco and Theo flanked her on the bed, their bodies naked and powerfully posed on their sides looking at her.
Hermione’s voice was a soft murmur, her hand tracing Theo’s shoulder scar, her brown eyes shimmering with love and a quiet, nervous resolve, “Loves... that opera, all the themes in it, made me feel so much awe us, how much we’ve given each other since that letter.”
The bond pulsed with her affection, Theo’s stormy eyes softened, his hand cupping her breast, his thumb brushing her nipple with gentle reverence, “My heart, it did—makes me want to give you everything you ever want. You both deserve it all.”
Draco’s silver gaze darkened with want, his fingers trailing up her inner thigh, sparking soft shivers, “Speaking of giving... love, you’ve talked before about wanting us both. Are you still sure you want to try it now? Theo in your pussy, me in your arse—it’ll be intense, love, we’ll go slow, keep you safe though.”
Hermione’s breath hitched, her pussy throbbing with a mix of fear and desire, her voice shaking but resolute, “Draco, Theo... yes, I’m sure. I want you both, filling me, making me yours completely tonight. Us fully together for my birthday. I trust you both with everything, it’ll be good I know it.”
They positioned with reverent, gentle care, Theo lying back against the pillows, his cock standing tall, the piercing glinting as he guided Hermione to straddle him, her pussy hovering above, lips swollen and glistening.
Take me, love—slow, feel every inch of my love slide into you,” Theo whispered, his hands pulling down on her hips, his eyes locked with hers, filled with adoration. Hermione lowered herself with deliberate care, the blunt head of his cock parting her lips, her walls stretching tightly around his girth, the piercing grazing her inner walls as she descneded, “Theo, so full,” she moaned, sinking inch by inch, her pussy clenching softly.
“My heart—your so tight, so warm, so perfect, loving me,” Theo murmured, his voice thick as he gave a few light thrusts upward of his hips.
Draco knelt behind her, his hands spreading her cheeks with gentle, reverent firmness, his cock he coasted in Slick Silken Supreme, the lube warm, tingling, and iridescent with jasmine scent.
“Breathe, Hermione, let me love you fully,” his voice a tender anchor, his fingers circling her tight, puckered hole with feather-light touches, pressing one in slowly, finger disspaearing as her arse yielded, sparking a light burn.
“Draco... it’s tight, tingles,” she whispered, her voice unsure, her pussy clenching around Theo’s cock from the added pressure.
Draco’s voice was soothing, “You’re perfect, love—relax, feel my finger loving your arse, feel so good right?”
He added a second finger after a few minutes of gentle circling, scissoring with patient care, stretching her slowly, “Your arse is opening, love—beautiful, letting me in.”
His fingers thrusted in and out with tender care, curling to spark soft, thrilling jolts that radiated to her pussy, the initial burn easing into a warm, intimate fullness, “Draco—it’s intense, but... feels good,” her voice soft with emotion, her pussy spasming gently around Theo.
Theo’s hands stroked her thighs, his voice a loving murmur, “You’re our heart, love—feel me in your pussy, Draco loving your arse, we’re with you, going to make you feel so good.”
Draco added a third finger, the stretch tender but profound, her arse yielding after long, patient minutes, “Draco—fuck, it’s so much,” her voice trembling, her pussy slickening in response.
Soon, Draco positioned his cock, the head pressing against her arse with light pressure, the lube warm and slick, “Push out, love—I’m here, it’ll be slow and gentle, going to fill you so nice,” his voice calm, his hand on her lower back.
The stretch was deeply intense but done carefuly, her arse resisting a bit at first, a gentle burn of muscles splaying apart making her gasp, “Draco—it’s tight, burns,” her voice nervous.
“Breathe, Granger—you’re so strong, we’ve got you, going to feel so good,” Draco murmured, stilling completely, kissing her shoulder with easy admiration, his other hand sliding around to her clit, circling with gentle pressure to spark pleasure, “Feel Theo in your pussy, love, so good and deep—let us love you.”
Theo’s hands cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples, “You’re so sexy—relax, feel us.”
Draco inched in with exquisite care, the burn a warm, intimate stretch, her arse clenching softly around his girth, the curve of his cock pressing against her walls, sparking soft, thrilling jolts that mingled mild pain with tender pleasure.
“Draco—it’s intense, but feels like so much, good, it’s good, too much,” she whined, her voice hungry for more, pushing out as he’d asked, her pussy squirting soft streams of her arosal around Theo, warming the sheets at his hips.
The length of him bottomed out, the fullness a breathtaking, tender ecstasy, his hips fluch to he rbottom, “Draco—fuck, it’s in, so much” her voice in awe and pleasure.
Draco’s voice was chocked at the feeling, “You’re perfect, love—taking my cock so tight.”
He thrust gently at first, his cock filling her arse completely on each inward stroke, the curve pressing against her walls, “Fuck, love—your arse is so warm, gripping me toto tight, not gonna last like this long.”
Theo’s thrusts were gentle from below, his piercing grazing her G-spot, “Love you, feel us together, my heart—your pussy’s so perfect, holding me tight,” his voice tender, his hands on her hips.
The double fullness was extreme for her body, the remaining light pain in her arse mingling with the pleasure of Theo’s cock so tightly wedged in her pussy, her body trembling softly at the sensations of it all, “It’s so much—tingles, but... gods, it’s good, so much, your both everywhere!” her voice almost disbelief.
Draco’s thrusts deepened into a slow, deliberate rhythm, each one a tender vow of love, his cock dragging against her insides with exquisite stretch, his murmurings an intimate chant, his girth and long length stretching her full, the curve of his cock grinding against her sensitive inner walls.
“Fuck, love—your arse is heaven, so tight, taking me so perfectly,” his voice a tender growl, his hips rolling to grind softly, the lube squelching with every thrust, “Your arse is mine, love—feel me filling you, worshipping you.”
His hand stroked her lower back, fingers tracing soothing patterns, his other hand circling her clit with gentle precision, “Your clit’s pulsing, love—feel it, let it sing for us. Taking us both so good.”
Theo’s thrusts matched from below, his piercing grazing her G-spot with every slow, grinding roll, his cock stretching her pussy walls wide around his massive girth, slick gushing down his shaft in creamy streams that warmed his balls,.
“My goddess—your pussy’s my home, feel me loving you, every inch of my cock adoring you, so tight, so good” his voice was a worshipful murmur, his hands cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples in soft, adoring circles, “Your cunt’s so warm, love—feel us together, I can feel Draco in you, all of us together, so tight, so special.”
Hermione’s moans were torn from her throat, her body trembling with the intensity and overwhelming dual senstatsions, “Draco—Theo—fuck, it’s so full, tingles everywhere, so much!” her pussy and arse clenching softly in unison driving moans from the men.
Draco’s thrusts grew slightly deeper, but still gentle, “Your arse is taking me so well, love—feel my cock sliding in, loving you with every inch,” his cock dragging against her walls, plying her open.
Draco’s thrusts continued steady and deep, “Your arse is perfect, love—me loving you, filling you, feel Theo and I so deep,” his voice worshipful, his fingers circling her clit with more preassure.
Theo’s thrusts became relentless but controlled, “My goddess—feel us together, worshipping you,” his piercing grinding her G-spot.
“Draco—Theo—love you, it’s... everything!” her moans soft, her body quaking at the tensions inside built-up.
Their climax was a shared, emotional calamity, Theo’s cock throbbing in her pussy, spilling thick spurts deep to her womb, “Hermione, so tight, can’t wait!” cum flooding her softly.
Draco’s thrusts deepened even more, “Granger—fucking love you, take all of me!” warm ropes filling her arse.
Hermione’s orgasm was understated but powerful, pussy and arse spasming jointly, a few tears leaking from her eyes, “Draco—Theo—love you!”
They collapsed, holding her, kissing her gently, before casting cleaning charms exhausted.
They wrapped her in a soft, charmed blanket, its fabric warm and weightless, cuddling her between them, Draco’s lips on her forehead, Theo’s on her shoulder, whispering vows of love and birthday wishes.
Hermione woke to sunlight filtering through lace curtains and the low murmur of Theo and Draco talking softly in the adjoining room.
When she padded in, barefoot and sleepy, Theo handed her coffee and Draco kissed her temple.
“No emergencies,” Draco said. “No owls. Just breakfast.”
They ate croissants and fruit on the balcony, watching the city come to life — carriages rolling below, bells ringing in the cathedral towers.
Hermione leaned back in her chair, eyes half-closed.
“I almost forgot what quiet feels like.”
Theo brushed her hand. “That’s why we brought you here. To remember that you’re allowed to rest.”
Draco added, “You’re allowed to be happy, too.”
She looked at them both — these two infuriating, steady, brilliant men — and smiled softly.
“I already am.”
The wind carried the scent of roses from the street below.
She smiled to herself, remembering the night before — the music, the candlelight, the gleam of the opera hall. She could still hear the echo of the orchestra in her mind, as though the city hadn’t quite let go of its song.
“Its such a nice morning,” she said softly.
He hummed. “That’s debatable, we have to go home.”
Then, after a brief anxious pause, “You liked last night?”
She turned her head toward him grinning and winked. “I loved last night. It felt… right.”
Draco smiled faintly — a small, content smile that reached his eyes. “Then it was everything we wanted it to be for you.”
Hermione sat between them, tucking her feet up on the chair. “This feels a little unfair,” she said, smiling. “The rest of the world is working, and we’re here pretending it doesn’t exist.”
Theo poured coffee into her cup, his tone teasing. “You say pretending. I say recovering.”
Draco added smoothly, “You’re allowed to take a day off from saving the world, Hermione. Consider it a healer-prescribed mandate.”
She laughed softly, sipping her coffee. “I’ll have to write that down. Healer’s orders.”
For a while, they just sat there — no planning, no ministry, no looming threats. Just quiet conversation and the sunlight flickering off the gold spires in the distance.
When breakfast was finished, Hermione stood and looked out again over the balcony rail. The city glittered below them — sunlight bouncing off the rooftops, the faint song of church bells carrying on the wind.
By late morning, their luggage was packed, and the townhouse was once again quiet ad coated in preservation charms.
Before they left, Hermione paused by the window one last time, taking in the skyline — the cathedrals, the cobbled streets, the memory of laughter echoing through the night before.
“Vienna suits you,” Theo said gently.
She smiled over her shoulder. “You both made it so perfect.”
Draco pressed a kiss to her temple, brief but tender. “Then we’ll bring you back someday — when everything is easier.”
“Easier?” she echoed with a soft laugh. “That might take years.”
“Then,” Theo said, taking her hand, “we’ll just keep finding small pieces of peace until we get there then.”
When they landed back in the quiet foyer of Nott Manor, the air was warm and still. A neat stack of parchment waited on the entry table.
Draco looked at it, sighing quietly.
“Well,” he said wryly, “the peace was nice while it lasted once again.”
Notes:
Anyone looking for any specific scenes with their friends?
Chapter 201: Busy
Chapter Text
For a moment, everything was still.
Then Draco exhaled slowly, his expression somewhere between fond and resigned as his eyes fell to the hall table.
Neatly stacked, perfectly arranged by the elves, were several sealed envelopes — each bearing a different crest.
Theo groaned, running a hand through his hair.
“Of course,” he muttered. “Couldn’t even unpack before reality found us again.”
Hermione smiled faintly, setting down her travel bag. “We were gone two days, not two months, not that much could have happened.”
“That’s enough time for the Ministry to miss meddling in our lives,” Draco said dryly, reaching for the first letter.
He broke the wax seal on the top envelope — the golden crest of the Department of Magical Families glinting faintly in the morning light. Hermione recognized the bureaucratic handwriting instantly.
From the Department of Magical Families and Bonds
To: The Malfoy–Granger–Nott Triad
Re: Upcoming Compliance Appointment
This is a formal reminder of your scheduled appointment with the Department of Magical Families on Sept 29th at 10:00 a.m.
Please arrive promptly for your next triad evaluation and bond health assessment. As previously discussed, all three members must be present.
Failure to attend without notice will be recorded as non-compliance under Ministry mandate #412-B.
We look forward to your continued cooperation.
— Clerical Division, Magical Family Oversight Office
Theo let out a low whistle. “They sound so friendly, don’t they?”
Draco dropped the parchment onto the table. “At this point, I think they enjoy threatening us in legally polite phrasing.”
Hermione rubbed her temple. “At least it’s for a little over a week away. I’d rather deal with one bureaucratic crisis at a time.”
The next envelope bore the seal of the Minister’s office — deep purple wax stamped with the phoenix insignia. Draco handed it to Hermione silently.
She opened it carefully, recognizing Kingsley’s strong, deliberate script:
To Hermione, Draco, and Theodore,
I trust you’ve returned safely from your brief reprieve.
While you were away, the Auror Office intercepted another coded message believed to have been directed toward the same network connected to the magical core siphonings.
The text, though partially burned before retrieval, references “the collection nearing completion for trial one” and “the vessels filling faster than anticipated.”
Decoding efforts are ongoing, but the Unspeakables and I would appreciate your insight — especially given Hermione’s working theory regarding summoning siphon magic.
I’d like to meet with the three of you in my office Wednesday morning at nine sharp to review the intercepted letter and discuss next steps.
— Kingsley Shacklebolt
Minister for Magic
Theo blew out a slow breath. “Well, that’s… terrifyingly vague.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed, eyes scanning the letter again.
“The vessel filling faster…” she murmured. “If they’re storing magic somewhere, that could mean they’re close to capacity — or close to using it… at least trying.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “Either option is bad.”
Theo snorted softly as he reached for the last envelope — one sealed with gold wax and the unmistakable, looping script of Pansy Parkinson Zabini.
To My Darling Favorite Triad,
You’ve been off gallivanting across Europe again, and I’ve been abandoned — utterly neglected, left to fend for myself with only Blaise and this rapidly expanding baby belly to keep me company.
Therefore, I am demanding (not requesting) your presence for tea at the Zabini Estate.
Bring stories, bring gossip, and for Merlin’s sake, bring me pastries. Blaise is enforcing some sort of “balanced baby diet,” which I find cruel and unnatural.
Failure to appear will result in emotional blackmail of the highest order.
Yours in eternal glamour,
— Pansy
Theo burst out laughing halfway through.
“She’s going to weaponize pregnancy cravings as social leverage, isn’t she?”
“She already has,” Hermione said, smiling despite herself. “We’ll bring her pastries.”
Draco’s expression softened, tension easing a little. “Tea with Pansy sounds almost tolerable after the Ministry meeting.”
Theo looked amused. “High praise indeed.”
By the time the letters were read, the sun had dipped low over the orchard outside. The three of them sat in the parlor, wine glasses in hand, the faint sound of crickets filtering through the open windows.
Theo was sprawled comfortably on the couch; Hermione sat curled against Draco’s side, tracing the rim of her glass absently.
“Wednesday, Thursday, next Monday,” Draco listed quietly. “We’re running out of days that aren’t scheduled by the Ministry or our friends. Add in Theo’s work and your classes, the Granger Center, and my voting sessions, and we’re barely going to be under one roof.”
Theo glanced down at her, something soft and unspoken in his expression. “I know.”
Notes:
Kind gives you an idea where the next few chapters will be...
Chapter 202: Flair for the Dramatic
Chapter Text
The morning of the meeting dawned gray — the kind of cool, silvery light that made the manor seem still, wrapped in a quiet shroud.
Theo was already up when Hermione came downstairs, sipping coffee at the kitchen counter, the Prophet open in front of him. His healer’s jacket hung on the chair beside him, forgotten.
Draco entered moments later, perfectly pressed in charcoal robes, every button done, every line sharp. Hermione recognized it — his formal armor.
“Are you ready?” he asked her softly, though his tone carried that undercurrent of tension that had never quite left him lately.
“As I’ll ever be,” she replied, buttoning the cuff of her own formal teal robes. “Let’s go find out what’s been burning holes in parchment this week.”
Theo quirked a faint smile, grabbed his jacket, and followed them through the floo.
The Minister’s outer office was unusually busy for early morning. Aurors moved in and out, parchment stacks levitated by harried assistants, and the faint hum of protective wards hummed along the corridor.
When they were ushered into Kingsley’s office, the door sealed automatically behind them with a deep, resonant click of privacy charms.
Kingsley stood by the window, broad shoulders squared, his usual calm expression tempered by concern. At the long oak table sat Harry, Head Unspeakable Marlowe, and two senior Aurors — Dawlish and Hestia Jones.
“Thank you for coming,” Kingsley said, gesturing them toward the seats. “We’ve had developments.”
Draco’s voice was crisp. “The intercepted letter?”
Kingsley nodded to Marlowe, who unfurled a sheet of aged parchment onto the table. The edges were singed; the center blackened. Only fragments of writing remained — jagged lines of ink like old scars.
Hermione leaned forward instinctively. The words shimmered faintly under the preservation charm.
Marlowe spoke in the low, deliberate tone of someone used to dealing in secrets.
“This is what survived from the owl we intercepted near Dover. It was addressed to an unknown recipient — possibly one of the sympathizers we’ve tracked through Eastern Europe.”
He tapped his wand lightly, and the text glowed faintly:
“...the vessel fills faster than we dreamed... no longer limited to children... the harvest widens with adults... the transfer trial one to be completed soon...”
The ink shimmered, the rest unreadable.
Hermione felt the blood drain from her face.
Theo’s jaw clenched. “If it’s a siphon curse, they’ve refined it sounds like. Made it more efficient.”
Draco’s voice cut through the heavy air. “What kind of vessel are we talking about, exactly?”
Marlowe hesitated. “That’s the question. Whatever is receiving this magic—it’s not purely physical. No object we’ve found holds the right resonance. Our Unspeakables think it’s metaphysical… possibly living or some kind of spell craft container, made of barrier spells.”
A chill ran through the room.
Hermione stood and began pacing — her mind moving faster than she could speak.
“If it’s being summoned — pulled — from victims to a vessel elsewhere, then we need to identify the summoning thread. There has to be a magical conduit, a channel between the spell and the recipient. There a medium that’s delivering it in the first place.”
Kingsley folded his hands. “We’ve already tried standard trace charms. Nothing.”
Hermione turned, eyes sharp. “Then you’re using human magic to trace something designed to consume human magic. You need something older. Pre-human. Elemental.”
Draco’s gaze flicked toward her — admiration and worry all tangled together. “You’re thinking of the deep resonance fields.”
“Yes,” she said, meeting his eyes. “If the Unspeakables can open access to the archives — the pre-Founders tracking formulas may be of help.”
Marlowe’s brow furrowed. “Those haven’t been touched in centuries. They’re dangerous.”
Hermione’s voice was steady. “So is this.”
Kingsley finally spoke, slow and deliberate.
“We’re authorizing opening whatever archives nee dot be opened to research this. Quietly. I don’t want the press hearing a word about possible living vessels or summoning curses.”
Theo frowned. “Do you think it’s—”
Kingsley shook his head. “I think it’s organized. Coordinated. And old. The language in that letter predates Voldemort’s rise by generations, almost sounds like Grindelwald again...”
Draco’s expression hardened. “Then this isn’t a new threat. It’s a continuation of very old pureblood ideologies in bad hands.”
Harry nodded. “Someone trying to finish what long ago started.”
For a moment, silence stretched across the room — thick, charged, and familiar.
When they left the Minister’s office, the corridors outside were bustling again, but the noise felt distant — muffled under the weight of what they’d just heard.
Theo walked between them, the lines of fatigue visible now even beneath his healer’s calm. “A living vessel,” he said quietly. “Merlin help us if that’s actually true, cetaintely hope it’s just fancy spellcraft of space.”
Draco’s jaw was tight. “We’ll find it before they do anything with it.”
Hermione looked at both of them —their bond humming faintly through the undercurrent of fear. “We have to,” she said. “Because if they’ve found a way to collect magic itself…”
Theo finished for her, his voice grim. “Then they’re building something far worse than a weapon we’ve seen before.”
The next day dawned bright and far too cheerful for the mood Hermione woke in. After the meeting with Kingsley, her mind had refused to quiet, replaying every fragment of that burnt letter.
Still, a promise was a promise — and Pansy’s demands were, by social law, equivalent to royal decrees.
By three o’clock after her morning lessons, the three of them arrived at the Zabini estate.
Sunlight spilled over the marble terraces and manicured gardens; a fountain sang somewhere nearby, the air scented with blooming lilies and enchantments meant to keep insects politely away.
Blaise greeted them at the door with his usual languid charm.
“Brace yourselves,” he murmured. “She’s been nesting all morning like a crazy person and has declared herself both a goddess and a tragic heroine.”
Theo smirked. “So… a normal Thursday?”
“Exactly.”
Pansy was already reclining on a divan in the shaded garden pavilion, surrounded by an empire of silk cushions and floating platters of fruit and pastries.
Her dark hair gleamed, her gown draped perfectly over her very small but growing stomach, and her expression was that of a woman equal parts regal and put-upon.
“Finally!” she exclaimed as they approached. “My favorite trio of chaos. You’re late. I nearly perished of boredom.”
Draco arched an eyebrow. “It’s three-oh-five.”
“Exactly,” Pansy said, fanning herself dramatically. “Five minutes of abandonment, and I was forced to converse with my own husband.”
From behind them, Blaise called, “And yet you survived.”
“Barely,” she said sweetly.
Theo bit back a grin as they settled around her. Hermione sat nearest, eyeing the silver tea service that was already pouring itself.
“Pansy, you look wonderful,” Hermione said sincerely.
“I look enormous already,” Pansy countered. “And radiant. And emotional. I cried this morning because the elf over-toasted my scones. I think motherhood has already broken me.”
Draco snorted into his teacup. “You were dramatic before the child. Don’t blame the baby.”
“Excuse me,” Pansy said imperiously. “I’m growing life. I’m allowed to be dramatic and adored.”
Theo leaned back, his smile soft. “Fair point. I’ll take notes for when Hermione tries this argument.”
Hermione elbowed him lightly. “When I do, I expect equal levels of pampering.”
Draco muttered, “Merlin save me,” and earned a playful glare from both women.
Platters of petits fours and sugared fruit drifted between them as the conversation eased. Pansy was, predictably, in full gossip mode.
“Did you see the Prophet this morning?” she asked. “Some columnist is still speculating that your bond glow means Hermione’s expecting already.”
Hermione groaned. “I’d hex whoever writes those if I could get away with it without media attention.”
Blaise, from where he lounged on the far settee, smirked. “You’d have to hex half of Wizarding London. People are obsessed with you three.”
Draco sighed, elegant and weary. “The price of fame. We could announce the end of magic itself, and they’d still ask what color Hermione’s dress was.”
Pansy grinned. “It was a lovely dress at the gala.” Then, softening, she added, “You know, despite the attacks, despite all of it — you three have been making something beautiful out of this mess.”
Hermione reached for her hand. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough,” she said warmly, nodding at Pansy’s bump. “You and Blaise are going to be wonderful parents.”
Pansy sniffed, a tear glinting despite the smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t make me cry again; my face puffs.”
Once Blaise wandered off to take a floo call, the conversation turned quieter — and more Pansy-centric, naturally.
“I swear,” she said, leaning forward conspiratorially, “pregnancy is just a long series of indignities. Blaise keeps fussing, the mediwitch says I can’t have wine, and every robe I own feels like a tent. I told him if he keeps hovering, I’ll name the baby Pansius out of spite.”
Theo laughed. “That might scar the child forever.”
“Good. Character-building.”
Draco smirked. “So what’s the current craving?”
“Everything,” she said dramatically. “Pickled plums, strawberry tarts, and sometimes steak at three in the morning.”
Hermione giggled. “Sounds normal for you.”
Pansy narrowed her eyes playfully. “Watch yourself, Granger. Once you’re in my shoes, I’ll remember this teasing.”
Hermione flushed faintly at the implication, earning a knowing smile from both men.
As the afternoon sun mellowed, the energy softened. Pansy leaned back against her cushions, one hand on her stomach, the other cradling her teacup.
“You know,” she said quietly, surprising them all with the sincerity in her tone, “for all my complaining, I’m terrified too. The world feels unstable, and now there’s this little person depending on me. I’m not used to being… responsible for something that fragile.”
Hermione’s voice was gentle. “You’ll be brilliant. You already are. Look at what you’ve built here — the charity, the friendships, the strength you’ve given everyone since the war.”
Pansy smiled faintly, eyes shining. “You’re annoyingly good at pep talks.”
Draco chuckled. “She’s had practice.”
The wind shifted softly through the garden, rustling the roses nearby. For a few heartbeats, everything was still — friends, laughter, sunlight, and the fragile peace of a moment that felt, briefly, untouched by the darkness gathering beyond their walls.
When they finally rose to leave, Pansy hugged Hermione tightly. “Thursday teas often are now mandatory,” she declared. “Doctor’s orders.”
Theo kissed her cheek lightly. “Consider it scheduled.”
Draco, ever dry, added, “We’ll bring pastries next time, as per your written demands.”
“Good,” Pansy said, settling back into her cushions. “And maybe a bottle of wine for after the baby arrives. I can keep a celebratory collection going.”
“Done,” Hermione promised.
As they stepped through the floo back to Nott Manor, the air shimmered — and the momentary warmth of laughter followed them home, fragile but real.
When they stepped out of the floo, it was already dusk at Nott Manor.
Hermione exhaled as she dropped onto the sofa, her travel cloak pooling around her like smoke.
“Remind me next time,” she said tiredly, “that spending three hours with Pansy is equal parts therapy and endurance test.”
Theo laughed softly, heading toward the kitchen. “Tea with Pansy should count as a Ministry-mandated stress evaluation.”
Draco hung up his cloak beside hers. “I’ll admit, she’s impossible to dislike entirely. Especially when she’s too busy declaring herself the patron saint of dramatic suffering.”
Hermione smiled, rubbing her temples. “She’s… luminous, though. Even through all her theatrics.”
Theo returned with three glasses of chilled wine and passed them around. “That’s the pregnancy glow. Or the rage at being denied wine — hard to tell.”
They all laughed, the sound light and easy.
Dinner was simple — roast chicken, roasted beets, and herbed potatoes prepared by the elves — eaten in the smaller dining room that looked out over the gardens.
Draco poured more wine, the candlelight catching on his sleeve as he moved. “So. Thoughts on today’s performance at Casa Zabini?”
Theo grinned. “Pansy’s in her theatrical goddess era. I think she’s nesting through emotional manipulation.”
Hermione chuckled, then sobered slightly. “She’s scared, though. You could feel it under the jokes. She’s brave — but she knows the world still isn’t safe, not really. And she’s bringing a child into it.”
Draco leaned back, expression thoughtful. “It’s impossible not to think of it, especially now. Between the drainings and the Ministry’s silence, I don’t blame her for being nervous.”
Theo reached for Hermione’s hand, tracing circles over her knuckles. “Still, it’s good she has Blaise. And us. It’s strange — after everything, we’re all turning into our own version of family.”
Hermione smiled softly. “It’s what we fought for, isn’t it? The right to build something better.”
For a moment, the table fell quiet — the clink of cutlery and the crackle of the candles filling the silence.
After dinner, they moved to the sitting room. The fire was burning low, the air warm with the faint scent of cedar and wine.
Hermione curled up in the armchair, legs tucked beneath her. Theo sprawled on the couch, a book half-open on his lap, and Draco sat across from her, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
“You’re thinking about the letter again,” Theo said quietly, not looking up from the page.
Hermione gave a small, rueful smile. “You can feel it?”
He tapped his temple. “Bond perks. You’re broadcasting worry at about the same volume as Pansy’s pregnancy cravings.”
Draco’s voice was low. “Kingsley’s letter is still sitting on my desk. Every word of it feels like a warning we haven’t deciphered yet.”
Theo closed the book gently. “We’ll find it. Whatever this is, whoever’s behind it — we’ll stop them. You’ve solved harder puzzles than this, Hermione.”
Draco’s expression softened. “And we’re not letting anything happen to you. Or to any of us.”
She looked between them — the certainty in Theo’s quiet calm, the fierce promise in Draco’s eyes — and felt that flicker of warmth beneath the fear. “I know,” she whispered.
Later, they sat together before the dying fire. The world outside had gone utterly still, the only sounds the faint rustle of the orchard trees and the soft hum of the wards outside.
Theo stretched, then rose, settling behind Hermione on the armchair to rub her shoulders. “You’ve been carrying tension here all day,” he murmured.
She melted under his touch. “It’s not just today. It feels like I’ve been holding my breath since February.”
Draco leaned forward, his voice a soft murmur. “Then maybe it’s time to exhale, love.”
Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed, the bond between them thrumming gently — warm and steady, full of wordless affection. The wine, the warmth, the shared exhaustion made everything hazy and intimate.
Theo’s voice, quiet and teasing, broke the silence. “You realize Pansy’s going to demand baby-name consultations the second she finds out you might consider children someday.”
Hermione groaned softly, laughter bubbling up. “She already hinted. Twice.”
Draco’s smirk was faint, affectionate. “Of course she did. The woman plans everything — including other people’s futures.”
Theo grinned, leaning his chin on Hermione’s shoulder. “Well, ours is looking decent so far.”
Draco met their eyes across the firelight — his expression unguarded for once. “Better than decent,” he said quietly.
By the time the clock chimed midnight, the fire had burned down to embers. Hermione was half-asleep against Theo’s chest, Draco on the rug beside them, tracing idle patterns over the glowing runes on his wrist — the faint echo of their bond’s magic humming.
Notes:
How do you think Pansy will be a as a mom?
Chapter 203: Break Me
Chapter Text
Sunlight poured through the tall windows of The Granger Center, washing the lobby in soft shadows. The air hummed with gentle charmwork — hovering clipboards, quills that wrote on their own, the faint scent of tea and disinfecting potions hung in the air.
Hermione had been there since eight, sleeves rolled up, hair pinned back, moving between families with quiet efficiency.
Ginny sat at the reception desk, cross-legged on her chair, flicking her wand to sort appointment slips. “Merlin, how do you do this so many days opposite classes?” she asked, eyeing the stack. “I love people, but the paperwork makes me want to hex something.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “You get used to it. Besides, they’re not just forms — they’re stories. You learn to see that after a while.”
A young witch and her nervous Muggle parents sat across the room. Hermione crouched to the child’s level, wand in hand, explaining how the magical diagnostic crystal worked.
“It doesn’t hurt,” she said kindly, “just glows to show your magical affinity.”
The girl nodded, wide-eyed. When the crystal bloomed with soft lilac light, her mother gasped. Hermione smiled; she’d seen that same mixture of awe and fear hundreds of times, and it still warmed her chest.
Across the room, Ginny grinned. “Another one for Hogwarts in a few years. You’re basically Professor McGonagall in a kindergarten cardigan.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Hermione called back. “I already scold people for running in corridors.”
The laughter between them was easy — the kind that came from friendship layered with years of jokes, battles, and rebuilding.
By noon the Center had quieted, no new families scheduled to arrive for another hour. Ginny gathered her bag.
“Harry’s on lunch break; I promised him real food instead of Ministry cafeteria sludge. You’ll be all right alone with just the aurror at the door for an hour while the staff is out on lunch?”
“I’ll manage,” Hermione said, smiling. “Tell Harry I said to stop working fourteen-hour days.”
Ginny smirked. “That’s adorable. He listens to you even less than to me.”
As she disappeared through the floo, Hermione turned back to the files on her desk — a handful of Hogwarts-age children whose parents had written with questions about scholarships, holiday transportation, and transition support.
It was steady, comforting work, and for a little while, the hum of the Center drowned out the weight of everything else.
The rhythmic scratch of her quill broke when a soft tap-tap-tap came at the window.
Hermione looked up. A Healer owl — brown, official, its band marked with the crest of the Department of Magical Health — waited impatiently.
Her stomach tightened. She unlatched the window, and the bird swooped in, landing on the edge of her desk. It held out its leg, eyes solemn.
The moment she saw the handwriting on the envelope — Theo’s — her pulse quickened.
She tore it open. The parchment inside was brief, hurried.
Hermione,
Two new admissions this morning. One Hogwarts student (5th year Ravenclaw), one adult shopkeeper from Hogsmeade. Alive, but collapsed and drained. Magical comas, both of them currently.
Same symptoms — core absent, readings identical to prior cases.
No trace of curse activity. Areas searched, no vessels found.
— Theo
The words blurred for a moment as she stared at them. She felt the air leave her lungs. Another student. Another young child. More magic stripped away. Another childhood ruined. Another magical future life stamped out before it had really begun.
She folded the letter, her hands trembling. Around her, the gentle buzz of the Center went on — but the world seemed to tilt, the light dimming at the edges for her.
A dozen faces flashed through her mind — very young future students she’d helped prepare for Hogwarts, bright eyes full of excitement, laughter echoing down corridors that now might never hold magic again for them.
“Merlin,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her mouth.
Her eyes stung, and she sat down hard at her desk. Fury and grief twisted together — raw, hot, alive.
“This isn’t fair,” she said under her breath. “They’re children. They should be flying brooms, picking out owls, tricking each other with Weasley sweets, not — not losing themselves before they’ve even begun.”
The bond stirred faintly; even miles away, Theo and Draco would feel the pulse of her emotion — the sharp ache of helpless anger.
She stood abruptly, pacing the small office. “We’re supposed to be protecting them. All of us. After all I’ve given up…. All everyone has given up to save this society… it’s never enough, there’s always more pain. Traded my parents for peace… And still, we’re just waiting for the next one to drop all the time.”
The quills on her desk rattled faintly from the surge of magic she didn’t bother to contain.
She paced, the fury building, ink bottles spilling over, black running down her desk. Her hair sparked with bottled up rage. She briskly walked outside to the courtyard, which was mercifully empty, trying to steady her heavy breathing.
Tears prickled her eyes as she felt the weight of failure to prevent more victims, the frustration of helplessness and the rage of having spent her childhood defeating the darkness just to have it rear it’s ugly head once more and take away others childhoods. Her hands were tight griped fists, her wand sparking along with the magical tension rising inside her. It was too much, and yet never enough.
With a loud pop she appareted home seething. The triad bond was a searing, chaotic supernova—Hermione’s boiling rage a scalding, churning vortex that burned their chests, Draco’s frantic protectiveness a thunderous, desperate spike, Theo’s distant confusion a faint, throbbing pulse from his hospital shift.
Hermione stormed into the manor foyer like a hurricane, her charcoal robes billowing behind her as she ran to the formal parlor, cheeks streaked with mascara and tears, brown eyes blazing with a fury that could level mountains as she seized a china plate from the sideboard and hurled it with a crash that shook the chandelier, shards exploding around her.
“It’s not fair!” she hollered, her voice splintering into a primal scream, a Reducto spell slicing a porcelain vase in half with a boom that sent fragments raining down like broken dreams.
“These kids—they’ve already endured the war’s horrors, lost parents, siblings, their childhoods—and now this? Their magic siphoned away like it’s worthless? We bled, we died for a better world, and this is the gods-damned reward?”
Her chest heaved with ragged, sobbing breaths, tears cascading as she grabbed a silver candlestick, flinging it with a clang that dented the wood mantel, the pieces clattering amid the debris on the antique Persian rug, her hands shaking with a rage that consumed her soul.
Draco burst through the parlor doors from the hallway, his black robes fluttering like a storm cloud, silver eyes wide with alarm, the bond’s unease yanking him like a vise from his study upstairs.
“Hermione what in the bloody hell is happening to you?” he shouted, his voice cracking with fear and uncertainty as he dodged a flying shard of glass, lunging forward to seize her wrists just as she reached for another porcelain figurine.
“Stop—gods, stop before you hurt yourself!” His hands locked around her wrists with desperate strength, his body slamming into hers to halt her rampage, his heart hammering with terror at her unraveling.
“Talk to me—I’m here, I’m fucking here! Tell me what’s going on?!”
Hermione fought back from her imprisonment against his chest like a cornered beast, her nails raking deep furrows across his exposed forearms, drawing crimson lines that welled with blood, her voice a furious, tear-choked howl, “Let me go, Draco—let me fucking go!”
She half-heartedly slammed her fists into his chest, the impact reverberating lightly through his ribs, fresh tears flooding her eyes as she twisted in his grip trying to break free, “It’s not fair—these innocent kids, their magic stolen, their futures erased! The war took everything—friends, family, my parents, my sanity—and now this curse mocks us, everything was for nothing? We failed them, Draco—we fucking failed all these kids!”
Her body shuddered with sobs, her continued pursual of freedom from his grip resulting in more punches landing with increasing force, nails clawing at his exposed his skin, drawing more blood that trickled warm down his arms, her curls whipping wildly as she fought him.
Draco held onto her with iron resolve, his arms encircling her like steel bands, pinning her arms to her sides as he absorbed her blows, his cheek burning from a fresh scratch that she managed to get in struggling, his voice a desperate, ragged plea, “Hermione—stop, please! You’re being crazy, you need to clam down—tell me what’s tearing you apart!”
He dodged a knee aimed at his groin, his silver eyes searching hers with frantic confusion, the bond searing with her anguish, his cock hardening slightly from the primal intensity of her fight, his own heart splintering into pieces at her broken sobs. “I feel you, love—your rage, your grief—it’s killing me! Don’t do this alone!”
Hermione’s screams dissolved into gut-wrenching sobs, her body sagging against him, “It’s not fair, Draco—the cases, the children, their cores drained to nothing, their lives stolen! We failed them!”
Her voice was fracturing with despair, “I can’t save them, I’m useless, a failure, and it’s eating me alive! Nothing we’ve ever done has mattered” Her tears soaked his shirt, her body trembling with the weight of the world’s injustice.
Draco’s voice broke through her pain, his grip loosening but keeping her close, his body a shield for her storm, “Hermione, I know—I feel the failure too, the rage that’s burning you alive. If you need an outlet, take it out on me, work through it with me—I’ll take it all with you!”
She gazed into his eyes, unsure, “I’m your rock, Hermione—use me, break on me, feel alive with me!”
Hermione’s eyes flashed with a maelstrom of grief and defiance, her fists pounding his chest with renewed fury to break from his grasp, “Fight back, Draco—be a fucking man, don’t just take this failure that we are like a coward!”
Her voice was a shattered roar, her body pressing against his with desperate, primal force, her heart in the bond splintering under the weight of her intense grief and anger.
Draco’s jaw clenched, his body a fortress for her storm, his voice a growl edged with love, “You want me to fight, Granger? You want me to break you open and mend you? Fine—”.
He grabbed her wrists with bruising force, slamming them above her head against the wall with a thud that rattled the paintings, his body crushing hers, his hard cock grinding into her belly like a scorching brand, “But I’ll never ever hurt you, love—I’ll take your rage, channel it, make you feel something besides this pain.”
His silver eyes blazed with love and fury, his free hand gripping her hip, fingers digging in hard, sure to leave bruises, his breath hot against her neck, “You’re my soul, Hermione—let me burn with you. Tell me if any of this is too much, I’m going to try to help you, but if it’s too much stop me.”
Hermione struggled in his hold, twisting to press against him, her body arching, “Make me feel, Draco—make me forget the pain, the failure, the fury, the despair, all of it!” Her voice a desperate, broken plea, her voice full of angry dark desire.
Draco’s hand tore her blouse open with a savage rip, buttons scattering across the debris-strewn floor, baring her lace bra, his fingers ripping it down with a snap to expose her heaving breasts, nipples hardened to tight peaks already from the emotionally charged atmosphere.
“This what you need, Granger? My hands on this furious, fucking perfect body?”
His voice a filthy, charged snarl, his hand cupping her pussy through her skirt, feeling the scorching heat and wetness gathering, “Your cunt’s a goddamn flood, love—the rage making you drip, begging for my cock?”
Hermione’s moan was guttural and primal, “Yes—gods, yes, make me feel alive, Draco! Make me stop thinking!”
He yanked her skirt up to her waist, ripping her panties aside with a snap that shredded the lace, baring her pussy to the parlor air.
“Look at this raging cunt—dripping like a broken dam, clit throbbing for redemention,” he whispered in her ear, two of his fingers slamming into her pussy without warning, that shook her core, curling hard against her G-spot.
“Take my fingers, gonna finger-fuck this cunt till you’re shattering, till the rage explodes and you can think clearly!”
His thrusts were rough, his thumb grinding against her clit with a brutal, circling pressure, sparking white-hot jolts that made her thighs quake, her pussy leaking onto his wrist.
Hermione’s scream was feral, “Draco—fuck, please, harder, make it hurt so good!” her nails digging into his arms again, blood welling under her fingers.
She grabbed his belt with one hand, yanking it open with a clink that echoed around them, her other hand shoving into his trousers, pumping his cock with violent, twisting strokes, pre-cum coating her palm in sticky ribbons, “Fight me, Draco—fuck the pain out of me!”.
Draco growled like a man possessed, scooping her up and throwing her onto the velvet couch with a thump that rattled the frame, her body bouncing, shards of glass from the broken vases glinting on the floor below like deadly stars.
They struggled for dominance over each other, rolling on top of one another, trying to get the upper hand, eventually rolling off the couch onto the rug with a crash that sent glass flying under them, cutting superficially into their skin—sharp stings slicing Draco’s back and arms, Hermione’s thigh and shoulder—blood beading in crimson droplets, the pain a twisted fuel to their passionate frenzy, their bodies slick with sweat, blood, and slick.
Draco pinned her to the ground with half of his weight, his body a crushing force on hers, his cock pressing against her thigh like a molten blade, “How hard, Granger? Tell me, you stubborn crazy witch—how hard do you want me to ruin this cunt?”
His voice deep and desperate, his hands gripping her wrists above her head, bruises blooming like dark purple flowers under his fingers, his silver eyes blazing with a lust that could burn worlds.
Hermione’s voice was a shattered, defiant cry, her body arching beneath him with desperate need, “Not gentle—I’m not a fucking doll breaking, Draco! Fuck me hard, make me feel every inch, make me forget the world!”
Her eyes burned into his with rage and love, her pussy throbbing for him.
Draco released her wrists, his hands tearing her skirt fully open with a rip, baring her completely, his cock freeing itself with a slap against her thigh.
His hand worked her again briefly, then without second thought, he aligned himself, slamming into her pussy with a deep hard thrust that made her scream, her walls stretching brutally around his length, taking him all, the curve pulverizing her G-spot, as she groaned.
“Take my cock, gonna fuck the pain out of this cunt, make you mine, make you feel!”
His hips pistoned with punishing force, the slap-slap-slap deafening to both their ears, her pussy leaking more with each brutal thrust, soaking his thighs.
“You’re my soul, Hermione—feel me loving you, wrecking you, holding you!”
His hands gripped her hips with bruising force, slamming her body against his, his cock dragging against her walls, sparking jolts that made her plead for more.
“Your cunt’s clenching like a vice, take every drop of me, I’m almost there!”
Hermione’s nails carved into his back, breaking skin in bloody furrows, blood trickling down in small warm rivulets, “Harder, Draco—fuck me like you’ll die without this cunt, make me cum on your cock, harder, more!” her voice a primal roar, her hips bucking to meet his thrusts, her pussy convulsing with need.
Their bodies moved in a violent, but fiery loving frenzy, glass cutting deeper with each roll, blood and slick mixing, the pain a twisted ecstasy, their screams echoing through the manor.
Their orgasm was a shattering explosion, Hermione’s pussy convulsing in extreme spasms, “Draco—fucking love you, needed this, ugh!” her scream a soul-baring vow.
Draco roared, thrusting balls-deep relevantly, spilling in her with a powerful spray.
“Granger—my fucking everything, take me!”
As Draco eased off her, panting, Hermione lay gasping on the rug softly giggling, superficial cuts bleeding in thin trickles on her thigh and shoulder, bruises blooming on her hips, her body trembling with aftershocks.
The parlor doors burst open with a bang, Theo storming in, his eyes wild with terror from the bond’s signals of panic, pain, and arousal, his Healer robes disheveled from abruptly leaving his shift. His sweeping eyes took in the scene before him, glass, destruction, bruises, ruined clothing, blood, Hermione on the ground, and his eyes went wild.
“Hermione oh my god are you ok?! Draco, you bastard—what have you done to her?” Theo’s voice was a guttural scream, his wand raised, a Stupefy hex flying at Draco with a flash of red light, “You hurt her—I’ll kill you!”
Draco dodged the hex, the spell scorching the wallpaper behind his head with a hiss, his voice a desperate, frantic shout, “Theo—stop, for fuck’s sake! I didn’t hurt her—she wanted this, we both did! Everything’s ok!”
Hermione scrambled up, her voice a pleading scream, “Theo, no—stop! I asked for it, I needed it, please! I wanted this. It’s not what it looks like.”
Theo, his face twisted with horror at her bruises, cuts, and the mild pain still screaming through the bond, fired another hex, Expelliarmus, disarming Draco’s wand with a crack, “You’re lying, look around, look at you—he’s hurt you, look at the blood, the bruises, the room!”
His voice broke with tears, his body shaking with protective fury, “I felt your pain, your fear in the bond—how could you do this to her Draco?”
Hermione’s voice was a shattered wail, glass crunching under her feet as she approached him, “Theo, listen—I was angry, destroying everything, the cases, the kids losing their magic! I begged him to fight me, to make me feel something else!”
Draco’s voice was hoarse, “She’s telling the truth, mate—I’d never hurt her purposely, never, you know that! It was rough, but she wanted it, needed it! It was very consensual, I swear!”
Theo’s eyes darted between them, his wand trembling, “You’re both bleeding—she’s bruised to hell! How is this love?” Hermione reached him, grabbing his robes, “Theo—it was my rage, my pain—I needed to break, and Draco gave me that outlet!”
Theo looked at her with pained, and hardening expression, the bond pulsing with his confusion and distrust. “This…”, he gestured at them and the room, “is not an expression of love. You both… gods… this is so fucked up… I can’t… seriously messed up…”. He pushed her hands from his robes, and turned on his heel, striding out of the room, a pop of leaving heard faintly a moment later.
Hermione and Draco turned to each other, eyes wide, and faces pale.
Notes:
Well, things are going to be hard with Theo now yikes.
Thoughts?
Chapter 204: Tension
Chapter Text
Hermione and Draco said little to each other as they cleaned up the room, the bond pulsed with Theo’s pain and bewilderment long after he’d left.
The manor was quiet and each went off to their separate spaces to decompress, each healing their cuts themselves, and applying bruise paste courtesy of Draco’s home brewed stockpile where needed. Both were lost in their own thoughts for the evening. Dinner was a silent affair with the two of them alone passing butter and gravy but very little more.
The manor felt wrong — too quiet, too heavy. The kind of silence that settled in after raised voices and hurt.
The argument had come suddenly — a clash of tempersand emotions that shouldn’t have escalated but did.
Theo’s exhaustion from weeks of healer shifts, the mounting tension about the drained cores, Draco’s insistence on control, Hermione’s attempts to calm herself — all of it cumulating in the present situation.
The bond thrummed with tension instead of warmth.
Theo had thrown himself into work at St. Mungo’s, volunteering for double shifts and late-night rotations for the weekend. He barely came home, and when he did, it was to his old room — the wards around it humming quietly, shutting them out.
Draco had responded the only way he knew: with brittle composure and quiet stubbornness.
“He’ll come around,” he said whenever Hermione’s worry slipped through. “He always does. He just… needs time. It will be ok.”
But the bond told a different story. It pulsed with Theo’s frustration — sharp, wounded, buried under layers of exhaustion. And under that, something deeper. Disappointment. Pain.
Hermione couldn’t stop replaying the fight in her mind — wondering what she should’ve said differently.
Saturday stretched long and heavy. Draco worked in his study most of the day, writing correspondence for the Malfoy businesses and keeping the two manor’s affairs in order.
Hermione tried to read in the library, do some research for her charms project, but every few paragraphs her mind drifted to the hollow ache of the bond.
Theo’s emotions came and went like waves — a flash of anger, a surge of despair, then silence.
She set her book down at last, rubbing her eyes. “He didn’t answer my owl this morning asking for us to all talk.”
Draco looked up from his desk, his voice even. “He’s being stubborn. It’s how he protects himself.”
“I hate it,” she admitted softly. “Feeling him hurting, and not being able to reach him.”
Draco’s gaze softened. He crossed the room and took her hands, brushing his thumb over her finger where her bond mark faintly glowed. “He’ll come back to us. But he needs to decide when. If we push now, he’ll only dig in deeper.”
Hermione nodded, but her chest still felt tight.
When night fell, they went to bed together — but the space beside them in the bond still pulsed faintly, distant and sad. Hermione lay awake a long time, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet of the manor that felt a size too big without Theo’s presence.
By Sunday morning, Hermione had reached the kind of tired that sank into her bones from being unable to sleep at night. She and Draco ate breakfast in near silence — the clink of spoons on china and the occasional exchange of small talk doing little to fill the space where Theo’s laughter used to live.
After breakfast, she stood by the window, watching the orchard shimmer in the late summer sunlight. “Luna sent an owl yesterday,” she said quietly. “She invited me for tea today. I think I should go.”
Draco nodded. “Go. She has a way of saying what people need to hear.”
Hermione gave him a faint, grateful smile. “Do you want to come?”
“I think Luna might turn me into a teapot if I interrupted one of her heart-to-hearts.” His tone was dry but fond. “Go. Clear your head. I’ll be here when you get back.”
The Longbottom estate was still in full bloom. Wildflowers spilled everywhere, charms made the petals hum softly, and the air smelled faintly of lavender and honey.
Hermione followed the path to the back garden, where Luna sat at a small round table with her baby, cradled in a basket beside her. The infant’s soft blonde curls shimmered silver in the light, her tiny fist waving lazily as Luna hummed something melodic and strange.
“Hermione!” Luna said, smiling like the sun. “You look tired. Sit. You need chamomile and clarity.”
Hermione laughed softly, sinking into the chair. “You always know what people need.”
Luna poured the tea — the steam curling in the shape of tiny crescent moons — and pushed a plate of biscuits toward her.
“Everyone’s energy feels tangled lately,” she said in her lilting tone. “Yours most of all. The three of you are… humming at different frequencies today.”
Hermione sighed. “That’s one way to put it. We had a fight. Theo’s been avoiding us ever since.”
Luna nodded, unbothered. “Avoidance is just fear wearing polite shoes.”
Hermione blinked, then smiled. “You always say things that sound like riddles but somehow make perfect sense.”
“It’s a gift,” Luna said serenely.
For a while, they sat in the soft quiet of the garden, sipping tea and watching Celine peacefully nap.
“He’s angry,” Hermione said finally. “And I understand, I think maybe a little bit. But I can’t tell if I should reach out again or give him more space.”
Luna tilted her head, her gaze distant in that otherworldly way of hers. “Anger is a language too. It means he still cares enough to feel hurt. The danger isn’t in his anger — it’s in your fear of it.”
Hermione frowned slightly. “Fear?”
“You’re afraid that if you reach for him now, you’ll break something even more. But love doesn’t break that easily. It bends, it breathes, it reforms. You three are connected, but not balanced. Not right now.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “How do we fix it?”
“Balance doesn’t come from proving who’s right,” Luna said simply. “It comes from seeing each other’s truths and saying, ‘I understand.’ Even if it hurts. Even if you don’t agree.”
Hermione looked down at her teacup. “He thinks we didn’t hear him. Maybe he’s right.”
Luna reached across the table and squeezed her hand gently. “Then listen. And tell him you heard him. That’s all he needs. He doesn’t want to change who you are, just feel seen.”
When Hermione left, the air had cooled, the light turning honey-gold. Luna stood on the path, baby Celine still asleep against her shoulder.
“Thank you,” Hermione said softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’d still find your way,” Luna replied, smiling. “You always do. But remember — even the brightest magic needs grounding. Go home, Hermione. Bring your balance back.”
As Hermione walked back toward the apparition point, the bond pulsed faintly again — distant, strained, but alive.
Theo’s frustration still echoed, Draco’s stubborn calm still burned steady, and somewhere in between, Hermione’s heart ached with the weight of it all.
By the time Hermione apparated back to Nott Manor, the sky had deepened into a lovely shade of indigo. The orchard shimmered faintly under floating lanterns that the elves had set out as dusk fell, their glow too calm for the way her chest felt.
The house was still quiet — the sort of quiet that used to feel peaceful but now carried edges. Her footsteps echoed down the corridor toward Theo’s old room. She could feel him through the bond — heavy, closed off, distant, but still there.
She hesitated outside his door. The faint shimmer of wards pressed faintly against her fingertips when she reached out. “Theo?” she called softly. “It’s me.”
For a long moment, silence. Then his voice, muffled but sharp enough to sting:
“I can’t deal with you right now, Hermione.”
Her heart clenched. “Please,” she whispered. “We need to talk about—”
“I said not right now.” His tone cracked — angry, exhausted, frayed. “I’ll talk when I’m ready.”
Then the sound of another charm sealing the door. The wards flared — stronger this time, more final.
She stood there for a long time, her hand still against the wood, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She could feel the flicker of the bond between them — Theo’s emotions like a storm behind glass: frustration, sadness, confusion, shame.
“Okay,” she whispered finally. “I’ll wait.”
Draco found her half an hour later, curled in the armchair of the library, staring at the unlit fireplace. She hadn’t bothered with lights; the room was dusky, soft-edged, quiet except for the ticking clock on the mantel.
He crossed the room and crouched in front of her. “He wouldn’t talk still?”
She shook her head. “He told me he can’t deal with me right now.” Her voice collapsed on the words. “And I know I should give him more space, but it hurts. The bond feels wrong when we’re like this.”
Draco reached for his wand, murmured a charm, and the hearth roared to life — the flames throwing amber light across their faces. Then he sat on the edge of the table in front of her.
“He’s processing,” Draco said quietly. “You know how he gets. He feels things so deeply that he can’t always separate emotion from logic until he’s worn himself out.”
Hermione gave a weak laugh. “And you process by locking it all down behind sarcasm and neat handwriting.”
He smiled faintly. “Old habits die hard.”
She leaned back, rubbing her temples. “I just don’t understand how everything spiraled like this. We were fine, and then… so very not.”
“You know what it really is?” Draco said softly. “It’s that we’re all still learning each other’s boundaries. We’ve never been three people in love together before. Sometimes our edges clash.”
Hermione looked up at him. “You mean… our comfort levels?”
He nodded slowly. “Theo’s comfort levels in the bedroom aren’t the same as mine. Or yours. That’s not wrong. It’s just different. It also doesn’t make what we did wrong either. We all are going to have different needs and preferences. There’s no shame in that. I want you to know that too… if you liked what we did, then we don’t need to regret it. If it’s something you need, something you want, then don’t be embarrassed by that. Ut’s ok to explore… darker desires. I obviously have those desires too from time to time. Whatever anything is, what matters is consent.”
She winced slightly, remembering. “He thinks I’m taking your side.”
Draco shook his head. “It’s not about sides. It’s about trust. What happened the other night wasn’t wrong, but it hit something for him. Maybe made him feel like he wasn’t part of the moment. Or that what we were doing wasn’t something he could ever see himself doing? Maybe it’s even something with his past that struck a note… I’m not sure, but obviously something about the whole thing sat very wrong with him.”
Hermione swallowed. “You think he felt… excluded?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Or out of control perhaps. Maybe just not considered or heard? We all never really talked about a situation like that before, he may have just assumed we felt the same way about it that he did, and he was shocked and put out that we apparently don’t.”
Draco’s tone was gentle, the sharp edges of his usual composure softened. “He’s spending his life keeping people alive in the hospital, holding things together with his hands and his will. When something feels uncertain between us — especially physically — it shakes him more than he’ll admit maybe.”
Hermione’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I never meant to make him feel like that. Or hurt him. I didn’t think what we were doing would matter to him.”
“I know,” Draco said. “And he knows too, even if he’s not ready to say it to us.”
For a long time, they sat in silence, the fire crackling softly. Draco reached out, brushing a stray curl from her cheek.
“We shouldn’t feel ashamed of what we enjoy, or of the way we connect. But we also need to make sure every one of us feels seen, respected, and not compared.”
Hermione’s eyes shimmered. “I hate that it’s so hard sometimes.”
“It’s not hard,” he said quietly. “It’s real.”
Hermione finally leaned forward, resting her forehead against his chest.
Draco wrapped his arms around her, holding her steady. Through the bond, she could feel the faint hum of his reassurance — steady, silver, grounding.
Beneath it, she could sense Theo — far away, restless, hurt, and brooding.
“Do you think he’ll come back to us soon?” she asked.
“Yes,” Draco murmured. “He just needs to remember that we’re not the enemy. We’re his home.”
She closed her eyes, breathing in the warmth of him, the scent of parchment and faint spice. “You’re better at this emotional honesty thing now than you used to be.”
He chuckled quietly, his hand tracing slow circles on her back. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”
The humor helped, easing some of the weight between them. They stayed like that for a while — no magic, no words, just warmth and breath and the soft glow of firelight between them.
Later, when she finally went upstairs, Hermione paused outside Theo’s door again. The wards were still up — she could feel the pulse of them like a heartbeat beneath her palm.
“I’m not giving up on us,” she whispered through the wood. “Whenever you’re ready, we’ll be here.”
The wards flickered — just faintly, like an acknowledgment — before settling again.
She went to bed in the shared suite, Draco sliding in beside her. He didn’t speak, just pulled her close, his hand finding hers beneath the sheets.
Theo’s distance hummed faintly in the background, sorrowful but softening — the emotional echo of someone who might not be ready yet, but was already starting to miss them too.
Notes:
How can you see this being mended?
Chapter 205: Warned
Chapter Text
The morning air was crisp and too bright, the kind of clear that felt cruel when you weren’t all right inside.
They silently apparated separately the next morning. Theo went first. Draco and then Hermione followed seconds later, the crack of arrival echoing against the marble of the Ministry atrium.
Theo was already walking toward the lifts, his posture straight, his healer’s robes immaculate, his face impassive.
Hermione’s breath caught. The bond between them was tight — stretched to the point of pain.
Draco’s hand found the small of her back as they followed. “He’s here, that’s something,” he murmured.
She nodded mutely. But even from a few paces away, she could feel the chill of Theo’s emotional distance. It wasn’t anger anymore — not really — but the cold ache of disappointment, and the wall he’d built to hold it in.
When they entered the lift, he didn’t meet their eyes. The only sound was the whir of gears and the soft hum of enchanted brass.
The Unspeakables’ evaluation chambers were buried deep beneath the Ministry, accessible only by the lifts. The corridors were dim, lined with polished black stone that reflected their faces like sad ghosts as they passed.
Hermione felt the faint shift of magic as they entered the room — a wide, circular space filled with runic circles, scrying mirrors, and floating crystals of pale blue light.
“Good morning, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Nott, Ms. Granger,” said Unspeakable Raines, the same gray-haired wizard who had conducted one of their previous evaluation. His eyes flicked over them briefly, lingering just a fraction too long on the strained way Hermione and Theo stood apart. “Shall we begin?”
“Yes, of course,” Hermione said quickly, forcing a professional tone. “We’re ready.”
Theo didn’t respond. He only nodded once and stepped into the first rune circle when instructed.
At first, it was like every other evaluation — the pulse readings, the resonance scans, the synchronization charms. Raines murmured instructions, quills scribbled on enchanted parchment, and pale light flickered across the floor as the circles lit one by one.
When it came time for the emotional synchrony charm — a simple diagnostic to measure harmony within a bonded triad — the crystal in the center of the floor flickered unsteadily.
Normally, it glowed a steady hue for them — a balanced light. Today it sputtered between pale gold and fractured gray, pulsing unevenly before stabilizing into finally a faint, dull orange.
Raines frowned faintly. “That’s… unusual.”
Theo’s jaw tightened. Draco looked away. Hermione pressed her hands together, trying to stay calm.
“Let’s try something new,” Raines said finally, gesturing to an assistant who brought over a small, runed pedestal. “We’re testing resonance overlap this month. Hand your wands to one another, and cast a basic levitation charm.”
Draco handed his wand to Hermione, the smooth yew wood warm against her palm. She lifted it instinctively, flicked it once, and murmured, “Wingardium Leviosa.”
The quill before her rose at once, as if it had always known her touch.
Draco tried hers — the vine wood wand — and his charm flowed with effortless precision, identical.
Raines hummed approvingly. “Excellent compatibility.”
Then Theo took Hermione’s wand. The tip sputtered for a second before catching. The quill lifted shakily, wobbling midair. His expression didn’t change, but the failure pressed against the bond like static. The same happened when he tried Draco’s,
“Again,” Raines said gently.
Theo repeated the motion, slower. The wand obeyed this time — barely.
When Draco tried Theo’s wand, it fizzled — nothing. Hermione’s attempt yielded the same: a faint shimmer, then dead air.
“Hmm.” Raines exchanged a look with his assistant. “That’s… interesting. It’s not incompatibility, per se, but the bond resonance is strained. Theo’s magic feels… isolated.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “Isolated?”
“Yes. It’s as though his connection to both yours is dulled — like there’s emotional interference.”
Theo’s hand flexed at his side, but he said nothing.
After a few more diagnostic charms, Raines finally sighed, his expression kind but grave.
“I won’t mince words,” he said. “The bond between you three is unusually powerful — layered, rare, and in some ways, unpredictable. When your emotional states diverge too far, your magic responds. It adapts to what it perceives as instability.”
He folded his hands. “If you let this discord fester, it won’t just make communication difficult. It can manifest as magical backlash — exhaustion, sickness, even bursts of uncontrolled magic.”
Hermione’s stomach dropped. “We’ve been… under some strain lately.”
“That’s clear,” Raines said gently. “You don’t need to tell me details. Just… don’t let it get out of hand. Bonds like yours don’t fracture easily, but when they do, the consequences are significant — both magical and emotional.”
Theo’s silence was deafening.
Draco’s voice, low and even, filled the void. “We understand. We’ll handle it.”
Raines gave them a long look, then nodded. “I hope you do. You’re stronger together. Remember that.”
They left the Department in silence. The air in the lift was heavy, too close. Hermione could feel the tension threading through the bond like a wire pulled too tight.
Theo walked ahead through the atrium, giving his name to the security wizard with clipped precision. He didn’t look back.
Draco exhaled slowly beside her. “He’s still not ready.”
Hermione nodded mutely, her throat tight. “I know.”
Theo vanished through the Ministry doors into the morning sunlight, his robes snapping behind him. The bond pulsed faintly — steady, cold, closed off.
Draco and Hermione stood together for a long moment, neither moving. The echo of Raines’ words hung between them: Don’t let it get out of hand before your magic becomes a danger.
Hermione whispered, almost to herself, “I can feel him slipping away.”
Draco took her hand gently, squeezing it once. “Then we’ll pull him back.”
Outside, the day was bright and full of noise, but between them, the silence spoke louder than anything else.
Notes:
Why is Theo so upset you think?
Chapter 206: Hear Me
Chapter Text
The manor was quiet again by the time night fell — the kind of silence that hummed with anticipation… the bad kind.
Hermione had lit a single lamp in the library, the soft glow of it pooling across the rug. Draco sat in one of the wing-back chairs, legs crossed, his expression controlled but weary.
They’d been waiting for nearly an hour.
Theo’s magic brushed faintly against the wards before they even heard the floo activate — restrained, muted, as though he was holding himself in.
Hermione straightened instinctively. “He’s home.”
Draco’s gaze flicked toward her. “Then let’s not let this fester another night.”
When Theo stepped into the room, he looked drained — his healer robes unbuttoned at the throat, his hair mussed from running his hands through it, a faint shadow under his eyes. The bond full of disappointment and sadness.
He stopped when he saw them both waiting. The air between them thickened instantly.
“Hey,” Hermione said quietly.
He sighed, not in anger but fatigue. “I just got off a ten-hour shift. I don’t have the energy for fighting. Can’t yu both just leave me alone for awhile?
“We’re not here to fight,” Draco said, his tone level but firm. “We’re here to listen.”
Theo stayed by the doorway for a long moment before finally walking in and sinking onto the edge of the couch, his elbows on his knees.
“You want me to talk?” he said. “Fine. I don’t know what to say. I’m angry. I’m… tired. And I’m disappointed by what you were doing.”
Hermione moved closer, keeping her voice gentle. “Theo, you don’t have to make sense of it all at once. Just tell us what’s hurting exactly. We don’t really understand right now.”
He laughed softly — but it wasn’t amused. “What’s hurting? Everything.”
His voice cracked on the word. “The fight, the bond, the way it feels like I’m on the outside of something I’m supposed to belong to.”
Draco exhaled slowly. “You were never outside of it.”
“I know you didn’t mean to,” Theo interrupted quietly. “That’s the problem. It wasn’t about intention. It was about how it felt. Like you two did something so awful to me, and then when I thought on it… I know I can’t be that for either of you ever.”
Draco leaned forward, his usual composure gone, voice low and rough.
“Theo, we’re not perfect at this. I know I push too hard sometimes maybe. I know I try to control things when I’m scared — and lately I’ve been scared all the time.”
Theo blinked, startled by the honesty.
“I’m not upset that you reacted to what you saw,” Draco continued. “I never was. But I am terrified of losing either of you. And when you pull away, I don’t know how to stop trying to hold everything together, but I also don’t know how to make it right, when we don’t understand exactly what was wrong in the first place.”
Theo’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t want to be handled, Draco. I want to be trusted and repsected.”
“I do trust you.”
“Then act like it,” Theo said, his tone quiet but unflinching.
The words landed hard — not cruel, just true.
Hermione finally bridged the space between them, sitting beside Theo. “We both do trust and love you,” she said softly. “And you have to trust us enough to tell us when and why you’re hurting instead of shutting down and keeping us out. The bond… it’s been painful these past days. I don’t want that.”
Theo’s voice broke. “Neither do I.”
Draco rose from his chair and moved to stand beside them. The three of them were close now, the air between them charged with magic — faint, electric, aching for balance.
Hermione took Theo’s hand carefully ignoring his flinch. “At the Ministry today… the Unspeakables could tell something was wrong. They said if we let this go on, it could hurt our magic.”
Theo nodded slowly. “I felt it. Everything’s been off. My wand barely responded to you two. It felt really bad.”
“Because you’ve been holding yourself apart from us these last few days,” Draco said quietly. “It’s like trying to cast with half your core closed.”
Theo looked down at their joined hands, then finally let out a shaky laugh. “I hate that you’re right.”
Hermione smiled faintly through the sting of tears. “Then don’t fight us. Let’s fix this together. We need to talk it out for real.”
For a long time, no one spoke. Then Theo reached out — slowly, as though the motion itself was a surrender — and took Draco’s hand too.
The air carried the comforting scent of aged parchment, the faint, woody aroma of polished mahogany, and the subtle, soothing note of chamomile tea.
The triad bond was a heavy, aching weight—Hermione’s remorseful anxiety a dull, persistent throb in their chests, Draco’s determined empathy a sharp, insistent pull, Theo’s wounded silence.
Theo leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, his dark hair tousled, his stormy eyes fixed on the floor, his hands clasped so tightly around theirs his knuckles were white.
Hermione broke the silence again, her voice soft but full with emotion, leaning forward, “Theo... love, we can’t keep going like this. You’ve barely looked at us since that night. Please—talk to us, tell us the feelings. We’re hurting too, feeling you pull away.” Her eyes filled with tears, the bond pulsing with her desperation to heal the rift.
Theo’s jaw clenched, his eyes flicking up briefly before dropping again, his voice low and rough, his hands unclenching from theirs to rub his thighs, a nervous gesture that betrayed his inner turmoil, “What I’m feeling? Fuck, Hermione—when I felt that pain through the bond, the anger, the chaos, I thought you were under attack, that someone had breached the wards and come for. I got back here as fast as I could to protect you both… and then walked in on... on that scene, you bleeding, bruised, the room destroyed... it was like my mother all over again.”
His voice cracked, his shoulders slumping, his fingers digging into his thighs as if to ground himself, “My father—he was a monster, the way he treated her, the domestic violence, everyone says it was bad, her diary explains it all… the sexual abuse, the violence disguised as tradition, as control. I thought... I thought Draco had crossed that line when I saw the scene, even if you said you wanted it. It made me sick, honestly—still does, the idea of pain, fear, and blood mixed with sex. And gods, Hermione—I hate the thought of you hurt, even if you asked for it. I’m sorry for accusing you, Draco, of abusing her... but if anyone ever did, truly did, I’d burn the world down to protect any woman being harmed like that. I’d tear them apart with my bare hands.”
Hermione’s voice was a whisper, her hand reaching for his, “Theo... I had no idea it would trigger that for you. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t planned, it just kind of unfolded in the moment. We didn’t know you would be so horrified. Tell us more about your mother—if you can. We want to understand.”
Theo’s eyes glistened, his voice shaking, “She... she suffered for years before she died. He’d come home angry from his meetings, take it out on her—bruises she’d hide with charms. It wasn’t love, it was control. Seeing you like that, even if it was different... it brought it all back. I can’t separate it—the pain, the blood, the anger. It feels too close, too wrong.”
Draco leaned forward, his voice steady but laced with some remorse, kneeling in front of Theo’s chair, his silver eyes meeting his with raw honesty, “Theo—I’d never hurt her like that. It was rough, yeah, but it was consensual, it was what she needed in that moment to get the rage out, she was spiraling, heavy with all the pent up feelings about the cases. I’m sorry it triggered you like that—your mum, what your father did... I should’ve been more aware before engaging, should’ve thought how it might seem to you. We hear you, love— we aren’t going to not take your feelings seriously too. And I know you’d protect her—I’d stand beside you too, mate. We both would burn the world down to protect her.”
Theo’s voice quivered, his eyes meeting theirs for the first time, “It’s not just the pain, the blood—it’s about the anger fueling it too. Sex shouldn’t be like that to me. It should be loving, fun, a bit dirty maybe, but not painful, not crossing into something that looks or feels like violence. I know you both consented, I get that now, but... gods, it makes my stomach turn to even think about taking part in that. I can’t be part of that, can’t offer it. And if that’s what you need... am I even enough for you both?”
Hermione’s voice was gentle, her hand squeezing his, “Theo, you’re more than enough—you’re part of our heart, our joy. That afternoon was... a moment, a way to release the fury eating me alive over the cases. But it’s not what I want or need all the time. I love our sex life with you—the loving, playful kind, the way you make me feel cherished and we all bring each other pleasure. That’s us, that’s what I need.”
Her eyes shimmered with sincerity, the bond pulsing with her love for them both, “Rough sex isn’t messed up if it’s consensual, but I hear you—it hurt you, and that’s not okay. We should have been more aware of how it might come off to you, we all should have communicated better.”
Draco nodded, his voice firm with emotion, his hand on Theo’s knee, “I don’t want anyone to feel guilty or wrong for what they get aroused by though either, consensual rough sex is healthy when it’s what both want—it’s about trust, boundaries, safe words. But your trauma—your mum, your father—that’s real too and important, and I’m sorry we triggered it. Sex is what we make it together, and for us as a whole triad, it’s love, fun, connection. You’re the one who makes it feel like home for us both, Theo—your devotion, your heart. We don’t need anything else to feel satisfied and happy.”
Theo’s voice broke, his hand squeezing theirs tightly, his eyes meeting theirs, glistening with unshed tears, “I... I know it was consensual, I do nowat least, not so much in the moment I saw it. But the pain, the blood, the anger—it’s too close to what she went through, what I know she suffered, the bruises, the screams. I can’t... I can’t be part of that, can’t offer it to either of you probably ever. And it hurts, thinking I’m not enough for you, that my kind of sex—loving, fun, a bit dirty—isn’t fully satisfying if you need... that extreme, that darkness. I feel like I’m failing you both in some ways.”
Hermione’s voice was gentle, her thumb stroking his hand, “Theo, you’re not failing us at all—you’re our safety, our joy. The rough stuff doesn’t need to be for everyone or for all the time at all... it was a moment, a way to release the fury burning inside me, but it’s not the core of us as a triad. I love how you make sex feel like play, like love without the shadows. That’s what sustains me, what I crave most days. The connection we all have when we’re sexual together, the care and love you give me when we’re alone too.”
Her eyes shimmered, “We’re a triad—your needs, your boundaries, they’re sacred to us. If rough sex crosses a line for you, we’ll respect that, we wouldn’t ever push you to take part in something that makes you uncomfortable. There’s lots of other things we both want to explore alone and as a triad together with you that don’t involve that type of thing at all. We never want you to feel like you have to do anything for us that makes you uncomfortable. You’re enough just being who you are. We don’t want to change you at all.”
Draco’s voice was low and raw, his grip on Theo’s knee firm but tender, “Mate, I love nights with you—the fun, the laughter, the way you make me feel alive without the edge of worry. Rough sex is healthy if consented, but not if it hurts you, it’s not at all something I need from you to enjoy being with you. We’re all in this together—your comfort is our comfort. I’m sorry for scaring you, for not seeing how it could trigger you before we got lost in it. You’re our anchor, Theo—we need you.”
Theo’s voice was quiet, his eyes searching theirs, “I... I love you both. I was so angry initially, thinking Draco had hurt you, even if you asked for it. I kind of thought you might even be covering for him like my mom used to with her friends. But then... it hit me harder afterward when I was really thinking about it. I felt embarrassed, hurt, like I’m not enough because I can’t give you that intensity, that... darkness. If I can’t give you both that… are you sure I’m always going to be enough?
Hermione’s voice was tender, “Theo, your love is everything—it’s what grounds us, what makes us laugh, what makes sex feel like joy when we’re all together. The rough stuff... it’s not a need, it’s an exploration. And if it hurts you, we don’t expect you to explore it. You’re never not going to be enough no matter what our sex life looks like.”
Draco’s voice was steady, “Theo, we love sex with you—the way you make us feel alive, the love we all share in those moments together. That night was an outlier, not our norm that we need or expect all the time at all. You’re not failing us—your love is what keeps us all whole.”
Theo’s voice softened, but a new question lurked in it, his eyes flicking between them, “Will you... do it again?”
Draco’s voice was honest, “If it’s something Hermione wants to explore, yeah, I’d want to in the future. But only if it’s something she wants. I … well I obviously like it, but I don’t need it. It’s only good if the other person wants it too. It’s about trust, intensity—not replacing what we have with you, mate. It’s just... different, for some moments.”
Hermione’s voice was cautious, her hand still in Theo’s, “I don’t know how deep I’d want to go exploring with the pain or darkness, Theo. That night was a release I needed, but I haven’t figured out if it’s something I crave or just needed then. Draco and I haven’t even talked about whether it’s a regular thing t do again yet. It might be something I’d explore with him, but I’m not sure to what extent, or if it’s even about the pain. I’m not sure if what I liked about it was even sitting on the edge of darkness with it, or rather just the surrendering of control itself. I’m not going to lie to you about it…in the moment I did really enjoy it. But without exploring it more, I’m not sure really what part about it that did it for me. Maybe the wild recklessness, the superficial pain, the intensity of emptions, of not feeling held back, the surrendering of control… honestly it might be all of it together, or only some pieces of that. I’ve never had something like that before, so I’m not sure how to unpack my reaction to it fully without discovering it more. But, I don’t want to hurt you by even wanting it or thinking about trying it more.”
Theo’s voice was quiet, his eyes downcast, “I won’t stand in either of your ways from exploring your sexuality, if it’s what you both want. I’m not going to be a hypocrite. Everyone has different kinks, desires—I get that. I do too, and you’ve both been very accommodating and open minded to what I desire. I just...personally…. I can’t take part in anything that extreme, the darkness, the extreme roughness, with pain and blood. It’s not me. But I don’t want to be a cockblock either.”
Hermione’s voice was immediate, her hand squeezing his tighter, “Theo, you’re not. Your feelings matter—we’ll always respect that. If we explore, it’ll be with your blessing, and we’ll make sure it doesn’t touch you.”
Draco’s voice was firm, “You’re not blocking us, mate—never. Your boundaries are ours too. We’ll keep it separate from what we do with you, if we even decide to explore it, keep you safe from it.”
Theo nodded slowly, his voice a whisper, “I appreciate that... but if you do decide to explore it again, don’t make me see it or the aftermath please, or feel it so raw through the bond. That pain, that fear—it hit me like a curse, made my stomach churn. You guys didn’t dull the bond at all… it was intense. Maybe if it’s planned or more of a conscious decision, not some spur-of-the-moment release, you could be... further away too? Somewhere I won’t feel it so dramatically, so I don’t have to be exposed to it?”
Hermione’s voice was filled with empathy, her eyes meeting his with unwavering love, “Of course, Theo—we’ll be mindful, always. If we explore, it’ll be more planned, private, and we’ll shield the bond so you don’t feel the pain or fear. Your peace comes first, love. We never want to trigger you like that again. I’m so sorry we did.”
Draco’s voice was resolute, his hand on Theo’s knee, “Agreed, make sure the bond is muted if it’s that rough. Your comfort is non-negotiable. We love you too much to let this break us.”
Theo’s eyes softened, his voice trembling with relief, “Thank you... for hearing me, for caring enough to adjust. I was so scared I’d lose you both. But if it’s occasional, if it’s what you need sometimes, I can accept it—as long as it’s safe, consensual, and doesn’t touch our time together. I just... I don’t understand it, the appeal. Why would you want pain, anger in something that’s supposed to be love?”
Hermione’s voice was thoughtful, her hand still in his, “Theo, for me... that night, the pain wasn’t the goal— I know it looked a lot more bloody and pained than it actually was. I swear all of it was extremely superficial injuries, it looked worse than it honestly was. But, it was the release, the way it let the rage out. It’s like... giving up control in a safe space, knowing Draco would hold me through it. But I’m not sure if it’s the pain I’d want again, or just the intensity. I’d need to explore to know.”
Draco’s voice was introspective, “Mate, it’s not the pain for its own sake for me—it’s the trust, the edge. It’s like... letting the storm rage so the calm can come. You push boundaries, but you know you’re safe. It’s not for everyone, and that’s okay. It’s not our everything—it’s a tool, sometimes.”
Theo’s voice was quiet, his brow furrowed, “I... I get the trust part, the release. But the pain, the anger—it still feels wrong to me. Like... why invite possible hurt into love? I want to understand, but it’s hard. It scares me, thinking you might crave something I can’t give. And I hate the thought of her hurt—Hermione, even if you wanted it, seeing you like that... it tore me apart.”
Hermione’s voice was soft, “Theo, I know it’s hard to understand. For me, it was about surrendering the control I carry every day—the cases, the pressure. About being free, exposed. It’s like... the scarves you tied me with, the trust in letting go. But the pain? I’m not sure, it honestly wasn’t actually painful to me in the moment at all. I’d need to explore carefully. And I hate that it hurt you—I never want you to feel that fear again.”
Draco’s voice was steady, “I think for people into this type of thing, the appeal is the intensity—the way it strips everything bare, leaves just trust and love. It’s not about hurting her; it’s about her letting me hold her through the storm. But your way—loving, fun—that’s what makes us us. We don’t need the rough to be whole all of us together.”
Theo’s voice was a whisper, his eyes searching theirs, “I... I’ll try to accept it, as long as it’s not part of us as a triad. I love you both.”
They pulled him into a tight embrace, tears mingling, the bond shifting to be warmer, not healed fully, but starting to.
“I was ashamed,” Theo said finally, voice low. “Ashamed that what you two enjoy sometimes isn’t what I do. That it makes me feel like I’m… less, somehow.”
Draco shook his head instantly. “Theo, no. You can’t let yourself think that way. You’re not less. You’re you. That’s the point. None of us need to want the same things the same way.”
Hermione squeezed his hand. “What matters is that we talk about it. That we make sure everyone feels safe. That’s how we make this work.”
Theo met her eyes then — really met them — and for the first time in days, she saw warmth there again. Tired, yes. But present.
He exhaled softly. “I missed you.”
Hermione’s voice trembled. “Then come home to us, Theo.”
He nodded. “I’m trying.”
And he was — she could feel it. The bond pulsed again, still fragile, but stronger. The ache was easing.
The three of them stayed like that for a long time — hands linked, magic humming faintly in the air, the fireplace flickering low behind them.
When they finally stood, Draco rested a hand on Theo’s shoulder. “Promise me this: next time it feels like too much, you’ll tell us before you lock the door.”
Theo gave a tired but genuine smile. “Promise.”
Hermione brushed her thumb across his knuckles. “And we’ll listen. Properly.”
He nodded. “Deal.”
They went upstairs together this time — not to fix everything in one night, but to start mending.
When they climbed into bed, there were no sparks, no magic flares, just quiet breathing and the warmth of three people remembering that even when love is complicated, it’s still theirs.
Notes:
Thoughts on this whole situation?
Chapter 207: Intercepted
Chapter Text
Morning showed up too fast. No one moved. For a while, the only sound was their breathing and the hush that settled over the room. Theo was the first to break the stillness, sitting up slow so he wouldn’t shatter whatever peace had landed overnight. The ache in the bond was still there, just softer now.
Draco already hovered at the edge of waking, hair a mess, still in his shirt from last night. Hermione lay curled beside them, hand tucked against Draco’s arm, half-asleep.
Theo watched them for a minute, caught by the steady rise and fall of Draco’s chest. Something flickered in the bond—nothing sharp, just a timid little beat of normal.
He swung his legs out of bed and Hermione blinked awake. “You’re leaving already?”
He nodded, groping for his healer robes. “Morning rounds start early. I’ve got to be at St. Mungo’s by seven.”
She kept her voice low. “Be safe today.”
He smiled at her then, the first real one in days. Small, tired, but honest. “You too.”
Theo made it halfway to the door before Draco’s voice caught him. “Theo.”
He turned.
Draco crossed the room, unreadable, until he was close enough to touch. He hesitated, then kissed Theo—quick, firm, nothing flashy. Just real. Just right.
Theo froze, startled. The bond jumped to life.
Hermione felt the warmth bloom across her chest, sitting up on the edge of the bed—everything in the room felt lighter, mending, content.
Draco pulled back, met Theo’s gaze, and said, “Come home tonight at a reasonable time, please.”
Theo nodded. “I will.”
He left.
Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t noticed she was holding. “That helped. Finally talking last night.”
Draco’s mouth twisted into a half-smirk. “It usually does.”
Downstairs, breakfast was quiet, but at least it didn’t hurt the way it used to.
Hermione sat at the table, tea in hand. Draco read the Prophet, frowning at the headlines about the siphoning investigation.
“Still nothing,” he muttered, setting the paper aside. “Just wild guesses. No progress.”
“So we keep doing what we do,” Hermione said, forcing a smile. “We still have to live.”
He watched her, his face softening. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“I almost always am.” She grinned, a little spark coming back. “Come on, you insisted on coming to class with me, remember?”
Draco groaned. “Right—my favorite job. Glorified bodyguard to the brightest witch of the age. All while listening to hours of charms theory nonsense.”
She rolled her eyes. “You volunteered. I’d manage fine without you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Not letting you go alone. I wouldn’t get anything done just worrying about you.”
By the time they got to the Charms Institute, the place was buzzing with students.
The marble steps caught the October sunlight. Hermione felt the press of the warding spells Harry and Kingsley insisted on now—extra protection, since everyone knew she was involved.
Draco looked sharp, leaning against the wall outside her classroom, pretending not to notice the students sneaking glances at him.
He nodded at her as she adjusted her bag. “Your classmates are staring again.”
“Maybe they’re just shocked to see Draco Malfoy babysitting me.”
“Cruel, Granger.” He smirked. “Remind me why I wanted to do this?”
“Because you care,” she teased. “Even if you hate that it shows.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “You’re lucky that’s true.”
Hermione stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Thanks for coming with me. I mean it. It matters.”
He met her eyes, serious now. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
The bond hummed between them, steady.
She squeezed his hand and slipped inside.
By afternoon, class was over and they were at the Granger Center. The familiar routine did its job, soothing Hermione’s nerves.
The main hall buzzed—families, parents, kids, all waiting, filling out forms, asking about the first sparks of magic.
Draco manned the intake desk today, and the staff loved it. They found endless amusement in watching a Malfoy calmly explain wand safety to Muggle parents.
Hermione came out of a counseling room, smiling. “You’re a natural, you know.”
He looked up from his clipboard. “At what, exactly?”
“Not scaring people. Being kind to kids.”
“I’m deeply offended,” Draco shot back, grinning. “I spent years perfecting my intimidation.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “You’ve changed more than you’ll ever admit.”
He didn’t bother to disagree—just gave her that look, the one that said he already knew.
When the day finally ended, the two of them walked outside together. The streetlamps had just begun to glow, and the cobblestones shimmered faintly from a light rain.
Hermione glanced sideways at him. “You think he’ll come home early tonight?”
Draco nodded once. “I think he’s ready to start acting normal again… or whatever normal for us is anyway.”
She sighed softly, but there was hope in it this time. “The bond feels a bit better today.”
He reached over, brushing his fingers against hers. “That’s because we are all a bit better today.”
She smiled — small but real — and let their hands twine together as they apparated home.
Dinner was still warm on the table in front of them all when the owl arrived — a sleek Ministry bird with a silver band of the official seal of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Draco unrolled the parchment, eyes narrowing.
From the Office of the Minister for Magic
Subject: Urgent Meeting — Core Siphoning Investigation
Please report to the Minister’s Office this evening at eight. New intelligence requires immediate review. — Kingsley Shacklebolt.
Hermione set her fork down with a sense of reluctant resignation, the clink against her plate sharper than she intended. “Already? We just dealt with the last one,” she said, frustration flickering across her features. The meal had barely begun to settle, and yet the shadow of duty loomed again.
Theo’s face was drawn, his jaw set in a way that brooked no argument. “This is different,” he insisted, words clipped. “Kingsley wouldn’t drag us back unless it mattered. He hates false alarms.”
Draco, ever attuned to the shifting moods, simply nodded. There was no room left for protest. “Let’s finish up,” he said, his voice low and controlled. “We’ll apparate straight there—no sense in delaying.”
Outside, the evening pressed in on them, the air heavy and charged, every breath thick with the threat of a coming storm. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the sky restless and bruised. Between them, the magical bond pulsed—a subtle current of awareness, not as jagged and raw as it had been over the weekend when everything felt like it might break, but now taut with anticipation. Each of them felt the others’ tension, a silent promise that whatever came next, they would face it together.
Harry was already waiting outside the conference chamber. He looked haggard, the lines under his eyes deepened by sleepless nights and stress. His Auror robes were creased, a hint of stale coffee clinging to the fabric, and his wand never left his hand. Even his hair, usually just untidy, now seemed to defy gravity in anxious tufts.
“Glad you made it,” he greeted them, his voice tight and barely masking his fatigue. “We intercepted another owl. Same destination—just like before. Another one of Rowle’s apprentices, we think.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed, suspicion sharpened by experience. “They’re still sending these letters to the same place? Even with all the surveillance? That’s reckless. Or arrogant.”
Harry nodded grimly. “Yeah. We’ve got the apprentice in holding already. Planning to question him tonight—see if we get further than last time. I think they assumed we’d stopped paying attention after months watching that shop. Maybe they’re desperate, or maybe they want us to see something.”
Before they could speculate further, Kingsley strode in—impeccably composed as always, but his eyes dark with concern. He carried a piece of parchment, the edges curled and darkened as if it had traveled far. “This letter’s different,” he announced, his tone grave. “It’s clearer. More direct. It points to someone coordinating from abroad—someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.”
Hermione immediately leaned in as Kingsley offered her the parchment. The script was elegant, but the words chilled her:
The light fades faster now. The vessels are filling faster now. You must prepare the next phase before the time closes. The old magic cannot be stopped. Let nature reclaim what was stolen.
As she read, her mouth went dry, a cold certainty settling in her chest. “That’s basically confirmation of the siphoning,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “‘Vessels’—they’re using those objects to hold the core magic. It’s a ritual process, not just theft.”
Kingsley nodded, his expression grave. “That’s our working theory. We’re piecing together which objects they’re using and where they’re being kept, but it’s slow going. Come on—you can watch the interrogation through the scrying mirror. Maybe you’ll spot something we’ve missed.”
They moved to the observation room, the air there colder still. The walls were close and unyielding, painted with the chill of too many secrets. A charmed glass panel separated them from the stark interrogation chamber beyond.
Inside, Corin Vale sat at the table. He was wiry, almost gaunt, his sharp cheekbones casting shadows over tired, pale skin. Restraint charms glowed dimly at his wrists, but he lounged in his chair as if he owned the room, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. There was an unsettling confidence about him, the kind that came from believing you knew more than anyone else in the room.
Harry entered, his steps purposeful, dropping a thick file onto the table with a dull thud. “Evening, Corin. You know the drill,” he said, voice flat and unyielding.
Corin tilted his head, that infuriating smirk never quite leaving. “You think you’ll squeeze anything else out of me?” he drawled, as if they were discussing the weather.
“That depends,” Harry replied, eyes narrowed. “You’ve been using coded messages. We know you intercepted shipments from several ports. You’re involved with the core drains. Start talking.”
Corin laughed, dry and dismissive. “You think I’m stealing magic from kids? That’s giving me far too much credit, Potter.”
Harry’s jaw clenched, his patience thinning. “You’re working with someone who is.”
“Or maybe,” Corin said, stretching the words, “I just sell candles and sweets.”
The lie was obvious—Hermione felt the ripple through the bond, a distortion that vibrated in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t one of them, but it was unmistakable. Theo caught her eye, unease flickering in his own. Draco’s hand curled into a fist at his side, his control as taut as the bond itself.
Inside the chamber, Harry’s voice darkened. “You know what’s happening. Children are losing their magic. You think this is a joke?”
For a heartbeat, something real passed over Corin’s face—a flicker of emotion, quickly suppressed. “No joke,” he said, voice low. “It’s balance. I’m not involved, but honestly, it’s poetic. Not exactly losing sleep over it.”
Theo’s brow furrowed, his voice a harsh whisper. “Balance? What kind of balance justifies this?”
Harry pressed. “Balance of what, Corin?”
Corin’s smile was icy now, mocking. “The old ways coming back. Magic fixing itself. Traitors like you wouldn’t understand. Or would you? Heard you married a nice pureblood, Potter. Shame she’s soft on Muggles, but at least you didn’t muddy your hands with that mudblood you used to trail after.”
Something in Corin changed then. His gaze went distant, pupils dilating as if he’d been yanked away from the present. The monitoring crystal flared red, an alarm no one wanted to hear. Kingsley cursed, low and vicious.
Hermione’s mind raced. “Someone hit him with a memory-lock,” she said, the realization sharp and chilling. “It’s keyed to names, real information—classic failsafe. He’s locked down tight.”
Harry jabbed his wand, trying to break through, but Corin’s eyes only rolled back, expression blanking into emptiness. The spell had sealed him away from the truth, rendering him almost catatonic.
Ten minutes later, it was done. Corin Vale sat in mute silence, barely remembering his own name. They hauled him away to secure holding, but no one had any illusions. The Unspeakables might try to unlock his mind, but the chances were slim. This wasn’t ordinary memory magic—this was ancient, dangerous work, crafted by someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
Back in the conference room, tension settled over them like fog—thick, suffocating, impossible to ignore. The walls seemed to close in, the storm outside echoing the turmoil within.
Kingsley paced restlessly, hands behind his back, eyes never quite meeting theirs. “The letter’s authentic. The owl came through a legitimate trade route, smuggled among enchanted goods from Eastern Europe. We’re tracing the sender, but so far, it’s dead ends and false names. Whoever’s behind this has covered their tracks better than anyone we’ve dealt with in years.”
Draco’s voice cut through the heaviness, sharp and precise. “Whoever it is, they’re powerful. That kind of memory magic? Only Unspeakables, or someone with access to knowledge most of us don’t even believe exists.”
Theo nodded, face pale but determined. “Or someone much older. The letter’s talk of ‘old magic’—it’s deliberate. They’re invoking forces most wizards avoid for a reason. This isn’t just about power, it’s about retribution, maybe even restoration.”
Hermione stared at the parchment, her mind racing through possibilities. “If they’re siphoning magic into vessels, then planning a ritual, it’s not just children at risk. They could be preparing to alter the magical fabric itself. We need to find those vessels before they complete the next phase.”
Kingsley halted, tension etched in every line of his body. “We’ll double our efforts. I’ll get the international office involved—someone in Eastern Europe is helping them, knowingly or not. And if this is about old magic reclaiming what was ‘stolen’…”
He trailed off, the implication hanging in the charged air. Outside, thunder cracked again, as if the world itself was warning them that time was running out.
Hermione leaned over the parchment again. “‘Let nature reclaim what was stolen.’ It’s rhetoric. The same pure-blood ideology, just masked as mystical philosophy.”
Kingsley sighed. “And now they’re calling this natural. We’re dealing with extremists who think magic itself is choosing sides.”
Harry looked up at them. “We’ll keep Vale under containment until the locks can be broken. I’ll update you if we get anything.”
“Thank you,” Hermione said quietly. “And be careful, all of you. Whoever’s behind this— they’re clearly escalating. Preparing for something big to happen.”
Harry gave a small, grim smile. “When aren’t they?”
The three of them left the Ministry close to midnight.
The corridors were dark and empty, the torches flickering low.
Theo walked between them, silent, lost in thought. Hermione’s hand brushed his, and this time, he didn’t pull away.
Draco’s jaw was tight, his mind clearly still on the interrogation. “That letter wasn’t a message really,” he said finally. “It was a report. Whoever wrote it, they’re monitoring the drains — accessing them.”
Hermione shivered. “The vessels are filling.”
Theo exhaled sharply. “Which means they’re still taking. Whatever they need them for it’s fulfilled yet.”
The three of them stopped at the edge of the atrium, where the great golden fountain shimmered faintly in the torchlight.
Hermione looked between them, determination firming in her eyes.
They apparated home together, silent but united — the air crackling faintly with the old fear that had never quite left any of them.
Notes:
hmmm.... =P
Chapter 208: Show and Tell
Notes:
A few more stories of their childhood, and a chance for Theo to placate himself.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The morning after the interrogation dawned with an unexpected gentleness, as if the world itself wished to apologize for the strain of the night before. Sunlight crept through the orchard beyond Nott Manor.
Hermione prepared tea in the east garden, choosing the spot for its peace as much as its beauty.
Here, the scent of late-blooming roses mingled with the cool, earthy perfume of the orchard.
She set a small round table beneath a venerable lilac tree, careful with the arrangement of porcelain cups and a silver teapot that steamed invitingly in the chill.
Narcissa Malfoy arrived by floo, right on time, stepping out of the green flames with her usual air of serene composure. She was immaculate like normal, draped in silvery-gray robes fastened with a silver clasp. Her hair, as always, was swept up in flawless waves, not a strand out of place.
“Hermione, darling girl,” Narcissa greeted, gliding forward to brush her lips against Hermione’s cheek.
Her eyes, intelligent and sharp beneath their gentle exterior, flickered over Hermione’s face with the ease of long practice. “You look pale. Have you been working yourself too hard again?”
Hermione summoned a polite smile and gestured for her to take a seat. “It’s been… a complicated time lately. Nothing out of the ordinary, really.”
Narcissa slipped off her traveling gloves with a practiced grace, her sigh soft but knowing. “For you three, every week seems complicated. I do wonder how you manage it all.”
She poured the tea, her movements unhurried, the delicate chime of the porcelain sounding almost musical in the quiet.
For a time, they exchanged pleasantries—weather, the state of the gardens, the progress of the Nott roses. Hermione found herself relaxing, lulled by the familiar ritual.
“Draco was conscripted into pruning last week for me,” Narcissa remarked, her eyes brightening with mischief. “He complained about the thorns via owl for days. You’d think he was facing dragons instead of roses.”
Hermione laughed, picturing it easily. “He’s always preferred theory to practice.”
Narcissa’s gaze softened, her expression shifting to something tinged with nostalgia. “You know,” she began, stirring her tea with deliberate care, “when Theo and Draco were boys, they were inseparable for a time. It drove Lucius quite mad, though he’d never have admitted as much.”
Hermione’s smile turned wistful. “I can imagine them—partners in crime.”
Narcissa’s eyes grew distant, her voice low and fond. “Theo was always the instigator actually. Climbing the greenhouse roof, sneaking into the kitchens for midnight biscuits, dragging Draco along for every escapade. Draco was so careful, so poised even as a child, but Theo could coax laughter out of him like no one else. Lucius fretted about propriety, about the dangers of attachments, but the truth was Theo taught Draco how to be a child. They were only like six years old. It wasn’t anything romantic at all back then. H just had a free spirit that Draco envied I think. He gave him permission to laugh, to forget the weight of the family name, if only for a while.”
The image ached in Hermione’s chest—two boys, each shackled by legacy and expectation, finding fleeting freedom together.
She saw traces of that bond in the men they’d become, balancing each other’s flaws and fears in quiet ways.
“They still balance one another, within the triad” Hermione said softly. “Though the world seems determined to complicate it.”
Narcissa’s lips curved with quiet pride. “I see it too. And you, Hermione—you’ve changed them both. You’ve made them softer, more honest with themselves. I don’t think they even realize it, but I see it every time Draco writes to me now. His letters are short, but they’re different. He tells me the truth more often now. And when he speaks of you, it isn’t about obligation or lineage. It’s about peace, finding happiness. Joy in Theo too..”
Hermione looked down, a flush creeping up her cheeks. “I’m not certai it’s my doing.”
“Oh, but it is,” Narcissa replied, her voice gentle and almost maternal. “You’ve given Draco something Lucius and I never could with Theo—a sense of safety, of belonging not built on duty but on affection. For all our efforts, we raised him in a house of rules and expectations. You’ve shown him another way.”
Hermione blinked, her throat tight with emotion. “That means more to me than I can say.”
But Narcissa’s gaze sharpened, a subtle weighing. “I admit,” she said delicately, “I’ve been anticipating a certain announcement that hasn’t yet arrived.”
Hermione nearly spluttered on her tea. “You mean—?”
Narcissa’s lips twitched, amusement glimmering. “Yes. Grandchildren.”
Hermione set her cup down with deliberate care, composing herself. “Ah. That.”
Narcissa continued, smooth as silk but with a hint of vulnerability beneath.
“Please don’t think I’m pressuring you. Merlin knows the Ministry’s deadlines are foolish, and I detest the way people gossip about family lines, as if children are nothing but legacies to secure. But I’d like to be present for that part of Draco’s life. I want to see him become a father, to witness the next generation—if fate allows.”
Hermione drew a slow, steadying breath. “We’ve discussed it, the three of us. We want children. Truly. But not now. Not while the world feels so… uncertain.”
Narcissa considered her, head tilted. “Because of the investigation? Or is it something deeper?”
Hermione’s jaw firmed. “It’s everything. The world is still reeling, old wounds reopening every time we think they’re healed. I want our children to have something better than what we had—a life where fear isn’t the air they breathe. Until things settle, we’ll wait until the last minute of the deadline. We also need to think of the triad bond, we’ve honestly hardly explored it enough to have a true grasp of it’s power ourselves. A child in that mix seems unwise.”
Narcissa’s eyes lingered on Hermione, thoughtful and bright with understanding. “You remind me of a younger me sometimes, you know. So practical, so determined.”
Hermione’s lips quirked. “Better that than blind hope, I suppose.”
Narcissa laughed, a soft, rueful sound. “Don’t be fooled—I was reckless, once too though. I fell for a man who couldn’t give me warmth, and I raised a son in a house where love was measured in obedience. I promised myself that if Draco ever had a family of his own, it would be different for him. He deserves laughter, gentleness, a home that feels safe. A place where love isn’t a se3cret.”
There was a rawness in her voice now, a truth that seemed to shimmer beneath her composure.
Hermione reached across the table, her tone gentle. “It will be. He loves deeply, Narcissa. So does Theo. But for now, we’re choosing to wait. Even if it means walking the edge of the Ministry’s deadline. We want to build something lasting, not just something required.”
Narcissa’s expression softened, her eyes shining with unshed emotion.
“I do understand. I only ask, when you decide the time is right, don’t let fear keep you from joy. The world is never truly safe, Hermione. Children are born into chaos and change every day. It’s love that anchors them, that gives them the courage to face uncertainty.”
Hermione nodded, her voice thick. “I’ll remember. I promise.”
For a moment, the two women sat in shared silence.
The atmosphere settled into something easier after that—lighter, as if a long-held breath had finally been released.
Narcissa’s questions turned to The Granger Center, her curiosity genuine as she listened to Hermione describe the latest breakthroughs in her own spell creation for charms, her eyes brightening at the mention of Theo’s relentless campaign for a permanent children’s wing at St. Mungo’s.
It was as though these everyday topics were weaving a new kind of intimacy between them—one born not just of family ties, but of mutual respect as well.
They lingered well past the first round of tea, hands wrapped around warm cups, letting the conversation meander from the practicalities of funding magical research to the small absurdities of Ministry bureaucracy.
When Narcissa finally stood, smoothing the front of her robes with the composed grace, she reached across the table and took Hermione’s hands in her own.
Her fingers were cool, her grip unexpectedly steady. “You’ve given my son more than I ever could, Hermione,” she said quietly, the words carrying a weight Hermione hadn’t expected. “Don’t think for a moment he doesn’t realize that too.”
“Thank you,” she managed, voice trembling with sincerity back.
Narcissa’s smile was soft, but there was a certainty in it—a quiet acknowledgment of the battles they’d both fought to get here.
“You’re family to me now—not just because of law or blood, but because we’ve chosen to let each other in too”
For a moment, the world seemed to pause—the air around them heavy with understanding. Then, just as the silence threatened to grow too tender, Narcissa’s lips curled into a sly smirk. “Of course, a grandchild would be a lovely bonus.”
Hermione barked out a laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “You really never miss a chance, do you?”
“Never,” Narcissa replied, eyes glinting with mischief that belied her usual poise. “It’s practically a family tradition at this point.”
Once Narcissa finally flooed home, leaving a swirl of green flames in her wake, the garden seemed to retreat into itself.
The tea things lay abandoned in the shade, delicate cups and saucers catching the last light of the afternoon, each one a silent witness to the growing connection between Hemrione and her mother-in-law..
Hermione remained at the table, her hands curled around the cooling porcelain of her empty cup. She stared out at the orchard, watching as a breeze stirred the branches, making sunlight flicker across the grass.
She found she wasn’t upset by anything that had been said. Instead, she felt an unexpected sense of clarity, as if Narcissa’s words had drawn the edges of her worries into sharper focus.
The world was still uncertain—dangerous, even. There were threats that lingered at the edges certainly.
But love, Hermione realized, was never about waiting for the perfect moment, or for the world to be safe enough. Love was stubborn and insistent, carving out sanctuary in the midst of chaos.
With every heartbeat, she promised herself she would protect the family they were becoming—chosen, cherished, and all the more enduring for the trials they faced. And as she gazed out at the orchard, Hermione felt the quiet conviction that, whatever came, they would all weather it together as friends, and family.
That evening, the manor had settled into a rare and perfect stillness. The house-elves were asleep, the clocks chimed softly in far-off rooms.
Only Theo and Hermione remained awake, caught in the quiet aftermath of an afternoon day spent together. Draco had long since retired to their room, exhausted and preparing for an early morning solicitor meeting for a business acquisition. Earlier, they had all walked the gardens together.
They hadn’t filled the afternoon with idle chatter; instead, they had let silence stretch comfortably between them reading in the library near one another, every exchanged glance and touch charged and alive.
After sipping tea fireside for awhile, Theo had gathered her hands, and guided her to his old room.
Now, Theo sat on the edge of the bed, his posture betraying both ease and sudeen uncertainty.
His shirt was loose at the collar, the pale line of his scar visible against his skin.
His eyes, usually stormy with emotion and thought, were softer now, searching Hermione’s face for reassurance he was hardly brave enough to request.
You could see the past flickering there—the doubts that clung to him, the fear that no matter how hard he tried, he might never measure up.
Hermione stood by the tall window, moonlight painting her in delicate silver, her silhouette outlined with almost ethereal glows.
Her curls spilled down her back, wild and untamed as ever, and her nightgown clung to her softly, cream fabric radiant in the low light.
She watched the gardens for a moment, remembering how Theo had walked beside her, hands in his pockets, the two of them exchanging silent confidences with each step over a year ago, before everything got so complicated.
When she turned and drifted closer, Theo reached for her hand with a hesitance that concerned her.
His fingers curled around hers, cool and gentle, and his voice—barely more than a whisper—trembled with honesty. “Love... I’ve been thinking about everything. I’m sorry—again—that I can’t always give you what you need, not the way Draco does. That intensity. I know you say it’s fine, but I want to be enough for you. Always.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, his vulnerability naked in the quiet. The bond between them pulsed, intense and open, his hope and fear woven together, offered up for her to feel.
Hermione squeezed his hand, feeling the sincerity in the way he held her, the way his thumb traced small, nervous circles on the back of her palm.
She saw not only his doubts but also his longing, his devotion, his willingness to speak honestly with her.
She drew closer still, until there was no space left between them, and pressed her forehead gently to his, anchoring them both in the present.
Hermione’s brown eyes softened, she squeezed Theo’s hand, her touch reassuring, grounding him in the present.
Sitting so close their knees brushed, she leaned in, her voice a steady, gentle murmur that carried profound certainty. “Theo, don’t be ridiculous. I love you. I love us, just as we are—imperfect and real. You make me feel safe, happy, completely myself time and time again. When I’m with you, I know who I am, and I know I belong with you both. It feels right.”
Theo’s eyes glistened, as he struggled to find his words. His voice quaked with vulnerability, but his resolve was clear. He reached for her, his palm cradling her cheek with infinite tenderness, his thumb tracing gentle circles along her soft skin. “I know, love. I do. But tonight, I want you to feel it—let me show you how much I love you. Just sweetness tonight, only light between us, nothing dark, nothing painful. Only love making you feel good.”
His gaze locked on hers, intense and searching, the connection between them humming, alive, “Let me love you tonight. Let me remind you how it feels to be worshipped and loved like I can.”
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat, her body attuned to every nuance of the moment, heart racing with anticipation.
Her reply was barely a whisper with longing. “Theo… yes. Show me. I want you. All of you, every part, everything you are.”
He kissed her—slowly, reverently, pouring every ounce of feeling into the press of his lips. His hand slid behind her head, fingers threading through her wild curls, anchoring her to him.
The kiss began almost shy, a gentle tease, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips, coaxing her open, sending a delicious shiver down her spine.
“My heart… you taste like everything good in the world,” he whispered against her mouth, breath warm, words vibrating with devotion.
His lips parted hers, his tongue slipping inside, unhurried, exploring, deepening the kiss with aching patience until she melted into him.
Their tongues tangled in a slow dance, her breath coming faster, her body awakening, heat pooling low and insistent between her thighs. Hermione moaned softly, the sound muffled by his mouth, her hands sliding up to his shoulder, fingers tracing the familiar scar she had come to love. “Theo… love you. More. Always,” she breathed.
The kiss grew deeper, richer, more consuming—the kind of kiss that left no room for doubt, only the raw, honest truth of their love.
Theo’s lips tugged at hers, a promise and a plea for more. One of his hands slid down her back, pressing her even closer, until her chest was flush against his, her nipples pebbling and aching beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown.
Every touch, every movement from him, was slow and deliberate, as if he wanted to memorize the feel of her, the taste, the sound of her breath catching for him.
Time seemed to slow, the world narrowing to the cocoon of warmth and love they were creating. Theo’s mouth left her breathless, his tongue exploring her with unhurried adoration.
His own breath hitched too, desire and tenderness mingling in every movement. “You’re both my world, Hermione—let me show you, let me prove it to you, prove what I can offer you can be enough.”
He tilted her head gently, deepening the kiss, claiming her lower lip and sucking softly, sending sparks of pleasure through her, igniting every nerve in her body. Her clit pulsed, urgent and needy, slickness gathering between her thighs, soaking the delicate fabric
Her hands bunched his shirt, dragging him closer, desperate for more of him.
Her voice broke into a moan. “Theo… gods, I need you. I need every part of you.” She arched into him, surrendering, her body taut with longing.
In that moment, there was no past hurt, only the present, only the love that wrapped around them, fierce and unbreakable, as they clung to each other.
Hermione’s brown eyes softened, their depths swirling with affection and understanding as she squeezed Theo’s hand in hers.
“Theo, my love for you is unwavering. I adore you—us—exactly as we are. You don’t need to prove anything to me, I already know what you give me is more than I ever hoped I’d have.”
Her fingers traced the curve of his hand, slow and reverent, her sincerity radiating in the charged air between them. “You are both my everythings. Please, never doubt that, not for a single moment.”
Theo’s emotion thickening his voice as he lifted his hand to her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly across her skin. “I do know, love. I do. But tonight, let me show you how deeply I cherish you. Let me show you the depth of my love, how good I can make you feel with nothing but gentleness and adoration.”
His gaze locked on hers, fierce and vulnerable, devotion swirling in his words. “Let me make love to you tonight. Let me worship you, remind you that we are perfect—together, as we are.”
Hermione’s breath caught, her heart pounding at the promise in his voice and the intensity of his gaze. Already, her body was awakening, responding to him in a way that was both familiar and exhilarating. She nodded, kissing him lightly once more on the lips.
Gently, as if she were the most precious thing in the world, Theo eased her back onto the bed, awe and love trembling in his hands. He slid her nightgown off her shoulders, baring her fully to his gaze, and paused, drinking in the sight of her.
His eyes roamed over her body with reverence, worship written in every line of his face. “My goddess,” he breathed, “you are so beautifu.” He pressed a series of open-mouthed kisses along her throat, lingering at the rapid pulse point, sucking gently until her skin tingled and molten warmth spread through her limbs.
His hands cupped her breasts with exquisite care, thumbs circling her nipples in slow, adoring strokes until they peaked under his touch. “Your breasts—so perfect, so soft. Let me worship them.”
He lowered his mouth, lips and tongue caressing her nipple, sparking pleasure that shot down her body. Each flick and suck, each gentle scrape of teeth, made her arch toward him, craving more.
Hermione moaned, the sound soft and desperate, her body pressing into his hands and mouth. “Theo—feels so good, more” she gasped, her need clear in every word.
He moved to her other breast, lavishing it with the same care, before letting his hands wander down the gentle curve of her belly, stroking slow, teasing patterns that made her shiver in anticipation.
“Your skin—so soft, so warm. Ours to cherish,” he murmured, peppering kisses lower and lower, his tongue dipping into her navel, drawing a gasp from her lips.
Theo parted her thighs with gentle assurance, his touch both commanding and tender. The heat of his breath ghosted over her, making her hips lift in invitation. She was already wet, her arousal glistening, her clit throbbing in expectation.
Theo paused, awe and adoration in his eyes. “Your pussy—my sanctuary. Let me worship you.” He lowered his mouth, tongue gliding over her folds, savoring the taste of her, the intimacy of it.
His tongue circled her clit sending delicious shivers through her body, before dipping inside her, curling in just the right way, his moans vibrating against her sensitive flesh.
He took his time, lavishing her with his mouth, coaxing shivers, gasps, and whispered pleas from her lips. “Your clit—so sensitive, so perfect.”
He alternated between gentle sucking and teasing flicks of his tongue, holding her open for himself, until her body trembled with need and pleasure pooled low in her belly. When she finally came, it was with a burst of heat and a cry, her slickness coating his chin, and he smiled against her, savoring her pleasure with pride.
He slipped two fingers inside her, curling deep, drawing soft, wet sounds that filled the room. “You’re clenching around me—let me fill you, let me love you even deeper.” His voice was nothing but devotion and tenderness.
Finally, Theo lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing at her entrance with aching patience. “Take me, love—slow, feel how much I love you, fell me stretching you so full?” he whispered, sliding inside her inch by inch, stretching her with exquisite care.
The coolness of his piercing dragged along her G-spot, making her moan, “Theo, so full,” her body arching, welcoming him deeper.
His thrusts were slow, deliberate, every movement a testament to his love. He cradled her hips, his voice a soft litany in her ear, “I love you. I adore you. Feel me loving you, every part of you.”
The world faded away, leaving only the two of them, perfectly in sync, surrounded by love, and lost in pleasure.
“Take me, love—slow, feel every inch of my love,” Theo whispered, his voice a reverent murmur, his stormy eyes locked with hers, filled with adoration, his hands on her hips guiding her down his length with gentle firmness.
Hermione’s head thrashed about, his head stretching her entrance, her walls yielding to his girth with a delicious, intimate burn, the piercing grazing her inner walls with a cool, electric friction that sparked warm jolts radiating to her clit, “Theo— so thick, filling me,” she moaned, her voice trembling with emotion, her pussy clenching tight around him.
Theo’s breath hitched, his hands trembling with love as he held her hips, “My heart—your pussy’s so warm, so perfect, loving me back,”.
The bond pulsing with his devotion as he sank fully over and over, his cock buried to the hilt, the piercing pressing against her G-spot with divine precision, sparking soft, electric jolts that made her pussy spasm.
“Feel me, love—all of me, loving you,” he murmured, his hips rolling slowly upward, the slap-slap soft and intimate, his cock dragging against her walls with gentle, grinding strokes, the piercing scraping her G-spot with every slow thrust, sparking warm pleasure that built in her core.
Theo’s continued thrusts were steady and deep, never rushing, each one a loving vow, the slap-slap a quiet, sacred rhythm, his cock filling her pussy completely, the raw, intimate stretch sparking jolts that radiated through her body, her clit pulsing with every grind.
“Your pussy’s clenching around me, love— sucking in my cock so deep, making me yours,” his hands sliding to her lower back, pressing her closer, her breasts against his chest, nipples brushing his skin with soft friction, “You’re my everything, Hermione—feel my love, every inch.”
“Theo— it’s so good,” her voice a breathless moan, her body arching into him.
Theo’s thrusts deepened gradually, his hands cupping her arse, guiding the movements. Her moans were soft and low, her body trembling with pleasure, “Theo— don’t stop,” her pussy spasming around him, the piercing grinding her G-spot with every slow, deliberate thrust, sparking white-hot jolts that built toward ecstasy.
“Love you, feel us together—your pussy’s perfect, taking me, loving me,” his lips brushing her ear, “You’re my goddess, love—let me make you cum, let me love you.”
Her pussy clenched violently, her clit throbbing with need, “Theo— so close!” He spilled first just before her, his cock throbbing deep inside, filling her with warmth.
Hermione’s orgasm followed, spurred on by the feeling of him spurting inside her, her pussy convulsing in gentle spasms, “Theo—love you!” her voice a tender vow, her body trembling in his arms.
They held each other after, deep into the night.
Notes:
Theo needed to do this after what happened =P
Chapter 209: Renewal
Chapter Text
Neville was the first to arrive, emerging from the floo with a little more soot than usual on his jacket.
He brushed it off, eyes bright despite the slightly harried look he wore. Luna appeared just behind him, cloaked in a robe that shimmered, her arms curved protectively around baby Celine, who blinked at the room with wide, content eyes.
“We’re sorry if we’re late,” Neville said, his voice a curious mix of apology and pride.
“Luna absolutely refused to leave without Celine’s favorite blanket, which picked the worst possible time to disappear.”
Luna only smiled, serene as always. “It was precisely where I told you to look, Neville. You doubted me because it was under the teapot, and you thought that was impossible.”
Theo laughed, stepping forward to gently lift Celine from Luna’s arms and cradling her with ease. He made a series of silly faces that coaxed a delighted gurgle from the baby. “You’re always off the hook, little one,” he teased affectionately. “
Your dad, on the other hand, remains under close observation.”
Moments later, Harry and Ginny arrived, the faintest traces of Ministry ash smudged into Harry’s hair and cuffs, evidence of another long day spent wrangling bureaucracy into something resembling progress.
They were followed by Blaise and Pansy, who walked at a measured pace, Pansy’s pregnancy showing beneath her striking emerald robes—her movements careful, but her gaze as sharp as ever.
They all drifted naturally into the library chatting.
Hermione, standing by the window, surveyed the room. She took in each face, noting the subtle lines of exhaustion, the scars of battles fought both in war and in peace. They were so young, and yet the weight of rebuilding had pressed maturity into all their bones prematurely.
Sometimes she still marveled at the strangeness of it all—that this was their life, their responsibility, to carry the battered wizarding world into a future they had to invent as they went.
Draco moved through the group with a bottle of wine, pouring glasses for everyone except Luna and Pansy, both who requested chamomile tea instead. He took a seat beside Hermione, his expression one of cautious optimism.
Harry stretched out in his chair, “Alright,” he said, with a small, knowing smile. “Where do we go from here? The Muggleborn outreach is running, and the Parental Information Act is done. Kingsley says it’s actually popular, which is a minor miracle.”
Neville chuckled. “Even my gran stopped complaining about it over tea. I’m not sure if I should be relieved or worried.”
Theo leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Hermione. “You’ve always been the one who can make people actually care. What’s our next step?”
Hermione laced her fingers together, thinking deeply. “I’ve been turning this over in my mind for weeks. We’ve done a lot inside Hogwarts—opened doors, created opportunities for Muggleborn students. But what about those who never get the chance to walk through those doors? Or the ones who lose their magic along the way? Siphoning victims, Squibs, witches and wizards who survived curses but lost their cores—right now, there’s nothing meaningful for them.”
The words hung in the air, and the group fell silent, the weight of the question pressing in. Neville was first to respond, thoughtful. “You mean something like a fund? Or maybe an institution they could turn to?”
Hermione nodded. “Exactly. We’ve created support for Muggleborn integration, and scholarships for war orphans. But that only scratches the surface. We need comprehensive laws—medical and educational support, real resources for people who’ve lost their magic or never had it. Accidents, Squibs, victims of dark magic—the cause doesn’t matter. What matters is that they deserve a real future here, not just our pity.”
Luna’s eyes shone with quiet conviction. “Magic is never truly gone. When it leaves someone, it becomes part of the world in a different way. It doesn’t make a person less whole—it just changes the shape of their story.”
Ginny, leaning against the arm of her chair, grinned. “Leave it to Luna to say what everyone else is thinking, only better.”
Draco swirled his wine, considering. “It’s a bold move. The Finance Committee already thinks we’re bleeding gold with the child stipend reforms.”
Theo, ever the strategist, leaned back. “Then we play to our strengths. Track down the inefficiencies, show them how it’s smarter to invest in people than to pay for the problems later.”
Hermione felt a surge of gratitude. “That’s what I love about us—we don’t just hope, we make things happen.”
Blaise smirked. “It’s not just hope, Granger. Politics is an art—sometimes you have to convince people that doing good is in their own best interest. When they see that, things shift.”
The next hour was a whirlwind of ideas and energy. Neville proposed that they use the St. Mungo’s occupational thearpy program as a blueprint—a place where children and adults could learn to adapt, find purpose, and gain skills, regardless of magical ability. He spoke passionately about the need for spaces that fostered community, not just clinical care.
Theo suggested partnership models, drawing on both the Healer Guilds and Hogwarts’ academic boards. “If we can get the right endorsements, we’ll have legitimacy and expertise,” he said. “It’s not just charity—it’s a structured reintegration.”
Ginny, who had become adept at shaping public opinion with the media in her career, promised to craft a campaign for The Prophet. “We need to show people this isn’t about failure or loss—it’s about hope, about what we do for each other. This is the kind of story that makes people believe in the future.”
Hermione scribbled furiously, her quill sometimes barely keeping pace. “What should we call it? The Magical Reintegration and Resilience Act?”
She glanced up, uncertain. Draco arched an eyebrow. “It’s a mouthful, Hermione. Want people to actually remember it?”
Blaise, half-listening, muttered, “Latin always makes things sound more official.”
Pansy, who had been quiet, finally spoke, her voice clear and steady. “Why not something direct? Something that speaks to what we’re really trying to do. Renewal. It’s about giving new life, not just repairing what’s broken. Call it The Renewal Act.”
Luna’s expression softened. “Renewal is a promise. It’s hope, but it’s also a commitment. That’s what people need to hear.”
Hermione paused, then underlined the words on her parchment. “The Renewal Act. That’s it. That’s what we’re working for—a future where everyone, no matter their past or their losses, has a place in our world and the tools to build a life.”
Around her, the group nodded—some hopeful, some determined, all united by the spark of possibility.
At some point, the conversation drifted from the tangle of logistics to deeper waters—philosophy, morality, the shape of the world they all hoped to build. With this group, it was inevitable; the practical always led to something more profound.
Harry leaned forward, his forearms braced on the scarred wooden table, green eyes intent. “You realize what’s at stake here, don’t you? If this actually passes, it doesn’t just tweak some Ministry policy. It upends the foundation—changes the whole idea of what it means to matter in this society. For as long as anyone can remember, if you couldn’t do magic, or if your magic was weak, you were just… less. Excluded, overlooked.”
Draco’s lips pressed into a thin, determined line. “Maybe that’s exactly what needs to change. Look at who’s been in charge all these years—so many of them coasted in on old names and ancient blood, thinking that was enough. But magic isn’t some entitlement. What matters is what you do with it, what choices you make, not the accident of your birth.”
Theo’s voice slid quietly into the hush, but every word was purposeful, deliberate. “We can’t keep building a future where losing something—your magic, your status—means you lose your value in the world. If we let that stand, what are we even fighting for? Isn’t the point to make a world where everyone has a place, even when they’ve lost something precious or were born without it?”
The silence that settled over the group was passive, not uncomfortable. It was the kind of pause that hummed with possibility, as if everyone present was suddenly aware they stood at a threshold of major change, and that together, they could step through it.
Hermione’s gaze swept over the people she’d come to trust like fmaily. In their faces she saw exhaustion, yes, but also an unmistakable spark—hope, pride, and the raw, stubborn love that bound companions together after war and hardships. Her heart twisted with it: gratitude for their resilience, awe at how fiercely they all refused to stop trying, even after everything.
She spoke with the quiet conviction. “Then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll begin drafting The Renewal Act tonight. No more waiting, no more hoping someone else will fix things.”
Hours slipped by as parchment filled with ink and ideas. The candles burned low, scattering pools of gold across the table.
Luna drifted to sleep in her chair, her head pillowed on Celine’s blanket, a peaceful stillness in her face that said she trusted them to carry on.
Ginny and Harry, never quite able to resist a competition, were locked in a teasing argument about who had made the more spectacular blunder at Wizard’s Chess in their school days, laughter bubbling despite the gravity of their work.
Neville, ever diligent, sifted through his growing stack of speech notes, muttering lines under his breath.
By the window, Blaise and Theo debated the legal wording of the new act, their voices low but animated—whether “magical wellness” was inspiring or just another empty catchphrase. The room was full of movement, ideas, the hum of possibility.
Hermione rose to refill the teapot, catching Draco’s gaze across the table. His look was steady, full of quiet pride—an acknowledgement of what they were building. She saw in him the same hope she felt herself: that maybe, just maybe, they were finally doing something right to fix the world.
She didn’t feel like a leader. Not exactly. It was more like being a single thread in a tapestry, woven tight with all the others—stronger together than alone. This was what rebuilding meant, she realized: not just laws and structures, but the belief that they could heal what had been damaged, even if it hurt, even if it required more than they thought they had left.
When the night wound down and the others drifted off for home, Hermione and Draco lingered, walking side by side through the silent corridors of the manor after Theo had turned in
“They’re stepping into their own power,” she murmured, almost to herself. “It’s not just about us anymore. Everyone’s finding their voice, their reason to keep fighting.”
Draco’s answer was quiet, but sure. “So are you. You always have, even when you doubted it.”
Hermione let a long, slow breath slip free, as if letting go of something heavy. “I think I finally understand what Kingsley was trying to tell us last year. Rebuilding isn’t about rules, or laws, or who sits at the top. It’s about choosing to believe in each other—and in the possibility that we’ll do better next time, even after everything we’ve lost.”
He reached for her hand—a simple gesture, but it grounded her. “You do believe. That’s why they all follow you. That’s why we all do.”
She smiled, leaning against his shoulder as they reached the door to their room. “Let’s hope the Wizengamot can see what we’re trying to do. That they understand it’s about everyone, not just the ones with power.”
Draco’s mouth quirked with that familiar, sly confidence, but his voice was gentle. “If they don’t, we’ll remind them. No one’s better suited to the coming fight than you.”
She laughed, teasing, “Draco Malfoy, the revolutionary?”
He shook his head, his gaze unwavering. “No. Hermione Granger, the one who never gave up on hope, even when the rest of us were ready to throw in the towel on everything.”
Notes:
Anyone looking for any specific one on one scenes with Hermione? Friends? The boys?
Chapter 210: A Break in the Case
Chapter Text
The soft scratch of quills drifted through the Charms Institute.
Hermione sat mid-lecture, wand poised, sketching out the stabilization matrix of a tricky bit of spell theory they were working on. Then, a silver Patronus flashed through the glass, scattering light across the desks.
Savannah Blume, Hermione’s auror escort for the day, a mid-30s transplant from Wales, moved before anyone else—she was half out of her seat, wand ready, eyes sharp—until she saw the fox. It shimmered, then held steady, breath coming quick, tail twitching.
Theo’s Patronus. Silver, sleek, anxious. Its voice whispered to her: “Hermione—another case. Found unconscious, core unstable but partially intact. It’s—Xenophilius Lovegood. We’re at his home. He’s alive. Come quickly.”
Hermione froze. Just for a second. Her wand slipped from her fingers and hit the desk with a clatter. “I need to go.” she said to the room, classmates looking at her surprised.
No one argued. Even the Master knew that tone, urgent and no room for deabte. They gathered their things and hurried out. Savannah was already at Hermione’s side.
“We’re aapparating?”
“Yes. Nott Manor first. Draco will want in.”
Savannah just nodded. “Go. I’ll let your other security know at the front gate.”
Hermione’s stomach lurched as she disapparated. That usual, tugging sensation, and then she landed in the polished quiet of Nott Manor’s foyer hall. Draco waited for her there, already in his formal outing robes, wand in hand, eyes sharp.
He didn’t need to ask. He’d read her face. “Theo?”
“His Patronus found me in class,” she said. “It’s Luna’s father. He’s the new victim. Alive, but unconscious.”
Draco cursed quietly and grabbed his cloak. “Let’s move.” Together, they apparated again, October wind snapping crisp around them, and the crooked outline of the Lovegood house rose out of the wild grass.
Its walls shimmered with containment wards, faint and steady. The scene outside buzzed with that strange, urgent calm that only healers and aurors can manage in the face of chaos.
Theo knelt in the grass beside Xenophilius, sleeves shoved up, wand glowing a steady blue over the man’s chest. Two St. Mungo’s healers hovered, waiting to do their parts.
“Stabilizing,” Theo said, voice low, eyes on his work. “His core’s almost empty, but not quite fully gone. Like something started to rip it out, then stopped.”
Hermione’s heart dropped. She knelt beside Theo. “Luna’s father…” Theo looked up, tired, determined.
“He’s breathing. I’ve anchored the magic that’s left, so it won’t slip any further I think.”
Draco crouched down with them. “Can you reverse it?”
“Not yet,” Theo answered, shaking his head. “If we figure out the extraction pattern, maybe. It’s not a curse or spell I recognize—it’s layered. Old magic. It feels colder.” Hermione brushed her hand across Xenophilius’s wrist. “He looks peaceful. Like he’s just asleep. Sometimes with enough time and healing cores left partial can regenerate, but we don’t know enough about what extracts them in this case to know if that’s possible for him”
“That’s what scares me, we still know so little about how this works.” Theo said, jaw tight.
Inside the house, aurors creaked across the floorboards, searching for something—anything. Kingsley’s team had already sealed off the property. Draco stood just outside the wards, peering into the trees, wand ready.
“They left something behind this time, maybe in their haste,” he said, voice low. “Whoever did this used Disillusionment and an anchor spell. It’s faint, but it’s here.”
Hermione joined him, scanning the horizon. “They didn’t pick him at random. Xenophilius was close to Luna, to all of us in terms of the magizines support of us, me, reform. He’s been consulting for the Renewal Act, even ran a few supportive editorials about it. This is a message I think.”
Draco’s face darkened. “Then it’s personal to them… and all of us.”
From behind them, Theo called, “He’s waking up.”
They both ran back. Xenophilius stirred in the grass, eyes fluttering open, unfocused and glassy.
“Mr. Lovegood,” Theo said softly. “Can you hear me?”
His gaze drifted to Hermione, then Draco. “Hermione… the stars were screaming.” His voice was rough, uncertain. “All wrong, all wrong.”
Hermione’s chest tightened. “What did you see?”
He swallowed, shaking. “A silver mirror in the dark. Something took the light—kept pulling. I tried to call out, but it was gone.”
Theo’s wand buzzed in his hand. “His readings are still all over the place. He needs to get to St. Mungo’s, right now.”
Kingsley appeared, as steady and serious as ever. “Aurors will get him there. Everyone—I want reports on my desk tonight about findings and theories.”
Draco nodded, jaw clenched. “You’ll have them form us. But I want the magical residue samples results sent over, and a list of anything found in the house f interest.”
Kingsley just nodded, “Done.”
By the time Xenophilius floated safely onto the stretcher and vanished off to St. Mungo’s, the sun was already sinking low.
Hermione gripped the crooked garden gate, knuckles white. She didn’t speak.
Theo stared at the spot where the stretcher had disappeared, the exhaustion finally showing in his face.
Draco came up next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “You may have saved him. How did you know to come so fast?”
Theo let out a shaky breath. “A local neighbor was buying some plums from him, when he collapsed, they sent a distress patronous to the hospital. And this is just barely a save. Whatever magic did this—it’s changing form before I think. The drain wasn’t complete. The spell just… faltered. I stabilized him… bit I didn’t stop the drain from happening.”
“Or,” Hermione said, barely more than a whisper, “someone else stopped it.”
They all glanced at each other, the fear and realization passing between them like a current.
Draco’s voice dropped. “If the spell can just stop halfway, then someone’s steering it or there’s a way to alter it.”
Theo nodded, jaw set. “So we’re not chasing just a mystery aliment anymore, but also a way to deflect it?”
Hermione swallowed. Her voice came out small. “Someone strong enough to reach wizards’ and witches’ cores from miles away is causing it, maybe the pause came from them… or something else.”
The air itself seemed to tense up at the thought.
St. Mungo’s hallways always felt all wrong at night—too bright, too clean, buzzing with a quiet urgency that felt unnatural. Footsteps echoed, healer robes rustled, and the place smelled like too much cheap soap.
Theo walked ahead, wand at his side, at ease in the halls he practically lived in these days, his healer-in-trianing badge flashing under the lights. Hermione and Draco stuck close.
They’d been gone from Ottery St. Catchpole for over an hour now. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving a cold, hollow pit in their stomachs, and exhaustion in Theo’s eyes.
“He’s stable, should be ok,” Theo muttered, not quite convincing anyone, least of all himself. “But his magical readings are still all over the place. I want to check him myself before the senior team jumps to conclusions.”
Draco brushed Theo’s hand with his own—a silent promise. “We’ll stay as long as you need us.”
Theo nodded, jaw tight. “Good. I don’t trust anyone else to get this right at this point.”
They turned into the Intensive Spell Trauma Ward. Through the glass wall, Xenophilius lay under crisp white sheets, pale and almost not-there, but breathing—his chest moving, slow and steady.
Hermione let out a shaky sigh. “He looks… peaceful almost, it’s weird.”
Theo didn’t answer. He went straight for the bedside, checked the pulse, cast diagnostics from his wand. A faint silver shimmer hovered above Xenophilius’s chest—the core signature, weak, but still there.
“It’s weaker than before at the house,” he muttered, “but it’s holding still.”
Draco leaned in closer to Hermione. “When’s Luna getting here?”
“She was at the Burrow when Kingsley sent the message,” Hermione whispered. “Neville said she’s on her way, Mrs. Weasley will watch the baby.”
Footsteps echoed down the corridor moments later. Luna appeared, hair loose, eyes wide and surprisingly dry. Neville followed quickly behind, still in work robes, looking gutted with shock.
Hermione moved toward Luna, hand outreached. “Luna—”
But Luna shook her head, went straight for her father’s side. She took his hand, watching his chest rise and fall, saying nothing for a long moment.
Then, so quietly it almost got lost in the whirring lights, she said, “He always told me the stars could talk, if you listened. Maybe now they’re telling him stories while he sleeps.”
Theo lowered his wand, voice gentle. “He’s not hurting. His body just needs time while his magic evens out.”
Luna nodded, still watching her father. “I can feel it. He’s somewhere between here and the veil, deciding if he wants to wake up for another story.”
Hermione’s eyes stung. She stepped closer, touched Luna’s back. “He’ll wake up, Luna. I promise.”
Luna turned, her careful calm finally breaking a bit. “You can’t promise that, Hermione. You can promise to try. That’s enough. The decision isn’t yours… it’s his, and the universe’s.”
Hermione blinked back tears and nodded. “Then we’ll try. I swear.”
While Luna sat by her father, Theo and Draco slipped out to the corridor to talk to the senior healers and the w aiting Auror.
Hermione joined them, listening as Theo explained what he’d found—some untraceable faint magical residue, but weaker, like the spell had been cut off partway through.
Draco folded his arms. “If there’s a caster—someone actually doing this—it’s slipping. The pattern’s falling apart. First the dead victims… over siphoned, now this…? Not fully drained.”
“Or,” Theo said, voice dark, “they’re testing the proccess. Tweaking things each time to get it right for their needs.”
The ward lead healer on duty went a little pale. “You think there’ll be more victims again?”
“There will be,” Hermione said, her voice grim. “Unless someone’s stops them first.”
Theo pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Tonight, we keep him under constant watch. No one gets near except certified healers and aurors. I’ll take first shift of care. If it was mistake to stop the drain… someone may try to finish the job.”
Hermione started to protest, but Draco gave a tiny shake of his head. “He won’t listen if you tell him to rest.”
Theo glanced at both of them, “Stay with Luna for a while. I’ll find you if anything changes. I want to run some more tests.”
Back in the hospital room, Luna had conjured little glowing moons that drifted above her father’s bed, casting a soft yellowish light contrasting the bright invasive white room lighting.
Hermione sat beside her. For a while, neither of them spoke—just sat there in the hush.
Then Luna’s voice broke the quiet. “When I was small, he used to tell me every bit of magic has a song. That if you really listen, even when it’s quiet, you can still hear it.”
Hermione looked over. “Do you hear it now?”
Luna smiled, but her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. “Not tonight. It’s like someone’s trying to drown it out. But that’s okay. Songs can be rewritten.”
Hermione swallowed, her throat tight. “He’ll want to see you when he wakes up. You should get some rest soon, so you can be around when he wakes up.”
“I will,” Luna murmured, gaze drifting back to her father. “But not until he dreams his way back.”
Hermione reached over, squeezed her hand. “You’re so strong Luna.”
Luna shrugged, a tiny movement. “I’ve had good teachers.”
It was well past midnight before Neville finally coaxed Luna into the empty next room over to rest. Theo came back in quietly, checked the monitors again, whispered a few spells under his breath.
Draco stood at the window, arms folded, staring out at the city, his reflection a pale frownin shadow on the glass.
Hermione moved to stand next to him, her voice soft. “You think they’re targeting people close to us now?”
Draco didn’t look away from the window. “It’s too intentional right? They’re either warning us off, or warning others form helping us.”
Theo’s voice came from behind, tired but steady. “Either way, we’re not backing down.”
Hermione turned to him with concern. “You’ve been awake almost twenty hours now, you need to rest.”
“I’ll sleep later.”
Draco let out a quiet sigh, stepped closer to Hermione, and rested his hand on her back. The bond between the three of them hummed gently—worry, fatigue, that quiet thread of love that tied them together.
Theo looked up and caught her eye, his own gaze softening. “You should go home. There’s nothing more to be done tonight by you both.”
“I’m not leaving until both of you do,” Hermione said, stubborn as ever. Draco’s lips twitched. “She means it mate.”
Theo let out a long, heavy breath. Some of the tension left his shoulders. “Fine. But remember I asked you not to, when we’re all dea don our feet tommurrow.”
Hermione managed a small smile. “We’ll bring each other coffee. In shifts.”
An hour later, the ward finally settled, and the three of them kept vigil—Hermione sitting by the bed, Draco guarding the door, Theo at the foot of the bed checking readings by wandlight every half hour. No one spoke.
Around 3am, Xenophilius stirred in his sleep. All three of them looked up at once, hearts pumping in unison. Theo’s readings flickered—a magical pulse more steady than before.
“His core,” Theo whispered. “It’s getting a bit stronger.”
Hermione’s breath caught. “He’s fighting.” Draco reached for her hand and squeezed tight. “So are we.”
And for the first time all night, hope crept in. Fragile, but real, that maybe he would pull through.
It was almost two in the morning when Theo’s healer badge began to pulse with blue light.
Hermione startled from the half-sleep she’d drifted into in the hospital chair.
He frowned down at the glowing sigil. “Paging me to the aid station, be right back”.
When he returned he had a message for them, “Kingsley wants us at the Ministry. Now.”
Draco straightened from where he’d been pacing the ward’s edge. “Did he say why?”
“No, just that there’s an update.” Theo’s tone was grim, but there was a hint of cautious hope beneath it. “It’s about Xenophilius I bet.”
Hermione looked around the room, Luna slept curled up in a chair beside her father’s bed. “He’s stable right now. We can go.”
They arrived in the Ministry Atrium moments later, the vast golden fountain gleaming under flickering torchlight.
At this hour, it was deserted except for a pair of Aurors who nodded them through to the lower levels.
Draco’s steps were clipped and sharp. “If they’ve brought us here for nothing—”
Theo’s tired chuckle echoed softly in the lift. “Let’s hope it’s good news for once.”
The War Room, as they had come to call it the last few months, was already lit when they entered.
Harry stood near a large enchanted screen displaying magical readings from the hospital ward. Kingsley was beside him, his usual composure steady but softened with relief.
Two Unspeakables lingered in the shadows at the far side of the room.
Kingsley motioned them forward. “Thank you for coming. We’ve got new data from the Lovegood case.”
Theo stepped closer, glancing at the projected diagnostics. “You mean his core readings?”
“Improving, as you’ve been seeing all night,” Kingsley confirmed. “And more importantly, we might finally know why.”
Hermione frowned. “I thought we assumed the siphoning just... failed mid-process?”
Harry exchanged a look with Kingsley before answering. “That’s what we thought initially. But one of the healers pulled something interesting from Luna’s father’s desk notes. Apparently, in the hours before the incident, he was experimenting with his own aura for some reason.”
Draco arched an eyebrow. “His aura?”
“Yes,” Kingsley said patiently. “He kept a mirror in his study—a family heirloom enchanted for aura alignment. According to his journal, he’d noticed his reflection looked ‘off,’ like something in his energy field was distorted. So he mixed a home remedy—powdered moonstone, crushed sage, and something called sunblossom elixir that no one seems familiar with—and cast a purification charm over himself.”
Theo’s brow furrowed. “That’s harmless. Messy, but harmless.”
Harry nodded. “Right. But when the siphoning went into full effect, that potion still lingered in his system. The combination created a magical interference pattern that blocked some of the drain before it reached completion.”
Hermione blinked. “You’re saying his attempt at an aura cleanse… accidentally saved his life?”
Kingsley allowed himself a small smile. “Sometimes even eccentric intuition finds its mark.”
Draco gave a quiet snort. “Leave it to Xenophilius Lovegood to accidentally brew the first defense against a magical plague.”
Hermione leaned closer to the floating readings. “The potion created an inconsistent resonance for the drain—like static interrupting a transmission.”
Theo’s mind was already racing. “So, if we can find or replicate that interference effect even more effectively , we might be able to compeltely shield other potential victims.”
Harry looked at him with cautious hope. “Could you do that?”
Draco nodded slowly. “I’ll need samples from the Lovegood residue and his journal entries. But yes. It’s theoretically possible. To try to improve on his formula”
Draco folded his arms, thinking aloud. “A protective potion barrier that scrambles magical frequency temporarily. Crude, maybe, but better than nothing.”
Hermione’s voice was soft but certain. “That could save lives. Even if it’s temporary fix.”
Kingsley nodded approvingly. “Good. I’ll authorize the research through the Department of Mysteries and St. Mungo’s. You’ll have access to both laboratories by morning.”
Theo looked up sharply. “Morning? Minister, I haven’t slept in two days—”
Kingsley smiled faintly. “Then get some rest, Nott. You’ll need your strength to help Draco with this.”
They stepped out of the War Room sometime after four a.m., the corridors empty and still.
The soft hum of the magical lamps reflected faintly on their tired faces.
Hermione exhaled. “I can’t believe he’s got a chance at still having magic because he saw his reflection differently.”
Draco shrugged, his voice quieter now. “Sometimes intuition knows what logic hasn’t caught up to yet.”
Theo nodded absently. “And sometimes intuition saves you by accident.”
They walked toward the lift, Hermione leaned lightly against The o’s shoulder. “I’m glad Luna still has her father.”
“So am I,” Theo said softly. “But I can’t shake the feeling this isn’t over by a long shot.”
Draco’s hand brushed her arm, grounding her. “It’s not. But tonight we finally caught a break finally. Maybe this will lead to a way to help people protect themselves.”
Notes:
A chance for Draco to feel like he can really help!
Chapter 211: Potion Protections
Notes:
Sorry folks, I've been a rut the last few days with RL stress.
But, here's a little but more for you :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione stood near the far workbench, parchment floating in midair beside her, tons of notes before her.
Theo leaned against the adjoining counter, flipping through a medical grimoire while sipping coffee that had gone cold an hour ago at least.
Draco, sleeves rolled up, moved with measured precision between the cauldron and the ingredient shelves. He looked every inch the potion master Snape had once dreamed he’d been teaching him to be— and everything that dream had failed to understand about the future.
Hermione watched him stir counterclockwise, the motion smooth, deliberate. “You’ve been at this since dawn,” she murmured.
He didn’t look up. “We’re not going to wait for another wizard to collapse before trying something.”
Theo exhaled through his nose. “He’s right. But if you keep running on four hours’ sleep every night like the past 3 nights, you’ll end up the next case of core deletion yourself.”
Draco finally glanced up, his smirk faint. “If I do, at least I’ll know exactly what potion to brew for myself maybe.”
Hermione gave him a soft look — the kind that meant she understood the edge of fear under his attempted wit.
“You really think this interference mix could be replicated safely in mass?”
Draco nodded, pouring a stream of moonstone-diluted elixir into the bubbling mixture.
“I do. Xenophilius accidentally created a resonance blocker. Shaky, and not perfect, but enough to save himself. it's th eonyl reason he's likely to make a full recovery given enough time and rest for his core to replenish. The potion neutralized part of his core’s reflective field — disrupted the siphoning link before it could stabilize and finish him off.”
Theo flipped a page in his book. “Meaning it scrambled his magical frequency long enough for someone to find him and the real siphoning to stop attempting.”
Draco smirked faintly.
“Exactly. So the question is: how do we make that effect reproducible… without all these negative effects I keep running into. No ones going to be taking this if it leaves the drinker magically deaf for a week or gives them explosive diarrhea.”
Hermione bit back a small grin. “That’s an awful side effect, Malfoy.”
He arched a brow. “You’d rather they lose their cores?”
Theo lifted his cup toward him. “She’s teasing you. Which means she’s worried.”
Draco’s smirk faded into something softer. “We’re all worried. I didn’t think this would be so hard to brew. I though I’d get it the first day… but now all I have is 3 days of failed attempts and nothing to show for it yet.”
Afternoon hours passed in a rhythm that was equal parts domestic with Hermione and Theo delivering him lunch and cleaning up spills, and dangerous with him trying new combinations of ingredients. A few failed attempts resulting in putrid smelling smoke, and one deep purple concoction nearly came alive, bubbling over onto the floor.
It was a group effort.
Hermione catalogued test notes with her usual meticulous efficiency — every ratio, color shift, and temperature variation labeled in her neat, looping script.
Theo handled the magical readings — casting diagnostic spells over each brew to measure the interference pattern on a simulated magical core crystal he can conjured from his healer classroom simulations.
Draco brewed and adjusted, muttering quietly under his breath as if the cauldron would listen better than anyone else.
At one point in the early eveming, a spark of green shot from the cauldron, sizzling against the stone wall.
Theo ducked, startled. “You’re supposed to stabilize the core, not explode it.”
Draco wiped a streak of soot from his cheek, entirely unbothered. “Progress is rarely neat.”
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, though her lips twitched. “If you blow up the lab, I’m not explaining it to your mother.”
Draco’s eyes glinted, amusement breaking through exhaustion. “You’re assuming she’d believe you didn’t help.”
By late evening the light outside had gone nearly black, lite by stars and moon over th orchard.
Three more afternoon failed brews lined the bench — the first unstable, the second too strong for the stomach, the third neutral but ineffective.
Draco was bent over the next attempt, his voice low and steady as he stirred a final counterclockwise rotation.
Theo watched the readings flicker on the crystal beside him — and then blinked.
“Wait. Look.”
Hermione leaned closer. The crystal, which had been glowing faint blue, now shimmered silver — pulsing at uneven intervals, like a heartbeat trying to sync.
Theo’s breath caught. “That’s the same interference frequency as Xenophilius’s aura residue that we got readings for at the scene.”
Draco exhaled — a slow, measured sound. “So maybe it works…”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “You did it?”
He looked at her, a mixture of triumph and disbelief softening his expression. “No, we did it, if it actually orks.”
Theo reached out, tapping the crystal once more, his healer’s instincts clicking into gear. “The reading’s holding steady. If this replicates across test groups, it could act as a magical firewall — a blocker spell in liquid form at least for a limited time for anything digested.”
Hermione began scribbling on her parchment, excitement threading through her exhaustion. “We could distribute it to at-risk families. Add the key ingredients to household potions. Even use it to create a charmed ward spray—”
Draco cut her off gently. “Not yet. Our getting way ahead of yourselves. We test it first. Thoroughly.”
Theo gave a faint smile. “You mean you’ll test it first.”
Draco smirked. “Who else would you trust to drink untested magic?”
Hermione set down her quill. “Absolutely not.”
But Draco was already pouring a small vial.
Theo swore under his breath. “Malfoy—”
Draco raised the vial in a mock toast. “To science, and poor decision-making.”
He drank it.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then a shimmer rippled over his skin — faint silver lines dancing across his forearms before fading like mist.
Hermione’s heart lurched. “Draco, are you all right?”
He blinked once, then twice. “Feels... strange. Like static under my skin.”
Theo was already running diagnostics, wand tip glowing over Draco’s chest. “His magical core just... flared. Not dangerously, but there’s definite distortion.”
Draco flexed his hands, testing his focus. “Try casting something.”
Hermione hesitated, then aimed her wand at the wall. “Lumos.”
The light flickered weakly — dimmer than usual, but steady.
Draco nodded, faintly impressed. “There’s our interference. My magic’s still there, just... slowed.”
Theo grinned for the first time that day. “It’s working, Malfoy. You’ve just made the world’s first magical firewall potion.”
Hermione released a shaky laugh, half-relief, half awe. “You absolute lunatic.”
He smirked, silver still glimmering faintly in his veins. “You love that about me.”
Theo snorted. “We both do.”
They sat together later that evening in the manor’s small parlor — the lab door sealed, the vial samples cooling on the counter.
Hermione was curled on one end of the sofa, parchment on her lap, still jotting calculations even as her eyes drooped.
Theo leaned back in an armchair, boots off, wand twirling absently.
Draco lay stretched across the opposite sofa, eyes closed, the exhaustion finally catching up. So far no bad negative reactions had occurred from the potions consumption.
The faint hum of bond magic between them felt steadier tonight — calmer somehow, like the echo of shared purpose.
Hermione finally looked up. “Do you think Kingsley will approve wide-scale production?”
Draco cracked one eye open. “He’ll have to. Even if it’s temporary, it buys time. But, it’s going to need some testing on a larger group before going mainstream.”
Theo nodded, rubbing his temples. “buy us all time. Time to find the source of this. To stop whoever’s doing this.”
Hermione’s quill hovered above the page. “And until then?”
Draco’s lips quirked faintly, even as sleep crept in. “Until then, we make sure no one else fades by getting this out to the public. Anyone who can use it, might be spared.”
Notes:
I hope to get more out later today or tomorrow.
Chapter 212: Chasing Peace
Chapter Text
The following morning, the Ministry Atrium shimmered with hopeful feelings as they walked in.
The trio stepped through the floo in a flurry of hope and nerves — Draco with his portfolio of potion samples and test scrolls, Hermione clutching her notes, Theo trailing with the diagnostic charts in a tidy leather case.
Hermione glanced sideways as they walked. “How are you feeling?”
Draco’s tone was dry. “Like I’ve drunk a potion that possibly permanently distorts my magical frequency and then volunteered to tell the Minister it’s a good idea.”
Theo huffed a quiet laugh. “You’ve always had a flair for understatement.”
The corridor to the War Room was quiet except for the rhythmic click of Hermione’s practical black heels and the faint magical hum from the vial Draco carried — the silvery potion pulsing faintly within.
When they reached the door, the guards waved them through immediately.
Inside, Kingsley stood at the head of the table, his deep blue robes trimmed in gold extravagance.
Beside him, Harry was already reviewing a spread of case maps, and Voss of the Unspeakables was already arranging enchanted instruments to test the sample.
Kingsley looked up as they entered. “Good. You’re early.”
Theo handed Kingsley a scroll of data. “These are the readings from last night’s trials — full containment, frequency variance, core stability. He tested it himself.”
Kingsley frowned slightly. “Tested it himself?”
Hermione cut in quickly, calm and factual. “Under controlled conditions. The potion produced an interference field that disrupted magical tracking but didn’t harm the drinker… thus far. The full effect fades after about three hours currently. There is the potential to make more potent longer lasting batches, bit the side effects seem to crop up once you start doing that.”
Voss took the sample vial with elegant care, the silver liquid catching the light as if alive. “And the source formula?”
Draco pulled a neatly folded parchment from his case and slid it across the table. “A reconstruction of Xenophilius Lovegood’s accidental mixture — adjusted for consistency, safety, and strength. It generates a microstatic resonance layer in the aura, which blocks siphoning through consumables, as we’ve previously hypothesized has been the method of delivery.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Microstatic?”
Theo nodded, stepping in. “Think of it like static in a wireless channel. It jams the magical frequency connection. The drain relies on a clean resonance — this throws it off.”
Voss’s sharp eyes flicked between them. “And the drawbacks?”
Draco hesitated. “Reduced spell precision for a short period. Small magical lag. Nothing permanent I don’t think so far.”
Hermione’s voice was steady. “We believe this potion could buy victims precious hours — even prevent complete core depletion. It’s not a cure, but it’s a shield. People could take it before heading out in public to prevent siphoning completely, or have it on hand to take if they feel any of the initial symptoms coming on the halt it if it’s already begun.”
Kingsley studied her for a long moment. “You’re proposing we distribute this publicly?”
Draco straightened. “I’m proposing you authorize limited field trials through St. Mungo’s to make sure it’s safe. Controlled doses. If it works, it becomes standard to take a few times a day for high-risk individuals — healers, aurors, and Hogwarts students going off campus… an occasional potion for anyone planning to spend time in public.”
Harry folded his arms. “You’d trust people to brew it themselves?”
Draco’s mouth twitched. “Hardly. I’ve seen what most of you call ‘brewing.’”
Theo snorted, murmuring, “He’s not wrong.”
Voss poured a single drop of the potion into a crystal containment orb. It shimmered, expanding into a sphere of faint light. Runes along the testing platform glowed blue, shifting to silver.
She flicked her wand, sending a controlled burst of dark siphoning energy toward the sphere. The magic hit the surface — and instead of passing through, it dispersed into harmless motes.
Harry leaned forward, impressed. “That’s it? It blocked it?”
Hermione nodded, pulse quickening. “Exactly as in our lab tests.”
Theo’s voice was low, analytical. “That’s residual echo on the outer layer — proof the interference field’s working.”
Voss looked mildly intrigued for the first time in months. “Remarkable. It’s inelegant, but effective. Considering time is of the essence, it’ll get the job done for now.”
Draco smirked faintly. “I’ll take inelegant if it keeps people alive.”
Kingsley’s expression softened, something like pride flickering beneath the solemn mask. “You’ve done good work. All of you. Thank you Draco, this can give on an edgeup o our enemy.”
But not everyone in the room looked as pleased.
Another official — a tall, hawk-faced wizard from the Magical Regulation Council — cleared his throat.
“Minister, with all due respect, this isn’t a regulated brew. We don’t know its long-term effects. If we start passing this around, we may create a public panic and a black market overnight.”
Kingsley nodded slowly, weighing the words. “Noted. But so far, no one else has presented a single viable countermeasure.”
Draco’s tone stayed polite but sharp. “If you prefer waiting until more people collapse, by all means, do nothing. I’m sure the public will appreciate your prudence.”
The man bristled. “You forget yourself Deathe—”
Hermione cut in, her voice calm but firm. “He’s right. This isn’t about politics. It’s about saving lives.”
Kingsley lifted a hand, stopping the argument. “Enough. The potion stays classified for now. We’ll authorize field trials with limited distribution. Lord Nott, Healer oversight will fall to you to arrange.”
Theo inclined his head. “Understood.”
Kingsley’s gaze moved to Hermione and Draco. “And you two will work with Voss to refine the shielding properties — in case we can enchant it into wearable protection somehow.”
Hermione nodded. “We’ll get started immediately.”
Voss gestured to the vial, already scribbling notes. “You may have just changed the course of this investigation. This is yet another reason triad balance matters.”
When the meeting finally adjourned two hours later, they stepped out into the quiet Ministry corridor.
Theo exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “I feel like I’ve just run a marathon.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “You sort of did.”
Draco, still holding the folder of authorization scrolls, looked down at them and then at her. “You handled them perfectly.”
“So did you,” she said softly.
Theo gave him a teasing look. “You realize you’re going to have to write up an entire procedural guide now, right? You just invented a Ministry-class potion.”
Draco groaned under his breath. “Perfect. Bureaucracy, my favorite.”
Hermione laughed, the sound warm despite the tension of the morning. “I’ll help you write it.”
Theo looked between them, the faintest trace of a smile pulling at his lips. “It’s good to see something finally working in our favor.”
Draco met his gaze. “One step at a time.”
They walked toward the lift, all side by side — the quiet hum of magic between them steady. It felt like progress.
That evening, it was the middle of the night and Hermione had been tossing and turning for hours, her mind a relentless whirl of potential leads in the cases, and the anxiety of hoping the potion would protect the public long enough to solve it.
She lay on her side in a soft cotton nightshirt, the fabric twisted around her hips, her curls a wild halo against the pillow, her brown eyes staring blankly into the darkness as she flipped again with a quiet, defeated sigh, the sheets rustling softly.
Draco lay behind her, awake and watchful, his bare chest warm against her back, his cock resting half-hard against the curve of her arse now from the subconscious pull of the bond, his silver eyes glinting in the dim light.
Draco’s voice was a low, velvet murmur, his arm tightening around her waist as he pulled her flush against him, her back to his front, spooning her close, “Hemione... you’ve been fighting the sheets for hours. That brilliant brain of yours is running itself ragged. Your keeping me up.”
His lips brushed the shell of her ear, his breath warm, sending a soft shiver down her spine, “Let me make it stop, Hermione. Let me help you rest. Both of us need sleep, and I know exactly how to quiet your mind for you...” His hand slid down her belly with deliberate slowness, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her nightshirt, tracing the soft skin of her inner thigh, skin on skin sparking a gentle heat, her pussy already clenching in anticipation.
Hermione’s voice was a tired whisper, her body relaxing into his hold despite herself, “Draco... I can’t switch it off. Please help me relax.” Her clit pulsed faintly at his touch, wetness beginning to gather, her nightshirt riding higher as she stretched out.
Draco’s lips curved against her neck, his voice a loving rumble, “I know, Granger—but you’re safe here, with me. Let me take care of you.”
His fingers reached her pussy, parting her lips, warm and inviting, “Fuck, wife—you’re already wet for me, your body knows what it needs.”
His middle finger circled her clit with feather-light pressure, sparking warm jolts that radiated through her core, her hips shifting back against him instinctively, “That’s it, Hermione—feel me touching you, let everything else fade. Relax into the feelings.”
Hermione’s moan was soft and low, her body melting into his, “Draco... yes, please.” His finger delved deeper, two sliding into her pussy, curling slowly against her G-spot, the schlick-schlick intimate as wetness oozed around his knuckles.
“Your cunt’s so warm and inviting—so ready for me,” his voice a tender rumble, his thumb pressing her clit in slow, firm circles, making her toes curl. His wrist thrusts were steady and unhurried, building her up gently, “Let go, love—cum for me, let that beautiful mind rest,” his fingers curling harder, thumb grinding her clit more roughly, her pussy spasming, squirting a soft, creamy flood onto his hand.
“Draco!” she gasped, her body shuddering with release, the tension in her shoulders easing.
Draco’s cock—now rock-hard and throbbing—pressed insistently against her arse, his hand withdrawing, slick-coated fingers trailing up to grip her hip, “Good girl—now let me fill you, make you drift off.”
He guided his cock to her entrance, the head warm and slippery with pre-cum against her, pushing in with a slow, deliberate, steady pace, her walls stretching around his girth, the wicked curve pressing her G-spot instantly.
“Fuck, Salazar—your taking me so perfectly, so wet and tight,” his hips ground forward from behind her, his moans against the shell of her ear, intimate as he buried himself to the hilt.
Hermione’s moan was breathless, her body arching back into him, “Draco—feels so good.”
His thrusts were unhurried, crushing rolls of his hips, his cock pulsing against her walls with perfect friction, his hand gliding to her clit again, “Feel me grinding into you—my cock loving your cunt, filling you so deep,”.
His whispers tonight were dirty but adoring, hot against her ear, “Your pussy’s dripping for me, Granger—so warm, so perfect, gonna make you cum again, gonna fuck you till you’re boneless.”
His fingers worked her clit in slow, firm strokes, sparking jolts that built with every grind, her pussy clenching around him, her deep sighs and groans music to his ears.
“Granger, feel how full you are, how much I love being inside you,” his voice seductive in her ear, his fingers circling her clit faster, “Cum for me again, Granger—let me feel you fall apart, let me take you to peaceful sleep.”
Her second orgasm built quickly, “Draco, ugh so good!” she moaned, her body quaking.
He followed seconds later, grinding deep one last time, spilling forcefully inside her, “Fuck —take all of it,” his cock pulsing multiple times as he filled her.
They stayed locked together as they came down from their highs, Draco cradling her from behind, his cock still buried in her, softening slowly, his arm wrapped around her waist, hand resting over her heart.
“Sleep now—you’re safe, you’re ours, everything is going to be ok,” his voice a whisper against her hair. Hermione’s breathing evened out, her body limp with release, soon finding peace in a deep sleep.
Notes:
Something is quickly approaching that allows me two options, and I wanted to ask readers what they prefer... leave a comment.
There is a scene upcoming where Hermione won't be with the boys for a prolonged period of time for reasons. Would you want (as it's always been) just her prospective... or would you also want a bit additionally of Theo or Draco perspective as well to see what they're also doing during this time?
Chapter 213: Society Sighs
Chapter Text
A few days later the smell of coffee and toasted bread filled the air — comforting, ordinary, almost enough to make them forget how chaotic life had become.
Almost.
Hermione had barely poured her tea when an owl swooped through the open window, wings glinting silver in the morning light. It dropped the Daily Prophet squarely into her lap.
“Another headline sparking panic?” Theo muttered, reaching for his mug.
Hermione unfolded the paper — and froze.
Her eyes widened as the bold headline screamed up at her in black ink.
THE MALFOY-NOTT-GRANGER SOLUTION?
Exclusive: Sources inside the Ministry claim a “mysterious new potion” may hold the key to halting the recent epidemic of magical core drainings.
By: Celestine Borage, Senior Correspondent, The Daily Prophet
Whispers within the Department of Mysteries suggest that the trio behind several of the Ministry’s most progressive reforms — Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, and Theodorus Nott — have jointly developed an experimental potion capable of “disrupting magical frequency siphons.”
While Ministry officials refused to comment officially, one insider confirmed that the brew was being “tested successfully so far” under controlled conditions and demonstrated “promising interference effects” against simulated draining spells.
Speculation runs high about how this potion functions. Some suggest it creates a temporary shield in the magical aura, preventing the extraction of core energy — a dangerous process thought to be connected to a network of residual dark magic from the war era.
Others raise concerns about the ethics and safety of widespread distribution. “Tinkering with the magical core is no light matter,” one alchemist warned. “We don’t know what kind of instability such interference could cause long-term.”
A Ministry spokesperson provided the following brief statement late last night:
“The Ministry is aware of promising new research into protection from magical core siphoning. We caution the public not to attempt unregulated brewing or distribution of any such potion until official testing is complete.”
Notably, this development comes only months after the same triad faced a publicized attack at a charity gala and accusations of civilian overreach into Ministry affairs. Nevertheless, many in the wizarding public now look to them as the magical world’s best hope in ending this crisis.
A second-page editorial simply asks:
“If Malfoy, Nott, and Granger truly have found a shield against the draining curse — can we afford to wait for perfection before saving lives?”
Silence stretched for several long seconds before Theo finally spoke. “Well… that’s subtle.”
Draco’s jaw clenched as he reached across the table to take the paper. “Who the hell leaked this?”
Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. “Someone in the Unspeakables, most likely. Celestine Borage always has a source inside the Department.”
Theo skimmed the last lines and gave a humorless chuckle. “At least it’s not slander for once. Just alarmist.”
Draco muttered something unprintable under his breath. “It’s still dangerous. The minute the words Malfoy Potion start circulating, half the public will assume I’m poisoning them and won’t take it, and the other half will try brewing it in a teapot at home.”
Hermione leaned over, her voice calm but firm. “They’ll also know that someone is doing something. People need hope right now, Draco. Even if it’s messy.”
Theo nodded, quietly supportive. “She’s right. And you did make something that works so far.”
Draco exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You both give me far too much credit.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “No — just enough.”
Before the tension could thicken further, a sharp tapping echoed at the window.
Another owl — this one sleek and official, the Ministry seal tied to its leg — waited impatiently.
Draco untied the scroll and broke the wax seal, scanning quickly. His frown deepened, then softened slightly. “It’s from Kingsley.”
Hermione leaned forward. “What does he say?”
Draco read aloud:
To Lord Malfoy, Lord Nott, and Mrs. Granger-Malfoy-Nott,
Please disregard the Prophet’s premature publication. The Ministry is moving forward as planned. Field testing of the protective potion will commence this week at select wards in St. Mungo’s under Healer supervision and in select branches of The Ministry.
You are to maintain operational discretion. Do not engage with reporters. I will issue an official statement within forty-eight hours once the trials begin.
Regardless of the leak, know this — your work has already saved lives.
— Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt
Theo leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath. “Well. At least someone will be addressing the media, and it’s not us.”
Draco folded the letter carefully. “He’s one of the only ones who does normally get pretty fair articles.”
For a moment, the bond pulsed between them — warm, steady, unified.
They didn’t need to say it aloud: this was hopefully the turning point.
The potion was no longer just an experiment.
It was a promise of better things to come.
Theo rose first, setting down his cup. “I’ll head to Mungo’s early and prepare the diagnostic setup before my shift starts.”
Draco nodded. “I’ll coordinate with the Unspeakables for sample distribution and data flow of the trial results if they’ll allow it.”
Hermione looked between them, “I’ll update the public registry files and work on educational pamphlets once Kingsley’s statement goes out. If people are going to talk, they might as well learn something useful.”
Draco smirked faintly. “Always the teacher.”
She smiled back. “Always the hero’s conscience.”
Theo rolled his eyes but his grin was fond. “You two are too nauseating before nine a.m.”
Draco lifted his coffee in mock salute. “Get used to it, Healer Nott.”
Later the next week, a drafty fall breeze drifted through the open window of the breakfast nook at Nott Manor, carrying with it the scent of dew and fresh coffee.
Hermione sat at the table, half-dressed for her day at the Charms Institute, idly stirring her tea while Draco scanned through a stack of correspondence from the Ministry.
Theo, hair still damp from the shower, entered last, the morning edition of The Daily Prophet in hand, folded but unmistakably thick.
He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve both seen it yet?”
Draco glanced up. “No, it didn’t get delivered in here. Should we be bracing for scandal or praise this time?”
Theo dropped the paper on the table, front page up. “Little of both, probably.”
Across the top of the Prophet, bold, elegant lettering sprawled:
MAGICAL CORE CRISIS: NEW POTION OFFICIALLY RELEASED TO THE PUBLIC
Ministry of Magic Confirms Breakthrough in Core Stabilization Research
By Celestine Borage, Senior Correspondent
The Ministry of Magic today confirmed the official release of a new potion designed to prevent and mitigate magical core siphoning, a phenomenon that has afflicted both adult witches and young Hogwarts students over the past several months.
The potion, informally referred to as the Core Stabilizing Draft, was developed collaboratively by Healer-in-Training Theo Nott, Potioneer Draco Malfoy, and Magical Charms Mastery Student Hermione Granger. Ministry sources confirm that the formula has undergone extensive testing at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries under the supervision of the Department of Mysteries.
Early results show unprecedented success: all trial participants demonstrated stable magical core readings and no adverse effects have been reported.
Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt addressed the wizarding public late last evening:
“We are cautiously optimistic. The Core Stabilizing Draft offers the magical community a vital tool against the ongoing siphoning threat. It is not a cure, but a shield — a way to buy us time and prevent further harm while investigations continue.”
Effective immediately, the potion will be distributed to all major apothecaries across Britain. WitchWatch and licensed healers are authorized to provide doses free of charge to underage wizards, Hogwarts staff, Ministry Employees, and essential public workers. All other members of society can purchase the draft at a subsiadized cost at a permitted apothecary nearby.
Usage Guidelines (as issued by the Ministry):
• Consume one standard vial before entering heavily populated magical areas (e.g., Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, the Ministry).
• The potion’s protection lasts for approximately three and a half hours per dose.
• For extended exposure, doses may be renewed after the protection period expires.
• Continue casting protective food and drink verification charms when dining or shopping in public places.
• Do not exceed three doses within a 24-hour period.
Kingsley Shacklebolt also urged calm and responsibility:
“The potion is a safeguard — not an excuse for recklessness. It must be used wisely and consistently alongside our existing safety measures.”
Public response to the announcement has been swift and largely positive. Outside Slug & Jigger’s Apothecary in Diagon Alley this morning, witches and wizards queued before dawn to receive their first vials.
“It feels like hope,” said a young mother whose daughter begins Hogwarts next year. “We’ve been terrified for months to take he rout fo the house. Finally, there’s something we can do.”
Though the Ministry has declined to release full research details, experts suggest that the potion functions by reinforcing the natural magical boundary between a witch or wizard’s core and external enchantments, disrupting any siphoning link before it can solidify if it latches onto a core.
For now, the creators — Malfoy, Nott, and Granger — remain unavailable for public comment, though a Ministry spokesperson confirmed their continued cooperation in refining large-scale production with Ministry oversight.
The Prophet extends its gratitude to all involved in this development.
— Celestine Borage, reporting from the Ministry of Magic.
Hermione read the article twice before setting it down beside her tea. Her eyes were bright,
“They made it sound almost heroic,” she said.
Theo leaned over her shoulder, skimming the lines again. “I’ll take that over ‘dangerous radicals’ any day.”
Draco folded his arms, scanning the usage section. “Three and a half hours… they got that right, at least. I can’t believe they managed to keep the measurements accurate in the press. I was alittle nervous false information would be spread and it would turn into chaos.”
Hermione smiled faintly with a light chuckle. “Celestine Borage must have been bribed with truth serum.”
Theo chuckled. “Or she finally ran out of adjectives for ‘infamous.’”
Draco reached for his coffee, but his expression softened as he watched them both.
“It’s strange,” he murmured. “We’ve spent months drowning in fear and research notes, and now the entire country’s lining up outside apothecaries because a crazy old man saved himself with a home remedy and a mirror.”
Hermione reached across the table, touching his hand lightly. “Because of you, Draco. You gave them a way to breathe again by making this.”
He shook his head. “Because of us. It only worked because the three of us did it together.”
Theo nodded quietly, the bond pulsing faintly warm between them. “Kingsley was right to act fast. For once lately, something’s going right. Hopefully this buys enough time to make some arrests and eliminate the threat entirely.”
They ate breakfast slowly, enjoying each other’s company.
Draco’s voice was low, steady. “For now… let people feel safe. Let them go to Diagon Alley and not be afraid.”
Hermione smiled faintly, that tired, beautiful sort of smile that came after long battles only half fought. “Hope,” she murmured, echoing the article. “It feels like hope for them.”
Theo rose and kissed the top of her head. “Exactly that.”
Draco looked at the two of them, something unspoken in his expression — pride, love, and a quiet awe that the world had finally stopped spinning just long enough to enjoy breathing with one another.
Notes:
Hmmm... calm before a storm you think?
Chapter 214: Blanket Forts
Notes:
Some Theo and Hermione smut because... it's bene awhile and we all need this in our lives.
Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The end of October arrived in a hush.
For the first time in months, no new drain cases were reported in nearly two weeks. The Ministry’s press releases grew shorter, the Prophet’s front pages drifted back to Quidditch standings and society gossip instead of fear.
Luna’s father had spent a majority of the time in a magically induced coma to allow his body time and low stress to recover some of his magical core. While he was still not at 100% recovery yet, and it would be some time still before he felt himself again, the time spent under was doing him good. Theo had reported on his last round that his core had rejuvenated to 70% capacity, up from its 26% when he’d originally been found.
His Healer’s had been slowly weaning him off the magic coma meds, allowing him in the last few days brief moments of full consciousness, much to Luna’s relief who had been keeping vigil constantly. Neville and the Weasley’s had really stepped up to help with the baby, to make sure she could be at her father’s side in this stressful time.
Draco had gotten the chance a few days prior during one of his awake sessions to speak to him about the homebrew he had made which had ultimately saved his life. As suspected, Draco’s assumptions about the base of the home remedy had been spot on, which furthered Draco’s confidence in the potion being useful for the public.
Other than that, very little information he could offer was partially useful. The working theory was that he had likely come into contact with the siphoning through tea, as he had recently purchased some exotic imported tea blends in the days leading up to the collapse from a traveling salesman on Hogsmeade. Of course, that salesman was long since gone, and there was really no way to track him down from abroad with such a generic description.
Draco took the lull in drain activity as a sign.
“It’s time,” he’d said that morning at breakfast, straightening the cuffs of his dark grey traveling cloak.
“There’s Malfoy Enterprise business in Boston I’ve delayed too long — and a contact who once studied a bonded triad at the Salem Institute. I’ll only be gone three days.”
Hermione had smiled and nodded, though she’d checked the clasp on his cloak twice before letting him apparate away. Theo had caught her hand afterward, gently. “He’ll be fine,” he’d murmured. “He always is.”
By the time the afternoon turned to evening, clouds had begun to gather — heavy, low, and gray. The first rain drops came in soft, steady sheets against the manor windows, as Theo went in for his last shift for the next few days, having asked for a few shifts off to keep her company over the weekend while Draco was away.
Saturday morning dawned in a wash of silver wet light, with Theo having arrived back to the manor in the wee hours of the morning.
Theo was already up running on four hours of sleep, barefoot and hair comfortably rumpled, brewing coffee in the kitchen. Hermione padded in wearing one of Draco’s sweatshirts — soft, oversized, and smelling faintly of bergamot.
“Rain’s supposed to last all day,” Theo said, pouring her a mug. “So unless you fancy drowning out there, you’re mine inside for the day.”
She smiled over the rim of her cup. “Possessive, are we?”
“Only when it rains and I finally have a few days off.”
The bond hummed between them. There was something sacred about the stillness, about not having to rush off to healers’ wards, classes, or press briefings.
Hermione set her mug down. “If we’re staying in… we should at least make it an event.”
Theo quirked an eyebrow. “An event?”
“Movie marathon. Popcorn. Blankets. Maybe apple cider donuts if you’re lucky.”
“Movie marathon?” he repeated, sounding genuinely perplexed. “You mean those moving pictures you play on that little box? We haven’t done that in ages…”
She laughed. “It’s called a television, Theo.”
By late morning, the manor’s largest parlor room had been transformed into something between a child’s dream and a chaotic nest.
Blankets draped from armchairs to bookshelves, supported by sticking charms and one particularly sturdy candelabrum. Pillows were piled high enough to nearly hide the old gramophone in the corner.
Hermione stood back to admire it, hands on her hips. “See? Perfect.”
Theo, cross-legged on the floor, gave a skeptical look upward as a blanket sagged slightly over the back of a sofa. “I’m fairly sure this violates several architectural laws.”
“It’s magic. Nothing’s falling.”
When they finally crawled inside — both laughing as they bumped shoulders — the world outside seemed to vanish entirely. The rain pattered steady against the windows, and Hermione hummed along to the rhythm for a while.
Theo lay back on the pillows, stretching his long legs out until his foot brushed hers. “So, what’s first?”
“Disney,” she said with solemn authority. “We start with Beauty and the Beast.”
“Let me guess,” he said dryly, “you’re the bookish one who redeems the brooding one?”
She smirked. “If the shoe fits.”
“Wrong movie to watch with me, should show Draco that one,” he murmured, but he was smiling.
By the second film hyena dance (The Lion King), the entire sitting room smelled like fall… apples and spice.
Hermione had dragged Theo into the kitchen under protest, insisting he help measure and mix. Flour dusted the air; sugar stuck to the counter. At one point, he’d flicked a bit of cinnamon at her, and she’d retaliated with a handful of flour to the chest.
“You’re supposed to be a meticulous healer,” she teased, brushing white streaks off his hair.
“Not when the patient’s made of dough.”
She laughed — really truly laughed — and the sound filled every corner of the kitchen making Theo grin. It had bene a long time since they had felt so light-hearted together.
The cider simmered on the stove, steam curling into the air as the donuts baked, golden and perfect. When they finally sat at the counter, sipping hot cider and biting into the first sugared rings, Theo exhaled softly. “I didn’t know you could make this kind of taste out of pure baking chaos.”
Hermione smiled, leaning her chin on her hand. “Sometimes chaos is how the best things start.”
They returned to the fort with mugs refilled and plates piled high.
Halfway through Tangled, Theo had his arm around her shoulders, fingers tracing lazy circles against her sleeve. The room was warm and dim, the flickering light from the television painting their faces in warm chadows.
Hermione turned slightly toward him, her voice barely above the hum of the rain. “You know, I think this is what normal feels like.”
Theo smiled softly. “Normal’s overrated. But I’ll take this any day with you.”
The bond pulsed quietly — the familiar blend of comfort, affection, and the faint ache that always came when they realized how fragile it all still was.
Theo leaned his forehead lightly against hers. “We deserved a day like this.”
Hermione nodded, closing her eyes. “We really did.”
They enjoyed movies for the next few hours in relaxation.
Theo wore soft grey joggers slung so low the waistband barely clung to his hipbones, paired with a old faded Weird Sisters tee stretched tight across his chest. Hermione had stolen Draco’s emerald Malfoy crested hoodie (again), sleeves rolled up her arms from baking earlier, with the world’s tiniest black cotton shorts—more suggestion than fabric.
Her curls were piled in a bun held together by a quill that had definitely seen better days.
Theo was lounging on the wide velvet couch inside the fort, legs spread lazily, one arm draped over the backrest, the other holding a half-eaten chocolate frog as he pretended to watch the screen.
Hermione was curled up beside him, feet tucked under her, stealing bites from his frog. “Oi, chocolate thief—hands off my stash or face the consequences,” he teased, waving the frog just out of reach.
Hermione lunged for it with a dramatic gasp. “Consequences? Please, Nott—you couldn’t punish me if you tried.”
Theo’s eyes lit up with pure gremlin energy. “That a challenge, love?” Before she could answer, he dropped the frog, grabbed her waist with both hands, and yanked her onto his lap in one smooth move, her knees bracketing his hips, her arse plopping right onto the monstrous bulge in his joggers, the heat of his shaft radiating through the thin cotton of the shorts.
The thump of her landing made the fort around themwobble, and they both burst out laughing.
Hermione’s hands flew to his shoulders for balance, her hoodie riding up to flash her midriff to him. “Well, hello there. Someone’s packing a fucking weapon today.”
Theo’s voice dropped to a playful growl, hands sliding under the hoodie to grip her bare hips.
“Weapon? Try magical pleasure giver. Love, this cock’s been throbbing for you all day. Something about you happy and free in Draco’s clothes really goes it for me.
Hermione bit her lip, eyes dancing as she rocked her hips experimentally, grinding herself against the insane thickness straining his joggers.
“Maybe I wanted to see how long it’d take you to do something about it. Took you all day. Slacking, Healer Nott.”
“Slacker?”
He yanked the hoodie up and off in one swift tug, tossing it into the corner of the room. Hermione’s breasts bounced free, no bra today, nipples already swollen into tight, rosy peaks.
Theo groaned theatrically. “Fuck me, you’re so gorgeous. How am I supposed to function?”
“You’re not,” she smirked, arching her back so her breasts thrust forward. “Function later. Worship now.”
Theo didn’t need to be asked twice.
He dove in, mouth latching onto one breast with a lewd suck, tongue swirling her nipple until it pebbled tight and aching.
Hermione’s hands flew to his hair, tugging hard enough to make him growl against her skin. “Theo—yes, more, you tease!”
He switched to the other breast, teeth grazing the tip just enough to make her gasp, the pop loud as he pulled off, saliva glistening on her nipple.
“More? Thought you said I couldn’t handle you.”
His hand slipped between her thighs, pulling her shorts off, finding her pussy drenched—lips swollen and glistening.
“Bloody hell, love—you’re already so wet. This all for me?”
“Better find out,” she panted, yanking his joggers down just enough to free his cock—a wrist-wide beast flushed a deep, anxious red, the piercing glinting in the TV light.
She wrapped her fingers around him, unable to close her grip around the girth, stroking once, twice, thumb swiping over the slit to spread the slick, pre-cum. Theo hissed, hips jerking involuntarily, pre-cum pulsing out more in response.
“Careful, witch,” he warned, voice rough with self control, “or this’ll be over before we christen the fort properly.”
Hermione’s grin was pure evil.
“Oh, we’re christening every cushion.”
She lifted her hips, lining his cock up with her entrance, the head parting her swollen lips with a pressure that made them both groan.
She sank down in one very slow, unbearable glide, the moan she let out obscene as her pussy stretched around his girth—her walls burning with the exquisite strain.
“Fuck—Theo—yes! So fucking thick, splitting me open, so good, so much!” she cried, her voice a mix of laugh and moan, her hands bracing on his shoulders as she bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt. Her pussy clamped down so tight around his thickness it felt like it might snap him in half, the piercing pressing her G-spot like a button, her walls fluttering in both protest and ecstasy.
Theo’s head fell back against the couch, a strangled groan escaping his parted lips, his hands clawing her thighs, nails digging into her skin.
“Merlin, love—your cunt’s strangling me, so fucking tight, like it’s trying to break me!”
His hips bucked up gently, the groan soft as he ground into her, the piercing scraping her front wall, sparking electric quakes to her clit.
Hermione laughed breathlessly suppressing her own moan, rolling her hips in slow, teasing circles, her pussy clenching as her walls stretched impossibly wide around him. “Feel that, Theo? That’s me owning you—my pussy’s stuffed with your fat cock, and I’m in charge now.”
He laughed, a low, wicked sound, his hands sliding to her arse, spreading her cheeks wide as she started riding him with a lazy pace.
“Own me harder, witch—make me forget my own name!”
Every grind made the piercing scrape her front wall, sparks shooting up her spine, her clit grinding against his pelvis with every roll, swollen and throbbing, wetness trickling down his groin from their connection.
She leaned forward, her breasts bouncing in his face, nipples grazing his lips. “Suck them, Theo—now—or I’ll stop and leave you begging.”
Theo’s mouth latched onto a nipple again, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp, tongue flicking her sensitive bud, sending jolts straight to her core.
“Begging? Love, you’d be the one crying if I stopped letting you use my body like this,” he mumbled around her breast, his hands guiding her hips faster.
Hermione’s nails dug into his shoulders, her pace increasing. “Fuck—Theo—yes—harder!”
He slowed deliberately to irk her, grinding deep, circling his hips until she was whining, her pussy clenching desperately around his cock, walls burning from the deep stretch.
During one angle shift as he repositioned himself under her, his cock accidently pressed firmly against her cervix—not hard, but a steady, astonishingly delightful pressure that made her eyes fly open in shock, a sharp gasp escaping her.
“Theo—fuck—there, right there! Your cock’s doing something, oh Merlin!” Her voice cracked with surprise and pleasure, her pussy clamping harder around his girth, a new, deep, throbbing pleasure radiating from her cervix. The gentle pressure sparked a visceral, electric jolt that made her clit throb wildly, her cervix tingling with every subtle nudge, her pussy gushing automatically in response.
Theo’s eyes widened, a stunned grin spreading acrossed his face. “Oh—found a new spot, did I? Your cervix wants a little love tap, darling?”
He adjusted his angle, grinding just so, the head of his cock pressing against her cervix with gentle, insistent pressure on every roll, her channel getting wetter as her pussy flooded in response, cervical pressure a new, addictive spark that made her entire body quiver.
“Fuck, love—your cunt’s crushing me harder when I press there, you fucking love it—feel my cock kissing your cervix, making you drip.”
He got curious and varied the pressure— feather light taps of his piercing that made her cervix flutter, then firmer presses that sent deep, throbbing waves through her core, her pussy quivering with every shift.
Hermione’s laugh was breathless with wonder nearly a soft cry, her hips rolling to chase the sensation, her pussy convulsing around his girth with every movement.
“Yes—Theo—fuck—keep doing that, it’s perfect, feels so deep, like you’re claiming me all the way!”
Theo’s thumb found her clit, rubbing tight circles, the slide of her slick loud as he worked her roughly, her pussy spasming violently around his girth, but she hovered on the edge, teetering, her orgasm just out of reach.
“Theo—fuck—so close, but I can’t—need more!”
Theo’s grin turned devilish. “More? You greedy little witch…here.”
His fingers pinched her clit—hard—a sharp, electric jolt that shot through her like lightning, her pussy shuddering around him in a violent spasm, the cervical pressure amplifying the sensation to mind-shattering levels, her cervix tingling with every pulse of her release.
“There it is—cum for me, love!”
“Theo—fuck—I’m—!” Her scream was half-laugh, half-sob, body shaking as waves crashed over her, her pussy spasming so hard it nearly pushed him out as the waves of pleasure clamed.
Theo followed seconds later, his hips bucking up to meet her in a final deep grind, cock throbbing as he spilled inside her with a gruff groan, “Hermione—love—fuck”
Cum flooded her in thick, dripping down her thighs, pooling on the couch beneath them.
They collapsed in a sweaty, giggling heap, Hermione still straddling his lap, face oressed down his shoulder, his cock softening inside her, cum and slick still dripping lazily from her stretched pussy.
The fort was half-caved in around them.
Theo kissed her nose lovingly, breathless.
“Best. Pillow fort. Ever. And note to self—cervix pressure’s your new kryptonite apparently. We can explore that more sometime if you want. I am a trained professional of anatomy remember.”, he winked at her.
Hermione snuggled against his chest, her pussy still clenching around him, her cervix tingling with aftershocks, voice drowsy and smug. “Told you I’d win. Keep that trick in your back pocket, Theo.”
Theo chuckled, pulling a blanket over them, his hands stroking her back. “Cheater. Next time I’m bringing reinforcements.”
“Bring Draco,” she murmured, already half-asleep. “We’ll destroy him together.”
The rain never stopped, only deepened — a steady percussion against the manor’s walls.
Later, when the movies ended and the candles burned low, Theo conjured the smallest of flames in the hearth.
The remaining fort glowed softly, their shadows thrown across the draped blankets like ghosts of laughter.
Hermione shifted, half asleep against him. “You’ll wake me if Draco floos in?”
He brushed a stray curl from her forehead. “Of course. Though I doubt he’ll risk the time difference for a check-in. he said he wouldn’t be back for three days.”
She murmured something that might have been love you both, already drifting toward sleep.
Theo watched her for a long while, the warmth of her weight against him grounding him in a way nothing else had his whole life.
Outside, the storm raged on — but inside the little blanket fort, there was only stillness, and the soft rhythm of her breathing.
Notes:
Don't worry, there will be another chapter of them today too.
Keep the smut rolling.
Chapter 215: Pumpkin Carving
Notes:
Little more Theo/Hermione smut while Draco is still away.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
By Sunday morning, the rain had finally gone.
The air outside was cool and sharp, the kind that bit gently at the nose and promised winter wasn’t far away. Puddles still glittered along the gravel drive of the manor, the sky washed pale blue behind thinning clouds.
Theo was already in the kitchen when Hermione padded in, hair pulled back in a loose braid, wearing one of Draco’s old jersey’s and leggings tucked into boots. He was leaning against the counter, sipping coffee and reading a parchment from the hospital.
“Please tell me,” she said, taking the mug he held out automatically, “that you are not on call today after all.”
He smiled over the rim of his cup. “Not even a little. Two whole days off. A miracle worthy of celbration.”
“Good,” she said, sipping. “Because I had an idea.”
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “An idea that involves chaos or relaxation?”
“Somewhere in between.” She smiled. “There’s a local Muggle farm nearby that does pumpkin picking before Halloween. You can pick your own pumpkins, drink hot cider, and eat too many pastries. I thought it might be… nice. I’ve bene feeling abit nostalgic for muggle traditions lately.”
Theo blinked. “You want to take me to a pumpkin field?”
“Yes. I do.”
He laughed, setting his cup down. “You really are trying to teach me what normal looks like, aren’t you?”
“Someone has to.”
The farm was exactly the sort of place Hermione remembered from childhood — wide open fields, the smell of hay and earth, families wandering between tangled vines under strings of fluttering orange pennants. A crooked sign read “Pick Your Own — Carry Out Yourself”
Theo looked both amused and bewildered, hands shoved in his coat pockets as he surveyed the rows of pumpkins. “There are so many.”
“That’s the point,” she teased. “You have to find the one. It’s a personal quest.”
“I feel like I’m being tricked into something sentimental.”
“You are,” she said sweetly.
They walked through the fields for nearly an hour, Hermione explaining the subtle art of pumpkin evaluation (“Roundness matters. But personality counts more.”).
Theo, pretending to take the task gravely, crouched and tapped each pumpkin as though performing a diagnostic spell.
“This one,” he announced finally, “speaks to me.”
Hermione turned to see him standing beside a lopsided, slightly dented one. “That one’s crooked.”
“So am I.” He said deadpan with a glint in his eye.
She laughed so loudly that nearby children and parents turned to stare.
By the time they finished, their boots were muddy, their cheeks pink, and the wheelbarrow contained three pumpkins — two large and one small one Theo had insisted on calling “Malfoy.”
Back at the manor, Ginny arrived not long after lunch, bundled in plaid and a red scarf, grinning.
“Harry’s working a late shift into the night, so I brought reinforcements.” She brandished a box of enchanted carving tools and her own pumpkin. “And snacks.”
They spread out newspapers across the patio table and spent the afternoon carving jack-o-lanterns.
Hermione’s was intricate — a perfectly symmetrical moon and stars design.
Theo’s, after a failed attempt at realism, turned into a smirking skull. Ginny’s was chaotic and slightly terrifying.
“Yours looks like it’s plotting something,” Hermione said, wiping pumpkin guts from her fingers.
“Good,” Ginny replied cheerfully. “It’ll fit right in with you lot.”
They lit the lanterns as the sun dipped low, watching the flickering light spill out in golden patterns across the stone patio. Ginny stretched, admiring their work.
“I’ll tell Harry we have competition for ‘best domestic evening.’ Merlin, this was fun. Haven’t done this since I was a child before Hogwarts.”
Hermione smiled, genuinely relaxed. “Stay for dinner?”
Ginny shook her head. “No, I promised Mum I’d stop by to see her and dad. But—” she gave Hermione a quick hug “— I did want to ask you a favor.”
Hermione nodded, “Which is…?”
Ginny suddenly looked very serious, “well, I have a game in Sydney on Halloween, and Harry is working the night shift the evening before into the morning. He can’t make the porkey to go with me.”
“Ok, so what’s the favor…?”
Ginny looked strangely uncomfortable, “You know what the day means to him… I don’t want him alone. I hate to even ask, I’m his wife, I should be with him on that day, but if we put in the 2nd string chaser… well we honestly minds well forfeit. I need to go.”
Understanding dawned on her, “Oh…. You want me to babysit Harry for the day?”.
Ginny breathed a sigh of relief, “Well not babysit, he wouldn’t like that idea… but I think he could use the company. I’d feel better going to the game if I knew he wasn’t going to be alone brooding all day. I was thinking maybe you could keep him company?”
“Oh, Ginny of course! That’s not even a favor. I wouldn’t have left Harry alone on a day like that.” She hugged her.
After she left, silence settled over the manor again, warm and easy.
Later that evening, Hermione and Theo carried a blanket out into the orchard behind the manor. The air was crisp but not cold, the smell of fallen apples and damp leaves thick in the air.
The sky stretched clear above them, a sweep of stars bright overhead.
They lay side by side, sharing the blanket, their shoulders brushing. For a while, neither spoke.
Finally, Hermione said quietly, “You know, when I was little, I used to come out on nights like this and make wishes on the stars.”
Theo turned his head toward her. “Did they ever come true?”
“Some of them. The big ones always took longer than the small ones.”
He smiled faintly. “I used to sneak out of bed to watch the night sky too. Only… my wishes were less hopeful and more like bargaining. ‘If I get through this year, if my father stops hitting me, I’ll never complain again.’ That sort of thing.”
Hermione’s heart tightened. “Theo…”
He shook his head. “It’s fine. It’s just… strange, sometimes, how much life changes when you finally get to breathe again without opression.”
She looked up at the stars again. “Do you ever think about how unlikely this all was? That the three of us would find each other, after everything?”
“All the time.” His voice was softer now. “It still doesn’t feel real sometimes — that I get to come home, and you’re both here. That I can laugh. That peace isn’t just something other people get a chance at. That I somehow wound up with you both making a life together.”
She turned her head, their eyes meeting in the starlight. “You deserve it. Both of you do.”
Theo reached over and brushed a thumb against her cheek, almost absently. “You do too, Hermione.”
They lay side by side on the blanket, fingers clenched together, knuckles white, gazing up at the constellations with tears in their eyes, the silence shattered only by the howl of the wind and their ragged, soul-deep breaths puffing white into the night air.
Theo turned to her, his voice a whisper, raw with emotion. “Hermione... look at you under these stars. You’re so pretty and amazing.”
Hermione’s brown eyes flooded with tears, her hand cradling his face, pulling him into a kiss that was laced with passion, lips crashing, tongues devouring one another.
“Theo... make love to me—here, now, under the stars. I need you.”
Theo’s breath shuddered, his hands trembling as he pulled her atop him, her dress riding up her thighs as she straddled his hips.
“Hermione... gods, I love you—more than l ever imagined I could.”
His kiss was ferocious yet achingly tender, tongue claiming her mouth with fervent, worshipful strokes along her tongue, his hands gently pushing her dress up to her waist, baring her thighs to the cold biting night air.
Theo’s hands worshipped her body with desperate reverence, sliding under her dress to cup her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples with tender precision until they ached and pebbled, the rustle of fabric loud in the night time silence.
“Your breasts, love—mine, so perfect, so sensitive,” his voice worshipful.
Hermione’s moan was a desperate sob immediately, her hips rocking against his for for contact.
“Theo—love—please,” she whispered, her hands tenderly lifting his sweater, nails tracing his chest, caressing his shoulder scar with reverent love.
She eased his trousers down, freeing his cock, and also pulled her leggings off as well.
Her fingers trailed softly down the length of him, his muffled cry filling the night as his shaft twitched hard at the touch.
“Hermione—need you—now,” he whispered, guiding her hips with light hands, lining up her entrance after a few passes through her slick.
She sank down in a swift downward glide, that left them both moaning, “Fuck—Theo—yes, so full!”
A gut-wrenching groan escaped Theo as he bottomed out in her, his hands gently cradling her thighs, fingers tracing her skin in light patterns.
“Merlin, love—your cunt’s devouring me, so fucking tight, like it’s claiming my soul!”
His hips thrust up with tender passion. Hermione sobbed openly at the emotional intensity of their bonding, rolling her hips in slow circles, her pussy clenching with each swish of her hips.
“Theo—love—feel me, all of me—I’m yours,” her voice a desperate vow, tears in her eyes.
He moaned, a sound of pure devotion, his hands sliding to her arse, caressing her cheeks as she rode him with slow, devoted rolls, her pussy leaking more juice with every downward thrust, her walls pulsing with every hit of his peircing.
“Hermione—gods Merlin—your pussy’s perfect, taking me so deep, it’s so good,” his voice breaking with love, his hips thrusting up to meet her under the stars.
Her cries of pleasure carried over the orchard at every grind and thrust.
Theo’s eyes blazed raw with unbridled love, a sly grin spreading. “Fuck—your cervix is mine, love? Want to see if you still like that today?”
She nodded, and whimpered.
He adjusted his angle, pressing himself deeper than before, allowing the tip of his cold piercing to make contact with her cervix every so softly.
“Theo, Merlin, fuck, so much, too much… but not enough.”
“Feel that, love—my cock kissing your cervix, someday my seed if going to go through there, going to make you round with my child,” his voice a shattered vow.
Her pussy was convulsing with every shift of his hips; slow, circular grinds that massaged her cervix in hypnotic loops, the pressure building a low, rumbling pleasure that made her pussy quiver, and the heat in he groan rise. Tension seemed to keep winding to higher levels within her.
“Theo—fuck—so close, but I can’t, need more, please, help—need you!”
Theo’s grin was shattered with love. “Need me? I’m yours, love.”
He angled himself more to caresses her g-spot with his epricing as it pumpled up and down her walls.
A war cry bellowed out from her as her first orgasm ripped through her. “Theo—fuck—I’m yours—!”.
Theo groaned, his control fraying, but he held back, his hips thrusting with renewed fervor, his piercing battering her G-spot, his thumb circling her clit with frantic precision. “Again, love—give me more—I need to feel you break for me once more!”
His voice was raw, pleading, his cock grinding deeper, the cervical kisses intensifying, her body quivering under the steady pressure, sparking new, shattering jolts to her clit.
Hermione’s sob turned into a high pitched wail, her body arching in nearly half as a second orgasm crashed through her, her pussy convulsing even harder, squirting juice drenched them both on the thighs.
“Theo—gods—again—need more!” Her scream was primal, her walls milking him with desperate force.
Theo’s first orgasm hit like a surprise, his cock pounding as he roared, “Hermione—fuck—take me!”
Cum flooded her in thick, scalding ropes, but he didn’t stop, his hips thrusting through his own release, the cervical pressure he was delivering her unrelenting, his piercing grinding her G-spot with practiced ease.
“More, love—one more—I’m yours!” His voice exhausted with love, his thumb pinching her clit harder, his cock pressing her cervix with firmer, insistent nudges, her cervix throbbing in response, the sensation overwhelming her already spent nerve endings.
They panted, sobbing with love together, but the fire in their eyes blazed hotter.
Theo flipped her onto her back with a primal growl, his hands tearing her dress completely off her in the heat of the moment, the fabric ripping in the night air.
“Hermione—fuck—I need you harder, can’t get enough of your pussy” his voice a ferocious vow, his cock still hard amazingly, throbbing with more unspent need.
He spread her thighs wide, her pussy gaping, drenched with cum and slick. He lined up, slamming into her with a lot more force than he’d used all night.
“Theo—fuck—yes! Harder—claim me!” she screamed, her nails raking his back, her legs wrapping around his waist.
Theo roared, his hips pounding with primal urges to claim her, the slap-slap-slap of balls on arse deafening in the dead silence of the night, his cock grinding her cervix with firmer, more relentless pressure, as she groaned incoherently from the pain-pleasure line they were walking.
“Love—your mine—feel me take you!” His voice was raw, loving, his hands pinning her wrists above her head, his cock pressing her cervix with intense hard, insistent nudges that made her cervix pulse with raw pleasure, and the very start of deeper pain tingling in.
Hermione’s third orgasm exploded—her scream a shattered aria. “THEO—FUCK—I’M YOURS—!” Theo’s second orgasm erupted as she clenched tight around him, his cock pulsing with renewed fury, “Love—fuck.”
They collapsed against the blanket sprawled spent next to each other. The stars blazed above, the orchard silent but for their shattered breaths. Theo kissed her forehead, tears in his eyes. “You’re everything, Hermione.”
Hermione burrowed against his chest, “Theo... I love you—forever.”
Theo choked up a bit, pulling the blanket over them, his hands cradling her face. “Forever’s not ever going to be enough with you both, love.”
Her breath caught, and for a moment, all that existed was the space between them — the quiet, the heartbeat of the triad bond, and the weight of the world falling away.
They stayed that way for a long time, talking about small things — childhood fears, favorite sweets, dreams they’d never said aloud. The stars wheeled slowly overhead, the night deepening until the chill finally made them retreat back inside.
Before bed, they stepped back out onto the patio one last time. The three jack-o-lanterns still glowed faintly, their candlelight flickering like watchful little sentries in the dark.
Theo slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Next year,” he murmured, “we should make one for Draco too. I’m sure he’ll come up with something ridiculously symmetrical.”
Hermione smiled. “With perfectly even eyes, aristocracy lips.”
They stood there for another minute, listening to the wind in the trees. And when they finally went inside, closing the door behind them, the bond between them hummed steady and warm — the quiet, certain peace of knowing that for tonight, the world was safe while they were together.
Notes:
All good things must come to an end though...
Chapter 216: Salem Says
Notes:
Ah we're finally going to see them trying to understand ore about triad magic, you know since the world isn't on fire... currently.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
By mid-morning, the manor felt too quiet without him.
Theo and Hermione were halfway through lunch when the floo flared green and Draco stumbled out, travel-rumpled but unmistakably himself — gray coat dusted with ash, a satchel slung over one shoulder, his expression bright and alive with the thrill of discovery.
“Merlin, I missed proper tea,” he muttered, brushing soot from his sleeve before Hermione caught him in a fierce hug.
He softly laughed against her hair, and Theo clapped his back a few times once the embrace broke.
“Welcome home,” Theo said. “Boston survive you?”
“Barely.” Draco smiled faintly. “But you should see the library at the Salem Institute. They actually let me into the Restricted Archives. Hermione would have died.”
“That’s impressive,” Hermione said, leading him toward the table. “Even I had to petition twice to just get them to send me a copy of a manuscript, not even an original.”
Draco dropped into the seat beside her tired, rubbing the back of his neck. “Apparently being the bonded third of a registered triad grants certain privileges. You should try using that card next time.”
Theo raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning,” Draco said, pulling out a stack of parchment, “I learned far more about our bond than I expected — and some of it was… enlightening. Some of it rather embarrassing.”
The three of them settled around the fire later, parchment spread over the low table, a pot of tea between them. Rain tapped faintly on the windows again, as if the weekend storm had returned just to listen.
Draco gestured to a page crowded with looping script and diagrams.
“The researcher I met — Professor E. Warren — studied the American triad of Halvorsen, Lian, and Mirecourt in the 1960s. Their records were sealed after two of them died unexpectedly, but she’s been compiling the surviving field notes.”
Hermione leaned forward, eyes wide. “What did she find?”
“Mostly what we already know,” Draco said, “that a triad bond isn’t static magic — it’s alive. It changes with emotion, with intent, with proximity. But…” He tapped another paragraph. “She confirmed something I suspected. To keep it stable, the bond must be activated regularly.”
Theo frowned. “Activated?”
Draco hesitated. “In her words — ‘fed through shared energy exchanges: emotional, magical, and physical.’”
Hermione blinked. “Physical as in—”
“Exactly that,” Draco said quickly, color rising to his cheeks. “Apparently, intimacy isn’t just an expression of affection in a triad — it’s actually required maintenance. If too long passes without it, the magical equilibrium starts to slip. It can manifest as restlessness, irritability, even small magical surges, that eventually become magical instability just like when we’re not emotionally stable.”
Theo smirked faintly. “That explains the lights flickering last month when I worked night shifts for a week straight and didn’t get any time to be with either of you...”
Draco shot him a look. “Don’t make this worse.”
“I’m not,” Theo said, amused. “I’m agreeing with you.”
Hermione, cheeks pink but eyes thoughtful, said softly, “So it isn’t about desire even — it’s about actual connection.”
“Exactly,” Draco said. “And the research shows it doesn’t have to be constant, just consistent — balanced with emotional alignment. If one element falters, the others destabilize.”
He exhaled. “Which means the Ministry’s evaluations weren’t entirely wrong to measure harmony. They just had no tact about it.”
Hermione laughed under her breath. “When have they ever?”
The conversation drifted from theory to feeling, parchment pushed aside as the fire crackled low.
Theo turned one of Draco’s notes toward himself, tracing a line of runic notation. “It says the triad’s shared core amplifies healing and protection spells.”
Draco nodded. “Warren believes the bond’s energy can be focused — not just passively felt. If we learn to channel it, we could protect others with it by brining it all together from us, maybe even reinforce wards far stronger than any one witch or wizard could manage alone.”
Hermione’s voice was soft. “That could change everything we know about magical conveyance.”
“It could,” Draco said, then met her eyes. “But she also warned that harnessing it without perfect balance between the three is dangerous. The energy amplifies emotions. Love strengthens it… but fear, anger, jealousy — they twist it. If we’re not extremely stable, trying to call it forth can create catastrophic repercussions.”
Theo nodded slowly. “So if we’re not in sync, the magic turns volatile. Lovely. Just another reason you two should keep me happy then.” He tried to lighten the darkening mood.
“Yes.” Draco’s gaze flicked between them. “Which is why… she said the simplest way to maintain harmony is not just shared purpose, but shared life. Meals, laughter, time together. And—” he coughed once “—yes, the other part.”
Hermione smiled gently. “We already live like that normally.”
“I know,” Draco said quietly. “But I think the bond’s been— well, asking for more. You’ve felt it too, haven’t you? Especially with Theo? Maybe because he’s not around us as much with his work? That pull lately towards him being a bit more… intense?”
Hermione blushed.
Theo reached for his hand. “Yes, we all have.”
For a long time, the only sound was the fire popping softly.
Later that night, after they’d finally gathered the parchments into neat stacks and set them aside, they lingered in the sitting room. The tension of awkward confession had softened into quiet amusement.
Theo stretched his legs toward the fire. “So our takeaway form your trip is: stay emotionally healthy, eat dinner together more often, and… occasionally save the bond through intimacy.”
Draco groaned. “Please don’t phrase it like that. And I think it wants… more than… occasionally to be full happy.”
Hermione laughed, head tipped back against the couch. “He’s right though. It’s not such a bad prescription.”
Draco looked at her, smiling despite himself. “You make it sound simple. Our schedules don’t really make much more than what we’ve already been doing possible.”
“Maybe it is,” she said. “Maybe that’s what balance really means — remembering that the world can fall apart outside, but in here, we have each other. Maybe we need to be a bit more conscious of taking breaks even when the world is expecting so much of us.”
Theo raised his cup in mock salute. “To keeping the bond — and each other — steady.”
Draco clinked his against hers. “And to never letting the Ministry write the manual on intimacy. We shouldn’t say a word to the Unspeakables about what we just learned. We do not want them deciding to dictate our love life like that.”
Hermione laughed again nodding. The bond thrummed between them, alive and bright, humming with that faint golden glow that always seemed to appear when the three of them were together and stable.
Soon, exhausted from his travels, Draco retired to their chambers, Theo quick to rise after him. He and Hermione exchanged a quick silent look asking mutual questions, she nodded her accent, and he winked at her. As she looked over Draco’s noted from Salem some more, she smiled happily as she felt the bind come alive with her husbands passions.
The following morning dawned bright and colder.
The three awoke, wrapped in each other’s limbs, seeking warmth and comfort.
Hermione stirred first, her brown eyes blazing with need, a grin spreading as she reached for Draco’s morning wood, stroking with hungry intent. “Morning, loves... fuck, I need you both now. Had some crazy dreams last night.” Her voice was a sultry growl, her pussy already slick in anticipation, her arse clenching as she ground back against Theo.
Draco groaned, his silver eyes flashing open, hips jerking into her grip. “Granger—fuck—start my day right why don’t you.”
Hermione pounced, sliding down the bed, her mouth latching onto his cock with a ravenous slurp, tongue swirling the head before taking him deeper.
Draco roared, hands fisting her curls, thrusting gently into her mouth. “Fuck, I missed you.”
Theo woke to the obscene slurps, his stormy eyes darkening with lust, his cock coming alive as he watched.
“Fuck, love—save some for me too.”
He crawled behind her, hands spreading her arse cheeks, his tongue diving into her pussy from behind, lapping her folds in greedy strokes. Hermione moaned around Draco’s cock, the vibraitons causing him to swear, “Granger, Merlin fuck, I can’t last like this.”
Draco pulled her off his cock, strings of saliva and pre-cum connecting her lips to his shaft.
“Enough—need your arse, love.” He flipped her onto her hands and knees taking her form Theo, coating his cock with lube, the head pressing against her tight ring after a minute or two of fingers scissoring her open.
Hermione gasped, pushing back, her arse stretching as he sank in, inch by agonizing inch, her moans lifting with the exquisite strain. “Draco—ugh so much, so deep” she sobbed, her pussy clenching emptily.
Theo growled, now positioning behind Draco, his thick cock lined up with Draco’s arse, lube dripping as he pushed in swift and gentle, Draco’s tight ring stretching around his girth, the piercing grinding his prostate.
Draco cried out, arse clamping, thrusting harder into Hermione’s arse, the slap-slap resounding as the chain of fucking connected them all together.
“Theo—fuck—harder!” Draco grunted, his cock pounding Hermione’s arse, his hand dipping between her thighs to flick her clit.
The rhythm escalated—Theo pounding Draco’s arse more rentlentlessly, Draco slamming into Hermione’s, the slap-slap-slap of all of them deafening.
Hermione’s orgasm hit first, her body breaking with Draco’s deft flick of her clit once more.
“Draco—Theo—fuck!” she cried out.
Theo’s orgasm exploded next, his cock pulsing in Draco’s arse, cum flooding out of the tight hole, riveting down his thighs. Draco’s orgasm followed last, his cock pulsing in Hermione’s arse, cum gushing in thick waves, overflowing her too in sticky rivers.
They collapsed, all deeply out of breath but immensely satisfied.
“We should start days like this more often.” Theo managed to get out, still catching his breath. The bond blazed with love, hearts fused in their quick, loving intimacy.
A low mist curled across the orchard outside Nott Manor, sunlight scattering through the branches. Inside, the three of them sat around the breakfast table, parchment spread between cups of coffee and half-eaten toast.
Draco who had been restless all morning since they finally got up, tapped his quill against the margin of his notes.
“Warren’s theory says,” he muttered, “that triad magic can be summoned through synchronized intention. Not just felt — used.”
Hermione glanced up from her tea. “Used how exactly?”
“To reinforce a protection spell, for starters. If we can direct our shared magic toward a specific object, we’ll know we’re learning control and could go from there.”
Theo raised a brow. “So… no emotional chaos this time, right? Everyone’s happy with each other this morning?”. He grinned cheekily.
Draco ignored him. “We’ll start small. The outer ward stone by the garden wall should do for pratcice.”
Hermione exchanged a wary look with Theo. “You’re sure about this?”
He smiled — a flash of nervous excitement beneath his calm exterior. “Absolutely not. Which is why we should start before I think better of it. We will never harness this if we don’t ever try it.”
The old ward stone stood half-buried in the soil at the edge of the apple orchard, carved centuries ago with runes so faint they looked like weathered cracks.
Draco spread a small circle of salt around it, then drew three sigils in the air with the tip of his wand. “All right,” he said, voice crisp. “We each focus on the same intent: reinforce the ward. Strengthen. Unite. Let the bond respond.”
Theo folded his arms unsure. “Sounds simple enough.”
Hermione took their hands — one in each of hers — and tried to steady her breathing. The air tingled, faint but promising.
“Ready?” Draco asked.
They nodded.
“Now.”
Three wands lifted in unison. The air shimmered — for half a heartbeat, light threaded between them — and then the circle fizzled out with a sound like a popped bubble.
Theo blinked. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”
Draco scowled. “We weren’t aligned. One of you was distracted I bet.”
Hermione shot him a look. “Maybe don’t accuse your bond-mates thirty seconds into an experiment.”
Theo smirked. “He’s tense already. It’s cute. Maybe he needs to go back to bed.”
Draco shot him a glare, and exhaled slowly through his nose. “Again.”
This time, Draco told them to close their eyes. “Don’t think of the spell,” he said quietly. “Think of each other. I think that the bond thrives on emotion, not technique.”
Hermione felt their hands warm in hers — Theo’s calloused from healing, Draco’s steady and smooth — and the hum of their magic rose just beneath the skin. It pulsed once, like a heartbeat.
“Now,” Draco whispered.
Three streams of light burst from their wands, meeting at the center of the salt circle. The glow hovered for a moment, swirling gold and white, before fading again.
But the stone itself had changed — a few faint runes now glowed along its surface, pulsing softly.
Theo crouched, touching it. “That… wasn’t there before.”
Draco’s face lit with cautious triumph. “Progress.”
Hermione smiled. “So emotion does amplify the focus.”
“Yes,” Draco murmured, still staring at the stone. “But it’s incomplete. The bond’s magic didn’t sustain it fully— it faltered halfway through.”
Theo straightened, brushing his hands off. “Then we keep trying.”
They repositioned themselves, closer to the stone this time. The air around them was already faintly charged from the last attempt.
“Listen to each other, feel each other flow” Hermione said softly. “Let it flow naturally.”
Theo chuckled. “You’re turning into the professor.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
They joined hands again — this time with no hesitation — and closed their eyes. Hermione let herself feel: the calm steadiness of Theo, the sharp brilliance of Draco, the pull of both woven through her.
When the magic rose again, it wasn’t forced. It bloomed.
Golden light spread outward from their wands, forming a thin dome above them. The runes on the ward stone flared bright enough to cast shadows on the grass, the pulse steady, alive, strong.
Draco’s voice broke the silence — quiet, awed. “It’s working.”
Theo’s grip tightened on his wand. “You’re both channeling it perfectly.”
Hermione opened her eyes — the air shimmered with threads of gold connecting the three of them. The hum in her chest was warm, resonant, like standing inside a heartbeat that belonged to all of them.
After a few moments, Draco gently released the spell and they followed suit. The light faded, but the runes remained glowing faintly — not dying, just resting.
They stood there in the cool morning air, breath clouding, watching the soft pulse of the strengthened ward.
Draco finally broke the silence. “We did it, at least a little bit.”
Theo grinned. “And no explosions. Always a plus.”
Hermione laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “That was… incredible. I could feel you both through it.”
“So could I,” Draco said, quieter now, the corners of his mouth softening. “It’s proof the bond isn’t just symbolic. It’s real magic. Ours to call on.”
Theo bumped his shoulder lightly. “Remind me to never doubt your insanity again.”
Draco gave him a look that was half amusement, half warmth. “You will. But at least now we know it works. We can work on building it into something more useful I think.”
That afternoon, they sat together by the fire again, parchment scattered around them. The hum of their shared magic still lingered faintly in the air, an almost tangible echo.
Hermione leaned against Theo’s shoulder, watching Draco scribble a note in the margin of his research.
“So what does this mean for us?” she asked softly.
Draco looked up. “It means we’re capable of far more than the Ministry realizes. If the bond can be directed this precisely with more practice, we can use it for protection… even for healing, maybe. On each other… maybe on others. I’m not sure what the limitaitons would be one we mastered control of it.”
Theo smiled faintly. “You sound almost optimistic.”
Draco, faintly smiled back.
Notes:
Comment with what you would like to see their triad magic be able to do eventually!
Chapter 217: Quelling Fear
Notes:
This is a long one. I suppose I could have broken it up into more smaller chapters... but it was ready to go, so here you are.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Later, that same day, it was well after dusk when the manor’s wards shuddered.
A silvery owl swooped through the open study window and dropped a sealed parchment onto Draco’s desk. The wax bore the sigil of the Department of Mysteries — a spiral surrounded by runes that glimmered faintly in the firelight.
Hermione was halfway through a cup of tea. “That can’t be good.”
Draco broke the seal and read aloud:
To the Registered Triad of Malfoy-Granger-Nott,
A measurable triadic resonance was detected from your location at 14:43 hours.
Attendance at the Department is required immediately for magical verification and safety evaluation.
—Director Selwyn, Division of Experimental Bonds
Theo groaned. “We do one successful test and they’re already watching us.”
Hermione stood, already pulling her cloak from the hook. “If we ignore it, they’ll just send Aurors. Let’s go before this becomes front-page news.”
Draco pocketed the letter with a grimace. “I’ll grab our cloaks.”
The Department of Mysteries was quieter than usual when they arrived at such a late hour — torches flickering against black stone, corridors humming faintly with protective wards.
A young Unspeakable with sharp eyes met them at the entrance this time.
“Follow me,” she said briskly, leading them into a circular room ringed with silver instruments.
At its center stood Director Selwyn, tall and severe in dark robes, surrounded by half a dozen other Unspeakables taking notes on hovering parchments.
Selwyn’s voice was measured but clipped. “We registered a spike of we believe unclassified triadic energy tonight. The resonance level was nearly double that registered at your bonding ceremony. Explain.”
Draco cleared his throat. “We were testing directed channeling — reinforcing a static ward stone using shared intent at the manor.”
Selwyn’s brows lifted. “Without departmental supervision?”
Theo muttered, “It was in our own garden, private property with our own personal magic.”
Hermione added quickly, “The goal was academic, not reckless. We controlled the environment and achieved measurable stability. No damage, no volatility.”
Selwyn studied her for a moment. “And yet, the magical signature nearly reached containment warning thresholds. That kind of surge hasn’t been documented in ears.”
They were instructed to stand inside a triangular array etched into the floor.
Silver light flared, bathing them in cool radiance as devices whirred overhead — crystalline sensors measuring pulse, magical density, resonance alignment.
“Begin synchronization,” Selwyn ordered.
Hermione took Theo’s and Draco’s hands, closing her eyes. The familiar hum rose — softer this time, cautious, less intense than at the manor — gold threading faintly through the silver light between them.
One of the Unspeakables gasped. “Their emotional waveforms are harmonizing perfectly.”
Selwyn’s gaze sharpened. “Maintain it.”
Draco focused on calm, Theo on balance, Hermione on connection. The light brightened, filling the room — and then, at Selwyn’s signal, they released it.
Silence followed. The devices continued to whir, recording data.
Selwyn finally exhaled. “Fascinating. You’ve stabilized a living magical network between yoursrlves.”
Theo tilted his head. “Meaning?”
“Meaning,” Selwyn said slowly, “that your bond can draw and redistribute energy as one organism between all of you, whoever needs it most. A magical organism. You must be careful; power like that can heal — or harm — depending on intent.”
Hermione frowned. “We were only trying to reinforce a ward.”
“And succeeded beyond expectation I think,” Selwyn said. “The reading peaked at four hundred auric units — enough to shield an entire manor.”
Draco’s brows knit. “That’s impossible, the stone barely glowed.”
“Not anymore.”
After dismissing the assistants, Selwyn lowered his voice. “I want you three to understand something. The Ministry can’t replicate what you’ve done. You’re unique — and that means watched. If you continue experimenting, document every step and inform us first. If this bond destabilizes, containment might not be possible quick enough to save everyone.”
Theo crossed his arms. “Containment?”
“Your emotions feed the magic,” Selwyn said. “If one of you loses control, it could ripple outward — spontaneous surges, accidental curses, even atmospheric disruptions for miles. I don’t say this to frighten you. But balance isn’t optional for triads of your strength.”
Hermione met his gaze steadily. “Then we’ll stay balanced.”
Selwyn studied them another long moment, then nodded. “Good. You’re dismissed. And… congratulations, I suppose. You’ve just rewritten a chapter of magical theory.”
They left close to midnight. The Ministry corridors were empty, the torchlight low.
As the lift rattled upward, Draco leaned back against the wall, exhaling. “I’d forgotten how suffocating those rooms are.”
Hermione gave a tired smile. “At least they didn’t confiscate the garden.”
Theo nudged her hand gently. “He was proud of you, you know. You stood your ground.”
Draco smiled faintly. “She usually does.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but the warmth between them softened the exhaustion. “I still can’t believe how powerful that surge was. It didn’t feel like it.”
Theo said quietly, “Maybe it means we’re finally figuring out what the bond can do for us.”
When they stepped through the floo back into the manor, the air felt different — thicker somehow, humming faintly like the afterglow of a storm.
They exchanged a look.
The bond thrummed once, steady and sure.
A note from Kingsley was waiting with the morning post.
Draco slit the seal while Theo poured coffee and Hermione buttered toast without really looking at it, eyes still unfocused from sleep.
Draco read:
To Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger, and Mr. Nott,
I was briefed by Director Selwyn regarding last night’s triadic resonance event.
We will discuss this development, its implications, and any required protections at our next scheduled meeting with me about the siphoning and potion in three days’ time.
Until then, please refrain from further large-scale experimental workings without Department of Mysteries awareness.
This is a request, not a reprimand, or the law. You are doing important work.
—Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic
Theo huffed. “That’s his version of saying, ‘You terrified half the Department and I’m both impressed and alarmed, please do so behind closed doors from now on.’”
Hermione managed a small smile, but something in her expression was far away already.
Draco noticed; so did Theo.
“You’re still going?” Theo asked softly.
She nodded, folding the letter once, twice. “Of course, I promised Ginny I’d be with him today. And Harry is basically my brother, I owe him this.”
Halloween.
Her and Theo’s hands brushed as she reached for her mug; the bond pulsed with understanding, not protest.
Draco squeezed her shoulder. “Tell him we’re thinking of him.”
Theo leaned in to kiss her temple. “And if you need us, you call. Patronus, bond, anything.”
“I will,” she said, voice gentle. “You two… try not to terrorize any more Unspeakables while I’m gone.”
Theo gave a mock-offended look. “No promises.”
She laughed, kissed each of them in turn, and stepped into the floo.
The familiar spin of green flame delivered her into the drawing room of Number Twelve. The house no longer felt like a dark threat — Ginny’s touch had softened it — but on this day, there was still a gravity in the walls, a heavy stillness in the air.
Harry was in the kitchen already, robe sleeves rolled to his elbows, wand lazily levitating a pan of scrambled eggs while toast popped up in a Muggle toaster shoved against the backsplash. He looked up when she walked in, and his face lit briefly.
“There you are,” he said. “Thought maybe your terrifyingly powerful magic marriage bond had you on call.”
“It tried,” Hermione said, crossing to hug him. “I told it I was busy.”
He snorted, clinging to her for an extra heartbeat. “Thanks for coming.”
“Always.”
They settled at the table. He poured orange juice. She nicked a piece of bacon from his plate; he pretended to protest, then slid the whole plate closer to her.
For a while, the conversation stayed light. Ginny’s match schedule. Theo’s latest ridiculous Healer stories. Pansy’s dramatic pregnancy cravings (“She made Blaise go out at two in the morning for pickled plums and treacle tart,” Hermione said, and Harry nearly choked laughing).
“Sounds about right,” he said once he’d recovered. “Blaise looks weirdly delighted every time he complains, like it’s some badge of honor. Ran into him at the bank the other day.”
“It is,” Hermione smiled genuinely. “He loves her so much.”
The smile faded, slowly, as Harry’s gaze drifted toward the small framed photograph on the far counter: James and Lily, spinning in endless black-and-white motion, baby Harry laughing in his mother’s arms.
Silence stretched.
Hermione reached for more toast, just to have something to do with her hands. “How are you really?” she asked quietly.
Harry shrugged one shoulder, too casual. “Same as every year. Feels wrong to be… okay.”
“You’re not,” she said gently.
He blew out a breath, staring at his plate. “I’ve got a good life. Ginny. Work. You. Teddy. A house that isn’t cursed. And every October thirty-first I wake up feeling like I’ve… stolen something. Like it should’ve been them having this either with me… or if I hadn’t existed at all then they’d be around.”
Hermione’s chest ached. “You didn’t steal it. Voldemort tore it away from them. You survived. They would want you to. Don’t feel guilty.”
“I know that up here.” He tapped his temple. “But today it hits different. I keep wondering what they’d think of all this.” He waved a hand vaguely — the house, the ring on his finger, the Ministry, everything. “Me in the Wizengamot. Ginny. Teddy. You in a triad that terrifies half the establishment.” A faint, wry smile. “I like to think Mum would’ve liked you yelling at people in committees.”
Hermione’s lips quirked. “She absolutely would have I bet.”
He swallowed. His voice was quieter when he went on. “I wonder if they’d be proud. Or if they’d look at the mess and think we broke it worse trying to fix it.”
Hermione reached across the table and took his hand, firm, grounding. “Harry. They would be proud of you. Not because you’re on some council, or famous, or solving magical epidemiology conspiracies. Because you love people. Because you still try. Because you chose a family and keep choosing them.”
His fingers tightened around hers.
“And they would love Ginny,” she added. “Viciously.”
That tugged a real smile out of him, a crooked one that looked younger. “Yeah. I like thinking about Mum and Ginny in the same kitchen. Dad and Sirius trying to wind her up.”
“Remus rolling his eyes,” Hermione said. “Lily winning.”
He laughed, softer.
They sat like that for a moment — his hand warm in hers, grief and gratitude braided together. Through the bond, she felt Draco’s distant, steady concern, Theo’s solid quiet, each of them instinctively sending reassurance her way, which she sent back to them to calm their concerns.
“You know,” Harry said, eyes still on their joined hands, “I’m glad you’re happy. You are righyt?”
She blinked. “I am,” she said, surprised at how easily it came. “It’s… complicated. But I am.”
“It’s allowed to be,” he said. “You don’t owe anyone suffering to prove you remember what’s happened.”
Her throat tightened. “You either.”
He gave a small nod. “Trying to believe that.”
She lifted their woven fingers to emphasize the words. “They would be proud of you. I have never been more certain of anything.”
He exhaled, long and shaky, then let go to drag his sleeve over his eyes. “You’re bossy.”
“Consistent, and sure,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“Same thing,” he muttered, but his voice was lighter.
He got up, went to the counter, and returned with a small wrapped box.
“What’s this?” Hermione frowned.
“Your birthday was a few months ago and I keep forgetting to give it to you. I was going to give it to you at the party, but forgot it was in my jacket pocket, then you ran off to Vienna with your husbands.” His mouth twitched. “Open it.”
She did. Inside was a delicate silver charm shaped like a tiny open book, blank pages that shimmered when she tilted it.
“It’s keyed to your three signatures,” Harry said. “Malfoy, Nott, Granger. If you ever feel… off, magically, it’ll show you by lighting up with the person color. Just a little failsafe so I don’t lie awake wondering.”
Her vision blurred. “Harry.”
“Before you start: no, it doesn’t spy on your bedroom activities,” he said quickly. “I made sure.”
She laughed, choked. “Thank you.”
He sat back down. “You saved me a hundred times. Let me worry about you, yeah? Especially with all of… this.” His gaze flicked to the Prophet folded on the counter, still bearing last week’s headlines about siphoning and shields.
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Good.” He picked up his fork again. “Now eat. Then we’ll go to Godric’s Hollow and be sad together for a bit, and then you’re going home to your ridiculous overpowered husbands before Malfoy sets something on fire here trying to ‘check the wards personally.’”
She smiled, sunlight catching the wet rim of her lashes.
On Halloween morning, in the worn kitchen of Grimmauld Place, they finished their brunch. They washed the dishes side by side like they had after the summer after the war, her as the sister who would always remind him he deserved the life he’d carved out of the wreckage.
The air in Godric’s Hollow was still, the gray sky holding the kind of silence that seemed to press against the earth itself.
Leaves rustled across the cobblestone path in muted reds and browns as Harry and Hermione walked side by side through the sleepy village.
The only sound was the soft crunch of their boots and the rhythmic creak of the gate as they reached the small churchyard.
Hermione paused just inside the gate, watching him. “You okay?” she asked softly.
Harry’s throat worked before he nodded, though his voice didn’t come. His hand tightened around the small bouquet of lilies and chrysanthemums he carried — the same kind he’d brought every year since the war ended.
They followed the worn path past old headstones until they reached it.
James Potter (1960–1981)
Lily Potter (1960–1981)
The words shimmered faintly with protective magic. A few offerings from well-meaning visitors lay nearby — wildflowers, a note folded carefully against the stone, a small golden snitch, wing charm dulled from rain.
Harry knelt. The earth was cold beneath his hand as he brushed a few leaves away. “Hi, Mum. Hi, Dad.” His voice cracked halfway through. “It’s… me again.”
Hermione lowered beside him, laying her own bouquet beside his. She didn’t speak — just sat close enough that their shoulders brushed, a steady presence at his side.
“I brought Hermione,” Harry said after a moment, his voice barely above the breeze. “You’d like her. Well — you’d love her, Mum, actually. She’s still bossing me around after all these years.”
Hermione gave a soft huff that was almost a laugh, wiping her cheek discreetly.
Harry’s lips twitched faintly. “She’s the reason I remembered to eat and sleep for so long, before Ginny came into my life. And she’s… happy now. Finally. She deserves that.”
He reached out and traced his fingers over his mother’s name, then his father’s, his shoulders trembling as his breath caught. “Every year, I think it’s going to be easier. It’s not. I still feel like that little boy who lost everything before he even knew what he had.”
Hermione’s hand slipped into his. “You saved the world. You built a life from ashes, Harry,” she murmured. “You gave their love somewhere to live.”
He blinked quickly, but tears still fell — slow, quiet, unashamed.
He bowed his head, shoulders shaking once, and Hermione moved closer, wrapping her arm around him. He leaned into her without hesitation, eyes closing as she held him there in the cold churchyard, letting him fall apart for a moment in the only place he ever truly could allow himself to.
After a while, his breathing evened out. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she whispered. “You’re allowed to miss them. Anyone would.”
He looked up at the names again, voice raw. “I just wish they could’ve seen it. All of it. Ginny, Teddy, the world we fought for. I really hope they’d be proud.”
Hermione’s fingers tightened around his. “They’d be more than proud. They’d be in awe.”
Harry smiled faintly, brushing the back of his hand across his eyes. “Dad would’ve been insufferable about the Quidditch trophies.”
Hermione’s laugh came out wet. “And your mum would’ve adored Ginny.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I like to think she’d have teased me for marrying a redhead like her.”
They sat for a while longer, the wind threading through the yew branches above them. Then, together, they rose and walked the winding path toward the edge of the village — toward what was left of the Potter cottage.
The ruins sat quiet, encased by ivy and dark memory. The thatched roof had long since collapsed; only the jagged beams and charred brick remained.
The front gate creaked as Harry pushed it open. The plaque gleamed faintly in the overcast light, engraved with countless signatures and messages.
On this spot, on the night of October 31st, 1981, James and Lily Potter gave their lives to stop Lord Voldemort.
The boy who lived — and all who live free — honor their sacrifice.
Hermione stood beside him, reading it with the same reverence she had the first time they came together during the war. She didn’t fill the silence; she knew it wasn’t hers to fill.
Harry looked at the ruin with that expression she knew too well — half grief, half contemplation. “You know,” he said quietly, “I used to think I’d rebuild it someday. Fix everything. Pretend it never happened. Have my life be here too.”
“Do you still think that?” Hermione asked gently.
He shook his head, eyes lingering on the jagged remains of his nursery window. “No. I don’t think I could live here right now. Every wall… every brick would be a ghost. I walk past that room in my dreams sometimes. Mum’s laugh, the green light… I don’t think I could raise a family here and not feel them dying every day.”
Hermione nodded, eyes glistening. “That’s fair.”
He sighed. “But I do want to raise kids in Godric’s Hollow. I like the idea of them knowing this place — not for what was lost, but for what survived. There’s something right about that.”
“That sounds like something your parents would have wanted,” she said softly. “Full circle.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But for now, Ginny and I are staying where we are. Grimmauld’s not exactly cozy, but it’s home. Safer, anyway. And someday… when it’s time for kids, maybe we’ll find a way to build something new here. Not over the ruins. Near them. So they’ll always know where they come from.”
Hermione’s smile was warm, proud. “I think that’s perfect.”
He glanced sideways at her, expression soft. “You think they’d be proud of me truly?”
“Harry,” she said, stepping closer, “I think they’d be so happy for you. Not because you’re ‘The Boy Who Lived,’ but because you kept living. You made a life full of love, after everything that tried to take it from you.”
His throat tightened again, but this time when he smiled, it reached his eyes. “Thank you.”
She looped her arm through his. “Always.”
They stood together, looking up at the broken roofline. The clouds broke for just a moment, spilling pale sunlight over the ruins, catching on the ivy, making the dew glitter.
Harry let out a slow breath. “Every year I come here and think maybe it’ll hurt less. But maybe it’s not supposed to.”
Hermione’s voice was barely a whisper. “Maybe it’s meant to remind you that love leaves something behind.”
He nodded. “Yeah. It does.”
When they finally turned back toward the main village, the air felt different — lighter somehow, as if the world had exhaled with them.
The gate creaked shut behind them, the sound small but final, and they walked side by side back down the lane — two orphaned survivors carrying the weight of love that never truly left them.
When Harry and Hermione apparated back to Grimmauld Place, the air felt thick with the damp weight of autumn rain. The sky was bruised with clouds, the wind whistling softly against the old windows.
Inside, the lamps flickered to life as they shed their coats, a fire already burning low in the sitting room hearth.
Ron was waiting for them — sprawled on the couch with a tumbler of firewhisky already, his red hair glinting in the light.
“About time,” he said, smirking faintly. “I was starting to think you’d stopped for tea with a ghost.”
Harry gave him a look that was somewhere between amusement and exhaustion. “Don’t tempt fate. We’ve had enough of those for one day.”
They settled in together — drinks poured, conversation drifting easily between small talk and old memories. Between them, for once, felt almost normal, like pre-war in the common room.
Then came the rumble.
It was faint at first — a low thud from above, followed by the creak of shifting floorboards. All three froze.
Ron frowned, setting his glass down. “Please tell me that’s not another cursed heirloom you forgot to toss.”
Harry was already on his feet. “Attic it sound slike.”
They exchanged wary looks, then drew their wands and moved together up the narrow staircases. The air grew colder with every step, the old house seeming to hold its breath.
At the top, the door to the attic stood ajar, a faint whispering sound echoing from within — like someone murmuring behind the walls.
Harry pushed it open.
Inside, the dim light flickered from their wands. Dust swirled in the air. At the far end, beneath a tattered sheet, something moved.
Hermione’s voice was steady but low. “A Boggart,” she said, recognizing the telltale scrape and pulse of shifting magic. “It must have been trapped here for awhile.”
Harry raised his wand. “Then let’s—”
But before he could finish, the sheet exploded upward, and the Boggart burst free.
It darted like smoke, reforming instantly in front of Harry — not as a creature, but as Kingsley Shacklebolt, standing impossibly tall in the flickering attic light. His voice rolled like thunder.
“You failed, Potter,” the false Kingsley boomed. “He’s not gone. Voldemort lives again — and this time, the world will burn. You didn’t save anyone. You are a failure. You have let us all down.”
Harry’s stomach dropped. For a split second, his breath stopped. Then Ron lunged forward instinctively, wand pointed.
“Don’t listen to it—!”
The Boggart twisted before he could reach it, shifting shape — and suddenly it was Cho, pale and terrified, her hands clutching something bunfled close to her chest. She looked at Ron with wide, haunted eyes. Red crept acrossed the bundle and her chest, and she fell to her knees.
“Ron?” she whispered. “You couldn’t save us…”
Ron stumbled back, wand shaking. “No—no, that’s not real—”
Hermione stepped forward sharply, voice fierce. “Enough! Riddikulus!”
But the Boggart morphed again, ducking faster than her spell could land — its body contorting, darkening — until the cruel face of Bellatrix Lestrange leered out of the shadows, her laughter slicing through the air like glass.
“Poor little Mudblood,” she sneered. “Did you think you escaped me?”
Hermione’s pulse spiked, every nerve alive with memory — the smell of iron, the echo of screams. But this time, she didn’t freeze.
“Riddikulus!” she shouted again, voice breaking with power.
Bellatrix’s image shimmered, her wand twisting uselessly in her hands — and in the next breath, she was pulled into a shimmering crystal sphere, her voice trapped in a hollow echo. The orb wobbled once, then shattered into harmless mist.
The attic fell silent.
The Boggart’s remnants flickered uncertainly, then slithered into a dusty trunk in the corner. Harry pointed his wand.
“Evanesco,” he said, and the trunk — and the last of the dark vapor — vanished completely.
For a long moment, no one spoke. They stood together in the quiet, chests heaving, hearts pounding against the memory of what they’d each seen.
Finally, Hermione lowered her wand. “That wasn’t just a mundane Boggart,” she said softly. “It was stronger… sharper. Like it fed on something recent. Maybe it was older.”
Harry nodded grimly. “Too many fears in one house, maybe. We’re all a pretty potent bunch to draw on.”
Ron swallowed hard, still pale. He sank down onto one of the attic trunks, rubbing his face. “Bloody hell. Haven’t seen one of those since school. Could’ve done without it tonight.”
Harry gave a small, weary laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, me too.”
They made their way downstairs, the fire in the sitting room now burning low and warm again, as if pretending nothing had happened.
Ron poured himself another glass, hands trembling faintly. Hermione sat across from him, watching the flames dance.
After a moment, Ron cleared his throat. “So, cats out of the bag I guess. Cho’s been sick lately,” he said quietly. “We didn’t want to say anything yet because its very early, but… the Healer confirmed it last week. She’s pregnant.”
Hermione’s eyes softened instantly. “Ron, that’s wonderful.”
He smiled faintly, but his voice wavered. “Guess the Boggart knew what I was scared of most now adays. Losing them. That something could happen to her or the baby. It’s daft, I know.”
Harry reached over, gripping his shoulder. “It’s not daft. It’s being human.”
Ron nodded, blinking hard. “Yeah. I suppose.”
Hermione leaned forward, her voice gentle but sure. “Fear doesn’t make you weak, Ron. It just means you’ve got something worth protecting.”
Ron looked up at her — then at Harry — and gave a small, real smile. “Blimey,” he said after a long pause. “We’ve really grown up, haven’t we?”
Harry laughed softly. “Terrifying, isn’t it?”
The three of them sat there for a while longer, the shadows flickering across the walls of Grimmauld Place — three friends, older now, still haunted by the past but bound together by everything they’d survived.
For tonight, at least, the darkness had been sent away.
Notes:
What do you think Theo and Draco's Boggarts are? leave a comment.
Chapter 218: Taken
Chapter Text
The morning sun crept softly through the tall windows of the breakfast room, spilling warm light over polished wood and half-drunk mugs of tea.
The smell of cinnamon toast and coffee hung in the air, comforting and familiar, but Hermione’s thoughts were miles away — still trapped in the flickering shadows of Grimmauld Place’s attic.
Theo noticed first. He set down his fork.
“You’re quiet this morning,” he said gently.
Hermione blinked, realizing she hadn’t touched her tea in several minutes.
“Sorry. My mind’s just… stuck on last night.”
Draco looked up from the Prophet, folding it neatly. “Understandably. A Boggart that strong isn’t something you just shake off easily.”
Hermione sighed, tucking a curl behind her ear. “It wasn’t just the Boggart, though. It was what it showed me — what it showed all of us. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Theo leaned back in his chair, studying her. “It took Bellatrix’s form, didn’t it?”
Hermione nodded, her fingers tightening around her teacup. “Yes. I suppose that was inevitable. But what made it worse was the way it felt. Like she was real again. I knew it was a Boggart, but I still felt that same panic I did that night.” She paused looking down to the scar on her arm, exhaling slowly.
“I don’t think I’ve ever hated anything more than that laugh.”
Draco reached across the table, his hand brushing hers — a small, grounding gesture. “You did what you always do,” he said softly. “You faced it head on. I’m so sorry that I allowed that tp happen to you in the first place.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Maybe. But it got me thinking… fears like that don’t just fade, do they?”
Theo shook his head. “They don’t fade. You just get better at recognizing them before they swallow you.”
That drew a small hum from her. Then, after a beat, she looked between the two of them.
“You know,” she said carefully, “you’ve both been awfully calm about this. Have you ever faced a Boggart recently? I think it says a lot about where someone’s heart really is.”
Draco exchanged a look with Theo, a wry frown tugging at his lips. “Funny you should ask that,” he said. “Because we have.”
Hermione blinked. “You have?”
Theo chuckled darkly, quietly. “About three weeks ago. Our mother-in-law had one trapped in an old chest in her parlor.”
Draco groaned, rubbing his temple. “I told her to just call a professional exterminator for magical pests, but no, she insisted the heir of Malfoy Manor ought to ‘reassert dominance’ over his own attic monsters.”
Hermione’s eyes softened with curiosity. “And you didn’t tell me?”
Draco hesitated. “I… may have wanted to forget it existed. But yes, we both saw ours. You were at class when she called us over.”
Theo gave him a pointed look. “You first.”
“Absolutely not,” Draco said, tone dry. “I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one morning alitready.”
Hermione smiled faintly, resting her chin in her hand. “Come on, if I told you mine, it’s only fair.”
Draco groaned under his breath, then looked down at his tea. “Fine. But you can’t be weird.”
“We won’t,” she promised.
He sighed and leaned back in his chair, eyes unfocused as though watching the memory unfold again. “When the Boggart came out, it didn’t take the form of Voldemort, or my father, or even Azkaban like I’d expected. It… it turned into the two of you.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Us?”
He nodded slowly, voice quiet. “You and Theo. You were both standing together in our bedroom, packing bags. You said you didn’t need me anymore — that I’d only been a distraction, and extra inconvenience, and that the bond was stronger without me.”
His throat tightened a little on the words. “Then you walked out. Hand in hand.”
The silence that followed was gentle but heavy. Theo’s expression softened; Hermione’s eyes shimmered with emotion.
“Draco,” she said softly, reaching across the table. “That’s not just ridiculous. It’s heartbreakingly human.”
He tried for a smirk, but it faltered. “It’s pathetic.”
“It’s not,” Theo said firmly. “You joined something already in motion. You were terrified of being the one left behind. That’s not pathetic — that’s what love does to people.”
Draco gave a small, disbelieving huff, his thumb tracing the edge of his mug. “I suppose it makes sense. The night we bonded, I was half-convinced I’d ruin everything you two already had together. Sometimes I still wonder what you both see in me.”
Hermione shook her head, her hand finding his. “We see you. The man who fought his way out of darkness, who’s spent every day since trying to make the world better. The man who protects the people he loves — even when they don’t want him to.”
His breath caught at that, but he didn’t pull away.
After a moment, Hermione looked toward Theo. “What about you?”
Theo exhaled slowly, setting down his spoon.
“Mine was… difficult to explain.” He hesitated. “It was my father.”
Hermione’s brow knit gently. “What was he doing?”
Theo’s voice grew quieter, more fragile. “He was smiling at me. Saying he was proud of me.”
He swallowed hard. “And when I looked down, I had the Dark Mark burned into my arm.”
Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth. “Theo…”
He gave a humorless laugh.
“I know it’s not real. But I think some part of me still wonders if I’ll ever really be free of him. Of what I grew up around. There’s a piece of me that fears I’ll wake up one day and realize I’ve become the very thing I swore I’d never be.”
Draco reached out, touching his arm gently. “You’re not him. You never were. You enver will be.”
Theo met his gaze, something unspoken passing between them — the shared history of sons of Death Eaters, raised in poison and expectation, now trying to build something clean and lighter from the ruins.
Hermione reached for Theo’s other hand, squeezing it. “You’ve built an entire life out of compassion and healing. The fact that you fear becoming like him means you never will.”
Theo’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?”
“It’s one of my more tolerable flaws,” she said, teasing softly.
Draco looked between them, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Well. I suppose we’re quite the picture of dysfunction, aren’t we?”
Theo snorted. “Says the man who’s terrified of being loved too much.”
“And you,” Draco countered, “who’s terrified of not being your father’s son — and yet terrified of being exactly that.”
Hermione smiled wryly. “And me, who’s terrified of being powerless again. Maybe that’s what makes us work — we balance each other’s fears.”
Draco’s expression softened. “Perhaps we do.”
They sat for a long time after that, the morning stretching lazily around them. Outside, sunlight caught the orchard beyond the window, framing it in morning dawn.
The afternoon air at the Charms Institute carried that crisp hint of very early November: cool sunlight spilling over pale stone, the courtyard glittering faintly where it met the enchanted fountains.
Classes had just broken for the midday recess, and Hermione had claimed a quiet corner of the outdoor terrace, parchment and quills spread neatly across the table before her.
Her Auror escort today (a tall witch named Dawlish-Marin with quick reflexes and a dry sense of humor) stood a short distance away, scanning the crowd as she always did.
Hermione had grown almost used to the quiet vigilance over the last months; it was both reassuring and frustrating, like living under glass.
A soft chirp came from the Institute’s messenger perch. An owl swooped down and landed directly on Dawlish-Marin’s outstretched arm. Hermione looked up in mild curiosity as the Auror untied the small scroll and read it, her brow tightening.
“Message from the Office,” Dawlish-Marin said, glancing toward Hermione. “I’ve been called in for a classified briefing — urgent, apparently. They want me back immediately.”
Hermione frowned slightly. “Is everything all right?”
“No details. But it’s Kingsley’s seal, so I can’t ignore it.” The Auror hesitated, clearly reluctant. “You’ve got another two hours of class starting in a few minutes, yes?”
“Yes,” Hermione said, offering what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Go on. I’ll be fine here — I’ll just head straight to the lecture hall and stay indoors until you’re back.”
Dawlish-Marin studied her for a beat longer, then nodded. “All right. Stay in the main building, Granger. Don’t wander off. I’ll be back before class is out.”
“I promise,” Hermione said softly.
With a shimmer of air, the Auror disapparated. The faint sound of the fountain filled the terrace again. For a few minutes, Hermione stayed where she was, looking down at her notes.
Her mind drifted — to the conversation that morning over breakfast, to Draco’s quiet vulnerability, to Theo’s haunted confession. Her heart tightened with a strange, protective ache for both of them.
The sky was a pale blue wash above the Institute towers, rain hung in the air for later.
She let herself breathe, finally alone, the calm washing through her. Quills and parchment vanished into her satchel with a flick of her wand. She rose, stretching, ready to head back inside with the last few dawdling classmates.
That was when she heard it — a sharp crack of displaced air, just behind her.
Every instinct she had honed since the war fired at once. Her wand was in her hand before she turned.
But she didn’t even see a face, only the sweep of a dark cloak and hood, and a gloved hand that caught her wrist before she could finish the spell.
“Expelliarmus!” she gasped, but she was too late, the words were swallowed by a rush of sound — a pop of magic, and the gut-wrenching pull of a Portkey activating.
Her satchel slipped from her shoulder, falling soundlessly to the stone floor as brillant light flared around her.
For a heartbeat she saw the terrace vanish — the sunlight, the Institute, the parchment fluttering in the breeze — and then the world yanked sideways.
Her lungs seized. The air compressed. The last thing she heard before the wind swallowed everything was the faint echo of her own name —
“Hermione!”
Then the terrace was empty. Only her fallen satchel and a single quill remained, rolling slowly to a stop under the bench.
Notes:
Who took her? To where? Why?
Ideas in the comments please!
Chapter 219: Gone
Notes:
This is going to get a whole lot worse before it gets any better...
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first sign that something was wrong hit them both like a punch to the chest.
Draco was in a Ministry office, mid-meeting with the Department of International Magical Cooperation, when a sudden flare of magic pulsed through the triad bond. It was bright—then cold, then utterly, horribly empty.
His quill froze mid-stroke. For half a second he couldn’t breathe.
Then the emptiness sharpened into unthinkable pain. The bond gone nearly silent.
Theo, miles away in St. Mungo’s, staggered backward in the middle of his ward round. His wand slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor. The Healer beside him said his name in alarm, but Theo barely heard. His knees nearly buckled. A hollow ache filled his chest—an absence where warmth should be.
“Hermione,” he whispered.
Both of them disapparated without thinking.
By the time they reached the Institute terrace, the scene was already chaos.
A circle of professors stood near the balustrade, murmuring spells; Aurors were erecting wards, their faces grim.
Hermione’s satchel sat rummaged through for clues on a table, open, parchment scattered around it.
Draco was through the crowd before anyone could stop him.
“Where is she?” he demanded, voice breaking into a near-yell.
“Where the hell is she?!”
The nearest Auror, Dawlish-Marin—ashen-faced, newly returned from her faked briefing—turned toward him. “Mr. Malfoy, sir, I—”
“Don’t sir me,” he snapped. His wand was already drawn, his magic sparking uncontrolled around him. “You were supposed to be watching her!”
Theo appeared a second later, pale and breathless. His eyes went immediately to the fallen satchel. “No… no, no, no.”
Dawlish-Marin tried again, voice trembling. “I was called to the Ministry for an emergency meeting. Someone sent an owl… turned up and no one had called for me. She said she’d be in class—she said—”
Draco’s hand shook. “And you just left her?!”
Theo’s voice was quieter but worse, ragged at the edges. “You should’ve known she’d say that. She hates being guarded.”
“I didn’t—” The Auror broke off, guilt etched across her face. “I didn’t know this would happen obviously.”
Draco’s magic surged, rattling the terrace lamps.
It took Theo grabbing his arm to steady him. “Draco,” he said hoarsely. “We’ll find her.”
The bond thrummed faintly between them—pain, confusion, distance. Draco closed his eyes, reaching for her through it. “I can just barely feel her,” he murmured.
“Scarcely—but she’s alive.”
Theo’s eyes widened. “Then keep hold of that. Don’t let go. I don’t feel her at all right now, just you I think.”
An auror shouted from near the balustrade, “There’s Portkey residue! Strong—unregistered. It’s dissipating fast!”
Draco turned on him like a man possessed. “Trace it! Now!”
“We’re trying, sir, but the signature’s layered—someone masked the origin.”
Draco’s fists clenched. “Then unmask it. I don’t care how.”
Theo looked helplessly over the terrace edge.
His hands were shaking so badly he pressed them together just to stop them.
“She’s terrified,” he whispered. “I can feel it just barley now too—Draco, she’s scared and she doesn’t even know where she is—”
“I know,” Draco rasped. “I know.”
Theo sank down against the wall, fingers digging into his hair.
Tears spilled over his cheeks. “We promised she’d be safe with us,” he said, voice breaking. “And we weren’t there.”
Draco knelt beside him, his own voice rough and unsteady.
“We’ll get her back. I swear it. I’ll burn the world down if I have to.”
A loud crack of apparition echoed behind them. Harry strode forward, in his auror uniform, eyes sharp with controlled urgency.
“I came as soon as I heard.” He took in the scene—the residue, the overturned chairs, the wrecked expressions of his friends. His tone softened but stayed firm.
“Tell me everything.”
Draco stood, shoulders trembling with fury. “She was alone for maybe five minutes, Potter. Five bloody minutes. It was planned, coordinated to get her alone.”
Harry nodded once, grim. “All right. We’ll start there. Dawlish-Marin, I need your memory from the moment you left her. And a copy of the owl you got. And every Portkey trace report in this building—now.”
Aurors scattered to obey.
Theo rose slowly, wiping at his face. “Harry, you have to hurry. We can barely feel her through the bond—it’s like she’s slipping away. Probably too far away.”
Harry’s gaze flicked between them. “Then we’ll follow that thread. If there’s even the faintest magical connection, I’ll have the Unspeakables map it for you. You two—don’t try to apparate anywhere on instinct. We’ll do this properly, leave no stone unturned.”
Draco’s jaw flexed, his voice low and dark. “If anyone’s laid a hand on her—”
Harry met his eyes, unwavering. “Then we’ll find them. And they’ll regret it.”
Theo exhaled shakily, gripping Draco’s arm.
“She’s strong,” he said, more to himself than anyone. “She’s survived worse during the war. She’ll hold on until we reach her.”
Draco’s throat tightened. “She’d better,” he whispered.
The sun was setting over the courtyard now, in its light, Hermione’s quill still lay on the stone, unmoving.
Draco picked it up, holding it like a relic.
“I’ll find you,” he murmured, voice barely audible. “No matter what it takes.”
And with that, the search began.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Hermione awoke to darkness and stone.
Her head throbbed, a low, pounding ache that made her stomach turn when she tried to move.
The air was damp, heavy with the smell of mildew and cold earth. She blinked several times before her eyes begin to adjust. There’s a dim glimmer somewhere above her, leaking through the cracks of a half-broken torch sconce, but it’s not enough to tell day from night.
Her cheek were pressed to uneven stone. Her palms sting as she pushes herself upright.
The first sound that escaped her is a ragged gasp.
“Where—” she begins, then stops, because her voice comes out echoing in the chamber. Her throat feels scraped. She swallows against it and looks around.
The room — if it could be called that — was barely bigger than a storage cell. The walls are hewn roughly from old stone; moisture driping down in slow beads, leaving black streaks across the surface of mold. The floor was dirt packed hard as rock.
A few wooden crates sat stacked crookedly in one corner, empty but for a rusted nail and what looks like a broken bottle. In another corner lies a mangy blanket, thin and torn, as if discarded long ago.
A single wooden chair sat lopsided near the door — one leg shorter than the others, the back cracked clean through.
There were no windows. Only a heavy iron door across the room, locked- upon testing it.
Hermione’s pulse spiked.
The air felt too still, too quiet — the kind of silence that hums with danger beneath it.
She forced herself to breathe slowly.
She’s been in places like this before.
Not exactly like this, but enough to know panic will only make her more useless.
Her fingers went automatically to her robes, patting for her wand.
Nothing.
Her heart lurched. She searched again — pockets, sleeves, the inside seam of her cloak. Nothing. Her wand was gone.
“Okay,” she whispered to herself, voice barely audible. “Okay. You’ve handled worse.”
But the moment she closed her eyes to steady herself, a flash of memory cuts through the fog — a hand grabbing her wrist, light, the portkey yanking her away.
She’s breathing faster now, sitting back against the wall. The cold seeps through her clothes.
She tries to reach out through the bond — a reflex more instinctive than thought. Draco? Theo? She reaches inward, focusing on the warmth she’s always felt since that night in Bali, the subtle hum that connects them all.
Nothing.
No warmth. No answering pulse.
The bond is silent.
She pressed her hand to her chest, trying again — pushing harder this time, focusing until her head throbs. But it’s like shouting into a void. They’re too far away.
Or… or something is blocking it.
Her throat tightened. “Oh, Merlin, please don’t let it be gone.”
The scrape of footsteps outside the door freezes her.
She stiffened, pressing back into the shadows between two crates. The footsteps stop directly outside her prison. Then—voices. Two men. Low, muffled through the door, but close enough that she can catch fragments of words between the uneven metal slats.
“…said to keep her alive—”
“—not touched, right? Until he gets here.”
“Yeah, his orders. Said she’s worth more breathing. Gonna make a public example of her.”
Hermione’s breath caight. She leaned forward slightly, straining to hear more, but their words blur together — the stone swallowing half of it, as they moved further away. One of them laughed, the sound sharp and ugly.
“…don’t see what makes her so special—”
“—doesn’t matter, does it? Boss wants her in one piece. We do as we’re told.”
Boots shuffle. A clang of metal — maybe a cup, keys, or a blade dropped carelessly. Then silence again.
Hermione doesn’t move until she’s certain they’ve stepped away entirely.
Her pulse is loud in her ears. Her mind spins, piecing together the fragments — waiting for their boss, keep her alive, untouched.
That means she’s a prisoner, but not immediately in danger. That’s something. They want her for a reason.
But what reason? What example to be made?
She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them for warmth. The stone leeched heat from her skin.
There’s no sense of time here — no daylight, no windows, only the endless, thick dark.
Minutes could be hours. Hours could be days. She has no idea.
She tries again to reach for Draco, for Theo. The bond flickers faintly this time — so faint she wonders if she only imagined it — a distant ache. A hint of panic she’s sure isn’t just hers.
“They’ll find me,” she murmurs into the darkness, forcing the words out to reassure herself. “They’ll feel it. They’ll find me.”
Still, her hands won’t stop shaking.
She looks toward the broken chair, the crates, the few scraps of the room. Her mind begins to catalogue details — old habits from years of surviving a war.
If I can find a sharp edge, maybe I can work at the door hinges. If I can find a splinter, I might get a wand motion right. If the Portkey left residue—
Her throat tightens again. It’s hard to think clearly when she’s so cold, so tired, so… afraid.
But Hermione Granger doesn’t let fear win.
She shifts closer to the door, pressing her ear against the cold iron hoping to gather more intel.
Nothing but silence now. Even the air feels like it’s holding its breath.
She takes a deep inhale through her nose, forcing calm into her bones.
“They’ll come,” she whispers, eyes fluttering shut. “They’ll come for me.”
And in the darkness, somewhere far away, two men are already searching — their bond threads stretching across impossible distance, fraying thin but not fully breaking.
Notes:
Anyone have ideas where she is?
Chapter 220: Stuck
Chapter Text
The Ministry’s Crisis Chamber was never meant to feel like a tomb, but tonight, it certainly did.
The torches hissed low against the stone walls; the air itself seemed to hum with restrained panic.
Maps, magical residue readings, and enchanted globes floated midair, flickering with hundreds of tracking charms that revealed absolutely nothing.
Every few seconds, another auror whispered, another spell pulsed through the space — and still, the void where Hermione should have been stayed dark.
Theo stood with his hands pressed flat against the edge of the table, eyes closed to push back tears. His brow was slick with sweat from the sheer effort of concentration. Across from him, Draco paced like a caged animal, his wand still drawn, eyes wild from sleeplessness and fury.
Harry stood between them, grounding the room with grim efficiency, but even he looked shaken.
Theo’s voice was rough, breaking through the silence. “I can’t feel her at all.”
He exhaled sharply, chest tight. “It’s like the bond… ends. There’s distance, or interference, or—”
“Or she’s too far,” Draco snapped. His voice cracked halfway through the word. “Too far.”
Theo looked up, hollow-eyed. “That’s what I’m saying.”
Harry rubbed his temples. “You’ve both tried?”
“Yes,” Theo said, exhausted. “Separately. Together. Nothing. The bond’s gone silent — not broken, just… buried, gone quiet.”
Draco slammed his palm against the wall hard.
The torches flared white-hot for a split second with his magical fury before dimming again. “She’s alive, but we can’t reach her. We can’t trace her. We can’t even—” He broke off, jaw tightening hard enough that the muscle in his cheek jumped.
Harry spoke quietly. “If the portkey was custom-warded, the caster could have hidden the endpoint from standard Ministry detection and registraiton.”
Draco turned on him, eyes sharp. “Then find who made it.”
“We’re trying,” Harry said, but Draco’s temper was already sliding toward dangerous.
“You’re not trying fast enough,” Draco hissed.
“We have lists of every suspected Death Eater sympathizer, every black-market curse dealer, every bloody person suspected of being involved with the siphoning network, and we’re still sitting here talking while she’s out there alone—”
“Draco,” Theo said softly, “stop.”
Draco rounded on him next.
“Don’t you tell me to stop! You felt her vanish too! You think she isn’t terrified right now? You think I can just sit here like a—”
Theo grabbed his arm. “I think you’re going to shatter the damn wards if you don’t calm down, your magic is going haywire.”
Draco froze, breathing hard. His magic crackled at his fingertips, dangerous, unsteady.
“I can’t feel her,” he whispered. The words trembled with raw panic. “Theo, I can’t—she’s gone.”
Theo’s expression softened, though his eyes were wet too.
“She’s not gone,” he said. “We would know if she were. She’s not dead.”
Draco dropped into a chair, gripping the edge of the table as if the ground might fall away. The rage flickered out of him all at once, leaving something hollow and terrible behind.
He looked up at Harry with something like pleading.
“Potter,” he said, voice breaking. “You have the Minister’s ear. Tell him to use every resource. I don’t care who he has to drag in — anyone who’s ever breathed in Knockturn Alley, anyone tied to Rowle, Rookwood, suspected of being a part of the siphoning network, the black market— I don’t care if they’re pureblood, halfblood, or Ministry darling. Bring. Them. In.”
Harry’s jaw set. “Draco, we can’t just—”
Draco was on his feet again in an instant. “I can! You want to find her? Then stop playing politics and start making people talk. Kingsley has the power to do that — so he will.”
As if summoned by the sheer force of his rage, the door opened. Kingsley Shacklebolt entered, silent and grave, his dark robes swaying behind him.
“Mr. Malfoy,” he said evenly. “I can hear you from the corridor.”
“Good,” Draco snapped. “Then you already know what I want.”
Kingsley’s eyes flicked over the room — the maps, the magical residue, the two men who looked one breath away from breaking or killing someone.
He folded his hands behind his back. “I know you’re frightened.”
Draco’s laugh was hollow. “Frightened doesn’t begin to cover it.”
Theo straightened, his voice shaking but steady. “She’s alive. We can feel that much. But it’s like she’s beyond the bond’s range, or someone’s suppressing the magic.”
Kingsley nodded slowly. “That tells me two things — whoever took her knew what they were doing, and that they planned this well in advance.”
Draco slammed his wand down on the table. “Then stop theorizing and act! Bring in Rowle’s networks. Bring in his apprentice. Bring in every damn person we questioned about the siphoning and rip the truth out of them if you have to!”
Theo’s voice was quieter but just as fierce. “You know he’s right. If this is connected, someone in that web knows something.”
For a long moment, Kingsley didn’t respond. The only sound was the hum of spells tracing futile circles in the air.
Finally, Kingsley said, “Very well. I’ll authorize the detainment orders. Auror squads will pick up everyone on the list within the hour. But, Draco—” His eyes were heavy, steady. “You need to control yourself. Rage will blind you faster than fear.”
Draco’s chest heaved, but he gave a short, brittle nod. “Just bring her back to us.”
Theo rubbed a hand over his face, trembling. “We’ll keep trying the bond. Maybe it’ll open if she gets moved closer.”
Harry moved to the table, setting his wand down beside Draco’s. “We’ll find her. Every Auror in Britain will be looking full-time before the night’s over.”
Draco didn’t answer. He stared down at the faint magical map glowing over the table — hundreds of thousands of points of light, and none of them hers.
His voice, when it came, was barely audible.
“She’s not just anyone to me. She’s—” He stopped, swallowed hard. “She’s home.”
Theo’s hand tightened briefly over his shoulder. “We’ll bring her home.”
The map shimmered again, the faint light of detection spells pulsing across Britain — and still, none of them her.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Hermione didn’t know how long it had been.
Hours. Maybe a day. Maybe more. The damp in the stones had crept into her bones, time thinning until it was just a trickle — soundless, shapeless, endless.
When she had woken up, a bucket and a plate of mushy cold food and stone-cold soup had appeared. She gagged a bit at what she knew the bucket must be for, but still didn’t hesitate to use it when nature called.
She had long since stopped crying.
Now she simply sat, knees drawn to her chest, eyes half-closed, counting her own heartbeats to stay steady.
Eighteen hundred seventy-two, seventy-three, seventy-four...
It gave her something to do. Something to hold onto.
The room — the cell — was unchanged form her first inspection of it. It always was.
Stone walls beaded with moisture, a ceiling so low that standing too quickly made her head brush the cold rock. The crates in the corner, empty. The half-broken chair, splintered where the back had snapped. The door, iron and cruelly simple, without even a keyhole she could reach.
No windows. No torchlight but what leaked now dimly from the crack under the door.
Hermione had examined every inch — twice. She’d scraped at the mortar between the stones until her fingernails split. She’d pressed her ear to the hinges, tapped each with the heel of her shoe, tried every charm she could do wandless — Lumos, Alohomora, Finite, even a whispered Protego in case the air itself could be made into a weapon.
Nothing.
Her magic still sparked faintly in her veins — she could feel it when she reached for it — but it was muffled. Muted. As if the air in this place swallowed magic whole. She suspected the room and a form of magical suppressant cast on it.
She sat back against the wall, clutching her throbbing hand. “All right,” she whispered to herself, her voice rasping in the stillness. “Think.”
Whoever had brought her here had known what they were doing. Anti-Apparition wards thick enough to choke a dragon at the institute. A cell that blocked communication charms and dampened innate magic.
This wasn’t random.
It was planned.
And they’d told the guards to keep her alive — for their “boss.”
Her stomach knotted.
She tried, again, to reach through the bond. It wasn’t even a conscious effort anymore.
It was instinct — the way her magic had begun to lean toward theirs after months of growing together. She closed her eyes and reached inward, picturing the soft pulse she knew by heart: Theo’s warmth like steady sunlight, Draco’s sharper, silver energy threading through it.
Nothing.
Just silence.
She pressed harder, sweat gathering on her temples, whispering their names under her breath. “Draco. Theo. Please. Please feel me.”
But all she got was the echo of her own voice. The bond might as well have been dead.
Her chest ached so badly it almost felt like physical pain.
If she could just feel them — even faintly — she could bear this. But without that invisible tether, the world felt narrower.
Colder.
Alone.
Hermione drew in a shaky breath, wrapping her arms around herself. The air was freezing now; she could see her breath in faint puffs.
A small puddle had formed in the far corner from the dripping ceiling. She shifted closer to the mangy blanket — more threadbare than cloth — and shook it out. Dust puffed up into the air, thick and acrid.
Still, she pulled it around her shoulders and lay down on the packed dirt floor.
The floor was unforgiving. Her muscles ached from the chill, her head from dehydration. She tried not to think of Draco’s temper, or Theo’s panic. Tried not to think of the fear in their bond the moment before it went silent.
She didn’t know what was worse — the thought that they were out there tearing the world apart to find her, or that they might never be able to.
She pressed her face into the blanket, eyes burning.
“Hold on,” she whispered to herself. “You’re Hermione Granger. You survived worse. You survived Bellatrix.”
But her voice cracked on the name.
For a moment, the memories slammed back — the taste of copper in her mouth, the screaming, the smell of burned skin. She forced the memories back down, curled tighter, and breathed through the shaking until it passed.
Her body won’t stop trembling, but her mind, disciplined and brilliant as ever, won’t stop thinking.
If it’s a dungeon, it’s old. The stone smells ancient — not coastal, inland, no hint of salt. The humidity means it’s below ground, somewhere without ventilation.
That could mean anywhere really.
Her heart pounds faster.
She listened again. From beyond the door, faint murmurs — the guards again, voices distant and distorted. She can’t make out words this time. Just the rhythm of them, low and waiting.
The thought hits her again — waiting for their boss.
Whoever that is, he’s not here yet. Which means she has time.
That single realization steadies her. Time.
Time to think. To plan. To stay alive.
Hermione curled tighter beneath the blanket, eyes open in the dark. Her fingers knoted in the frayed threads, and she forces herself to take slow, even breaths.
The stone pressed against her spine. The drip-drip of the ceiling becomes a metronome. Somewhere, the air shifted, and for an instant she imagines — or maybe feels — the faintest flicker of warmth.
It’s gone before she can tell if it was real.
She closed her eyes and whispered their names once more. “Draco. Theo.”
The silence answers back.
After a long time — hours or days, who knows— exhaustion wins. Her body curled in on itself, and she drifted into a shallow, uneasy sleep, still clutching the mangy blanket like armor.
Outside the cell, the torch guttered. Somewhere far above, the moonlight shifted through unseen cracks, and the world kept moving.
And the bond — stretched impossibly thin — hummed once, faint as a heartbeat in the dark.
Notes:
I read all comments :)
Chapter 221: Never Give Up
Chapter Text
The air in the Ministry’s lower levels tasted like iron and dust.
Draco couldn’t stop pacing. Every pass of his boots across the floor felt like a fuse burning shorter. Everyone around him was getting nervous when the fuse might blow.
Theo was standing near the table, eyes hollow but focused, hands clasped behind his back like restraint alone might keep him from shattering.
They’ve been down here since dawn.
No word. No trace. No flicker through the bond.
Harry leaned over the table, grim and sleep-deprived, while Kingsley stood sentinel behind him.
The Unspeakables had gone quieter from fatigue — still questioning, still dissecting the same facts that aren’t getting them anywhere.
Then the door opened, and an Auror pushed in a young man— one of Rowle’s apprentices.
Thin. Unshaven. His eyes darted between the men like a trapped rat.
Draco’s wand hand twitched before he could stop it. Theo didn’y look at him, but he fealt the spike of anger hit the bond like lightning.
Harry’s voice was quiet but hard. “Sit him down.”
The boy obeyed, shaking.
“Tell us about the owl,” Harry began. “And think very carefully about your next words.”
The boy swallowed. “They… told me to send it. Said it would draw the auror away from her route.”
Theo froze. Draco ddin’t.
He moved — fast — slamming both hands down on the table so hard the boy flinched back in his chair.
“Who told you?!” Draco snarled. “Whose idea was it? Who are you working for?”
The aurors shifted, uncertain whether to intervene.
“Draco,” Theo said sharply, gripping his sleeve. “Let them question him.”
“I’ll do more than question—”
“Draco!”
Theo’s voice cracks through the noise, calm but full of steel. He met Draco’s eyes, refusing to look away until the tremor in him stills.
The boy gulped air like it was vanishing. “I didn’t know! I swear, I thought it was for a decoy! Just to— to distract the auror—”
Draco’s wand is in his hand again before he realized it. Theo grabbed his wrist, dragging it back down.
Harry’s voice cut through the tension.
“Malfoy. Sit down, or I’ll remove you myself.”
Draco’s chest heaved. He forced the wand down onto the table and sits — but his stare never leaves the boy.
“If she’s hurt,” he said softly, “there’s nowhere you’ll be safe.”
The boy flinched again. “A masked man hired me. I never saw his face. He had a sigil — black crescent, three dots on his wrist. Paid me through a courier. Said to deliver the owl to the south gate, wait fifteen minutes, then leave.”
“Where did you meet him?” Harry asks.
“Ministry Dockyard four.”
Theo steped forward. “You’re lying. Dockyard four’s been closed for months, on lock down from tightening import control.”
The boy shoke his head violently. “No! The gates were open. Crates everywhere — stone, maybe? Heavy. They used runes on them. I didn’t touch them. I just left the owl and went home. I didn’t know it was for her!”
Draco rose halfway out of his chair again before Theo’s hand found his shoulder.
It’s shaking, but it’s steady enough to hold him in place.
Kingsley’s voice is measured but cold. “You’re admitting you set a trap for an auror — and for Hermione Granger.”
“I didn’t—”
Harry leaned in, cutting him off. “You did. And you’ll tell us everything. Every contact, every exchange, every person you saw at that dock.”
The boy’s lips trembled.
He started listing fragments — a letter sealed with wax, an accent from the north, a smell of sulfur — details that mean nothing and everything all at once.
Theo wrote them down himself, quill snapping twice under the pressure of his grip. His face gives nothing away, but Draco can feel the storm building inside him, the healer’s calm curdling into rage.
When the apprentice stammered that he doesn’t remember more, Draco’s chair scrapes back again.
“You expect me to believe—”
Harry steped in front of him this time. “Don’t. You’ll get yourself thrown out, and then you’ll be no help to her.”
“She’s gone!” Draco snaped, voice cracking. “And you’re talking about paperwork!”
Harry doesn’t flinch. “I’m talking about getting her back alive.”
That silences the room.
Draco sunk back into his chair, every muscle trembling. Theo placed a hand flat on the table to ground himself.
The boy kept babbling — about crates, about the man in the mask, about the sigil burned into the box.
It’s something.
Not enough.
When the Unspeakables took him back out for containment, Draco slumped forward, pressing both hands over his face. His breathing was uneven.
Theo sat beside him quietly, shoulder brushing his. The bond between them pulsed with a hollow ache — fear layered over exhaustion.
“She’s alive,” Theo said yet again, voice rough. “If she weren’t, the bond would’ve gone cold.”
Draco didn’t answer immediately. His eyes are glassy when he finally lowers his hands. “Then why can’t I feel her right now?”
Theo doesn’t have an answer.
Hours later, the second round of interrogations began.
Another suspected death eater apprentice.
Another lie.
Draco can barely hear the words anymore. His pulse is a steady roar in his ears. Every question feels slower than the last. Every hesitation feels like theft of life.
Theo’s notes filled half a dozen parchment sheets. Harry kept pacing. Kingsley spoketo the Unspeakables in low tones.
The interrogated man says the same things as before — crates, sigils, masked figures.
No location. No face. No reason.
Draco exploded.
He slamed his hand onto the wall so hard the sconces rattle. “You’re all wasting time!”
“Stop,” Theo said, but it comes out more like a plea than a command.
“I won’t stop!” Draco turned on him. “She’s out there — gods know where — and you want me to sit here? You think I care about the bloody chain of command?”
Theo’s eyes flashed. “I care about you not losing your head before we find her!”
They’re standing chest to chest now, voices rising, anger burning hot through the bond.
Then Theo’s voice cracked. “This isn’t just about you. You think you’re the only one who feels her missing? I wake up and can’t breathe because I can’t find her either.”
That stopped Draco cold.
The air between them trembled with unshed magic.
Theo’s hand lowered slowly. “We’ll find her,” he says again, softer now. “We just have to hold it together until we do.”
Draco noded, barely. His throat cleared once before he speaks. “Then let’s start with Dockyard Four.”
Harry, still at the table, looked up. “We already sent aurors. It’s empty. Cleared out days ago.”
Theo exhaled. “Then someone’s staying ahead of us.”
Kingsley folded his hands. “I’ve authorized searches on every warehouse for a crescent sigil used in the last six months. You’ll both stand down. I’ll contact you the second we have movement.”
Draco laughed — bitter, sharp. “Movement. You make it sound like this isn’t a person. Hermione is someone you owe your life to you know.”
Theo looked at him, weary and heart breaking further. “Draco…”
Draco turned and leaves before either of them can stop him.
Theo found him back later in the war room, alone. The maps still floating midair, untouched.
Draco sat beneath them, staring at nothing.
“She’s not gone,” Theo said quietly with insistence.
Draco’s voice is hoarse. “She might as well be, if we can’t find her.”
Theo steped closer. “We will.”
“Don’t say that like a prayer.” Draco’s fists clenched. “Say it like a promise.”
Theo swallowed hard. “Then it’s a promise.”
The silence that followed isn’t peace.
It’s the kind that lives between heartbeats — where love and fear and fury all blur together.
Draco finally sunk back further into the chair, face in his hands.
“I should’ve gone with her. I should’ve—”
Theo crouched in front of him. “You couldn’t have known. She had an auror with her. She was just going to class.”
“She’s my soulmate though.”
Theo’s eyes softened. “She’s ours.”, he emphasized.
His hand found Draco’s wrist, grounding him. “And she’s fighting to come back to us. That’s what she does. I’m sure she’s trying hard.”
Draco’s breathing steadied a little. The bond hummed faintly, but it was still empty on one side.
All over the building, the Ministry meeting rooms lights burnt all night.
By morning, every auror in Britain would have Hermione Granger’s face on their desks.
And Draco and Theo — bound by rage, love, and magic — would be ready to burn the world down to bring her home.
>>>>>>>>>>>
The air smelled of mildew and dust and something faintly metallic.
Hermione lay on the cold stone floor, wrapped in the mangy blanket, listening. Her body ached in that dull, slow way that told her she had been still for far too long in the cold.
Her head throbbed where she must have hit it when she was taken and fell to the floor.
The room was nearly silent except for the steady drip of water somewhere. Then, outside the door, she heard voices.
Two men.
Low and muffled, their tones slipping through the cracks. The scrape of boots, the clink of metal. Hermione held her breath, straining to catch every word.
“…he said it worked,” one of them muttered. The voice was gravelly, close to the door.
“Yeah, well, it’s about time something did. The others—”
The second voice was younger, uncertain. “You think he’ll come here himself soon?”
“He’s coming,” the older one said. “Said he wants to see her before the next phase starts.”
Her stomach twisted. See her.
Hermione pushed herself to her knees and crept toward the door, ignoring the ache in her limbs.
She pressed her ear against the seam where the wood met the metal lock, every nerve alive with dread.
The lower voice spoke again, hesitant. “You really think the siphon can work on adults? I thought it was just the kids—”
“It worked,” the older one snapped. “That’s what I’m telling you. He said the experiment held. The core’s stable in the new vessel. The whole trial worked.”
Hermione’s heart skipped. The vessel.
Her mind began racing. The drained students. The drained adults. The theory she had outlined to the Unspeakables — a summoning siphon that transferred magical cores into a container elsewhere. She had been right.
And now someone had made it real. Used it even.
If it worked, that meant they had found a way to store magic — to take it, keep it, maybe even use it.
She forced herself to breathe evenly. Panic would help nothing. Only logic would. Observation would.
The younger man spoke again, sounding nervous. “You think Flint’s gonna tell us what he’s doing with it?”
Hermione froze.
Flint.
Her thoughts flickered — Marcus Flint. Former Slytherin, two years above her. Brutal on the Quidditch pitch, hardly a scholar, but from a family neck-deep in questionable magical research.
His father had dabbled in cursed artifacts before the first war; his uncle had been caught smuggling illegal potion ingredients across borders. His squib uncle had been notoriously banished.
It had to be him right? Or another Flint from the same bloodline at least.
The older man grunted. “The boss tell us what we need to know. We just keep her alive till he gets here.”
Hermione backed away from the door, careful not to make a sound. Her pulse hammered in her ears.
She had no idea how long she had been here — hours, maybe longer — but the gaps between the men’s footsteps stretched endlessly.
Every so often she caught another broken word: transfer, calibration, containment.
They weren’t talking like torturers. They were talking like experimenters.
That should have been reassuring, but it wasn’t. It meant they saw her as part of an conduct testing.
She turned her attention back to the room.
She had catalogued it twice already today — three wooden crates, one half-broken chair, a strip of wall where the stone looked damp.
Her wand was gone. So was her watch. And bag. No windows, only the door.
Still, she moved to the low corner where the floor dipped ever so slightly.
Crouching, she ran her fingers along the base of the wall. The stone was rough and cold but uneven. When she pressed harder, something shifted — loose mortar.
Her heart gave a faint, stubborn flutter. Not hope exactly, more defiance.
She snapped a splinter from one of the crates and began working it between the cracks, scraping, prying at the softened edges of the stone. The sound was faint enough to stop quickly if someone approached, but it gave her something to do. Something that felt like fighting back.
When the footsteps returned, she froze and slipped back into the shadowed corner. The lock clicked — tested, not turned — and then the voices again.
“…Boos is arriving by tomorrow night,” the older one said. “He wants her conscious when he comes.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s the one who figured it out. The Mudblood! The siphon spell. Said it herself in those Ministry briefings. He wants her to see it work. Then make a public example fo her.”
Her stomach dropped.
Hermione pressed her hand over her mouth to keep from making a sound.
The voices faded down the corridor. The silence that followed was worse — heavy and endless.
She sat down on the floor again, wrapping her arms around her knees. Torchlight flickered faintly under the door.
If they were right, then they had succeeded in building a vessel for stolen cores. Maybe dozens. Maybe hundreds. Who even knew what was happening outside this room?
And now he was coming for her. Whoever he was.
Her rational mind began building a plan despite the terror: escape first, communication second, evidence third.
But beneath it all, her heart whispered the names she didn’t want to say aloud. Draco. Theo.
She closed her eyes and reached through the bond, even though she knew it was useless from prior tries.
Still, she tried — not with words, but with will, pushing outward with everything she had left.
If there was even the faintest chance they could feel her, she wanted them to know she was alive.
Nothing answered. Only the sound of her own heartbeat.
So Hermione Granger did what she had always done.
She steadied her breathing.
She planned.
She waited.
And she refused to give up hope.
Notes:
What's the Flint role you think? Leave a comment.
Chapter 222: Weakening
Notes:
Poor triad :(
Chapter Text
The air in the interrogation chamber was thick — like even the magic here had grown tired of despair.
It was the sixth night since Hermione had vanished. Neither Theo nor Draco had slept more than a few scattered hours. Both looked like ghosts — hollow-eyed, unshaven, and running entirely on the fire of panic and fury that hadn’t dimmed once since she disappeared. Their magic was growing more erratic by the day.
They had hauled in half of Knockturn Alley already — every smuggler, potion-runner, and minor dark wizard who’d ever so much as sold a cursed quill.
Now, once again, they faced the Knockturn Alley wandmaker.
The man had been questioned before, early in the investigation. His reputation was bad, but his cooperation had been quick, too easy, too clean.
This time, he didn’t look so smug.
He was slumped in the metal chair, wrists bound in enchanted cuffs, the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead reflecting in the cold Ministry light.
Draco stood opposite him, every inch of him vibrating with barely restrained violence.
Theo sat beside Harry at the table, parchment spread before him, taking down notes — each stroke of his quill a quiet threat.
“You’re going to tell us everything,” Draco said, voice calm in a way that made even Harry glance sideways.
“Every shipment, every buyer, every bloody whisper you’ve heard about siphoning spells or core transference.”
The wandmaker licked his lips. “I told you before — I don’t deal in that sort of—”
“Don’t,” Theo cut in sharply, his voice low but deadly. “Don’t waste our time. A woman’s life is at stake.”
The man sneered faintly. “So you keep saying. But you don’t understand, do you? You’re too late.”
The words landed like a hex.
Draco’s wand was at the man’s throat before anyone else could move. “What did you say?”
The wandmaker’s mouth curled. “I said you’re too late. Whatever you think you’re going to stop — it’s already been done.”
Theo’s quill snapped. Harry’s voice came low and hard. “Explain.”
The man leaned back in his chair as far as the bindings allowed, a flicker of something darkly satisfied in his eyes.
“I don’t know the details, but there’s been talk for weeks. Someone in Knockturn’s been moving objects that hum — hum, like cores do. They say he’s found a way to bottle magic. Give it back to the deserving. Thought it was nonsense until I heard about your little Mudblood hero going missing.”
Draco’s hand tightened on his wand. “You’re saying she’s being used.”
The man smiled, teeth yellow and cracked. “I’m saying she’s the key. The one who solved the puzzle for him.”
Theo shot to his feet. “Who’s him?”
The wandmaker shrugged, feigning confusion. “Never got a name. But I heard enough to know he’s smarter than the lot of you.”
Harry’s patience frayed. “Names. Faces. Anything.”
The man’s grin widened. “He’s not in Knockturn. He’s bigger. Older. The sort who doesn’t get caught. All I know is that he’s been buying up binding crystals and glass vials by the case — and whatever he’s building, it’s already running.”
Theo’s stomach turned. “Running?”
The wandmaker nodded lazily. “Like a spell that doesn’t stop.”
Draco slammed the wand down hard against the table, the crack echoing through the chamber. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” The man leaned forward, whispering like it was a secret meant to haunt them. “You’re chasing shadows. She’s already part of it he’s already proven it works.”
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.
Draco’s breathing was uneven, and Theo could feel the pulse of his magic twitching through the room like static.
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Then tell us where to find him.”
The wandmaker only smiled again. “I told you — too late. And I don’t know anyway.”
That was it. Draco lunged, but Theo caught him around the shoulders, dragging him back before his rage exploded. The lights in the room flickered.
“Stop— stop, you’ll make it worse—”
“He knows where she is!” Draco shouted, twisting in his grip, face flushed with fury. “He’s mocking us!”
Theo tightened his hold, voice breaking. “I know— I know he is, but you can’t hex him. You’ll ruin her chance if he dies without talking!”
Draco’s breathing heaved, every muscle shaking. It took everything Theo had to hold him upright until the storm of barely controlled magic around them began to fade.
When the wandmaker was escorted out after failing to provide more info, Harry stayed behind with them.
He looked as worn as they did, but his voice stayed level. “We’ll trace the purchases he mentioned. Every order of glass, every dark crystal leaving the continent. Someone will have left a trail.”
Draco sank into the chair the wandmaker had just vacated, staring at the wall like he could burn through it. “Too late,” he repeated under his breath. “He said we’re too late.”
Theo rested a hand on the table between them. “We’re not. If she were gone, we’d know.”
Draco finally looked at him — eyes raw and pained, the bond between them still humming with panic. “Then why does it feel like she’s gone?”
Theo didn’t answer, because he’d felt it too — a dimming at the edge of their connection, faint and far away, like a candle nearly snuffed.
He straightened slowly. “We have to find her before that light goes out.”
>>>>>>>>>>>>
Hermione woke again to the sound of dripping somewhere on the stone wall — a slow, steady tap that marked no real passing of time. She didn’t know how long she had been here. Weeks? Days?
Her whole body ached from sleeping curled on the damp floor, wrapped in the mangy blanket.
She pushed herself upright, immediately feeling the strange, unsteady flutter of her magic — like her core was thrumming off-beat, erratic, wrong.
She closed her eyes and tried to reach for the bond.
Nothing.
Not even a whisper.
She swallowed hard. Too far.
They had to be too far.
Or—
No. She refused to think the other possibility.
She dragged in a shaking breath and made herself stand, one hand on the wall for support.
The room swayed around her again. That had been happening for at least a day — waves of dizziness, like the floor rose and fell beneath her feet. She’d been forcing herself to eat the awful rations they left inside the door while she slept, things that tasted like old parchment soaked in brine and often moldy, but at least it kept her conscious.
She crossed the room and pressed her ear to the door.
Silence.
Then, faintly, two men speaking again, though muffled by stone.
“…still waiting… boss wants her whole… not damaged…”
“…said experiment… working… but incomplete…”
“…Flint… seems to hold steady… infiltrating… should be here soon…”
Hermione’s stomach clenched.
Flint.
That name again.
Marcus Flint? It made no sense — he was nothing more than a brutal, dim witted Quidditch captain with a family known for violence, not brilliance. And yet…
Her knees buckled briefly from another pulse of wrongness through her magic. She braced herself against the wall and breathed through it, jaw clenched.
Something was happening to her core.
She could feel it. Knew it deep down. It was wrong.
Not draining she didn’t think — shifting.
Moving in ways that felt foreign and frightening, like it was growing unsteady somehow. Frailer. More unpredictable.
She held onto the wall and focused on keeping herself upright.
When the dizziness passed, she moved back to the section of loose stone she’d been working on earlier. One of the blocks had a hairline crack running around the edge, likely worn down from decades of moisture and neglect.
She crouched — slowly, carefully — and pressed her fingers along the seam again.
Cold. Rough.
But she swore it had moved a millimeter yesterday when she’d put all her weight against it.
Her hands trembled, her breath fogged the stone, but she pushed again.
Nothing.
She forced herself to try again, gritting her teeth, the strain shaking her shoulders. The stone groaned faintly, just barely.
“Come on,” she whispered to herself. “Just a little more.”
Her arms were too weak. Her body felt heavy, drained, unbalanced — like her magic was sliding sideways inside her instead of holding her up.
After several minutes she sagged backward, chest heaving.
You’re not giving up, she told herself fiercely. You are not giving up on them. Or on yourself.
She tore off a piece of wood from one of the broken crates, wedged it against the crack, and tried levering the stone outward.
It shifted.
Barely.
But it did shift. It was enough to give her hope again today.
She let out a shaky, triumphant breath, even as exhaustion washed over her.
One inch today was better than none.
Tomorrow — if she still had strength — maybe another inch.
She sat back on the floor beneath the thin strip of torchlight slipping under the door — the only bit of illumination she ever saw — and placed her palm against her sternum.
Her magic fluttered oddly under her skin, uneven and confused. It didn’t feel like siphoning should. This was different.
More like—
Displacement.
Like the core itself was being gently tugged out of alignment. Like her magic wouldn’t listen to her anymore.
A tear slid down her cheek before she could stop it.
“Draco…” she whispered into the room.
Nothing.
“Theo…”
No response.
She hugged her knees, letting the blanket fall around her like a cocoon.
Her heart ached with the absence — with the deep silence of the bond. They had to be searching. They had to be tearing the world apart to find her. Harry too. But without their emotions threading faintly through her chest… it felt like being severed from oxygen.
She wiped the tears away and forced herself to breathe.
“They’re alive,” she whispered to herself. “They’re safe. They’re looking for you. Your ok.”
The words steadied her.
Not the bond — that was still numb.
But her mind.
That had always been her greatest weapon — her mind.
More footsteps outside.
More voices.
She pressed her ear to the door for every syllable she could catch.
“…once she’s prepared…”
“…don’t mess with her magic… nearly—”
“…when the Boss gets here…”
“…boss said no touching her—”
“…need her awake… transfer ritual…”
Hermione pulled back, pulse thudding.
Transfer ritual.
Prepared.
Boss.
This was not random.
This was organized.
Planned.
Methodical.
They wanted her for something to do with the siphoning — something she had guessed or theorized so accurately they decided she needed to be removed. Made an example of.
She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, shivering.
She would not break.
She would not give them the satisfaction.
If they thought she was going to sit quietly in a cage until they needed her…
They didn’t know Hermione Granger.
She crawled back to the loose stone and began working on it again, even though she was trembling so badly she could barely keep her grip.
Her palms scraped raw.
Her knees bruised.
Her muscles burned.
But the stone moved another fraction of an inch.
And she whispered, breathless but unwavering:
“Hold on, Draco. Hold on, Theo. I’m coming back.”
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Draco hadn’t slept.
Theo hadn’t either.
Another day had slipped by, useless.
They’d spent the entire night before stalking the Ministry corridors like caged predators, snapping at anyone who wasn’t moving fast enough, demanding updates from Harry, Kingsley, or anyone with a scrap of information.
But morning brought nothing except more pacing, more fury, more crushing fear.
So when Kingsley finally strode into the Auror Command Room with a parchment folder in his hand and a grim expression on his face, both men turned sharply toward him.
“What?” Draco barked.
Theo stood frozen beside him, pale and tremebling from exhaustion and panic.
Kingsley closed the door behind him.
Set a silencing charm.
And said quietly:
“We received new intelligence an hour ago.”
Draco took a single step forward, voice low and dangerous.
“Is she alive?”
Kingsley’s throat tightened — not a good sign — but he held Draco’s gaze steady.
“We have nothing indicating otherwise.”
Theo exhaled shakily, gripping the back of a chair as if afraid his legs might give out.
“Then what’s the intelligence?” he whispered.
Kingsley opened the folder.
Draco’s stomach dropped.
The Minister pulled out several grim photographs — blurred, hurriedly taken by first responders, but unmistakable.
Bodies.
Burned.
Collapsed against stone walls.
Hands charred as though tortured.
“These are the smugglers we questioned months ago,” Kingsley said heavily. “The ones you three suspected might be involved in transport routes connected to the siphoning using consumables.”
Theo went rigid.
Draco’s jaw locked so tightly it sparked pain up his teeth.
Kingsley continued:
“They were found in a warehouse outside Rotterdam. All dead. No survivors. No wands at the scene. No magical signatures.”
Theo whispered, “That’s not possible.”
“It shouldn’t be,” Kingsley agreed, “but someone wanted them silenced — permanently. They’re closing ranks. Shutting down possible leaks of information.”
Draco leaned forward, palms braced on the table.
“You think they were killed because they knew who’s behind Hermione’s kidnapping.”
Kingsley nodded slowly.
“I think they were killed because someone is tying up loose ends. Anyone involved in the siphon network is being ‘removed,’ one by one if theyre not vital.”
Theo swore under his breath, shaking.
“And that means—” Draco started.
“That means,” Kingsley said quietly, “that whoever took Hermione believes she is the last piece they need or they think the process works well enough to stop experimenting and just go for the end goal they have.”
Theo’s knees nearly buckled.
Draco grabbed his arm, steadying him instinctively.
“She’s alive,” Draco said through clenched teeth. “They need her. They won’t touch her until they get whatever they’re after.”
Kingsley didn’t disagree — but the look on his face said he wasn’t sure how long that protection would last.
Draco slammed both palms onto the table, bloodying his fingers.
“We need to find them now. I don’t care who you have to drag in. Round up every bloody suspect — every apprentice, every smuggler contact, every sympathizer. Bring them all in and interrogate them.”
“Draco, we already have been” Theo muttered, trying to steady him.
“No!” Draco snarled, voice cracking on the word. “They took her. They stole her. They’ve cut her off from us and we can’t feel her—”
His voice broke.
The collapse was sudden, brutal.
His hands trembled on the tabletop, breath hitching, grief and terror breaking through the rage. The floor shook, magic sparking from his hair.
Theo immediately reached for him, gripping his shoulder.
“Draco—hey—hey. I know.”
Draco squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders shaking once, violently.
Kingsley looked away, giving them a moment.
This was beyond politics.
Beyond protocol.
This was two bonded men unraveling without their third.
Theo hadn’t spoken in several minutes.
He stared at the photographs, throat tight, chest aching.
“It’s happening faster now,” he whispered. “Whoever’s behind this — they’re escalating the timelien agaian.”
He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, voice raw.
“If they hurt her, Draco—if they hurt her—”
“They won’t,” Draco rasped with conviction. “We won’t let them.”
But his voice trembled horribly.
Theo stepped away, anxiety spiraling, hands shaking in his hair. His magic had been on the fritz for the last day too.
“I should’ve gone with her. I should’ve insisted. I should’ve followed her into the bloody—”
Draco grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Don’t you dare,” he growled. “You don’t blame yourself. I won't let you. You had a shift, I should have gone. I could have rescheduled a stupid meeting to be with her.”
Theo bit down hard on his lip, shaking.
“Draco… she’s my heart too.”
Draco’s voice cracked.
“I know.”
They leaned into each other — not quite hugging, but bracing, holding each other upright with nothing but shared agony.
Kingsley cleared his throat softly.
“Listen to me. Both of you.”
They looked up at him — desperate, furious, barely holding it together.
“Theo, Draco — you two are thinking like men in agony. I need you to think like strategists.”
He tapped the photos.
“Whoever killed these smugglers did so because they’re running out of time. They’re close to whatever they’re building. That means they’re more visible than ever.”
He slid another parchment forward.
“And we have a new lead.”
Theo inhaled sharply.
Draco straightened like a striking snake.
“A lead?” Draco said fiercely. “What kind of lead?”
Kingsley’s expression darkened.
“Two nights ago, a magical transport cart was reported stolen from a warehouse near Loch Arkaig. It was meant to deliver enchanted containment crates.”
Theo froze.
“Crates?” he whispered. “For holding…?”
Kingsley nodded.
“And those crates were stolen hours before Hermione was taken.”
Draco’s pulse roared in his ears.
“So she’s being kept near wherever those crates were going maybe.”
“That’s what we believe,” Kingsley said quietly.
Theo stepped closer.
“So we find the buyer.”
Kingsley nodded.
“We’re already working on that.”
Draco snapped, magic crackling:
“Not fast enough.”
Draco slammed the wall agaain.
“I swear to Merlin, Kingsley, if something happens to her— if they violate her, steal her magic…”
Theo gripped his arm again, grounding him.
Kingsley stepped closer, gentler this time.
“She is alive, you know it” he said firmly. “And we will find her.”
But Draco’s voice dropped to a broken whisper.
“I can’t feel her… we can’t feel her… what if—”
Theo pulled him into a tight, desperate embrace before the sentence could finish.
“She’s alive,” Theo murmured fiercely. “She has to be. The bond is hurt, not broken. She’s out of range, that’s all. She’s strong, Draco. She’s not giving up. And neither will we.”
Draco clung to him for a moment, breath shaking against Theo’s shoulder.
Kingsley gave them their moment — but when Draco finally pulled back, eyes red and wild, his voice was nothing but steel.
“Take us to the warehouse,” he said. “Now.”
Kingsley nodded once.
“Grab your wands. We leave immediately.”
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Hermione wasn’t sure how many days had passed. Likely weeks now she suspected.
There were no windows.
No sunlight.
No moonlight.
Only darkness and the occasional flicker of a torchlight beyond the door that let her mark maybe some sense of day passing — but it could’ve been weeks, months.
It didn’t matter.
She was dizzy now all the time.
Weak.
Her magic hummed strangely — not drained, but off, as though someone had reached into her core and twisted it. It felt unstable, skittering along her nerves like static.
But she forced herself to keep moving.
Once every few hours — or once every whatever — she walked the perimeter again, fingers dragging along the cold stone, searching desperately for the slightest weakness.
She found nothing new.
The cell was bigger than a Ministry holding room but smaller than any proper dungeon cell she’d ever seen in books.
A damp stone floor.
Three crates.
A splintered chair.
A disgusting blanket that smelled like mildew.
Her wand was gone.
Her hair was matted from sleeping on stone.
Her throat hurt from thirst.
Her hands were scraped raw from digging.
But she kept digging anyway.
She had to stay moving forward or she’d break.
She’d fallen asleep again on the floor from exhaustion, and when she woke, one of the crates had been moved slightly — and a chipped wooden bowl had been left beside it.
Cold grey porridge.
Barely edible.
But she ate it.
She had to keep her strength.
Now she always checked when she woke.
Every time she blinked awake from an exhausted dream or nightmare, she scanned the room for any sign that someone had entered.
They never left the door open.
Never said anything to her directly.
The food just appeared when she slept.
That alone terrified her — it meant they didn’t want to face her awake.
Which meant she was important.
Which meant she was alive only because she was useful.
Sometimes she sat curled in the corner with the blanket around her shoulders, eyes closed, fists clenched, begging to feel even a flicker of the bond.
Draco.
Theo.
She whispered their names softly in the dark.
“Please… please…”
She tried focusing.
She tried meditating the way Theo taught her.
She tried reaching the way Draco had learned from the family who studied triads.
Nothing.
Not even a whisper.
She had never felt so alone.
Tears came once — just once — when the bond remained painfully blank.
She quickly wiped them away.
Crying wasted energy.
Sometimes she heard them — the men outside.
Their voices were muffled, distorted by the thick wood and stone, but she could make out pieces.
And today — or tonight, or whatever it was — she heard more than usual.
Two voices.
Low.
Agitated.
She pressed her ear to the door.
“—worked—”
“—experiment—”
“—get the last piece—”
Her heart hammered.
Experiment.
Last piece.
She swallowed hard, leaning in further.
The voices moved, blurred, then sharpened just enough for her to catch one word that chilled her to the bone every time:
“Flint.”
Not Marcus Flint, surely?
He’d vanished after the war. Rumors said he’d fled the country. Others said he’d tried to join a splinter group of purists and died in some failed ritual.
But others…
Others whispered he’d become obsessed with old blood rituals.
Her stomach twisted.
If they were mentioning Flint — if this really was about siphoning magic and moving it into some kind of vessel for distribution — then she wasn’t just imprisoned.
She was essential. Maybe next to be drained.
And that was somehow more terrifying.
Hermione backed away from the door slowly, pressing a hand to her sternum.
Her magic fluttered, like a candle flickering in a breeze.
But it wasn’t being drained yet — at least she didn’t think so.
It felt like something was pressing against it.
Tugging at the edges.
Trying to… align it? Twist it? Mold it?
She inhaled, steadying her breath.
She had to stay calm.
Panic could destabilize the bond further.
Panic could unravel her magic.
She forced herself to sit on the cold ground, cross-legged, shakily taking the meditative posture Theo had taught her months ago.
“Breathe. In… out…”
Her voice cracked.
“Draco… Theo… please…”
Still nothing.
A hollow ache spread beneath her ribs.
When she stood again, her knees trembled.
She moved to the far wall — the one with the crates — and dug her fingers into the stone mortar, scraping even though it tore her skin.
“What do you want?” she whispered to the empty cell.
Silence answered her.
She kept digging.
Slow, pitiful progress.
But it kept her sane.
She was shaking hard now, her fingers bleeding as she clawed another sliver of mortar loose.
Her breathing hitched.
“Just… hold on,” she whispered to herself. “The boys are coming. They’re coming. They have to be.”
She leaned her forehead against the stone.
She didn’t know if she said it for comfort or to fill the screaming quiet.
Hours — or minutes — later, she curled back beneath the damp blanket, exhaustion overwhelming her.
She whispered one last thought before she fell asleep, the words trembling against her cracked lips:
“Please find me.”
And for just a second — maybe it was a dream — she thought she felt warmth in the bond.
A flicker.
A spark.
A distant echo of Draco’s fury and Theo’s grief.
But then it vanished.
And she drifted into a thin, restless sleep.
Chapter 223: Faint Hope
Chapter Text
Draco and Theo looked like ghosts. It had been two weeks since she’d bene taken.
No sleep most days.
Barely eating.
Living on adrenaline, fear, and the emptiness where Hermione’s presence in the bond used to hum like soft music.
It had now been way too long. Their magics were both frayed, and unsteady.
The Ministry interrogation suites were dim, too quiet.
Draco sat hunched forward, fingers pressed into his temples, breathing shallowly.
Theo paced, agitated, energized only by panic and healer instincts screaming that Hermione was weakening somewhere he couldn’t reach her.
A hollow feeling twisted in both of them—wrong, unbalanced, nauseating.
Their bond felt like…
…frayed rope.
…or a dying fire.
…or an empty house echoing with memory.
The interrogation room door burst open without so much as a knock.
Ginny stormed in first, holding take-away bags.
Pansy followed, hands on her hips and eyes blazing.
“You two look worse than undead inferi,” Pansy declared. “We’re staging an intervention.”
Theo opened his mouth to protest, but Ginny shoved food at him.
“Eat,” she ordered. “Before you pass out on the floor.”
Draco dropped his forehead into his hand.
“I’m not hungry.”
Pansy jabbed a finger into his shoulder.
“You’ll be even less hungry if Hermione comes home alive and finds out you were skipping meals like a stubborn idiot.”
Theo’s voice cracked.
“We can’t feel her. The bond isn’t responding. We—”
Ginny knelt beside him, her voice gentle but firm.
“That’s why you eat. Because you need your strength if you’re going to find her. And she’ll be furious if she comes back and you two look like this. You’ve both lost a nearly a stone.”
Draco huffed something between a laugh and a sob.
Pansy softened—just a fraction.
“She’s Hermione. She’s not going down easy.”
She touched Draco’s arm.
“But you’re falling apart. Both of you. And that’s dangerous for the bond.”
Theo swallowed hard at that word.
Dangerous.
The door creaked open again.
Luna Lovegood drifted in, a soft hum on her lips and a basket of dried herbs slung over her arm.
The boys stilled.
Ginny glanced up.
“Oh thank Merlin.”
Pansy muttered, “If anyone can smell the magic of this mess, it’s Luna.”
Luna walked straight to Draco and Theo.
She placed one hand on each of their chests, eyes half-closed.
“You’re cold,” she whispered. “Your bond is shivering.”
Theo blinked. “Shivering?”
“Fading,” Luna clarified cheerfully. “You’re both unraveling. Poorly.”
Draco stiffened. His voice was barely audible. “We can’t feel her at all.”
Luna nodded sadly.
“That’s because your connection is brittle. Sharp at the edges.”
Theo’s breath shook.
“How do we fix it?”
Luna’s silvery gaze met both of theirs — soft, kind, and devastating.
“You need warmth,” she said simply.
Ginny and Pansy both froze.
Theo frowned, confused.
“Warmth?”
“Yes.” Luna smiled serenely. “Warmth of heart. Warmth of magic. Warmth of body.”
Then, as though discussing the weather:
“You need intimacy.”
Both boys went still.
Pansy choked on air.
Ginny covered her mouth to hide a snort.
Luna continued, unbothered.
“You need to reconnect emotionally and magically. Physically. Deep closeness is how triads stabilize. Especially when one member is missing. The other two have to try to keep the bond steady till the other rejoins. You’ve been neglecting each other. Your both barely connected even though your right next to each other.”
Draco stared at her, breath trembling.
“You’re saying we have to—”
Theo looked scandalized, “We can’t even think about that at a time like this!”
“You have to touch, Draco,” Luna said gently. “Hold hands. Share magic. Breathe together. Sleep close. Let your hearts align. Give the bond something to feast on to hold it over. Your going to kill it by ignoring it. It needs more than to be ignored.”
Pansy, whispering to Ginny:
“This is the first time in my life Luna has ever made perfect sense.”
Luna pressed a palm to Draco’s heart.
“You’re vibrating with fear. She can’t feel through that. Theo’s drowning in grief. You’re drowning in terror. Neither of you are reachable like this.”
Theo’s throat closed around a sob.
Luna cupped his face.
“She needs you both. But she also needs the bond steady. You must warm it. Feed it. Strengthen it. If not it will die. Even if you find her, and it’s already snuffed out… it won’t matter. She’ll be lost to you.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Golden.
Desperate.
Theo whispered:
“Will it help us find her?”
“Oh yes,” Luna said, smiling softly. “It will make you brighter again. And she will feel that brightness, even from far away.”
Pansy clapped her hands once.
“Well then. Off you go.”
Theo blinked. “But—”
“GO,” Pansy barked. “Reconnect before you both implode.”
Ginny nodded firmly.
“Do whatever you need to. Let the bond breathe.”
Luna paused in the doorway and turned back.
“Make yourselves whole,” she said softly. “Then she’ll feel you again. Your stars need to align again.”
They didn’t talk much as they left the Ministry.
They were too raw.
Too scared.
Too devastated.
When they reached the townhouse where they’d been staying temporarily with Harry and Ginny, because Harry insisted they needed people nearby, Theo stopped at the door.
“Do you think this will actually work?” he whispered.
Draco swallowed hard, voice trembling.
“I don’t know. But it’s all we have.”
They stepped inside.
No more fear.
No more distance.
No more letting the bond fray until it snapped.
Draco extended a hand.
Theo stared at it.
Then took it.
Their bond pulsed—weak, thin, but there.
They drew close, foreheads touching, breathing in sync—letting warmth back in slowly, steadily, carefully.
Theo whispered, “Hermione… we’re coming.”
He tentatively kissed Draco on the lips, pulling back quickly.
Draco felt the faintest spark in the bond.
So small.
So fragile.
But real.
He gasped.
“Did you—?”
Theo nodded, eyes filling.
“She felt us I think.”
Just a flicker.
But a flicker was the beginning of a flame.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Hermione didn’t know how many days had passed.
Time in the cellar didn’t behave properly.
It pressed in around her, tight and claustrophobic, stretching long and snapping short without rhyme or reason.
Her body hurt.
Her throat was raw.
She was tired down to the bone.
And worst of all—
There was still nothing in the bond.
No warmth.
No hum.
No whisper.
Just a hollow ache where Draco and Theo should have been.
She wrapped the mangy blanket tighter around her shoulders as she sat curled in the corner. The cold stone seeped into her skin. The stale damp air tasted of mold and old fear.
She tried again—closing her eyes, reaching inward.
Draco? Theo? Please? Anything?
Nothing.
She bit her lip and forced back tears. She couldn’t afford to break down again. Whoever was holding her wanted her afraid. Weak. Unstable.
She wasn’t going to give them that.
She had survived Bellatrix.
She had survived war.
She had survived worse.
I am not dying here.
Hermione pressed her palm flat against the stone wall and breathed slowly.
One breath.
Then another.
And another.
She could cry later—when she was home. When she had them both beside her again.
She closed her eyes.
And then—
Something flickered.
So small she thought she imagined it.
Hermione’s eyes snapped open.
A warmth—barely more than a spark—moved across her ribcage, soft as a sigh. Like a fingertip brushing her heart from the inside.
She froze.
Wait.
Wait.
That—
That felt like—
Theo?
The warmth pulsed, fragile but real. A trembling ember.
Hermione choked on a sob.
She pressed her fist to her mouth, chest tight, shaking violently as she clung to the sensation.
She wasn’t imagining it.
She couldn’t be imagining it.
It grew—very faint but steady, like someone far away lighting a candle in a pitch-dark room.
Then another warmth slid in behind it—
Smoother. Sharper. Familiar in a way that made her whole body clench.
Draco.
Hermione collapsed to her knees, the blanket slipping off her shoulders, both hands flying to her chest as she wept silently.
They were alive.
They were reaching for her.
Somehow—somehow—the bond was stirring awake.
It was faint.
Paper-thin.
Barely a thread.
But it was there.
I feel you, she whispered into the empty room, voice shaking. I feel you, I feel you—
She pressed her forehead to the cold stone wall and let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
Her whole body flooded with warmth.
A fragile warmth, yes.
But a lifeline all the same.
“Draco… Theo… please keep going,” she begged softly. “Please—don’t stop now.”
The spark brightened—just a little.
Just enough for her to believe she could hold on a little longer.
She curled up on the floor, clutching the faint thread of connection with both hands, as if she could physically hold it to her chest.
For the first time since she was taken—
Hermione felt true hope.
Fragile.
Flickering.
A whisper.
But hope nonetheless.
>>>>>>>>>>
They didn’t sleep at first.
The two of them lay curled together on the bed in Grimmauld Place’s guest room—fully dressed, exhausted, but unable to let go of each other. The bond had been brittle for weeks, an exposed nerve, scraped raw by fear and rage and grief.
But tonight…
Something was different.
Theo lay on his back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling as Draco rested half on top of him, one arm thrown around his torso, cheek pressed to his shoulder. Draco had cried earlier—Theo had too—but now they were quiet. Still. Breathing slow. Interwoven.
Between them, the bond flickered faintly.
Not stable, not safe—but alive.
Like someone had poured a thin stream of warm water over a frostbitten limb.
Theo closed his eyes. “You feel that?”
Draco nodded silently against his shoulder.
It wasn’t Hermione.
Not fully.
But it was the absence of absence.
The echo of her magic at a distance too far to grasp.
Theo whispered, voice cracking, “She’s alive.”
Draco’s fingers tightened desperately in his shirt.
“I know.”
Theo turned over more to look him in the eye.
“I know it’s unthinkable… pleasure while she’s out there waiting for us…but…”
Draco covered his eyes with his hand, “I know, it turns my stomach thinking about it… but Luna is right. Look we can just faintly feel her from a kiss and a cuddle.”
“So…. We need to do more to try to get the bond burning brighter to help light her way home…?”
“I think so, but I don’t think I can do it right now. I’m too stressed, too tired, and it feels too wrong to do that while she’s hurt and alone.”
“We have to try… for her.”
Draco abruptly got up, and started stripping, gesturing for Theo to do the same.
Theo groaned in disgust, warding the room and sound proofing it, before yanking clothes off.
Naked, they stood looking at each other, neither turned on in the slightest.
Finally, Theo knelt behind him, pushing him to his knees, arms locked around Draco’s chest, cheek pressed between his shoulder blades.
“We’re losing her,” Draco rasped.
Theo’s answer was a broken kiss to the nape of Draco’s neck. “Then we fight. Together.” He took Draco’s left hand, pressed it to his own thight.
“We have to get hard. We have to cum. It’s her way of maybe feeling us.”
Draco laughed darkly “I’m numb. I can’t do this.”
“I know, love. I know.”
Draco’s cock lay soft against his thigh, pale, indifferent. Theo’s was thick, dark, utterly limp. The sight made Theo’s throat close.
They turned towards each other, still kneeling, foreheads touching, knees locked.
Theo spat into his palm.
He wrapped trembling fingers around Draco and began to stroke: slow, coaxing pulls from root to crown. Nothing. Skin dragged, then caught; Draco flinched.
“More,” Draco whispered. “Hurt me if you have to.”
Theo spat again, let it drip over Draco’s balls, then rubbed behind them, pressing hard. Minutes bled away. The rings graying.
Draco’s turn. He spat until his mouth was dry, worked the slick into Theo’s shaft with both fists. Veins stayed flat. The foreskin refused to retract.
“Think of her,” Draco begged. “Her mouth, her sexy grin when we both—”
He pictured Hermione between them, eyes bright, and his cock twitched, a traitor.
Theo sobbed softly, forehead slamming against Draco’s.
“I’m trying.” He shifted his grip, twisted gently at the crown. Draco’s cock thickened, until the head breached the foreskin. A single bead of pre-cum welled, trembled, fell.
Twenty minutes passed. Their arms shook. Spit dried, was replaced. Theo’s cock hardened in spasms, rigid for three strokes, then soft, then rigid again, as he struggled to get mentally into it.
Draco leaked in pathetic dribbles, coating Theo’s knuckles. The rings were flickering glowing a bit then not.
“No—” Theo’s voice cracked.
He seized Draco’s face, kissed him hard, teeth clashing.
“Stay with me.” He spat directly onto Draco’s slit, chased it with a slow, deliberate twist. Draco’s hips snapped forward into his hand.
And then something shifted. The friction turned warm. The ache behind Draco’s balls bloomed into a slow, burning heat. Theo’s thumb circled the frenulum with an experienced lover’s precision, and Draco’s cock jerked, fully hard now, the head slick and shining. A low moan escaped him.
Theo felt it too. Draco’s fist, slickened with spit and pre-cum tightened on him, stroked once, twice, and Theo’s spine arched. The vein along his underside pulsed, thick and alive.
“Fuck,” Theo breathed, the word reverent. “There you are.”
They moved together now, no longer fighting it. Theo’s hand flew with long, slick pulls that dragged over every inch of Draco’s shaft, from the root nestled in pale curls to the glistening tip.
Draco’s hips rolled into the stroke, chasing the heat of relase. Theo leaned down, spat again, watched it mix with the steady leak before chasing it with his fist.
Draco’s free hand cupped Theo’s jaw, thumb tracing his lower lip.
“I love you,” he whispered, voice thick with unshed tears and want. He twisted his wrist on the upstroke, milking another fat drop of pre-cum that strung between his knuckles. Theo’s cock throbbed, heavy and hot in his grip finally.
Theo’s answer was a broken kiss, tongues sliding. He pumped Draco faster, thumb grinding the frenulum in tight circles. Draco’s breath hitched. The rings blazed gold briefly.
Theo came first: a low, guttural moan as he spilled over Draco’s fist. His cock pulsed in Draco’s hand, each spurt drawn out with gentle squeezes, Theo’s body trembling with love and release.
Draco followed seconds later, hips snapping, a shattered cry tearing from his throat. Cum shot in heavy arcs across Theo’s knuckles, dripping down his fingers in slow, viscous threads. Theo’s hand slowed, milking him through it with soft, reverent strokes until Draco sagged against him, spent and shaking.
They clung together, foreheads touching, hands still loosely entwined around softening cocks. The rings pulsed a bit more steady now. Not as bright as normal, but more alive than they had been in weeks. Theo pressed a trembling kiss to Draco’s lips, tasting salt and sorrow and something like hope.
“We did it,” Draco whispered, voice raw.
They could both faintly feel her. Reassurance she was alive and waiting for them.
Theo nodded, tears cutting tracks through the sweat on their faces. “We’ll find her. And when we do—” “—we’ll never let go,” Draco finished.
They didn’t sleep.
Just held each other until sunrise.
By morning, they were both sitting at the kitchen table, two untouched cups of tea going cold between them, when Theo finally said what Draco had clearly already been thinking.
“We’re not waiting for the Ministry anymore.”
Draco looked up sharply. “No. We aren’t.”
“Harry will try to stop us.”
“Harry can try,” Draco said with a dangerous softness. “But he won’t stop us.”
Theo placed both hands on the table.
Determined.
Steady.
Bond humming faintly—shaky but present.
“We start relocating immediately,” Theo said. “Every few hours. Farther and farther. If proximity amplifies the bond… we’ll feel her.”
Draco nodded once. “I’ll contact a curse-breaker in Prague. We’ll need legal portkeys in case anyone traces our jumps.”
“And if they try to drag us back to London—?”
Draco’s eyes flashed silver.
“They can try.”
Theo didn’t smile.
But for the first time in days, he looked like more of his normal himself.
Harry arrived mid-morning, exhausted and rumpled, ready with another Ministry briefing.
He didn’t even get the first sentence out before Draco cut him off.
“We’re leaving.”
Harry blinked in surprise. “Leaving for where?”
“Everywhere,” Theo said. “Europe. Possibly beyond. Portkey jumps until the bond reacts.”
Harry dragged both hands down his face. “You two—Kingsley will have my arse—”
Draco stepped into Harry’s space.
Quiet.
Deadly calm.
“I don’t care if the entire Wizengamot throws a fit,” he whispered. “We will not sit in a goddamn meeting room while she is out there alone one day longer.”
Theo stood beside him, arms crossed.
Harry exhaled, eyes softening.
“I knew this was coming,” he admitted. “I’ll cover for you as much as I can. But if you disappear entirely—”
“We’re not disappearing,” Theo said. “Just… not staying still.”
Harry nodded slowly. “Then go. And try not to die. Alert me as soon as you find anything, don’t rush in boorish alone.”
Draco squeezed Harry’s shoulder once—a brief, rare gesture of sincerity—and then the two of them were already grabbing coats.
They started in France.
The moment they landed, both men closed their eyes, searching the bond.
A faint hum.
But no stronger than London.
From there—
Belgium.
Nothing.
Germany.
Nothing.
Switzerland.
Nothing significant.
Poland.
Just a whisper, nothing real.
Finland.
A flicker, but faint.
Every few hours they jumped.
Sometimes together.
Sometimes separately, covering more ground.
Each time they landed someplace new, they closed their eyes—
Hermione? Please? Please…
But nothing ever sharpened into certainty.
Their exhaustion grew brutal.
Draco’s hands shook when he poured tea during brief breaks in anonymous European cafés.
By the end of the third day, their hope was fraying.
“We keep going,” Draco rasped.
Theo nodded. “We keep going.”
And they did.
It happened at the edge of a frozen forest north of Estonia.
A barren clearing.
Gray sky.
Breath misting in front of their mouths.
The portkey dropped them onto hard ground, and they stood still, both closing their eyes—
And the bond hit.
Not a spark.
Not an echo.
A pull. Clearer than anything since she’s been taken.
Sharp.
Electric.
Direction-bearing.
Theo gasped, chest lurching forward as if someone yanked on a hook buried beneath his ribs.
“Draco—”
Draco staggered, grabbing Theo’s forearm tightly.
“Merlin—she’s—Theo, do you feel that?”
“Yes—yes—she’s—north—no, northeast—Draco, she’s—”
“Russia.”
The word hung between them, cold and heavy.
The bond hummed again, fierce and insistent, like Hermione had reached out blindly in the dark and brushed against them.
Draco’s breath shook.
“We found her.”
Theo nodded, throat tight.
“Russia.”
Draco squeezed Theo’s arm so hard it hurt.
“We’re coming for her.”
<<<<<<<<<<<<
Hermione drifted somewhere between waking and fainting.
The stone floor was cold beneath her cheek. Her limbs felt heavy—too heavy—as if her bones had turned to lead. Her magic sputtered inside her like a dying candle. Every breath rattled shallowly.
She didn’t know how long she had been here.
Time had dissolved.
But something…
Something shifted.
A tug.
So faint she thought she imagined it.
Then again.
A little stronger.
Her heart stuttered in her chest.
Theo… Draco…?
The bond—weak, paper-thin, like a thread soaked in water and ready to tear—twitched.
Hermione’s cracked lips parted. A rasp of air escaped.
“They’re… closer…”
Her eyelids fluttered as she forced her consciousness upward, dragging herself through exhaustion, through pain, through hopelessness.
If they were close, they needed direction.
Sense.
Something to anchor onto.
The kidnappers had been arguing again earlier—closer to the door this time. She had caught scraps:
“…wrong part of the old city…”
“…just keep her alive…”
“…Boss wants results… he’s been delayed… hold her for him…”
Not enough.
Not helpful.
But then—
A memory surfaced.
The smell of the air when she first woke here.
Damp, mineral, metallic.
Cold—bitingly, numbly cold.
And the faint rumble she’d heard twice—like distant freight tunnels.
She swallowed, throat burning like sand.
She didn’t have magic enough to cast anything.
She barely had magic enough to breathe.
But the bond was more than magic.
It was them.
She forced every last ember of strength to the front of her mind.
She pictured what she felt:
Cold… stone… underground… water… fear… cold… cold… cold… tunnels… dungeons… store room….
And then she pushed.
Like screaming underwater.
Like a candle flaring before it dies.
She sent everything—terror, determination, love, the sense of wet stone walls, the depth, the direction—everything.
Then she collapsed, chest heaving, vision dissolving into darkness.
But before her consciousness slipped entirely—
She felt something pulse back.
Faint but real.
They felt her.
Notes:
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Chapter 224: Found
Chapter Text
They didn’t move at first.
They stood in the snow-dusted clearing with Harry, two Aurors, and a magical atlas spread over a conjured crate. Harry was mid-sentence when it happened.
Theo froze.
Shoulders jerking.
Eyes going wide.
“Oh gods—”
Draco staggered sideways, clutching at a tree trunk as if he’d been punched.
Harry lunged forward. “What—what is it—?”
Theo’s hand pressed hard over his heart. “She—she’s reaching out—”
Draco’s voice cracked as he whispered, “She’s freezing.”
Harry blinked. “What?”
Draco looked up with a tremble so violent it shook his whole frame.
“Cold stone. Underground. Water. It’s—Merlin, it’s like she poured the whole place into my mind—”
Theo swayed, gripping Draco’s sleeve.
“It’s never been like this through the bond before, it’s even deeper than just feelings. She’s sending more… things with intent. She’s so weak, Draco. She’s slipping. She’s—she’s trying so hard—”
Harry stepped closer, breath fogging in the air.
“Direction?”
Theo turned slowly, eyes distant.
Bond-focused.
Listening.
“Northeast,” he whispered.
“Deep northeast.”
Draco’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.
“St. Petersburg. Maybe further into the outskirts I bet.”
Harry swore under his breath and signaled the aurors. “We mobilize now. Contact the Russian Ministry and tell them we’re invoking emergency cross-border pursuit. Fuck it, if it turns into an international incident, we can’t wait for their ok.”
One of the Aurors blinked. “That could take hours for them to repsond—they’ll stall us—”
Draco cut in sharply.
“We’re not waiting for bureaucratic permission. She sent us what she could—she’s disappearing. We go now.”
Theo’s breath hitched. “She’s underground. Wet stone. Maybe old tunnels.”
Harry’s expression hardened into something sharp and deadly.
“St. Petersburg has miles of abandoned czarist tunnels and cellars beneath the old districts. She could be anywhere down there.”
The bond pulsed again—
weaker this time—
like Hermione’s voice echoing from farther away.
Theo inhaled shakily. “She’s fading.”
Draco’s magic flared so aggressively that the fallen snow at his feet hissed into steam.
“We’re bringing her home,” he growled.
“Even if we have to tear Russia apart brick by brick.”
Harry nodded grimly and pulled out his wand.
“Then let’s move.”
<<<<<<
Hermione drifted somewhere between waking and oblivion, her body curled on the cold stone floor, the thin, mangy blanket wrapped around her shoulders like damp paper.
Every hour she felt weaker. The magic inside her was no longer a flame—it was smoke, thin and unraveling.
She wasn’t sure when she last ate.
The bowl the kidnappers shoved inside sometimes contained stale bread, sometimes watery stew, sometimes nothing at all. It was never warm. She never saw their faces.
But now—
now something shifted.
At first, she thought she had imagined it. Was dreaming.
A flutter.
Soft.
Like fingertips brushing her consciousness.
Her heart jolted painfully in her chest.
Theo? Draco?
Her lips parted in a dry, cracked whisper, soundless.
The bond—so faint she feared it was already broken—quivered.
Their panic—far away, muffled as though stiffled—skimmed against the edges of her mind.
They were searching.
Searching hard.
But they needed more.
She had to give more.
Hermione pushed herself onto her elbows, trembling violently. Her vision swam, but she forced her mind to sharpen. There was so little magic left, but she could still feel. She could gather sensations and hurl them through the bond like stones into water.
She closed her eyes.
What was around her?
What had she heard?
Cold.
So bitter it burned her nose each night.
Damp stone.
Metallic air—rust? Old blood?
A faint rumble beneath the floorboards every so often—like underground rails, or distant transport lines.
Voices speaking low and clipped between the British guards, others with them occasionally, with a harsh accent she couldn’t entirely place but…
Russian?
Eastern European?
Her breath shook.
She gathered every detail, every impression.
Then she pushed.
Hard.
A surge of feeling—cold, wet stone, metallic air, Russia, fear, urgency—she poured it all into the bond. It burned her. It rattled her skull. But she kept pushing until her ribs ached and her vision went white and her pulse roared in her ears.
Her magic, what little was left, sparked and sputtered and then—
Something answered.
A flicker of warmth.
Unsteady.
But real.
She collapsed onto the floor, chest heaving with the effort, her body shaking.
“They felt me…”
And then darkness swallowed her again.
<<<<<<<<
Theo lurched like he’d been hexed.
He dropped the stack of maps he’d been reviewing with Harry, his hand clutching over his heart.
“Oh Merlin—Hermione—Draco—do you feel that?”
Draco’s wand fell from his fingers into the snow. He staggered backward until he hit the nearest tree, breath shattering from him.
“She’s freezing,” Draco whispered hoarsely. “Underground—stone—gods, it’s like she shoved the whole place into my head—Theo, she’s so weak—”
Harry spun toward the two of them, already signaling the Aurors forward.
“Direction?” Harry demanded urgently. “Tell me you got something.”
Theo’s eyes closed, his breath shaking as he listened inwardly—bond-focused, attuned.
“Northeast,” he murmured. “Far northeast. Cold. Deep underground.”
Draco swallowed hard, throat tight.
His voice cracked. “She’s been underground this whole time.”
Harry cursed under his breath. “Those cold war tunnels run for miles. This won’t be easy.”
Theo’s knees buckled, and Draco caught him before he could fall.
“She’s slipping,” Theo whispered, voice breaking. “Her magic is almost gone I think, she’s depleting herself trying to reach us, maybe sick even.”
Draco’s entire body vibrated with a surge of violent, uncontrolled magic that made the snow hiss into steam around his boots.
“We’re going to find her,” Draco growled.
Harry tightened his grip on his wand.
“I’m alerting the Russian Auror Office. But we are not waiting for permission.”
He turned to the Aurors.
“Mobilize. Now.”
They disapparated one after the other.
Draco's eyes burned with a feral, grief-stricken determination.
“She gave us everything she had left,” he whispered. “We’re not failing her again.”
Theo nodded, jaw trembling.
“We’ll bring her home.”
The air cracked around them as they disapparated.
<<<<<<<<
Hermione didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious.
Minutes. Hours. Days.
Time inside the cold stone room had dissolved into one long stretch of aching emptiness. Every muscle felt like lead.
Her lips were cracked. Her head throbbed with a dull, rhythmic pulse. Her magic—what tiny strand of it remained—felt like a frayed thread about to snap.
She lay curled on her side, cheek pressed to the freezing floor. She wasn’t dreaming, not really—but she wasn’t awake either.
Theo… Draco…
Their names drifted through her mind like feathers on water.
And then—
Something shifted occasionaly.
A warmth.
A spark.
Like a lantern being lit in a distant tunnel.
Her breath hitched, painfully shallow.
They’re closer.
She didn’t know how she knew.
She just felt it.
The bond was still faint—thin as a spiderweb, fragile as a soap bubble—but it was no longer silent.
There was movement in it.
Emotion.
A surge of determination and fear and love so powerful it rattled her ribs.
Hermione forced her eyes open. Her vision was blurry, the edges darkened, but she tried to pull herself up onto her hands.
Her arms shook violently.
Every muscle protested.
But she pushed.
She had to reach them.
Had to tell them she was still alive.
Had to give them something.
Her breath came in short, harsh pants.
“Draco…” Her voice was barely a whisper, dry and broken. “Theo…”
She felt the stone bite into her palms as she dragged herself toward the door. She slumped against it, pressing her forehead to the cool metal.
Her magic was so faint she could barely summon a warming charm inside herself, much less anything external. But maybe—just maybe—she didn’t need magic.
Maybe the bond didn’t require spells.
Maybe it only needed will.
She closed her eyes.
I’m here.
She focused on the warmth she felt—the faint pulse of their magic growing stronger with every passing hour.
I’m here. I’m alive. Come find me.
Her fingertips scraped against the door, nails catching on rough metal. Something inside her chest fluttered painfully.
Another wave.
Another pulse.
Stronger this time.
Their bond flared—dim still, but unmistakable—and Hermione felt a sob break out of her throat. They were nearby. Maybe not in the building, but close. Much closer than before.
She pushed harder.
Cold.
Stone walls.
Damp air.
Underground.
Metal smell.
Voices outside.
Russia.
She didn’t know if she was projecting thoughts or feelings or delusions—but she pushed every sensation she had into the bond with the last of her strength.
Her body trembled, tears slipping down her cheeks.
Please… please feel me.
Her head dropped, forehead resting on her arm as exhaustion pulled her under. The world tilted and darkened.
But just before she slipped back into unconsciousness—
She felt it.
A jolt—sharp and unmistakable—like a hand grasping hers through the void.
Draco.
Theo.
They had felt her.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Theo was the first one to gasp.
He and Draco were standing in the snow-dusted forest at the outskirts of a remote Russian village, Aurors spread out behind them. The air is freezing, and both men have been half-mad with panic for two days searching remote Russia in mid-November.
And then—
Theo’s hand flies to his chest, right over the glowing bond mark. His breath stutters.
“Draco—Draco, wait—did you feel that? Did you—?”
But Draco already has.
His whole body jerks back like he’s been struck. His eyes close. His jaw trembles.
A faint warmth—far too faint to be normal—but there.
Hermione.
Alive.
Alive.
Draco drops to his knees in the snow with a choking sound, relief hitting him hard enough to steal his breath.
Theo crouches instantly, grabbing his shoulders.
“She’s alive still,” Theo whispers fiercely. “She’s alive, Draco.”
Draco’s vision blurs. “She’s weak. She’s so weak. She’s—Merlin, Theo, she’s terrified.”
Theo nods, swallowing hard. “But she felt us. That means she’s close.”
Behind them, Harry hurries over, wand drawn.
“You felt her again?”
Draco stands—shaking, furious, determined. “She’s underground near here.”
Theo nods sharply. “She pushed us images—stone walls, damp air, metal, and… tunnels. Definitely tunnels.”
Harry’s expression hardens. “There are catacombs beneath this old fortress maybe. The villagers said they were sealed off years ago.”
“Not sealed enough,” Draco growls.
Harry signals the Aurors.
“Gear up. No lights. No talking unless necessary. We find her, no matter what.”
Draco and Theo don’t wait for more instruction—they’re already moving.
The moment their boots hit the first stone steps leading underground, the bond pulses again—
Faint. Weak.
But there.
Draco grips the railing so tightly his knuckles go white.
I’m coming, he thinks desperately. Hold on, Hermione. I’m coming.
The deeper they go, the colder it gets.
Frost slicks the walls. The floor is uneven. The air tastes metallic.
Draco keeps one hand out in front of him, wand illuminated only by the faintest tip-glow allowed. Theo mirrors him on the other side, the Aurors and Harry close behind.
The bond tugs them like a compass.
Left.
Down.
Right.
Down again.
Draco moves faster with each turn, ignoring Harry’s repeated attempts to steady the pace.
Finally Harry grabs his arm.
“Draco—we need to sweep for traps. Going blind will get us killed.”
Draco yanks his arm free. “Then move faster, Potter.”
Theo touches Draco’s shoulder gently. “She’s getting closer, Draco. We’re almost there. Don’t lose focus now.”
Draco closes his eyes for a second.
And he feels it.
A new jolt—weak, but undeniable.
Hermione trying to reach them.
His eyes fly open. “She’s awake again. She’s calling for us.”
Theo’s voice is hoarse. “Then hurry.”
The tunnel widens into a small chamber.
And they see him.
A guard in a black mask sits on a crate, idly sharpening a dagger.
The guard has just enough time to look up—just enough time to start forming a word—
But Draco doesn’t wait.
He doesn’t hesitate.
Doesn’t blink.
He strikes.
“Avada Kedavra.”
The man crumpled, dead before his knife hits the floor.
Harry doesn’t scold him. Not this time. Later maybe, but not right now.
Theo doesn’t flinch. Not after everything Hermione has suffered.
They keep moving.
Two more voices echo down the tunnel—an argument.
Harry signals for silence. The group spreads out along the shadows.
The moment the two masked men round the corner, Draco and Harry act in perfect tandem.
Harry shoots a stunning hex at the first—but when the man deflects it and raises his wand toward Theo—
Draco steps in front of Theo and kills him instantly. Another flash of green.
Harry turns on the third guard. The man tries to run.
Harry doesn’t hesitate either.
“Stupefy!”
The man goes down hard, slamming into the wall.
Draco stalks forward, panting, shaking with fury.
Harry grips his arm, stopping him. “Alive. We need at least one alive. Need information.”
Draco’s eyes burn with murderous rage—but he nods once.
Theo is pale, sweating, hands trembling.
“She’s right ahead,” he whispers. “I can feel her. Merlin, she’s so close.”
Draco presses a hand against the wall, breath shuddering.
Tears burn his eyes.
“I’m coming, Hermione,” he whispers. “Just a little longer.”
Hermione’s faint pulse of magic flickers through the bond—
And then fades again.
“GO!” Draco roars.
They broke into a run.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Hermione didn’t know how much time had passed.
Minutes—hours—days?
Her body couldn’t tell anymore at all.
Her skin was clammy. Her head throbbed. Every bone ached. Her stomach was hollow from barely eating. She had slept in fits of fear-shaken exhaustion.
But just now—
She felt something.
Not a hallucination.
Not a dream.
The bond.
A faint pulse of warmth—distant, flickering like a dying candle—but real.
Her breath caught. She forced herself upright despite the dizziness making the room tilt violently.
“Draco… Theo…” she whispered.
Her knees buckled. She stumbled to the crate, steadying herself.
The bond flared again, her ring more bright than in weeks.
Closer.
Her heart lurched painfully—equal parts hope and terror. If they were close, then so were the people holding her.
Then—
BOOM.
Dust rained from the ceiling. The door shuddered.
Hermione jerked upright, adrenaline flooding her weakened limbs.
Another slam.
Wood splintered.
“HERMIONE!”
Theo’s voice—raw, panicked, unmistakable.
Her heart stuttered—stars, she knew that voice. She stumbled forward, vision swimming, trying to reach the door before—
CRASH.
The door exploded inward.
And there they were.
Draco.
Theo.
Harry.
Aurors behind them.
A roar of emotion—fear, relief, fury, love—hit her so hard it stole her breath.
Draco’s face was wild, pale, frantic—eyes locking onto her with a soundless cry.
Theo looked absolutely wrecked, eyes shining with tears, wand already raised to defend her.
Harry looked murderous, wand trained on the darkness behind her.
Hermione tried to run to them. Tried to speak.
But her legs gave out.
The world tilted sideways.
She managed one step—
Then everything went black.
She collapsed, her temple hitting the stone floor with a sickening crack.
Blood began pooling almost instantly, bright against the cold stone.
“HERMIONE!”
Theo dropped to his knees so fast he scraped them on the stone. He slid across the floor to her side, hands already glowing blue with healer magic.
“Oh gods—Hermione, love—no, no, please—”
Draco was right behind him, falling to the ground so hard he nearly sprawled.
His hands shook violently as he cupped her cheek.
“She’s bleeding—Theo, she’s bleeding so much—DO SOMETHING!”
“I’m trying!” Theo’s voice cracked. Sweat broke across his brow instantly.
“She’s unconscious. She hit her head hard. I—Harry, give me your cloak, I need to elevate her head—”
Harry was already tearing off his cloak, shoving it under her skull with trembling hands.
His breath broke. “Tell me she’s alive.”
Theo didn’t answer at first—he was too busy scanning her with trembling fingers, magical light moving over her skin.
Then—
A tiny sob left him.
“She’s alive. Stars, she’s alive—but she’s barely here, dehydrated, malnourished, magically destabilized, concussed—”
Draco’s voice was a shattered whisper. “We’re too late. I told you—we waited too long—”
“She’s ALIVE,” Theo snapped, voice cracking. “Don’t you dare say we’re too late.”
Blood trickled down her temple. Draco wiped it with shaking hands,his fingers coated in crimson, panic choking him.
Harry stood guard at the doorway, shoulders heaving, wand glowing with a lethal edge.
“We need to get her out,” Harry growled. “Theo—can she be moved?”
Theo hesitated—hating the answer—then nodded tightly.
“Yes. But she needs St. Mungo’s NOW. And she needs a potion magic stabilizer the moment we get her out of this place. Then a slew of others directly after. She’s not out of the woods by a long haul.”
Draco scooped her gently into his arms—his breath breaking as her bleeding limp head fell against his shoulder.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered into her hair. His voice was broken. “Please stay with me. Please—please— Granger—Hermione—stay with us.”
Theo pressed a hand to her cheek, magic flowing steadily from his palm.
“Hermione, love,” he whispered, tears slipping down his face, “if you can hear us, we’re right here. We’re right here. We found you.”
Hermione didn’t stir.
Her head lulled against Draco’s chest.
Draco let out a small, devastated sound.
Harry stepped beside them, voice steady but shaking.
“Let’s get her home.”
Theo nodded.
And the three of them—together—carried Hermione out of the darkness.
Notes:
Any ideas on what will happen now when she's awake?
Comment :)
Chapter 225: Lost Time
Chapter Text
The second they reached St. Mungo’s, Theo ran with the stretcher.
Draco was right behind him—until the healer on duty physically bared his way.
“You can’t come in!”
“I have to go in!” Draco snarled, trying to shove past. “She’s my—”
Theo shouted urgently from down the hall:
“DRACO! Let me do my job!”
And Draco stoped.
Shaking.
Hyperventilating.
Bleeding panic into the bond that feels one-sided and hollow.
The double doors slam shut between them.
Harry arrived first, having only stopped a moment to give the aurors on the scnee instructions.
Then Ginny, still out of breath.
Then Pansy and Blaise.
Then Narcissa, pale with fear.
They took seats around Draco, forming a protective perimeter.
Pansy whispers tearfully, “She’ll be okay, Malfoy. She will.”
Draco disn’t blink.
Didn’tt speak.
Barely breathed.
His hands were shaking so violently that Blaise conjured a blanket and wraps it around his shoulders.
Harry crouched in front of him:
“Draco. Theo is the best Healer in his cohort. He won’t let anything happen to her. He’ll have all the best healer’s on her case, you know that.”
Draco laughed—a broken, hollow sound.
“She was taken because of me. Because she married death eater traitors.”
No one contradicted him.
Time became meaningless.
Healers ran back and forth through the ward doors, but no one spoke to them.
Narcissa kept her hand on Draco’s back.
Ginny pressed tea into his hands.
Harry stayed planted at his side.
Draco’s leg taped uncontrollably on the floor.
“She needs me,” he whispered. “She hates being alone.”
Pansy wiped a tear. “She’s not alone, love. Theo’s with her.”
It doesn’t soothe him.
Finally, after five hours, the doors opened.
Theo stepped out.
He looks beyond exhausted.
Blood on his sleeves.
Hands trembling.
Draco stood instantly.
“Tell me.”
Theo swallowed, steadying himself.
“She’s alive. Stable. She will be ok.”
Draco nearly collapsed with relief.
But Theo’s expression did not ease.
“There’s… something else.”
Draco’s heart stops.
Harry stands beside him. Narcissa grips Draco’s arm. Pansy looks sick.
Theo continues carefully:
“She woke up towards the end of stabilizing her.”
“And?” Draco breathed.
Theo closed his eyes before speaking.
“She doesn’t remember the last year and a half it seems.”
Silence swallows the hall.
Draco looks like he’s been hit with a Killing Curse.
Theo keeps going, quietly, compassionately:
“She remembers eighth year clearly. Living with us in the 8th year dorm. Being close with Pansy. Helping first-years adjust. Studying for N.E.W.T.s. Moving into Nott manor with me after graduation.” She seems to have loss starting somewhere between renovating and before we started dating.”
Draco’s hands start to shake.
“And me?” he croaks.
Theo hesitates.
“She remembers you as… neutral. Civil. Mostly connected to my circle. You and she were on civil terms by then the few times you’d come by, but not close.”
Draco’s vision blurs.
“She asked about Astoria,” Theo adds softly. “I didn’t have the heart to tell her…”
Draco broke.
He covered his mouth to hold in a sob.
Theo steped closer, speaking gently:
“She doesn’t remember the Ministry matching program. Or the bond. Or the wedding. Or Bali, Egypt, Cape Town. The Granger Center. None of it.”
Draco shoke his head violently.
“No—Theo—take it back— your wrong…”
“She doesn’t remember loving us,” Theo whispered. “Or being loved.”
Narcissa’s eyes filled with tears.
Ginny sniffled.
Blaise curses quietly.
Draco whispered, “Does she remember that she was kidnapped?”
“In flashes,” Theo says. “She knows she was taken. She knows she’s safe now. But… she has no memory of us as we are. Her last solid memory of you is you and Astoria being pregnant, possibly going to the shower.”
Draco’s entire body went rigid with grief.
Theo placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
“We honestly believe it is temporary,” he said firmly. “Memory should return as the severe concussion heals. Weeks most likely. Maybe a couple months at most, but I doubt even that long. Her brain is bruised, it needs time to recover, and we’ll start seeing memories flood back usually.”
Draco doesn’t look comforted.
“She’ll think we’re basically strangers.”
Theo’s voice lowered.
“She asked if I’m still her manor roommate.”
Draco actually sways.
Harry grabs him to keep him upright.
Theo’s voice wavers:
“She trusts me — like a best friend. Familiarity from eighth year. But she’s confused. Scared.”
Draco’s tears flowed freely now.
“I can’t do this. I can’t lose her back in time.”
“You’re not losing her,” Theo whispered desperately. “We’re getting her back. Piece by piece. I swear, this type of head injury the memories almost always come back.”
Draco squeezed his eyes shut.
“She doesn’t remember choosing us.”
Theo nods sadly.
“But the bond still remembers her.”
Draco sinks into a chair, shaking uncontrollably.
“She’s going to look at me and only see Astoria’s husband. Someone who barely spoke to her unless there was a polite need at your dinners.”
Theo knelt in front of him.
“And she’ll learn who you are now agaain.”
Draco’s voice cracked.
“I worked so hard—to become someone she could trust. And now she’ll just see the ghost of who I was before.”
Narcissa rested a hand on Draco’s cheek.
“You will show her who you are, my darling.”
He leaned into her touch like a child.
Theo adds softly:
“She asked if you ever apologized to her for the war. I told her yes. Many times.”
Draco lets out a broken, agonized breath.
Finally, Draco wipes his tear-streaked face and whispers:
“Please. I need to see her.”
Theo nods.
“She’s asleep, or was when I left. But be gentle. She may not understand why you’re there. I didn’t tell her about the bond yet.”
Draco rose on shaky legs.
“I’ll reintroduce myself,” he whispered. “As many times as it takes.”
And Theo led him through the doors.
The room was dim, lit only by a single floating orb. Hermione lay propped against pillows, breathing shallowly, her hair a tangled halo across the sheets. Bandages wrapped the side of her head. Her face was glazed with exhaustion.
Theo stood by her bedside, gentle hand poised near her wrist—not touching, just watching.
When Draco entered, he inhaled loudly, he froze in alarm at her appearance.
Hermione stirred at the sound.
Her lashes fluttered.
Her gaze struggled to focus.
Then—
She blinked at Draco.
“…Malfoy?”
The word landed like a physical blow. Draco inhaled sharply, but he forced a neutral expression—something polite, something safe.
Theo shot Draco a warning look—slowly, remember.
Hermione frowned weakly.
“Why are you… here? Are you okay?”
She looked between them, confused.
“Did something happen with Astoria? Did she have the baby?”
Draco’s chest constricted. He could not speak.
Theo stepped in quickly.
“Hermione,” he said softly, “there are a few things we need to tell you. But only a little at a time. You need to rest.”
She swallowed.
“What happened to me again?”
“You were taken,” Theo said gently. “And you hit your head. Hard. You’re going to recover fully. But your memories… the last year and a half… are foggy right now.”
Hermione’s hand drifted up toward her bandaged temple.
“I thought I dreamt that part. It felt like a nightmare. It was cold and wet.”
Draco clenched his fists.
Theo exhaled slowly and sat at the edge of the bed.
“Hermione,” he said softly, “Astoria passed away. A while ago. With the baby.”
Hermione’s eyes widened, softening with immediate empathy.
“She… oh, Draco. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I thought…” She shook her head, wincing.
“I thought you were...”
Draco managed a single nod with a gruff voice. “Thank you.”
His voice cracked.
Hermione offered him a tired, sad smile—the way she had when she was first exploring the match.
Familiar. Kind.
Not in love.
It hurt so much Draco nearly lost his breath.
Theo continued gently.
“There’s another thing we need to tell you. About the Wizarding Marriage Law.”
Hermione stiffened.
“What marriage law?”
“It was passed about a little over a year ago,” Theo said carefully.
“Mandatory pairings to encourage repopulation. All witches and wizards in reproduction ages. Magical compatibility testing.”
Her eyes sharpened with righteous fury.
“They—what? That’s outrageous! And I didn’t fight it? I didn’t protest?”
“You did,” Theo said with a small smile. “But when you saw the data, you believed the premise behind it jsyt not in the ethics of it.”
Draco huffed a soft, involuntary laugh.
Even amnesiac, Hermione Granger was immovable.
Theo went on:
“You were matched. But it was originally with he person you were dating because the two of you petitioned for it.”
Hermione bristled.
“With who?”
Theo breathed in, steadying himself.
“Me.”
Hermione blinked at him.
“You? But… we lived together as friends, Theo. We were just trying to figure out the world after school.”
“Yes,” he said gently. “But, we’d been dancing around feelings all summer , and had started officially dating when the law rolled out. So we took the test together. The law-based pairings on magical compatibility. You and I matched very strongly.”
Hermione swallowed.
Her cheeks flushed faintly—not negatively. More like processing.
“Oh,” she whispered. “That’s… a lot. But that doesn’t— I mean— you and I never— we weren’t— at Hogwarts?”
“I know,” Theo said softly. “It happened gradually. Honestly. Just that summer after. And you were happy.”
Her eyes softened a bit, confused but not recoiling.
She looked down at her hands.
“I trust you,” she murmured. “I always did.”
Draco’s heart twisted.
Hermione had always been gentler with Theo.
Theo had always been easier for her—closer, more naturally intertwined, even before the bond.
Draco forced himself still.
Theo cleared his throat, and continued.
“The Ministry also allowed something else. Rarely. If the magic decided it.”
Hermione looked up.
“Triad bonds,” Theo said quietly. “If three people tested as magically viable together.”
Hermione blinked in wonder.
“Wait… you don’t mean—”
Theo hesitated.
Draco closed his eyes.
“Yes,” Theo said softly. “You—me—and Draco were matched.”
Hermione stared at him, then at Draco.
Her breath caught—sharp, shocked.
“No. No, that can't be right. Draco Malfoy and I barely tolerated each other as kids. Civil at best by the time I lived with you.”
Draco stood absolutely still.
Hermione continued weakly, voice rising in disbelief:
“I can maybe understand you and me, Theo. Eventually. But him?”
Draco winced.
Hermione looked right at him—confused, startled, unsettled.
“You and me? As a couple? Married? Living together?” She shook her head, face paling.
“No. I don’t remember that. I don’t even remember being friends even.”
Theo spoke gently.
“Webecame close. All three of us. We built a life together.”
Hermione stared at Draco, torn between bewilderment and discomfort.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered at last.
“It’s not that I think you’re—well—awful anymore. It’s just… I can’t see it. Not right now.”
Draco’s throat choked.
He forced out, “It’s alright. You don’t have to.”
Hermione’s expression softened with guilt, which only hurt more.
“Draco,” Theo said quietly, a warning—don’t spiral.
Draco nodded, jaw tight.
Hermione looked between them.
“Are you two… together too? Not just both with me?”
Theo answered, voice low and honest.
“Yes.”
Her brows rose, eyes wide.
“Oh.”
Theo added quickly, “But nothing is expected of you. Nothing at all. Not until you remember. Not ever unless you choose it.”
Draco whispered:
“We won’t push you. We won’t rush you. We just want you safe.”
Her lip trembled.
She looked overwhelmed—on the verge of tears.
“I don’t know how to process this,” she whispered.
Theo squeezed her hand.
“You don’t have to. Not tonight. Just rest. Let the memories come back on their own. We’ll help you through it. Slowly.”
Hermione nodded weakly, exhausted and confused.
She didn’t reach for Draco.
But she didn’t pull away from Theo.
Draco forced himself to accept it.
For now.
The door clicked softly behind them, leaving Hermione to sleep inside.
Theo led Draco a few paces down the quiet hospital corridor, but Draco’s expression was already fracturing—thin cracks of panic and grief spiderwebbing beneath his composure.
“Draco,” Theo murmured.
Draco leaned back against the whitewashed wall and covered his face with both hands. His shoulders shook once—just once—but it was enough.
Theo stepped closer, not touching yet, but ready to.
“She looked at me,” Draco choked out, voice raw and small in a way Theo had only heard twice in his life. “Like I was a stranger she didn’t fully trust.”
Theo swallowed.
“She doesn’t remember the last year and a half,” he said, trying to keep his tone soothing. “She doesn’t remember loving either of us. She doesn’t remember our life. That’s not her fault.”
“I know.” Draco’s voice cracked so hard it barely came out.
“But—Merlin, Theo, I worked so hard… we all did… to build something real with her, something she wanted. And now she looks at me like—like I’m barely tolerable.”
Theo finally touched his shoulder.
“Draco.”
“I’m terrified,” Draco whispered, tears slipping past his fingers. “That she’ll never love me again. That she’ll choose just you because she already trusted you before.” His chest hitched.
“And what if she remembers everything except me? What if she hates me again?”
Theo stepped into his space, pulling Draco against him with firm, steady hands.
Draco didn’t resist.
“Listen to me,” Theo said softly, forehead pressed briefly to Draco’s temple.
“She will remember. Even if it takes time. And even before she does—Hermione feels her heart first. She follows instinct. And her instinct before has been loving you.”
Draco shook his head helplessly.
Theo tightened his grip.
“She married you,” Theo whispered. “She bonded with you. She chose you every single day with me. You think she’ll forget that forever just because her mind is fogged currently?”
Draco exhaled shakily, almost a sob.
Theo anchored him through it, thumbs brushing the back of his neck, grounded and sure.
“We’ll get her back,” Theo murmured. “Together. Slowly. Kindly.”
Draco finally nodded, breath trembling.
But his eyes were haunted.
Theo went to get tea; Draco stayed in the corridor, leaning against the wall and staring unseeingly at the linoleum until Narcissa found him again—her elegant robes rustling as she swept toward him with urgent steps.
“Draco,” she breathed, cupping his face immediately.
For the first time since childhood, Draco let himself fold into her touch.
“She doesn’t remember,” he whispered hoarsely. “Not us. Not what we built. She… she looked frightened of me.”
Narcissa’s thumbs brushed away moisture beneath his eyes.
“My darling boy,” she murmured, voice soft and fierce all at once. “Memory loss does not erase love. It only buries it. And she is the type who always digs for truth.”
Draco closed his eyes, jaw tight.
“I’m scared,” he confessed, so quiet it nearly broke him to say aloud. “What if she never wants me again?”
Narcissa lifted his chin gently.
“Draco. Love that was earned once can be earned again. And you have grown into a man worthy of being loved.”
He swallowed thickly.
“She reacted so… badly to the idea of us being romantic.”
“She reacted from confusion, not rejection,” Narcissa said with certainty. “Imagine waking to find a life that feels too big to fit into your memory. She will need patience. Gentleness.”
Draco’s voice wavered.
“What if I frighten her? What if I push too hard by just existing?”
“You won’t,” Narcissa said, stroking his cheek. “I’ve watched you with her. You’ve learned tenderness—you embody it, Draco. Let her see that again. One moment at a time.”
He nodded slowly, breathing shakily.
“And remember,” she added softly, pressing her forehead to his for a moment like she used to when he was small,
“One and a half years does not undo the gravity between the three of you. The bond remembers what her mind does not.”
Draco exhaled, grounding himself in her words.
“She’ll come back to you,” Narcissa whispered. “To both of you.”
Hours later, Hermione stirred awake.
Theo and Draco were sitting quietly at her bedside—Theo reading patient files on a clipboard, Draco staring at her with an expression soft enough to shatter glass.
She blinked, noticing them.
“…You two stayed?”
“Of course,” Theo said instantly.
Draco only nodded, afraid to startle her.
Hermione shifted slightly in the bed, wincing but more alert this time. Her eyes drifted between them with hesitance, thoughtfulness.
“I… have questions,” she whispered.
Theo smiled gently. “Ask whatever you want.”
Hermione looked down at her hands first, clearly overwhelmed.
“Do I still work at the Ministry? Or am I doing something else now? Maybe Charms?”
That Theo could answer easily.
“You run a center that helps muggle families navigate magic,” he said warmly. “The Granger Center. You designed it yourself. But, yes your also alittle over half through a Charms mastery as well.”
Hermione blinked in surprise—then a small spark of pride lit her expression.
“That sounds… right. Like something I would do.”
Draco’s chest eased, seeing one familiar piece of her shine through.
Then she looked at him—cautiously, almost apologetically.
“And you?” she asked softly. “What do you… do now? Are you still working for the family business?”
Draco cleared his throat.
“I work in the Ministry through the family seat,” he said slowly. “And I still handle Malfoy holdings on the side. Little bit of a potions hobby too.”
Hermione nodded.
But her eyes lingered on his face with uncertainty. Not fear—just… assessing him, trying to match this grown version to the version she remembered from eighteen months ago.
She swallowed.
“And… the three of us. We… live together?”
“Yes,” Theo said gently. “In Nott Manor. You helped turn it into a real home.”
Hermione flushed, caught off guard.
She looked at Draco again.
“So we’re… married. All three of us.”
Theo nodded.
Draco didn’t speak.
Hermione’s lips trembled with confusion.
“Do we… love each other?” she asked, voice tiny.
Theo reached for her hand.
“Yes,” he said softly. “All three of us.”
Hermione looked down, blinking fast, overwhelmed and emotional.
Then—
She looked at Draco.
Her voice was barely a whisper:
“And me and you…? Did we… get there too?”
Draco inhaled sharply—hope and heartbreak colliding in his eyes.
He answered slowly, with devastating gentleness.
“Yes,” he whispered. “We did. But you don’t have to force anything. I… I can wait. As long as you need.”
Hermione nodded, tears filling her eyes.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
She didn’t look afraid of him.
Just unsure.
And Draco could live with that.
For now.
Notes:
how is this going to go with her not remembering you think? Leave a comment.
Chapter 226: Reassurances
Chapter Text
Hermione had been awake that morning for nearly two hours, propped up against pillows, a soft St. Mungo’s blanket pooled around her waist.
The Healers had dimmed the lights, saying overstimulation would worsen her concussion. She didn’t mind the dimness — the world already felt too sharp, too loud, too much.
She had only just managed a sip of lukewarm tea when the door opened.
Harry stepped in first, tentative but determined. Ginny followed with a bouquet of wildflowers clutched protectively to her chest.
“Hey,” Harry said softly.
Hermione exhaled — relieved to see faces she trusted without question.
“Harry.”
He crossed the room in three long strides and wrapped his arms around her, careful not to jostle her head. Ginny set the flowers on the bedside table and joined the hug, one hand stroking Hermione’s curls.
When they pulled away, Hermione bit her lip.
“Do I… did I miss your birthday?” she asked Harry awkwardly.
Harry blinked, then laughed — not mocking, but touched. “That was months ago, Hermione.”
“Oh.” She flushed. “Right. Sorry. My timeline is…”
“Upside down?” Ginny offered. “Well, good news — that’s normal for all of us anyway.”
Hermione smiled weakly.
Harry pulled up a chair, sliding it closer.
“How much do you feel ready to hear?”
Hermione breathed slowly.
“I don’t want everything at once. But… I want to know I was happy. That my choices made sense.”
Harry and Ginny traded a look — a reassuring one.
“Hermione,” Ginny said gently, “you were radiant. The happiest I’ve ever seen you.”
She tucked a curl behind Hermione’s ear. “You were loved — and you loved back — more deeply than you ever let yourself hope for in Hogwarts.”
Hermione’s eyes stung.
“And Draco?” she asked quietly.
Harry’s face softened — something she didn’t expect.
“You two became real friends first,” he said. “Proper ones. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it. He respects you more than he respects himself, I think.”
Hermione swallowed.
Harry added, “He would set himself on fire to keep you warm. He would burn the world down to find you. He nearly just did.”
Ginny elbowed him. “Harry, maybe dial down the dramatic metaphors.”
“No,” Hermione whispered, blinking hard. “I… needed to hear that.”
“And Theo?” she asked.
Ginny snorted. “Hermione, Theo adores you. He’s… well, you know how steady he is? Multiply that by ten. He’s your calm, he always has been.”
Harry leaned forward.
“The three of you weren’t just complying with a law after a little while. You built something real. You chose each other on purpose daily.”
Hermione hugged the blanket around herself.
“I believe you,” she whispered. “I just… I don’t feel it yet.”
“You will,” Ginny promised. “One memory at a time.”
After another round of hugs — careful, soft — they left her to rest.
She barely had fifteen minutes of quiet before another knock sounded.
Hermione straightened instinctively. Pansy didn’t bother with answering etiquette; she breezed in wearing a dramatic green cloak and an expression equal parts anger, affection, and concern. Her belly was round.
Behind her, Luna drifted in serenely, already humming.
Pansy stopped at the foot of the bed.
“Well,” she sniffed. “This is unacceptable.”
Hermione blinked. “I…you’re pregnant?”
“You were kidnapped,” Pansy barreled on, “you were concussed, you have a missing year and a half, and I wasn’t even informed until four hours ago because apparently everyone thinks a pregnant woman shouldn’t have stress.” She rolled her eyes. “Idiots. And yes… Balise’s of course.”
Hermione huffed a laugh despite herself.
Luna glided to her bedside and pressed a cool palm to Hermione’s cheek.
“You feel lighter,” she murmured in her dreamy voice. “Like a book missing its middle chapters. They’ll flutter back eventually. Need some rebinding I think.”
Hermione’s throat tightened.
Pansy softened immediately, the sharp edges folding inward.
“Hey,” she said gently, sitting on the side of the bed. “I know you’re overwhelmed. But you should know… the past year and a half wasn’t terrible. In fact, it was disgustingly wonderful if you leave out the crazy threats and siphoning menaces.”
Hermione blinked, half laughing.
Pansy continued, “You became one of my best friends in 8th year. Annoying, brilliant, bossy, and absolutely wonderful. We’ve only gotten closer since.”
Hermione ended up laughing again — really laughing — because the Pansy she remembered would never have said that.
“Well, I must’ve been hit very hard on the head,” Hermione quipped.
“That you were,” Pansy sniffed. “But not hard enough to erase your personality. Thank Merlin.”
Luna perched delicately on the edge of the bed.
“You and Draco fit like constellations,” Luna said dreamily. “He steadied you when you overthought. You softened him when he feared he didn’t deserve happiness. Your bond glows very brightly, even now while broken.”
Hermione’s breath caught.
“And Theo?” she asked.
Pansy’s expression gentled in a way Hermione had never seen.
“Theo is… Theo,” Pansy said. “He’s devoted. Quietly. Powerfully. You two were so in sync it was nauseating. Everyone knew you’de marry before you even told us you were dating.”
Hermione looked down at her hands.
“Was I… good to them?” she whispered, voice cracking.
Pansy reached out and squeezed her hand.
“You adored them. And they adored you. Yours was not a reluctant marriage — it was one built slowly, intentionally. You earned each other.”
Luna nodded softly.
“And your magic wove together like river streams. Even now… it looks silver-blue. That means love.”
Hermione’s eyes filled with tears.
Pansy pulled a tissue from her cloak and shoved it at her.
“Don’t cry, you’ll give me sympathy tears, and I’m too hormonal for that.”
Hermione sniffed, laughing wetly.
Luna leaned her head against Hermione’s shoulder.
“You will love them again,” Luna said simply, in that tone that suggested she wasn’t guessing — she knew. “And they will wait for as long as you need.”
Hermione nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“I… hope so.”
“You don’t need to hope,” Pansy said. “You just need time.”
The ward was quiet when Theo slipped back in after they’d left.
Even his footsteps seemed to soften as he crossed the threshold, as though the air around Hermione demanded gentleness. She was sitting upright again, a blanket tucked around her waist, her curls loose around her shoulders.
She looked up at him with wary eyes — familiar but not familiar enough.
Theo swallowed the ache in his throat.
“Hey,” he said softly.
She offered a small nod of greeting. No smile, but no flinch either. That felt like a win already.
“Everyone gone home?” she asked.
“Yeah. Harry, Ginny, Pansy, Luna… they didn’t want to overwhelm you.”
Hermione looked down at her hands. “Too late for that, I think.”
Theo dragged a chair to her bedside and sat, elbows on his knees. He tried to hold her gaze gently, the way he always had when they spoke at night in their eighth-year dorm or in the early days at Nott Manor, when friendship had been the beginning of everything.
“Do you feel up to company?” he asked. “If not, I can go.”
“No.” She shook her head quickly. “Stay. Please.”
Relief washed over him.
They sat in silence for a moment. Hermione’s fingers fidgeted with the blanket. Theo waited — patient, steady — until she finally spoke.
“They said I was your wife,” she murmured. “That we’re married. I just can’t envision it exactly.”
Theo nodded slowly. “The three of us. But you and I… we were first. Before the law. Before everything with the triad.”
Hermione’s eyes softened with something like nostalgia she couldn’t access.
“I remember being your friend,” she whispered. “I remember the Nott library. You making me tea when I had nightmares after the war. Your mum’s roses.”
Theo felt something loosen painfully in his chest.
“That’s all real,” he said. “That part of us is still exactly the same.”
She looked at him through her lashes.
“Was I… truly happy with you?”
Theo’s throat closed.
He reached out, giving her ample time to pull away. She didn’t. His fingers slid into her hand, warm and gentle.
“You were safe with me,” he said quietly. “And happy. And loved.”
Hermione’s breath hitched — not from romantic memory, but from relief.
“I’m scared,” she admitted. “Everyone keeps telling me I was happy, that I loved both of you, that you loved me. And I believe them. But I feel like… like I’m impersonating my future self.”
Theo squeezed her hand.
“You don’t have to feel anything right now. Not love. Not certainty. You just have to let us take care of you until you’re ready, until you remember.”
Hermione blinked rapidly. “You’re being too kind.”
Theo huffed a broken laugh. “You’re literally my wife. I think I’m allowed.”
She flushed.
“I don’t remember our wedding,” she whispered.
Theo swallowed. “It was beautiful. Small. Emotional. On the Manor grounds. You cried a bit when you said your vows.”
“I cried?” Hermione looked horrified and touched at once.
“You always cry when you’re overwhelmed. And happy.” He paused. “Draco cried too, but hid it well.”
That shocked her still.
Theo watched her face carefully, gently. “You don’t have to understand yet. You only need to know that we don’t expect anything from you right now. And we’re not going anywhere.”
Hermione leaned her head back against the pillow, her hand still in his.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“I’d stay forever if you let me,” he murmured back.
She exhaled — exhausted but calmer — and closed her eyes, still holding his hand.
Theo stayed exactly where he was.
It was evening when Theo stepped out to fetch Healer notes, promising to be right back. Hermione took the moment to breathe. She still felt fragile, as though her mind were balancing on the edge of something she couldn’t name.
But then the door opened again.
Draco froze in the doorway.
He looked… shattered. Sleep-deprived. Pale. His blonde hair was a mess from running his hands through it. His shirt was wrinkled. His eyes — his eyes were the worst.
They were red-rimmed, terrified, reverent.
“Granger,” he whispered, voice cracking on the old name — the one she’d used to know.
Hermione’s breath caught.
He stepped inside hesitantly, as if afraid she might bolt.
“You’re awake,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Merlin — thank god, you look a bit better.”
Hermione’s fingers tightened on the blanket.
“I remember you a bit in early summer,” she said gently. “I just… don’t remember… us.”
Draco closed his eyes as if the words physically struck him.
When he opened them again, they were wet.
“That’s okay,” he said hoarsely. “You don’t — you don’t have to remember anything right now. You’re alive. That’s all I care about.”
He stood awkwardly near the foot of the bed — too afraid to come closer.
Hermione’s voice was tentative.
“You can… sit, if you want.”
Draco looked like she had handed him the sun. He moved slowly to the chair Theo had been in and sat on its very edge, hands clasped, knuckles white.
Silence stretched — nervous, aching.
Hermione wet her lips.
“Theo said I was happy,” she said. “And that you and I… were close.”
Draco let out a shaky breath.
“We were,” he whispered. “Very. You—you changed me. You saved me. More than once.”
Hermione’s chest tightened. She didn’t remember any of that — but she could feel the truth of it pouring off him.
“But you don’t remember,” Draco added quickly, bitterly. “And that’s not your fault. I know it’s not. I just—”
His voice cracked again.
Hermione swallowed hard. “Draco… I’m scared.”
He flinched up at that — all Malfoy posturing vanishing.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said instantly, fiercely. “Not ever again.”
She instinctively believed him.
A soft knock interrupted them — Theo reentered the room.
He froze when he saw them facing each other. Hermione watched the emotions flicker across his face: relief, hesitation, protectiveness.
Then something else — hope.
And she felt them in the bond as well… how odd.
Without speaking, Theo walked around the bed and placed a gentle hand on Draco’s shoulder as he passed.
Draco startled slightly, then exhaled shakily. The contact steadied him.
Hermione watched them, something in her chest aching in a way she couldn’t define. The bond — weakened though it was — hummed faintly at the sight of them touching.
Theo moved to stand on the opposite side of her bed.
Draco swallowed.
“We’re here,” he said softly. “Both of us. As long as you want us.”
Theo nodded.
“You can take as long as you need.”
Hermione felt tears rising — slow, hot, unstoppable.
She whispered, “I don’t know how to be who I was.”
Draco leaned forward, eyes shining.
“We’ll help you find her.”
Theo added, reaching for her hand again, “We’ll build her back with you, piece by piece.”
Hermione looked from one man to the other — their faces open, raw, waiting, terrified to push her, terrified to lose her.
Something deep in her stir— not memory, not recognition, but a quiet instinct:
Safety.
She exhaled tremulously and did something small but brave:
She reached her other hand out toward Draco.
He stared at it like it might disappear.
Then, slowly, reverently, he took it.
Hermione carefully leaned back against her pillows, one man’s hand in each of hers, the bond humming faintly at the new fragile equilibrium.
For the first time since waking up in that cold stone room, she did not feel alone.
Notes:
I promise it won't be like this forever between them...
Chapter 227: Misplaced Guilt
Chapter Text
The floo had barely settled after they both returned from St. Mungo’s before Draco was moving — fast, purposeful, almost military in his precision — down the hall.
Theo trailed after him, less hurried but no less tense.
“Draco,” he called quietly, “slow down.”
“I can’t slow down,” Draco snapped— not cruelly, just… frayed. “We need to have everything ready before the Healers release her. We’ve wasted too much time already.”
Theo’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t rise to the bait.
He knew what panic looked like.
He also knew what Draco looked like when he was trying not to drown in it.
They reached Hermione’s old suite — the one she had lived in the summer after Hogwarts, before the bond, before marriage, before everything.
Draco pushed the door open and stood inside the threshold, breathing hard.
The room was spotless, perfectly preserved from when she’d last used it: bookshelves, desk, window seat, pale-gold and lilac bedding she had chosen herself. A sanctuary of sorts.
Draco exhaled shakily.
“She sleeps here, when she comes home” he said immediately.
Theo blinked. “Her old room?”
“Yes.” Draco crossed his arms tightly across his chest. “It’s the only place she won’t feel cornered.”
Theo stepped inside behind him, looking around as if seeing the room for the first time in years.
“It is familiar to her,” Theo admitted. “Comfortable. Nostalgic.”
Draco seized on that. “Exactly.”
“But—” Theo continued carefully, “as a Healer… going back to old routines and environments sometimes helps jog memory. If she stays where she lived most recently — with us — it might help restore pieces faster.”
Draco’s face twisted.
“Theo. She barely tolerates being in the same room as me right now.”
Theo sighed. “She doesn’t dislike you, Draco. She’s just— disoriented.”
“Disoriented,” Draco echoed bitterly. “She remembers you as her closest friend. She remembers me as Astoria’s husband.”
“That’s not true,” Theo argued gently. “She remembers you as—”
“—as someone neutral,” Draco cut in. “Someone she lived near. Not someone she trusted. Certainly not someone she loved.”
His voice cracked on the last word.
Theo stepped closer, softening. “She asked me if she was happy with you.”
Draco’s breath caught. “And?”
“I said yes,” Theo answered honestly. “Because she was. And when she’s feeling safer, she’ll ask you too.”
Draco looked away, jaw clenched so tight it trembled.
“She needs space,” he said finally. “She needs to feel like she can shut a door and I won’t be standing right on the other side of it.”
Theo considered that.
And despite everything in him that wanted the bond strengthened… Draco wasn’t wrong.
“She’ll feel overwhelmed if she wakes up in our master suite,” Theo admitted. “Especially if she doesn’t remember choosing to sleep there.”
Draco closed his eyes briefly, relief and sadness mixing.
“I don’t want her afraid of this house,” he whispered. “Or afraid of me.”
Theo moved farther into the room, running a hand across the desk Hermione used to study at, the spines of her books, the pillow with a faint indentation where she used to sit and read.
“It might be good for her,” Theo said quietly. “To start here. To ease into the rest.”
Draco gave a small, exhausted nod.
“And in a few weeks,” Theo added gently, “if she’s comfortable, remembers… maybe she’ll want to join us again.”
Draco’s throat bobbed with a painful swallow.
“I’m not thinking about that. I don’t care where she sleeps. I just want her to sleep somewhere she feels safe.”
Theo approached him, lowering his voice.
“You are her safety, Draco. You just don’t believe it right now.”
Draco shook his head, voice raw.
“She said she doesn’t remember loving me.”
He paused.
“She didn’t even want to look at me the first hour she was awake.”
“She was scared,” Theo said softly. “She still is.”
Draco’s shoulders slumped, some of his anger dispersing.
“Her old room,” Theo said decisively, “for the first stretch. We’ll bring in fresh linens. Add charm-candles. Flowers from the garden. Make it warm, gentle.”
Draco nodded distractedly as he looked around.
“She used to sit here,” he murmured, touching the window seat. “Reading her Charms textbook. She always liked the morning light in this room.”
Theo gave him a small, bittersweet smile.
“She’ll rediscover that. All of it. And us.”
Draco turned abruptly.
They spent the next hour in quiet, tense teamwork: changing linens, adjusting lighting spells, straightening books, placing soft tapestries over the colder stone sections of wall, adding a gentle warming charm to the rug.
There were no raised voices now — only the tight, fragile hum of two men rearranging a room for someone they both loved more than their own sanity.
When they finally finished, they stood side by side at the doorway.
“It looks like her,” Theo said quietly.
Draco’s eyes softened. “I hope it feels like her.”
Theo let out a slow breath. “She’ll come back to us, Draco.”
Draco’s voice was hoarse but steady when he answered:
“I don’t need her to come back to us. I just need her to come back.”
Theo looked at him for a long moment.
“…She will,” he murmured. “We’ll help her.”
Draco nodded, but his fingers — gripping the doorframe — were white and shaking.
The sunlight through the enchanted hospital windows was soft and falsely warm—an illusion meant to calm patients, though it barely seemed to touch Hermione at all.
She sat propped against pillows, hair braided loosely to keep it off the bandages hidden beneath it, her expression distant and exhausted.
She had woken up confused again, with another moment of panic when she looked around and remembered:
St. Mungo’s.
The concussion.
The missing eighteen months.
And the worst:
The empty place in her mind where Draco and Theo had once lived.
She rubbed her thumb absently over the cotton blanket—grounding herself—when someone knocked gently.
“Hey,” Harry said as he slipped in. “Can I come sit with you a bit?”
Hermione’s whole face softened.
“Please.”
She shifted so he could sit on the edge of the bed. His presence was comforting, familiar in a way nothing else felt familiar since waking up.
“You doing any better today?” Harry asked, voice cautious.
Hermione let out a breath. “I… don’t know. Everything still feels foggy. I keep waiting to wake up and have everything back.”
Harry nodded. “Healing takes time. And you hit pretty hard. It was a lot of blood… really had me thinking you weren’t going to make it.”
There was a long silence. Hermione stared at her hands.
“I hate forgetting,” she whispered.
Harry reached over and held her fingers lightly.
“I know.”
Another silence.
Hermione let out a shaky breath.
“I keep remembering Hogwarts. Eighth year. Studying in the library with Theo. Pansy pulling me to go gossip with her. Having tea with you and Ginny on Hogsmeade weekends.” A pause. “But after graduation… everything just falls away.”
Harry swallowed hard. “We’ll help you. All of us.”
Hermione looked down, twisting the blanket between her fingers.
“I feel like I’m disappointing everyone. Draco seems— very hurt. And Theo’s trying so hard to be gentle but I see the worry. I hate feeling like this burden.”
“You’re not a burden.” Harry squeezed her hand. “You’re our Hermione. That’s all.”
Her lip trembled.
Harry stayed quiet, letting her breathe through it.
Minutes passed in silence, the kind that felt safe.
Then—
Hermione blinked, suddenly still.
“Hermione?” Harry asked.
Her eyes unfocused slightly, like she was looking inward.
“Harry…” she whispered. “I— I think I remember something.”
Harry’s heart thudded.
“What is it?”
She swallowed.
“It was cold. Very cold. And… quiet. There were leaves everywhere, like… like it was late autumn.”
Harry’s breath caught.
Hermione pressed her fingertips to her temple as if trying to physically guide the memory into clarity.
“And you were there,” she whispered. “We were walking up a hill. No—no, down a path. Gravel. I remember the sound of it under our shoes.” Her voice softened. “I remember you crying.”
Harry felt like something inside him cracked.
Hermione’s eyes filled slowly with tears.
“Godric’s Hollow,” she whispered, suddenly certain.
Harry’s throat tightened painfully.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Hermione, yes. Last month. Halloween.”
“I remember laying flowers,” Hermione said, voice breaking. “On your parents’ grave. I remember holding you. And you—” She hesitated, swallowing. “You were shaking, a little. And you— you said you didn’t know how to live somewhere full of ghosts.”
Harry’s eyes burned.
“That’s right.”
Hermione let out a shaky sob and covered her mouth with her hand.
“It’s real,” she whispered. “It’s still in here, Harry. I didn’t lose everything.”
Harry nodded, tears slipping free.
“You didn’t. And more will come back.”
She leaned into him—instinctively—and Harry wrapped his arms around her carefully but tightly, holding her as if anchoring her back into herself.
After a long moment, she pulled back and wiped her eyes.
Another quiet pause—this one full of relief instead of despair.
Then the door opened softly.
Theo slipped in first, eyes exhausted but hopeful; Draco followed more hesitantly, as if afraid of what he might walk into. His shoulders were tense, hands clenched in the sleeves of his robes.
Hermione looked up—and for the first time since waking, her eyes softened when they landed on him.
“Hi,” she whispered.
Draco froze.
Theo’s breath hitched.
“Hello,” Draco managed, voice low and careful. “How—how are you feeling?”
Hermione swallowed, glancing at Harry before turning back to them.
“I remembered something,” she said.
Theo stepped closer instantly.
“You did? What was it?”
Hermione took a breath.
“Going to Godric’s Hollow with Harry. On Halloween. It’s… only a fragment, but it’s clear.”
Theo smiled—relieved and proud.
“That’s wonderful, Hermione.”
Draco’s eyes were wide and stunned.
Hermione hesitated… then added softly:
“It gives me hope that more might come back soon.”
Draco’s throat tightened visibly.
“That’s… that’s very good news,” he said, barely managing composure.
Hermione offered him the smallest, shyest smile.
Not a memory, not yet— but something warmer toward him than she’d shown since waking.
A spark.
Tiny.
Trembling.
But unmistakably there.
The first sign that she might find her way home to them.
Theo waited until Harry had left the hospital room and the mediwitch had finished with Hermione’s headache-checking charms before sitting gently on the edge of the bed.
Hermione shifted instinctively to give him space. She didn’t know why, but being near him didn’t feel threatening. If anything, it was comforting, familiar in a soft, blurry way that her memories couldn’t articulate.
“I want to talk to you about something,” Theo said, voice low and warm, “but only if you’re up for it. You can tell me to stop at any point.”
Hermione nodded, thumbs worrying at the blanket.
“Okay.”
Theo took a slow breath. “I know Draco told you some of the basics yesterday. About the marriage law. About us ending up… in what we’d call a triad bond.”
Hermione grimaced slightly but didn’t pull away.
Theo continued gently, “It wasn’t forced. Not the way you’re imagining it. The initial pairing was, yes — the law dictated the match. But everything that followed… we actually built that together.”
Hermione looked unconvinced, a crease forming between her brows.
Theo’s expression softened. “I know you don’t feel it right now — that’s okay. Feelings follow memory, and yours just isn’t here at the moment. But you were happy, Hermione. Truly. With both of us.”
Hermione swallowed. “I… believe you. But it feels impossible.”
“I know.” Theo reached out slowly and rested his hand, palm-up, near hers on the bed — an invitation, not a request. “And we’re not asking you to act like anything is normal. Not yet. Not until it feels right.”
Hermione hesitated, then cautiously placed her hand in his.
Theo smiled softly.
“You were my best friend long before everything else,” he said. “That’s still true. We don’t have to rush anything. We’ll start from there. You remember that.”
Hermione’s eyes stung.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For being patient.”
Theo gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Always. You set the pace. We’re not going anywhere.”
Later that afternoon, when Theo left the room to take an owl for the hospital, Draco hovered awkwardly in the doorway like a man trying to remember how to breathe.
Hermione offered a polite smile — stiff, but genuine.
“You can come in,” she said.
Draco exhaled shakily and crossed to the chair beside the bed, sitting carefully as though afraid the chair might bite him. Or that she might.
“I… brought you something,” he said, opening his coat with trembling hands. He pulled out a small, worn hardback book.
Hermione blinked. “Is that…?”
“Your copy of Hogwarts: A History,” he said quietly. “You, um… reread it last winter and annotated half of it. I thought you might like to have it.”
Her chest tightened unexpectedly. Something fluttered in her mind — the idea of curling up with a blanket in the manor’s library, reading it for the dozenth time, making little remarks in the margins about outdated magical theory. But there was no memory attached. Only a ghost of a feeling.
“Thank you,” she said, hugging the book to her chest.
Draco looked down at his hands, pale and tense in his lap. “You don’t have to pretend things. I know your memories of me are…limited.”
Hermione bit her lip. “I remember you being…civil. More pleasant than I expected. Funny, sometimes.”
Draco let out a startled laugh. “Funny? Don’t say that too loudly. Pansy will never let me live it down.”
Hermione found herself smiling a bit.
He seemed relieved by even that small moment.
“I want to give you space,” Draco said carefully. “You should feel safe. And comfortable. Even if that means…you prefer having Theo near you more than me at first.” His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “You don’t owe me anything.”
Hermione noticed the crack in his voice.
“Draco,” she said softly, “I’m not afraid of you.”
His eyes snapped up, wide, sharp silver trembling with emotion.
“You’re not?” He sounded stunned. “You should be — not because of who I am, but because— because you don’t remember what we were to each other. I don’t want to be overwhelming. Or a stranger who thinks he has a right to you.”
Hermione’s heart squeezed. The vulnerability in him… it wasn’t the Draco she remembered from school—but it was a Draco she realized she wanted to know.
“You’re not a stranger exactly,” she whispered.
Draco inhaled sharply, lips parting. “That… means more than you know.”
He stood slowly. “I’ll let you rest.”
He made it almost to the door.
Soon, Hermione reached over to turn off the light, when—
She heard it.
A broken, quiet sound.
She frowned, sitting up, heart ticking faster.
Another sound. Soft. Choked.
They were coming from the hallway.
From Draco.
Hermione swung her legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the small wave of dizziness, and padded to the cracked-open door. When she peered through, she saw Draco standing with one hand braced on the wall, shoulders shaking.
Theo stood beside him, one hand on Draco’s back, murmuring something soothing, but Draco shook his head, voice raw:
“I saw her laying there with blood all around her — I thought she was dead, Theo. I thought—” His voice broke, crumbling. “And now she looks at me like I’m— nothing. Not even someone she trusts. I— I can’t—”
Theo pulled him into a tight, grounding hug. Draco’s breath shuddered like a man ripping apart at the seams.
“She remembered something today,” Theo said quietly. “It’s a start.”
“It wasn’t me,” Draco whispered hoarsely. “Not even close. She looked right through me.”
Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth.
She hadn’t known. She’d assumed Draco was simply distant, or trying not to intrude. She hadn’t realized…
He was hurting this much.
Theo murmured, “She’ll come back to us. All of us.”
“She remembers tea with you,” Draco choked, “and the library with you. But when she looks at me? It’s like I’m a shadow behind you, like I don’t matter. She doesn’t remember loving me. Hermione doesn’t remember ever choosing me.”
Hermione’s chest twisted painfully.
Her knees nearly buckled.
She had hurt him—without meaning to, without even knowing—and the guilt washed over her so sharply she had to grip the doorway to stay upright.
Theo rested his forehead against Draco’s temple. “The bond is still there, even if she can’t feel it yet. She will. She did once. She will again.”
Draco let out another shaky breath, wiping roughly at his eyes.
“I don’t want her to feel guilty,” he whispered. “It’s not her fault.”
But Hermione did feel guilty.
Crushingly, overwhelmingly guilty.
A tear slipped down her cheek before she realized it.
She stepped back quietly into her room and closed the door—softly, silently—so they wouldn’t know she’d heard.
She crawled back into bed, clutching the book Draco gave her, heart aching, mind spinning, guilt twisting like a knife.
He loved her.
He was in pain.
And she couldn’t remember loving him back.
Notes:
Soon they'll release her to go home... could get interesting.
Chapter 228: Past Mistakes
Notes:
The pain from this never truly is gone completely.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione waited until the mediwitch left and the ward had settled back into its soft, beeping quiet.
Theo was dozing in the visitor’s chair, head tipped back, long fingers laced over his stomach. He looked shattered—like he’d spent weeks running on fumes and stubbornness. Dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes. She supposed he had.
“Theo?” Hermione said softly.
His eyes flickered open immediately, the way a healer’s did when they’d trained themselves to wake at the slightest sound.
“I’m awake,” he murmured, then focused on her. “Hey. Headache? Nausea? Blurred vision?”
“What? No, I’m fine,” she said quickly. “Well. As fine as I can be, considering… everything.”
Theo sat up, rubbing his face. “Did the mediwitch bother you? I told her no more potions unless absolutely necessary—”
“Theo,” Hermione cut in gently. “I need to ask you something.”
He stilled. “Okay. Ask me anything.”
She hesitated, fingers twisting in the sheet. “Last night. After Harry left. I… may have overheard you and Draco in the hallway.”
Theo’s expression shuttered with concern. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough,” she said quietly. “Enough to know he’s not just…uncomfortable. He’s hurting. A lot.”
Theo let out a slow, pained breath. “Yeah. He is.”
“How long has he been that torn up?” she asked. “Be honest with me.”
Theo looked down at his hands for a moment, then back up.
“Since the moment of your kidnapping,” he said.
“Maybe before, if I’m being honest. He’s always been terrified of losing you. But after Russia…” His throat worked. “He hasn’t really stopped panicking. He just learned how to fake functioning while he did it.”
Hermione’s chest ached. “And you?”
Theo gave a strained half-smile. “Oh, I’m a mess too. I just had the advantage of healer training and years of childhood practice pretending I’m fine when I’m not.”
Her eyes burned. “I didn’t realize how much I was hurting him just by…not remembering.”
“You’re not hurting him,” Theo said quickly, leaning forward. “He’s hurting because you were taken. Because you were nearly killed. Because you’re in pain. The memory loss is just the bit his anxiety latched onto as proof that the world is unfair.”
Hermione looked down. “He said it felt like I never chose him.”
Theo’s jaw clenched. “He did, did he?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t apologize,” Theo said, voice gentler. “It’s not your fault. If anyone should apologize, it’s the wizards who built that siphoning network and the bastards who took you.”
He reached out and lightly touched her wrist.
“Hermione, you did choose him,” Theo said quietly. “Again and again. Every time you let him in. Every time you fought with him and stayed. Every time you reached for his hand. The fact that your memories got scrambled doesn’t erase that. It just means he has to be patient while we help you find your way back.”
She swallowed. “I don’t know how long that will take.”
“Neither do I,” Theo admitted. “But we’ll be here. Both of us. As long as it takes.”
Hermione nodded, eyes stinging. “Thank you.”
Theo gave her a small, sad smile. “You’re our witch. Even if your memory insists on taking the scenic route.”
She huffed out a watery laugh.
For the first time since waking in the hospital, she believed—truly believed—that maybe they could survive this.
That night, exhausted from potions, questions, and too many visitors, Hermione finally fell into a deep, dark sleep.
She expected nightmares.
Instead, memories started to surface like pieces of film spliced back together out of order.
She was standing outside a familiar bedroom door at Nott Manor.
She pushed the door open with her knee.
“Theo, your having a nightmar—”
Her words died in her throat.
Theo and Draco were on the bed.
Naked, tangled up indecent. Too close for “just friends.”
Draco was beside him, his hand cupped around Theo’s jaw as he kissed him slowly, tenderly.
It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t hurried.
It was the kind of kiss that said: I know you, I remember you, I’ve missed you for years.
Hermione froze.
Hermione stared between them, throat dry. “I… ”
Theo slid off the bed immediately, reaching for her.
“Hermione, wait—”
She stepped back on instinct.
“Since when?” she asked, voice small and shocked. “Since when have you two…?”
Theo winced.
“It’s complicated,” Theo said helplessly. “We should have told you—”
“Theo,” Draco said sharply, guilt thick in his voice. “She doesn’t need excuses right now.”
Hermione’s heart pounded, confusion and betrayal and something she couldn’t quite name rising in a messy wave. She adored Theo. She had grown to care about Draco. They were both hers—her confusing, infuriating, wonderful men. And now…
The memory blurred around the edges then—Pansy’s furious voice, Hermione’s shaking hands, a Portkey, the ache of leaving England for a few days with Pansy just to breathe.
Hermione jolted awake in the hospital bed, lungs dragging in air.
Her heart was pounding.
She remembered.
Not everything.
But enough.
Hermione didn’t hesitate.
She pushed the call button with shaking fingers. When the mediwitch appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, Hermione was sitting upright, eyes too bright.
“Miss?” the witch said gently. “Are you all right? Do you need a potion?”
“I need Pansy Parkinson-Zabini,” Hermione said, voice a little higher than usual. “Now. Please. If she’s at home or at her shop or at the hospital trying to annoy Theo— I don’t care. Just send word. Tell her I remembered something and I need to talk to her.”
The mediwitch blinked at the speed of the request, but nodded. “I’ll send an owl immediately.”
Hermione exhaled and sank back against the pillows, her pulse still racing.
Within forty minutes, the door banged open and Pansy swept in like a storm, dark hair pinned up in a stylish twist, robe half-buttoned, an expression of barely-controlled panic on her face.
“If this is about you remembering that I once snogged a Ravenclaw girl in 8th year playing truth or dare, I swear to Merlin, Granger—”
Hermione let out a startled half-laugh, half-sob.
“It’s not that,” she said, voice wobbly.
Pansy’s expression softened instantly. She crossed the room in quick strides, sinking into the chair at Hermione’s bedside and taking her hand.
“Okay. Start at the beginning. What happened?”
Hermione swallowed. “I had a dream. But it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory.”
“About what?”
Hermione stared down at their joined hands. “About walking in on Theo and Draco.”
Pansy’s mouth flattened into a grim line. “Ah.”
“In his bedroom,” Hermione continued. “At the manor. They were… they were kissing and more. It wasn’t casual. It was…” She shook her head.
“It felt like I was intruding on something old. Something that belonged to the two of them long before it ever involved me.”
Pansy exhaled slowly through her nose. “You remember that then.”
“Yes.” Hermione’s voice cracked. “And you. You were there, after. When I was upset. You told me you’d already known about them or suspected. That you took me abroad for a few days.
Pansy leaned back, eyes drifting to the ceiling. “Yes, change of scenery,” she said softly. “We drank too much wine and swore off complicated men. That lasted… what, three hours?”
Hermione gave a wet laugh.
“I feel like an idiot,” Hermione whispered. “How did I not see it earlier? The way they looked at each other, the way they fought. I should have realized there was history there. I should have made them talk to me sooner.”
“Stop,” Pansy said sharply, squeezing her hand. “Absolutely not. You are not taking responsibility for two emotionally-stunted Slytherin idiots being cowards about their feelings in their teens.”
Hermione blinked.
Pansy’s gaze softened.
“Yes, they were together,” Pansy said. “For a while at Hogwarts. It was messed up and secret and too tangled up in the war. Theo loved him. Draco loved him back in his own half-broken way, but he was so far up his own fear and family expectations he couldn’t see straight. And when it all went to hell? Theo ended it to try to save himself. Draco didn’t know what to do except collapse into a marriage contract with Astoria and pretend it didn’t hurt.”
“Pansy—”
“And then,” Pansy went on, “years later, after the war, you end up living with Theo as his stubborn, Gryffindor, Muggleborn best friend who never leaves well enough alone. Draco gets pulled back into your orbit because of the seats, and suddenly the two people he’s always felt like he messed up most with are… happy together. Without him.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “That’s not fair. We invited him over with you—”
“You did,” Pansy agreed. “But fairness and feelings aren’t the same thing. He wanted to be better, and he didn’t know how, and then the law shoved you all together and everything got messier.”
Hermione scrubbed at her eyes. “I’m not just upset that they didn’t tell me sooner now. I’m upset because when I walked in on them then, I was hurt, and now that memory is back, so is that sting. And I know it’s from a year ago, but it feels fresh.”
Pansy nodded. “Work with that. Don’t pretend you’re fine just because the timeline is old on paper. Trauma doesn’t care about dates. You’re allowed to feel what you feel.”
Hermione sniffed. “So what do I do?”
“Eventually?” Pansy said. “You have to talk to them. Both of them. About what you remembered and how it made you feel. About how you processed it the first time. About the fact that your feelings now are tangled up with your amnesia and your kidnapping and everything else.”
“That sounds awful,” Hermione muttered.
“It will be,” Pansy said cheerfully. “But you’re Hermione Granger. You’ve survived worse than emotional honesty.”
Hermione snorted.
Pansy squeezed her hand again. “I was so angry at them back then. At Draco, for treating Theo like something he could have only behind closed doors and not saying anything to you first. At Theo, for letting himself be that person. I dragged you out of the country because I knew you would internalize all of it and somehow make it your fault.”
Hermione’s lips trembled. “I still want to.”
“I know,” Pansy said. “That’s why I’m here. To very lovingly tell you to stop being a martyr. Their past is their past. Your feelings about it are yours. The present is all three of yours. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”
Hermione took a shaky breath. “When they come back, will you… stay? At least for the beginning?”
“Of course,” Pansy said. “I wouldn’t miss the chance to watch two emotionally constipated pure-bloods try to talk about their feelings.”
Hermione laughed through fresh tears. “You’re awful.”
“And you love me for it,” Pansy said smugly.
Hermione couldn’t argue.
Theo and Draco returned together an hour later, smelling faintly of hospital antiseptic and expensive cologne.
Theo had a paper cup of tea in his hand; Draco had that particular tightness around his eyes that meant he’d been running on adrenaline and sheer willpower.
“Hermione?” Theo said cautiously, eyes flicking to Pansy. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she said. “In the sense that I remember something new and now I want to scream into a pillow, but better.”
Draco paled slightly. “What did you…remember?”
Pansy rose from her chair. “I’ll be right outside,” she said. Her gaze flicked to Draco with a look that very clearly said Try not to be an idiot. She gave Hermione’s hand one last squeeze and slipped out, the door clicking softly behind her.
Hermione’s heartbeat thudded in her ears.
“I remembered walking in on you,” she said quietly. “In Theo’s room. At the manor. You were… together. Like people who had been doing that for years.”
Theo’s shoulders slumped. Draco’s jaw clenched.
Hermione swallowed hard. “I need you both to tell me the truth. Fully. Not just the edited version you think I can handle.”
Theo sat in the chair Pansy had vacated. Draco remained standing at the foot of the bed, as though afraid to come closer.
Theo nodded once. “All right. You deserve that. Where do you want us to start?”
“Hogwarts,” Hermione said. “How long were you together? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? And why did I have to find out by accident in my own home?”
Draco flinched as though she’d slapped him. Theo closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, meeting her gaze head-on.
“We started… whatever you’d call it… in sixth year towards the end,” Theo said quietly. “It wasn’t a proper relationship. Not at first, more in 7th year. More like…two scared boys stealing comfort when they could.”
Draco’s voice was rough. “We were both neck-deep in our fathers’ expectations. I had the Dark Lord breathing down my neck. Theo had his father watching his every move, trying to drag him deeper into all of it. There wasn’t exactly room for candlelit declarations.”
“But there were feelings,” Theo said. “At least on my side. Strong ones. I loved him. I don’t think I fully admitted it to myself until after the Battle, but it was there.”
Draco swallowed hard. “And I… was a coward. I cared for him. More than I had any right to, considering how deep in the darkness I was. But I didn’t know how to step out of the life my father had carved for me. So I hurt him. Repeatedly.”
Hermione’s chest ached.
“So you broke it off?” she asked Theo softly.
“Yes,” Theo said. “During the war. For his safety and mine, but also because I couldn’t stand being the person he turned to in the dark and denied in the light. It wasn’t healthy for either of us.”
Draco’s eyes glistened. “He was right to end it.”
“And then?” Hermione pressed. “After the war?”
“After the war we both tried to pretend it had never happened,” Theo said. “I threw myself into healing training. He vanished into Malfoy obligations and a marriage contract with Astoria. We barely spoke about it ever again.”
Draco’s voice dropped. “I panicked. My father was about to be sentenced, our name was ruined, and Astoria’s parents were offering a marriage that would keep my mother safe. I took it. And in the process, I smashed any chance Theo and I had at… anything.”
Hermione looked between them, throat tight. “And then I moved in with Theo.”
Theo’s lips curved in a faint, sad smile. “And then you moved in with me. And for the first time in years, I remembered what it felt like to be… happy. To have someone in my home who argued with me about books and made sure I ate.”
“I didn’t know about Draco. At first,” Hermione said slowly.
“No,” Theo agreed. “I didn’t tell you because… it felt like a ghost I hadn’t finished burying yet. I thought I had more time. That I could figure out how to talk about it before it became relevant.”
Draco huffed a humorless laugh. “And then the marriage law threw us all into the same bloody cauldron.”
“I thought I could keep the past separate from what we were building,” Theo said softly. “With you. I didn’t intend to hurt you, Hermione. I just… didn’t know how to explain that the man who broke my heart was now someone I had gotten paired with … with you.
“And me?” Hermione asked, voice shaking. “When I walked in on you in that bedroom. Do you have any idea how much that hurt?”
Theo’s face crumpled. “Yes. I do. Because you told me. The first time. And now you’re telling me again and I deserve to hear it twice.”
Draco finally moved, coming around to the side of the bed but stopping a respectful distance away.
“Hermione,” he said hoarsely. “You have to understand—what you saw that night wasn’t us betraying you. It was us…breaking open a decade’s worth of unresolved feelings in the worst possible way. What you saw was the first time anything had happened between us since Hogwarts.”
Hermione’s head spun. “You’re saying that after all those years, the first time you… reconnected… was when I’d already been building something with Theo and trying hard with you to be open minded?”
“Yes,” Theo said quietly. “Because apparently I have terrible timing and Draco is an emotional disaster.”
A startled laugh escaped her, edged with tears.
“That doesn’t make the hurt go away,” Hermione whispered. “Knowing it was complicated doesn’t change the fact that I felt blindsided. By both of you.”
Draco had gone very still. “You’re right,” he said. “We should have told you sooner. We should have told you before it ever got that far. Before there was even a chance of you walking in on… whatever that was.”
“I was jealous,” Hermione admitted, voice small. “I didn’t know what to do with it. You two had years of history I didn’t share. I felt like an intruder in my own relationship. So I did what I always do when feelings scare me—I tried to make it logical. Compartmentalize it. Pansy dragged me out of the country just so I’d stop spiraling.”
“There’s something else you should know,” Theo said carefully. “After you came back from that trip… we talked. Really talked. The three of us. About boundaries. About honesty. About making sure none of us felt like an afterthought.”
Hermione’s eyes burned. “And I eventually forgave you?”
“You didn’t just forgive us,” Theo said. “You chose us. Both of us. You made space in that terrifying, brilliant brain of yours for a relationship that didn’t look like anything you’d grown up expecting.”
Draco’s voice went low and rough. “You told me you didn’t want to stand between Theo and me. You wanted to stand with us. All of us in the same place, for once. No more shadows. No more secrets.”
Tears spilled over Hermione’s lashes.
“I don’t remember saying that,” she whispered. “But it sounds like something I’d want.”
“It was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen anyone do,” Draco said. “And we did our damnedest to live up to it.”
Hermione looked between them, heart aching. “I’m still hurt. I think… I need time to reconcile what I remember now with what you’re telling me about what came after.”
Theo nodded immediately. “Take all the time you need.”
“But I also…” Hermione swallowed. “I don’t want you to think I’m rejecting you. Either of you. I just… feel like I’m meeting the middle of the story with half the pages missing.”
Draco’s expression twisted. “That’s exactly what’s happening,” he said quietly. “And it’s our job now to help you rewrite them in a way that doesn’t make you feel like an outsider.”
Hermione gave a shaky half-smile. “Pansy says you’re both emotionally constipated.”
Theo snorted. “That sounds like Draco.”
“She also says I don’t have to carry all of this alone,” Hermione added. “That it’s your past, and my feelings, and our present. And all of those get to matter. At the same time.”
Theo’s eyes softened. “She’s not wrong.”
Draco’s voice dropped almost to a whisper. “We want to earn you again,” he said. “Properly, this time. With all the truth on the table.”
Hermione took a long, shaky breath.
“Then start here,” she said. “No more secrets about your past. If there’s anything else I don’t know—about Hogwarts, about Astoria, about you two—tell me. Not all at once. Not in a way that crushes me. But… no more letting me stumble into things that should have been shared.”
Theo nodded solemnly. “Deal.”
Draco swallowed and nodded too. “Deal.”
She looked between them, feeling the faint hum of the bond—wobbly, fragile, but there.
To Theo she said, “I don’t remember loving you the way I used to,” she admitted, voice trembling. “Not yet. But I can… feel that I did. Somewhere inside. I want to find my way back to that. With both of you.”
Theo’s eyes glistened. “We’ll walk every step with you,” he said. “Even if we have to do it twice.”
Draco exhaled, something raw and hopeful flickering in his gaze.
“Twice,” he echoed. “Ten times. As many as it takes.”
Hermione wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand and gave them both a wobbly smile.
“Good,” she said. “Because apparently I’m stuck with you idiots.”
Theo laughed, broken and soft.
Notes:
I didn't sleep last night so I worked on a bunch of this all night.
Chapter 229: The Exam Results
Chapter Text
Five days after entering the hospital, Hermione sat on the edge of the diagnostic bed in the private ward, her hands twisted together in her lap, bare feet dangling a few inches above the tile.
The room was warm, sterile, sunlit. Outside the window, snow drifted lazily over London—November nearly gone, winter closing in.
Theo stood beside her in his healer robes, chart in hand, mask of professional calm firmly in place… except for the nervous twisting of the quill between his fingers.
He’d been doing tests on her all morning. Spell-wave diagnostics. Core flux readings. Bond stability measurements. Physical assessments. Cognitive recall checks. Reflex spells (which she wasn’t allowed to cast—he performed them on her while apologizing every five seconds).
Now the Chief Healer, Healer Wilmonton, stepped into the room with a clipboard and an expression Hermione couldn’t read.
“How are we feeling today, Hemrione?” he asked kindly.
Hermione swallowed. “Mostly normal. A little tired.”
Theo muttered, “A little? She nearly fell asleep during the reflex test.”
“That’s because you hit me with a Calming Gust charm,” Hermione said with a glare. “I felt like a warm cat.”
Theo flushed. “It… wasn’t meant to be that strong.”
Healer Wilmonton chuckled under his breath, then gestured to Hermione’s arm.
“Mind holding still?”
Hermione extended her wrist. The Healer placed two fingers gently over her pulse point and murmured a diagnostic charm.
A soft golden glow washed around her body, outlining her silhouette—a shimmering, translucent copy of her magical self.
Theo stood absolutely still, eyes locked on the glow.
Wilmonton hummed thoughtfully. “Hmm. Much, much improved. Let’s go through the categories.”
Hermione braced herself.
“Cuts, bruises, and the shoulder strain are all healed,” Wilmonton said. “Your body has recovered remarkably well considering the condition you were found in.”
Theo exhaled softly. Hermione felt the ghost of guilt twist in her chest. She still remembered seeing herself in the mirror that first day—thin, pale, cheeks hollow from malnutrition.
“And,” the Healer continued, “your electrolytes, hydration levels, and nutrient panels have all returned to normal. No lingering signs of starvation response.”
Hermione nodded. “Good.”
Theo looked like he wanted to cry his relief quietly into her hair later when no one could see.
Wilmonton tapped a section of the golden aura. It flickered—bright, but uneven.
“Your magical core,” he said gently, “is sitting at approximately sixty-five percent capacity due to overuse during captivation.”
Hermione felt her stomach drop anyway, even though she knew it wouldn’t be perfect yet.
Theo swallowed. “But it is increasing steadily, right?”
“Yes,” Wilmonton confirmed. “Very steadily. Based on the depletion level noted at rescue and the readouts from this past week, I expect a full recovery in another seven to ten days—if she limits magical activity.”
“What does ‘limits’ mean?” Hermione asked warily.
“No spells above third-year level, minimal wand use, and absolutely no sustained magic. No charms, no transfigurations, nothing taxing. And lots of sleep. Deep rest.”
Hermione folded her arms. “That sounds… incredibly boring.”
Theo narrowed his eyes at her. “It sounds like survival.”
She softened. “I’ll behave.”
Wilmonton smiled as though knowing she would not.
hen the Healer adjusted the aura and a second layer shimmered into view—three threads of light connecting Hermione’s chest outward, faint and wobbly as soap bubbles.
Hermione stared.
Theo went stiff beside her.
“The triad bond,” Wilmonton said carefully, “is very much present—intact, in fact—but extremely unstable and undernourished.”
Hermione’s cheeks heated. Theo’s ears went crimson.
“This level of instability,” the healer continued, circling the air with his wand so the three flickering strands swayed visibly, “is typically caused by intense trauma, prolonged fear, magical starvation… or prolonged emotional disconnection.”
Theo coughed violently.
Hermione wanted to melt through the floor.
“That instability,” Wilmonton said, “is dangerous if left untreated. It can cause mood volatility, magical misfires, panic episodes, and in severe cases—bond snapping or magical backlash.”
Hermione’s blood chilled. “Bond snapping?”
Theo shook his head quickly. “No, no—that’s only in extreme cases. She’s nowhere near that.”
“Correct,” Wilmonton affirmed. “You three are not in immediate danger. But the bond needs nurturing—and soon. Especially with the magical core still recovering.”
Hermione swallowed. “And how do we… nurture it?”
Theo’s face was steadily turning pinker by the second.
Wilmonton, mercifully professional, explained:
“First, emotional reconnection and shared time together. Bonded triads require trust reinforcement—quiet physical closeness, shared meals, talking, calm environments.”
Theo nodded slowly.
“And… the other part,” Wilmont added delicately, “which I suspect you already know.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Other part?”
Theo turned the color of a tomato.
Wilmonton cleared his throat. “Bond magic is strengthened through periodic… intimate magical alignment.”
Hermione blinked. “You mean—”
“Yes.”
“—and that actually affects—”
“Yes.”
“—and if we don’t—”
“It weakens.”
Hermione stared at Theo.
Theo stared fixedly at the floor.
Hermione whispered, “We’re definitely talking about sex, aren’t we?”
Theo made a strangled sound.
Wilmonton nodded politely. “I’d recommend discussing frequency and comfort levels as a family. But for bond stability, particularly after trauma, intimacy plays a very large role. Magical, emotional, and physical.”
Hermione suddenly wished the floor would swallow her too.
“We’ll… talk privately,” Hermione managed.
Theo squeaked, “Yes. Please Merlin, yes. Not with my boss.”
Wilmonton closed the chart. “Given her progress, I am comfortable planning for discharge tomorrow, provided her core continues to climb and the bond begins stabilizing. I’ll check again before signing her out.”
As the Healer left, Hermione slid a mortified look toward Theo.
He looked equally mortified.
And red.
And tense.
And… something else unspoken.
She took a breath.
“Theo,” she said quietly. “We really do need to talk. Privately. About… well. Everything he just said.”
Theo rubbed the back of his neck, completely undone. “Yeah. I, uh… figured.”
Hermione slipped her hand into his.
The bond flickered—thin, weak, but warm.
“We’re going to be okay,” she whispered.
Theo nodded, breath shaky. “We will. We just… need to find our way back.”
“And we will,” Hermione said, squeezing his hand gently. “Together.”
The sun had dipped low enough that golden light slanted across Hermione’s hospital bed, making the sheets glow faintly. The bustle of the day had quieted; the day shift Healers had left. The room was soft, warm, and unbearably still.
Theo sat in the chair beside her bed, elbows on his knees, hands knit so tightly together the knuckles were white. He had changed out of his healer robes into a long-sleeve Henley and trousers, but he still looked like a man carrying the weight of the world.
Hermione watched him quietly for a moment.
Her heart fluttered with nervousness. He had been her best friend in 8th year, her housemate, the person she brewed tea with in quiet mornings at the Manor… but her memories stopped just after that. A blank wall cut the rest away.
And according to everything she’d been told…
They were married.
They mattered deeply to each other.
They’d been intimate.
But she remembered none of it.
She swallowed hard.
“Can we talk?” she asked softly.
Theo looked up immediately, eyes wide, vulnerable, hopeful and afraid at the same time. “Of course.”
Hermione shifted so she sat cross-legged on the mattress, blanket over her knees. “I know the Healers said we need to… reconnect. Emotionally. Magically.” Her cheeks heated. “And physically.”
Theo inhaled sharply and looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah.”
Hermione took a breath. “Theo… I need to start somewhere simple.”
She paused.
“I don’t remember ever being with anyone. I don’t remember kissing you even. I don’t remember any of… this. As far as my memory is concerned, I’m still a virgin.”
Theo closed his eyes like he’d been punched in the chest.
“I know that’s not true,” she whispered, “but I don’t remember any of it. And I feel like I’m standing in the wrong version of my own life.”
Theo’s voice cracked before he steadied it. “Hermione… of course you do. And none of this is your fault.”
She searched his face. His eyes were glassy, jaw tight.
“I’m scared,” she admitted, voice barely audible.
Theo’s head snapped up. “Of us?”
“Not of you,” she said quickly. “Never of you. I’m scared of not knowing who I’m supposed to be. Of disappointing you, or… or hurting you both.”
Theo’s hands shook slightly as he reached for hers but stopped short, asking with his eyes.
She nodded.
He took her hand gently, reverently.
“I need you to hear something,” he said quietly. “You don’t owe us anything. Not intimacy. Not affection. Not memories. Nothing. You are not a burden for forgetting. You didn’t choose this.”
Hermione’s eyes stung. “But you and Draco—you’ve already lived this version of our relationship. Gotten past it. And I… haven’t.”
Theo’s voice softened to something raw and open. “Then we’ll help you find it again. Slowly. Patiently. On your terms.”
Hermione looked away, blinking quickly. “The bond is weak. Unstable. It needs… whatever it needs.” Her throat tightened. “I don’t know how to give that right now.”
Theo shifted closer on the chair, leaning forward. “Hermione. Look at me?”
She did.
His eyes were so unbearably gentle.
“We’re not asking you to pretend,” he murmured. “We’re not asking you to jump back into how things were. What we had—what all three of us had—was built over time. Over trust. Over care.”
He swallowed thickly.
“We can build it again. Even if it looks different this time.”
Hermione squeezed his hand. “I’m afraid I won’t fall in love the same way.”
Theo’s breath caught. “I… I think you will.” He gave a tiny, trembling smile. “You’re still you. And we’re still us.”
She opened her mouth to respond—but the door clicked softly.
Theo straightened.
Draco walked in.
His usually perfect posture faltered when he saw them sitting there, hands loosely joined. His gray eyes were shadowed, hopeful, terrified. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in days still.
He closed the door gently behind him.
“Hey,” Hermione said nervously.
Draco swallowed. “Hey.”
He moved slowly—like he didn’t want to spook her—and sat on the edge of the opposite side of the bed, leaving a respectful bit of space.
Theo gave him a small nod. Draco returned it.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Hermione’s heart beat wildly. Draco Malfoy—her husband—felt like a stranger with familiar eyes. She had friendly memories of him from after the war… but romance? Marriage? Falling in love? She remembered none of it.
She took a small, steadying breath.
“Draco,” she said softly, “I want to talk.”
Draco’s voice cracked at the edges, though he tried to hide it. “I’ll tell you anything. Or nothing. Whatever you need.”
Hermione’s fingers twisted in the blanket. “Theo and I were talking about… the bond. And about intimacy. And the fact that I don’t remember ever being romantically involved with either of you.”
Draco looked down, his jaw tightening in pain.
She hurried on, “I’m not afraid of you. I want you to know that. I’m just… bewildered.”
Draco nodded slowly, but the movement was stiff. “Of course you are. And you have every right to be.”
He rubbed his palms against his knees, as though grounding himself.
“Hermione,” he said carefully, “you never rushed into anything with us. We didn’t have some dramatic, whirlwind moment. Everything we built happened slowly. So slowly I thought you’d never choose me.”
Hermione blinked. “Choose you?”
His voice softened, almost breaking. “Yes. Because—I loved you. Long before I admitted it to you. Or to myself.”
Theo stared at him, surprised at the openness.
Draco breathed in shakily. “You don’t remember loving me. And that’s… that’s torture, but it isn’t your fault. And I’ll be damned if I make you feel pressured or guilty about the parts of our life you can’t remember.”
Hermione felt tears pricking her eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not,” Draco said firmly. “You didn’t disappear on purpose. You didn’t lose your memories because you were careless. You were kidnapped. Starved. You survived something horrific.”
He swallowed.
“And I’m just grateful you’re alive.”
Hermione wiped at her eyes. Theo put a steadying hand on her back.
She whispered, “The bond is weak. They said we have to… reconnect. Emotionally. Magically. And… eventually physically.”
Both boys flushed.
Theo cleared his throat. “We should start with the emotional part.”
Hermione nodded. “And… I need to ask something uncomfortable.”
Both guys leaned in.
She took a breath. “I need to understand our dynamic. What we were to each other. What you were to each other. What I was to Draco. What I was to Theo. I need to rebuild my understanding so the bond has something to hold onto.”
Theo nodded. “We can do that.”
Draco looked pained, but hopeful. “We’ll answer anything.”
Hermione looked between them.
“Start,” she whispered, “by telling me how we fell in love.”
Theo exhaled shakily and smiled gently.
Draco blinked away tears and whispered, “Which chapter do you want first?”
Hermione’s breath stuttered.
“Start from the beginning,” she said softly, voice trembling. “Start from the part where I started to matter to you both.”
And so they did.
Slowly. Carefully.
Piece by piece.
They started rebuilding her entire heart retelling her their joint story.
Notes:
Do you think she's ready to go home and face Nott Manor?
Chapter 230: Why Draco?
Chapter Text
Hermione woke to sunlight sneaking through the hospital curtains and the echo of a dream she couldn’t shake.
A bed draped in white.
Warm skin.
Soft breath.
A tremble of nerves.
Gentleness.
And Draco.
She lay staring at the ceiling, heart pounding, cheeks warm. She didn’t know what was memory, what was fear, or what her mind was inventing to try to fill the impossible hole inside her.
The door clicked open.
Draco stepped in carrying tea and coffee. His hair was windswept, face drawn with exhaustion, but when his eyes landed on her, something fragile and hopeful flickered there.
“Morning,” he said softly. “You… look a bit better. Did you sleep?”
She didn’t answer immediately. Her throat felt tight.
He set the cups down and moved closer. “Hermione?”
She pulled her knees up under the blankets.
“I had a dream,” she whispered.
Draco froze—not fearful, exactly, but braced.
“What kind of dream?”
Her voice shook. “I think… maybe … a… honeymoon dream.”
His eyes widened, breath catching.
“And,” she added, “I was… losing my virginity. And you—” She swallowed. “You were the one within me.”
Draco closed his eyes for a second, steadying himself.
Hermione’s fingers twisted in the blankets.
“Draco, I’m really confused… why you? Back then, Theo was the one I trusted. The one I was emotionally closest to. The one I lived with. So why—why was my first time with you?”
Silence dragged.
He finally pulled the chair closer, sat, and clasped his hands like he was trying to hold himself together.
“Hermione,” he said gently, “this is going to sound clinical at first, but I need to be honest, so you can get the full picture of that timeframe.”
She nodded hesitantly.
“You, Theo, and I talked about it before your honeymoon. The three of us together.”
Her breath hitched. “We… planned it?”
“Yes. Very carefully. Very lovingly.”
He exhaled, voice low and steady.
“When the three of us became physically intimate for the first time, it was a month after the wedding even, and you were extremely nervous. Not emotionally—physically. You wanted the bond to be right, to be complete, and you trusted both of us. But… there were practical considerations.”
Hermione blinked confused. “Practical?”
Draco nodded slowly.
“My body,” he said delicately, “is—well—more compatible for someone’s first time. Theo… is larger… wider than me. Considerably. We knew it would cause you more pain. Possibly a lot more. Maybe not even be possible at that point in time.”
Hermione’s cheeks burned. She looked away.
“So the three of us decided together,” Draco continued softly, “that the first time—the part that would… actually break your virginity—should be with me. Not because of romance or favoritism. But because we all wanted to minimize your pain, make it the best experience for everyone especially you that it could be...”
Hermione stared at him, stunned.
“And Theo?” she whispered.
Draco’s voice warmed. “He was there. Very much a part of it. It was all three of us together. He held your hand, touched you, whispered to you, kissed you, helped guide you through the nerves. He… was with me more fully. The intimacy was fully triadic. But the actual… penetration for you—yes. That was me. For your sake.”
Hermione’s eyes filled. She didn’t know whether to feel grateful or devastated.
“So, Theo and you didn’t sleep together for another month,” Draco added gently. “Your body needed time for him to be a real option. You were sore for days afterward with just me. And we agreed not to rush anything. We were very deliberate. Very gentle.”
Hermione wiped at her eyes.
“So it wasn’t because of… my feelings?” she whispered.
“Feelings were there for us too,” Draco murmured. “We had major chemistry you kept trying to pretend you didn’t notice.”
A soft, embarrassed smile tugged at his mouth. “And Merlin knows I was already halfway in love with you. But the choice wasn’t about that.”
His tone grew tender.
“Theo mattered to you more deeply at the start. You bonded with him faster. You trusted him sooner. You had bene together before I entered the picture. But your body… would have struggled more with him first.”
Hermione felt relief and confusion swirling violently.
“And the honeymoon overall?” she asked, voice small.
Draco smiled—soft, aching, proud.
“It was beautiful,” he said simply. “All three of us. You were radiant. Theo made you laugh every morning. I carried you into the ocean the first night. We explored, we talked, we argued playfully, we learned each other’s rhythms.”
His voice dropped further.
“And when we finally came together… it was slow. Tender. Emotional. All three of us together, in every way that mattered.”
Hermione pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.
“I don’t remember any of it,” she whispered brokenly.
Draco reached out—then stopped, letting her close the distance.
She placed her hand in his.
He swallowed hard, eyes glistening.
“Hermione,” he murmured, “we won’t force the past onto you. If your memories return, they will. If they don’t… then we’ll build something new. Slowly. And I’ll earn your trust one day at a time.”
Her lip trembled.
“And if I never love you again? If I’m the minority who memories don’t come back fully?” she whispered.
His thumb brushed over her knuckles.
“Then I’ll still love you,” he said quietly. “That part hasn’t changed.”
Hermione’s breath shuddered.
Theo slipped into the room quietly, still in partial healer robes, exhaustion under his eyes. But when he saw Hermione sitting up, cheeks pink, Draco looking unsettled in the corner… he immediately sensed the emotional weight in the air.
He approached slowly, softening his posture.
“Hermione,” he murmured, “Draco… looks like you two talked?”
She nodded, wringing her hands.
“There are… pieces I don’t understand,” she whispered. “He explained why my first time was with him. I remembered it. But I need… your side too.”
Theo inhaled sharply, as if bracing himself. He sat on the edge of her bed, close but not crowding. After a moment, he reached for her hand—hesitant, asking permission.
She let him take it.
Theo’s eyes went soft.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “My turn.”
“The night before the honeymoon,” he began, rubbing his thumb over her palm, “when the three of us were planning what would happen… I wanted to be the one.”
Hermione’s breath stilled.
“I’m not going to lie to you about that,” Theo continued.
“I cared for you so deeply already. You were my person. My constant. My home. And some selfish part of me wanted your first time to be mine, because that felt… right.”
His jaw tightened briefly.
Draco looked a tad ashamed.
“But I also knew,” he whispered, “that if I insisted on that, I’d be choosing my ego over your comfort. And I couldn’t do that to you.”
He swallowed.
“Hermione… I’m not small. And a first time with me would’ve been… a lot. More than your body could have handled without pretty awful pain.”
Her eyes widened, flushing.
Theo gave a small, self-deprecating smile.
“So yes,” he admitted softly, “it stung. A bit. I won’t pretend it didn’t. But that sting lasted about ten seconds compared to the absolute certainty that Draco was the safer, kinder choice for your body, for giving us all a happy experience together.”
His eyes flicked briefly to Draco, who looked down, quietly emotional.
“And when it was actually happening,” Theo added, voice thickening, “you were nervous. And shaking a little. And you held onto me like I was your lifeline. So no—there wasn’t any jealousy left in me. Just love. Just wanting you to feel safe. Wanting your first time to be good, not traumatic.”
Hermione blinked rapidly, tears forming.
“And was it?” she whispered.
Theo smiled softly. “You were brave. And it was beautiful. And when it was too much, we stopped. And when you were ready, we kept going. It wasn’t perfect. But, it was good. But it was ours.”
Hermione exhaled shakily.
“A month later,” he continued, “was when you and I were together. Alone.”
Hermione’s breath hitched. “Draco said he gave you privacy.”
Theo nodded. “He insisted on it. He wanted our first time to feel… special. Just for us. He sent us to Egypt.”
He ran a hand through his hair.
“You’d gotten more… accustomed by then. Mostly. But it was still… intense. A lot for you physically. You were anxious it would hurt, and honestly? It did. At first.”
Hermione winced in sympathy.
“The first few minutes you were tense,” he said. “Your breathing was fast. My hands were shaking because I was terrified of hurting you. We moved slowly. Stopped several times. Talked through everything.”
His eyes softened deeply.
“You trusted me,” he whispered. “Even when it hurt. Even when you were scared. You trusted me to stop. To go slow. To try again. And we figured it out together.”
Hermione felt a tear slide down her cheek.
“And after that night,” Theo continued, voice warming, “things got easier. And better. And eventually—once your body adjusted—things became…”
He cleared his throat, cheeks tinting.
“Well. Let’s just say you became quite adventurous and very satisfied with us.”
Hermione’s face went crimson.
“Adventurous?” she squeaked.
Theo’s grin turned downright sinful—but affectionate.
“Oh, love. Once you got comfortable, you practically rewrote what I thought intimacy meant.”
Draco coughed loudly from the corner, muttering, “Understatement.”
Theo laughed under his breath.
“What matters,” he said more gently, “is that it wasn’t painful anymore. You enjoyed it. Deeply. With both of us. Separately, and together. You found confidence, and joy, and exploration in it. You initiated more and more.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “I did?”
Theo nodded, tenderness in every line of his face.
“You grew into yourself. Into us. Into the bond. And Merlin, Hermione… you were happy. You really were.”
Hermione’s lip trembled.
“And now?” she whispered. “What am I supposed to do now that I don’t remember any of it?”
Theo leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against hers.
“Now,” he whispered, “you breathe. You heal. You let us earn your trust again. We’ll never rush you. We’ll go as slow as you need. And when you’re scared, we’ll hold your hand—just like we always did.”
Draco moved closer, voice soft and low.
“We’re not asking you to fall back into a marriage you can’t remember,” he murmured.
Theo’s fingers tightened around hers.
“From the beginning,” he said. “As friends. As whatever you’re ready for. And when your memories return—we’ll be here. If they don’t, we’ll build something new.”
Hermione closed her eyes, tears spilling.
For the first time since waking without a year and a half of her life, the bond gave a faint pulse—not pain, not confusion—just warmth.
And she let it fill her.
Notes:
Got some big shoes of herself to live up to...
Chapter 231: Close Friends
Chapter Text
An hour later the door opened quietly—and then the room fills at once.
Harry. Ginny. Pansy. Luna.
A rush of color and energy and voices.
“Hermione!” Ginny nearly barreled into her with a hug.
Pansy followed with a huff, pretending she wasn’t worried sick for days. “Well at least you look alive. Better than Draco did when he wasn’t sleeping and Theo when he wasn’t eating. Honestly, the dramatics in that manor—”
Luna drifted in last, serene and dreamy, holding baby Celine wrapped in a moon-patterned sling, humming a tune that somehow soothes the entire room.
Harry closed the door behind them and sat at the foot of her bed. His expression gentle—protective—but with that familiar grief-edged maturity he always had on hard days.
It took Hermione a moment to steady herself. Their concern is overwhelming.
But the bond…
Still flickers.
Still unstable.
And her heart squeezed painfully.
“I’m glad you’re all here,” she says finally, her voice thin. “I… I need to talk to someone who isn’t Draco or Theo. Someone who won’t—pressure me. Or tiptoe around me.”
They exchanged glances, then settle around her—Ginny on the left, Pansy on the right, Harry at her feet, Luna in the chair with her baby.
Hermione took a shaky breath.
“I know the bond between Theo, Draco, and me needs stabilization,” she whispers. “I can feel it. They can feel it. Everyone at the hospital can feel it. And yet…”
Her voice cracks.
“…I don’t remember that part of myself. The part who could be intimate with them. Who wasn’t afraid. Who trusted them in ways I can’t fathom right now.”
Ginny squeezed her arm.
Pansy’s eyes soften, dropping her usual snark.
Hermione continues, trembling.
“I feel like half a person. I feel like I’ve lost the me who grew into this marriage. And I’m terrified that the bond will break because I can’t catch up emotionally to who I became.”
Harry leans forward. “Hermione. Listen to me. The bond isn’t going to break. You don’t lose a year and a half of growing up overnight, and no one expects you to feel anything you can’t.”
Pansy snorted. “Yes, well, you did have shockingly good taste for once, choosing them both. But you’re allowed to be confused.”
She reached out and awkwardly pated Hermione’s knee. “Sort of like if you woke up after a coma and found out you own a shop in Paris you don’t remember opening. It’s jarring. It doesn’t mean the shop’s bad.”
Ginny nods firmly. “You loved them. Both of them. Fully. I saw it every day. But people forget that love doesn’t vanish if memory does. It might be buried. But it’s there.”
Hermione’s eyes stung. “I don’t feel it yet.”
“No,” Ginny said gently. “But you will. And even if you don’t right away, they’re patient. They’ll wait. They’ll let you relearn them.”
Luna humed lightly, stroking her baby’s hair.
“In Nargle bonding rituals,” Luna said dreamily, “sometimes a partner loses their sense of direction for a season. They wander in circles until their heart remembers the path. The other partners aren’t meant to pull them—they’re meant to walk calmly behind until the lost one finds the trail again.”
Hermione blinked. “Luna… are you saying I’m wandering in circles?”
“No,” Luna says serenely. “You’re remembering how to walk. The circles come later.”
Pansy snorted tea through her nose.
Ginny burst into giggles.
Hermione laughed for the first time in days—soft, startled, but real.
Harry squeezes her foot. “What Luna’s saying is—you’re not broken. This is temporary. And they’re terrified because they love you. All three of you need healing time. That’s all.”
Hermione looked down at her hands.
“They said the bond is weak. That it’s unstable. That in another month or less it would start to literally harm the three of us.”
Ginny shoke her head. “Hermione, bonds respond to intention. To connection. You don’t have to dive back into the deep end. You just have to talk to them. Spend time with them. Let your body and soul remember what your mind can’t yet.”
Pansy leaned in sharply.
“And for Merlin’s sake, Granger—don’t punish yourself for needing time. Draco is dramatic. Theo is emotional. They’re both going to get clingy and protective and occasionally stupid about this. It’s your job to remind them you’re a partner, not a fragile relic.”
Hermione gave a watery laugh.
Luna spoke again, soft and floating.
“You’re still you, Hermione. Just… missing a few pages. But your story didn’t vanish. And the boys are very good bookmarks.”
Ginny choked laughing again.
Harry sighs affectionately. “I missed this.”
Hermione wipes a tear.
“Do you really think,” she whispers, “I can find that version of myself again?”
Ginny loops an arm around her shoulder.
“Not think. I know.”
Pansy squeezed her hand.
“I’ll bully you back into shape if I must.”
Luna tilted her head, dreamlike.
“Your bond is waiting for you. It knows where you are.”
Harry smiles softly.
“And you never do anything halfway. You’ll figure this out.”
Hermione swallows around the lump in her throat.
“I’m scared,” she whispers.
Ginny pulls her into a tight hug.
“So are they. That’s why it’s going to be alright.”
Hermione closes her eyes and lets herself lean into it—the warmth, the friendship, the fierce loyalty.
She wasn’t alone.
Not in her fear.
Not in her confusion.
Not in her healing.
Harry stood after nearly an hour of talking, brushing crumbs of the hospital biscuits from his robes.
“I should get back to the Ministry,” he says, giving Hermione a last squeeze to her shoulder. “You’re in good hands. And Hermione—take it slow. One day at a time.”
She nods, grateful.
He leans down, presses a kiss to the top of her hair in that brotherly way he always had, and slips out the door.
The moment it clicks softly shut, Ginny lets out a dramatic exhale.
“Right,” she says, shifting to sit cross-legged on Hermione’s hospital bed. “Now that Harry’s gone, we can talk about the part he’d turn purple hearing.”
Pansy’s eyes gleam—immediately predatory.
“Oh, thank Merlin,” she says, placing her tea aside. “Because we really do need to talk about that.”
Hermione stiffens slightly.
“The physical side?” she whispers.
Ginny nods gently.
Pansy smirks.
Luna hums a soft, knowing little tune.
Hermione’s stomach flips.
“I don’t remember any of it,” Hermione admits, voice small. “Not at all. I don’t remember being attracted to them. I don’t remember wanting… anything much. And the idea of it—now—it feels foreign. I’ve only remembered a few small things really.”
Pansy raises a brow.
“Hermione, you were very attracted to them. Trust me. I saw the way you looked at both of them like they were Chocolate Frogs dipped in sin.”
Ginny snorts.
Luna only smiles airily.
“And more importantly,” Ginny says softly, “you were comfortable. Completely. Safely. Happily.”
Hermione picks at the blanket.
“I’m afraid I’ll never feel that again,” she murmurs.
Pansy’s teasing drops for once. Her voice softens.
“Listen,” Pansy says, leaning in. “The first time you were intimate with Draco—you were terrified. Not of him. Of yourself. Of the unknown. Of what it meant for your future.”
“I was?”
“Oh yes,” Pansy says. “You paced the entire length of the manor parlor that morning before you left. And you worried about every possible thing except whether you actually wanted him.”
Hermione blushes.
Ginny adds reassuringly, “And you were so careful with Theo too. You took things slowly. Step by step. You didn’t rush into anything, ever. And neither did they.”
Luna tilts her head serenely.
“You blossomed,” she says in that dreamlike voice. “The first time I saw all three of you after your bond strengthened, your auras were warm. Spiraling together like smoke from a single flame. You weren’t rushed. You weren’t pressured. You were… choosing.”
Hermione swallows.
“But what if I don’t choose them again?” she says, trembling. “What if I can’t feel what I felt before?”
Ginny squeezes her hand.
“Then you take it slow. And you relearn. Attraction isn’t only memory—it’s present feeling. You’ll find your comfort again.”
Pansy nodded, “And don’t forget,” she said with a grin, “they’re both stupidly in love with you. Draco looks at you like you invented sunlight. Theo looks at you like you’re the only breathing thing he trusts besides Draco. They’re not expecting you to jump back into their bed, Hermione. They’re just desperate to have you safe and close.”
Hermione blinks hard, fighting tears.
Luna speaks again, stroking Celine’s hair.
“You’re frightened of the path,” she says softly, “because you don’t remember walking it. But your feet know the way. Your body does too. It remembers safety. Warmth. Touch. When you’re ready.”
Ginny nods firmly. “Yes. When you’re ready. Not one second before.”
Hermione lets out a shaky breath.
“Was it… good? Before?” she whispers, cheeks scarlet. “Was I… happy?”
Pansy gives her a look so flat and blunt Hermione nearly chokes.
“Hermione,” Pansy says, “you glowed. We all noticed. The centaurs in the Forbidden Forest probably noticed.”
Ginny bursts out laughing.
“You were confident,” Ginny says. “You asked for what you wanted. You teased them. Honestly, you had those boys wrapped around your finger half the time.”
Luna added quietly, “And they respected you. In every way. The tenderness was stronger than the fire. That’s what made it beautiful.”
Hermione’s eyes fill.
“I wish I could remember that,” she whispers.
“You will,” Ginny promises. “But you don’t have to rush. You don’t owe them the physical side of the bond until your heart feels ready.”
Pansy points a manicured finger at her. “But do tell them if you get the slightest tingle of attraction again. They’ll combust otherwise.”
Ginny smacks her arm. “Pansy!”
“Well it’s true,” Pansy huffs. “Those two have been in monk mode for weeks. Ever since she went missing. It can’t be healthy between them.”
Hermione laughs—wet, shaky, but real.
“And remember,” Luna says gently, “love doesn’t vanish. It just hides when the world frightens it. But it comes back.”
Hermione wipes her cheeks.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “All of you. I feel… less scared.”
Hermione breathes.
Notes:
Bet Harry obliviated himself after that =P
Chapter 232: Going Home
Chapter Text
Hermione stood beside the bed where she has spent nearly a week, fingers curled around the strap of her small satchel.
She feels… both ready and not ready. Her magic still hums unsteadily under her skin—wobbly, hollow, and easily fatigued—but the Healer’s words echo in her memory:
“You’re safe to return home. But you must rest. Truly rest.”
Theo is beside her, adjusting the buttons on his healer robes as if to keep his hands busy. Draco hovers by the door—still pale, tired, and subdued in a way that makes Hermione’s chest ache.
He looks terrified to even breathe wrong around her.
Theo hands her her coat.
“Everything’s been arranged,” he says gently. “We’ll take you straight home. No visitors tonight. And no expectations of anything. Just comfort.”
Hermione nods, offering a small, grateful smile.
The truth is—she wants to go home. She wants her own bed. She wants warmth. She wants normalcy. Even if she doesn’t remember what normal means anymore.
The Healer signs the last parchment and gives her a earnest smile.
“You three will manage,” he says. “Again, Miss Granger—slow and steady. The bond is there, even if it’s faint. It will steady with patience, and love.”
Hermione swallows.
Draco finally steps forward, clearing his throat softly—as if afraid even the sound might startle her.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
It still feels unfamiliar—him speaking to her like someone who knows her intimately. She nods anyway, trying not to show her nerves.
Theo discreetly squeezes her shoulder. “We’ll go one step at a time.”
When they apparate to the manor gates, the cold late November air hits her immediately. Crisp. Sharp. Real.
Home.
Her heart stutters at the thought.
The grand doors open as they step inside, warmed by the enchantments that protect the manor. House-elves peek out from behind the columns, their eyes full of relief to see her upright and safe.
“Welcome home, Miss Hermione!” one squeaks.
She forces a smile, but her stomach twists.
Home.
Except it doesn’t feel like home. Not quite yet.
Theo notices. Of course he does. He always tracked her emotions like a healer, like someone who loved her long before she loved him back.
“Easy,” he murmurs, hand lightly touching her back. “Just breathe.”
Her eyes lift to the staircase. Her old room is on the family wing. Their shared suite, the one she vaguely knows about, a bedroom, sitting room, and private bath all redesigned for the three of them after their marriage.
She doesn’t remember any of it.
The thought makes her chest tighten.
Theo sees her staring.
“You don’t have to go there,” he says softly. “To the suite. You’ll be in your old room. It’s already prepared.”
Draco stiffens, guilt flickering across his features.
“I should’ve asked if that’s what you wanted,” he says quietly. “It was just—”
“Logical,” Hermione finishes for him. “I know.”
Draco looks away. “You need space. Safety. Familiarity.”
Then, with a trembling breath: “And you don’t remember me enough to… feel safe sharing a room with me.”
She doesn’t know how to answer.
Theo steps between them gently, voice calm.
“Hermione,” he says, “your old room is your space. No one will go into it without your permission. You can come and go. We’ll sleep in the suite. If you want either of us at night, you come wake us there or call us. Nothing changes unless you choose it.”
A shaky breath leaves her.
“I appreciate that,” she whispers.
But something else gnaws at her.
Her old room…
It feels almost like stepping backward.
Toward an echo of a life she hasn’t lived in a year and a half.
Draco’s voice softens, almost breaking.
“I don’t want you to feel like you’re being pushed anywhere,” he murmurs. “Least of all back into parts of the manor that don’t match your current life anymore.”
She looks at him—really looks.
He’s exhausted. His eyes are rimmed red. His hands shake.
He fought for her. He bled for her. He tore through the world to find her.
And she can’t remember loving him.
It cuts her in a way she didn’t expect.
Quietly, she says:
“It feels strange. Staying in my old room. Knowing I haven’t used it since… since before everything.”
Theo nods, gentle but firm.
“I know. But the healers are right. Familiar routines help the mind reconnect. If sleeping in your old room helps your mind anchor itself, we should do that for now.”
Draco adds, voice strained but sincere:
“And when—if—you ever feel comfortable spending nights with us again, we’ll be ready. But we won’t ask for that. We’ll wait.”
Hermione bites her lip.
“What was… my room like? After I left it?” she asks softly.
Draco answers, his voice small.
“Like this, we never changed it.”
A pause.
“It didn’t feel right. You kept some things in the suite of course, but your old room stayed exactly how you left it. Just in case you ever wanted it.”
Warmth flickers faintly in her chest.
Theo reaches out to touch her hand—hesitating, waiting for her permission. She lets him.
“We’ll take you up,” he says. “Slowly.”
As they walk the long corridor, Hermione feels the strange surreal ache of returning to something that is both familiar and distant—like visiting a childhood home rebuilt out of memory and fog.
When Theo opens the door to her old bedroom, she gasps.
It’s her room.
Books. A soft duvet. Her writing desk. A candle holder shaped like a phoenix. The same curtains. The same rug.
A preserved moment.
She feels tears sting her eyes.
Theo watches her carefully.
“We didn’t change anything,” he repeats.
Draco swallows hard. “We wanted you to have a place that was always yours.”
Hermione steps inside, trembling.
It feels safe.
But it also feels like stepping into a life she used to live with no memory of the one she later built.
She turns to them, voice breaking.
“I—I don’t know how to be here. I don’t know how to be around you. You’re familiar and strange all at once, and I hate that.”
Theo nods gently.
“I know,” he whispers. “We’ll help you.”
Draco’s voice cracks:
“We’ll earn your trust again.”
Hermione wipes her face and whispers, “I don’t know how long it will take.”
Draco bows his head.
“As long as you need.”
Theo adds quietly:
“There’s no countdown on healing. Not for this.”
Hermione looks between them—these two men who love her, who she loved, who she doesn’t remember choosing.
But the ache in her chest tells her she did choose them.
And maybe… with time… she will again.
The sky had already turned navy-blue by the time Hermione finished unpacking the small satchel of clothes and potions the Healers had given her. She moved slowly, her head still aching when she strained too much, the magical exhaustion still lingering like a shadow just beneath her skin.
The room was quiet—too quiet.
Her old room felt like a preserved museum.
It smelled faintly of lavender sachets she didn’t remember placing.
The books on the shelf seemed arranged in an order she couldn’t recall making.
Everything was familiar.
And completely foreign.
Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, hands twisted in her lap. The silence felt enormous. Heavy. Pressing.
After nearly a week in a hospital with constant footsteps, healers coming and going, monitoring spells, and the boys visiting at regular intervals… being alone was almost frightening.
There was a soft knock.
“Come in,” she said quietly.
Theo stepped inside.
He looked tired, but less haunted than he had a few hours ago. He had changed into soft lounge trousers and a knitted jumper—something warm and worn and comforting. His hair was mussed. His eyes were gentle.
He shut the door behind him but didn’t step closer without permission.
“I just wanted to check on you before we go to bed,” he said softly. “To make sure you’re comfortable. And you’re not in pain.”
His voice—the healer voice—was so instinctively grounding that Hermione startled at the wave of reassurance it brought.
She swallowed. “I’m… okay. It just feels strange.”
Theo nodded, stepping a little closer but still giving her space.
“I know,” he murmured. “First nights home after trauma are always strange.”
She looked down at her hands. “…Theo?”
He hummed a soft reply.
“Do you mind sitting for a bit? Just until I fall asleep?”
His posture eased instantly—shoulders dropping in palpable relief.
“Of course.”
He crossed the room slowly and sat beside her on the bed, far enough not to crowd her, close enough that the mattress dipped gently under his weight.
Hermione lay back under the covers, feeling awkward, feeling shy, feeling safe, feeling unsure.
Theo remained upright, his hands folded loosely in his lap, as if determined not to touch her unless invited.
She studied his profile—the soft slope of his jaw, the tiny scar above his eyebrow, the exhaustion etched into his expression.
“You look tired,” she whispered.
“I’m all right,” he said. “Better now.”
Silence settled between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just tender. Fragile.
Hermione shifted slightly, sinking deeper into the pillows. Her eyelids drooped. The room was warm and dim. The blankets soft.
And then—
A small, soft pressure landed at the crown of her forehead.
Hermione’s breath caught.
Theo froze, half-pulled back, eyes wide. “S—sorry. Force of habit. I used to do that before you—before we—”
But she didn’t hear the rest.
Because suddenly—
Flash.
A corridor in Hogwarts.
Her tears hitting her jumper.
Theo sitting beside her on the sofa in the 8th year common room, voice soft, hand holding a teacup for her.
Her head on his shoulder.
His warmth soaking into her cheek.
And—
—the gentle press of his lips to her forehead, time after time, night after night, when she couldn’t sleep, when she cried, when she felt too much and didn’t have words for any of it.
The memory slammed into her—warm, overwhelming, achingly familiar.
Her breath hitched sharply.
“Hermione?” Theo whispered, panicked. “Did I hurt you? Does your head—?”
“No,” she breathed. “I—I remembered.”
Theo went still.
“Just now? From… that?”
She reached out without thinking, fingers brushing the back of his hand.
“Yes,” she whispered. “You used to—when I cried, or had nightmares—you always kissed my forehead before you left. Every time. Then… when our relationship started to change you did it every night too.”
Theo stared at her, eyes suddenly shining.
Then his voice cracked.
“I did. Every night. You never told me to stop.”
Hermione swallowed, chest tightening.
“I didn’t want you to,” she said softly.
Theo let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, almost like a sob. “You used to say it made you feel safe.”
Her eyes burned.
“It still does.”
The bond pulsed—soft, faint, but not as faint as before. A quiet thread warming between them, like the glow of a newly sparked ember.
Theo exhaled, visibly shaking with relief.
“Hermione,” he whispered, voice trembling, “I can’t describe how much that means.”
She felt her throat tighten.
“I’m scared, Theo,” she admitted. “Everything feels like walking into a life I don’t remember living.”
“I know.”
His voice was low, deliberate, careful.
“I’m scared too.”
She hesitated, then reached out and touched his wrist—lightly, carefully. “Will you… stay? Just until I fall asleep at least?”
Theo nodded instantly. “Of course.”
He stretched out on top of the covers, far on the other side of the bed so he wouldn’t crowd her, hands folded on his stomach, eyes on the ceiling—every line of his body careful, respectful.
Hermione whispered into the dark:
“You can be closer. If you want.”
Theo turned his head, breath catching.
“You’re sure?”
She nodded.
He shifted nearer, slow as if approaching a frightened creature—careful, reverent—until their arms brushed lightly through the blankets.
And when she blinked slowly, fighting sleep, he whispered:
“Goodnight, Hermione.”
Then, gently, he kissed her forehead again.
Another memory flickered—Theo laughing with her in the kitchens at Hogwarts, Theo sneaking her chocolate on rough days in Nott library, Theo reading aloud to her when she had migraines.
Soft. Warm. Home.
Her eyes closed.
And as she drifted to sleep, something inside her whispered—
This part of him…
I know this part.
I remember this.
I loved this once.
Notes:
She's getting some memories back!
Chapter 233: Frosty Fun Remembered
Notes:
Draco needs this to end or hes going to never sleep.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Theo finds Draco in the kitchen the next morning.
Draco hasn’t slept yet again.
Not properly.
It shows.
His hair is mussed, his shirt wrinkled, his eyes red at the edges—though whether from exhaustion or fear or grief or crying, Theo can’t tell. He’s standing at the counter staring into a cup of untouched tea, shoulders tight, jaw working.
Theo steps in quietly.
Draco’s head snaps up immediately.
“Is she all right?” Draco blurts, voice too sharp, too frantic. “Did she—did she sleep? Did the headache come back? You never came to bed with me. Did she—”
“She’s fine,” Theo says softly, raising both hands in a calming gesture. “Really. She slept. She just didn’t want to be alone.”
The tension in Draco drops—but only slightly.
His chest rises and falls in a shallow breath.
Theo takes another step forward.
“She… remembered something last night.”
Draco goes still—utterly frozen.
His tea, his posture, the air around him—everything becomes suspended.
“What?”
His voice is barely audible.
A single word strangled with hope he’s terrified to feel.
Theo swallows, stepping close enough to be within arm’s reach.
“She remembered the way I used to kiss her forehead in eighth year and that summer. When she had nightmares. When she cried. Then every night before bed.”
Draco’s breath leaves him like he’s been punched.
“She… remembered that?” he whispers.
Theo nods.
For a long moment, Draco just stands there, the world shifting uncertainly under his feet. Relief flashes across his face—raw, overwhelming—so powerful Theo can feel it pulse faintly through the bond.
And then—
A darker ripple.
Jealousy.
Fear.
It flicks like a spark along their magical connection, faint but definitely there—sharp enough that Theo senses it instantly.
Draco flinches, as if trying to clamp it down.
Theo sighs. “Draco… don’t.”
Draco’s eyes flash away. “I’m not— I don’t—”
His jaw clenches.
“Just forget it.”
Theo steps forward more and puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Draco.”
“Don’t,” Draco rasps again, but his voice is breaking.
“This is hard enough without me—without you—without the bond rubbing my emotions in both your faces.”
Theo’s hand stays steady.
“Then say it. Out loud. Stop trying to swallow it like poison.”
Draco looks away—eyes shining too much, too bright.
“I was jealous,” he whispers harshly. “All right? Last night… when you were in her room. When she asked for you. I felt—”
His breath shudders.
“—I felt irrelevant.”
Theo’s chest cracks at the honesty.
“You’re not.”
But Draco shakes his head, swallowing hard.
“For a month,” he gets out, “I’ve been terrified of losing her. Of not being enough. And now—now she can remember you with her. Caring for her. Comforting her. Not me.”
His voice breaks completely.
“But she doesn’t remember loving me.”
Theo doesn’t speak right away.
Instead, he reaches out and cups Draco’s jaw gently, making him look up.
“I know it hurts,” Theo murmurs. “Of course you’re jealous. This bond—we feel everything. You can’t hide jealousy any more than you can hide breathing.”
Draco bites down on a quivering breath.
Theo’s thumb brushes his cheekbone.
“You love her so deeply it terrifies you. And you’ve been scared since the moment she disappeared and didn’t feel you anymore.”
Draco’s breath hitches violently.
“Don’t—”
His voice cracks, shaking.
“—Theo, don’t make me talk about that night.”
“You need to,” Theo says quietly. “She will too, eventually. You can’t hold everything in.”
Draco’s eyes grow wet despite his attempts to blink it away.
“It felt like someone ripped my ribs apart,” Draco whispers. “Like the bond was dying and taking her with it.”
His throat closes.
“I thought she was dead. I thought— I thought I’d lost her forever. And I… I didn’t know how to keep living if that happened for you.”
Theo grabs him by both shoulders—firm but gentle.
“Draco. Look at me.”
Draco does—and the tears finally slip.
“You haven’t lost her,” Theo says fiercely. “She’s here. She’s safe. She’s alive. She remembers me—but she’ll remember you, too. I swear on my magic she will.”
Draco lets out a shaking breath, tears dripping freely now, silently, like he’s ashamed of each one.
Theo pulls him into a tight embrace.
Draco stiffens—then clutches Theo’s back, trembling.
“Why does it hurt this much?” Draco chokes.
“Because you love her,” Theo murmurs into his shoulder. “Because you love us both more than you ever thought you were capable of. And because you’re scared.”
Draco’s voice cracks on a whisper.
“I don’t want you to think I’m angry at you. Or resent you— I just— I can’t lose her.”
Theo tightens his arms.
“You’re not losing her.”
He leans back enough to meet Draco’s eyes.
“And you’re not losing me.”
Draco tries to laugh, but it’s broken and wet.
“Theo,” he whispers, devastated.
“She remembered your kisses though.”
Theo cups his cheek again—thumb brushing away a tear.
“She will remember yours too,” he says softly. “You think I haven’t noticed how much she’s drawn to you even now? She watches you like something in her recognizes you and doesn’t know why yet.”
Draco shudders.
Theo lowers his forehead against Draco’s—something grounding, something intimate, the way they used to steady each other before the bond ever existed.
“Draco,” Theo whispers. “We’re going to get her back. Every memory. Every emotion. Every part of her that belongs with us.”
Draco closes his eyes.
“And until then,” Theo continues, “you don’t get to punish yourself for feeling human emotions.”
A tiny, shaking exhale escapes Draco.
“I’m so tired,” he confesses.
“And so scared.”
Theo pulls him back into his chest.
“I know,” he whispers. “But we’re in this together. All three of us.”
After a long moment, Draco steadies—his breathing evening out, the bond flickering with something warmer, steadier.
Eventually Theo pulls back and says with a small smile:
“Also… Hermione asked if you’d come sit with her this morning after she wakes up.”
Draco freezes again—this time with stunned hope.
“She—what?”
Theo nods.
“She’s nervous, but she misses your presence. Even if she doesn’t remember everything yet.”
Draco’s lower lip trembles once more—but this time he manages to swallow it quickly.
“Okay,” he whispers.
“I’ll go.”
Theo squeezes his shoulder.
“And maybe today we let her see that she doesn’t need to choose one of us to feel safe. She needs both of us.”
Draco nods shakily.
“And maybe,” Theo adds quietly, “you let yourself believe she still loves you. Even if she doesn’t remember at the moment.”
Draco swallows hard, voice barely a whisper:
“I want to believe it.”
Theo smiles—gentle, sure.
“Then go remind her.”
Hermione woke again late in the morning. Her head still felt cloudy, but at least the pounding ache that had ruled her first days was gone. She stretched carefully, blinking the sleep from her eyes—
And froze.
Draco was sitting in the chair beside her bed.
Very straight.
Very stiff.
Very nervous.
As if he had rehearsed exactly how to sit so it wouldn’t scare her.
He’d dressed neatly—soft grey jumper, black trousers—and yet he looked like he hadn’t slept yet still in weeks. His eyes were rimmed faintly red, but he still tried to offer her a polite, careful smile.
“Good morning,” he said quietly.
Hermione swallowed.
Her heart fluttered strangely—unfamiliar, yet… not.
“Good morning,” she echoed.
Silence stretched between them, thick and awkward and shimmering with something she didn’t know how to name. She studied him for a moment—the sharp lines of his face, the pale hair falling slightly over his brow, the way his hands were clasped tightly in his lap like he was holding himself together by sheer force.
“You don’t have to stay,” she blurted before she could stop herself. “I know this is… odd. For both of us. Only if you want to.”
Draco’s eyes flickered—hurt, just for a heartbeat—but he nodded.
“Yes,” he said honestly.
“It is.”
He took a slow breath.
“But I want to stay. If you’ll let me.”
Hermione looked at him then—not as the Draco she remembered from a year and a half ago, the one who was polite but distant, someone she didn’t dislike but didn’t truly understand. No—this Draco was tired, and hopeful, and heartbreakingly tentative.
And he looked at her like she mattered.
She nodded faintly.
“I don’t mind.”
His shoulders eased visibly.
After a moment, he cleared his throat softly.
“I thought… maybe we could just talk. Nothing heavy.”
“Okay.”
So they did.
At first it was stiff—formal, almost painfully so.
He asked how her head felt.
She asked how he slept.
He told her Narcissa wanted to visit tomorrow.
She told him Harry had brought her a new book.
And then—
A strange, deep quiet settled.
Hermione shifted on the bed, pulling her knees up slightly. “Draco… can I ask you something?”
He sat up straighter, instantly attentive. “Of course.”
“Last night… I had a dream. Or maybe a memory. I’m not sure.”
His breath caught—barely noticeable, but not to her.
“What kind of memory?” he asked softly.
Hermione frowned, staring down at her hands. “It felt… real. Realer than dreams.”
“Tell me.”
She hesitated.
“It was winter,” she began. “Everything was snow. And… I was freezing.” She gave a small nervous laugh. “That seems normal for me.”
Draco’s lips twitched—barely—but he didn’t interrupt.
“And I was standing in the forest,” she continued, “watching you use your wand to cut down a Christmas tree.”
Draco inhaled sharply.
Hermione’s brows pulled together.
“That… happened?”
Draco nodded slowly, his face softening with something that looked like awe.
“Yes,” he whispered. “It did.”
She stared at him, feeling something inside her loosen—and tighten at the same time. “It wasn’t a dream, then.”
“No,” Draco said quietly.
“That was our first Christmas together.”
Hermione’s heartbeat stuttered.
Draco went on, voice low and a little hoarse, as if remembering it pained him but warmed him all at once.
“We went out to the Nott Estate forest because you insisted a proper tree had to be cut down by hand,” he said, his mouth curving despite himself. “You called my conjured one—what was the word?—‘soulless.’”
Hermione flushed.
“That… sounds like something I might say.”
“You teased me the entire time,” Draco murmured. “And you tripped in the snow twice. I caught you both times.”
The words throbbed in her chest—warm, too warm.
Hermione swallowed.
“That… that memory felt different.”
“How so?”
“It felt… important,” she admitted. “Safe.”
She hesitated.
“And very… you.”
Draco’s breath shook.
Just slightly.
“I’m glad you remembered that one,” he said softly. “It was one of my favorites.”
Her eyes lifted to his—and for the first time since she woke with her shattered timeline, she saw something in Draco that pulled at her chest.
She saw the man who had loved her.
Loved her so fiercely that it carved lines into his face now.
She licked her lips, suddenly nervous again.
“Draco?”
“Yes?”
“Were we…very happy?”
Her voice was barely a whisper.
Draco didn’t answer immediately.
His throat moved in a slow swallow.
He looked away for a moment—gathering himself—then met her eyes again.
“Yes,” he said softly.
“So happy it scared me sometimes.”
Hermione’s breath hitched.
“And you loved me?” she whispered.
Draco closed his eyes.
When he opened them, they shone.
“I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything besides Theo in my life.”
Hermione’s chest clenched sharply.
She felt something deep inside her flicker—like an old door creaking open.
The bond nudged faintly, almost startled, almost hopeful.
Hermione blinked fast, suddenly overwhelmed, heart beating too loud.
“Draco,” she said abruptly, “I— I need a moment.”
He immediately stood, giving her space, stepping back with the same care he approached a live curse.
“Of course,” he murmured. “I’ll go. I’ll come back later, if you want me to.”
Hermione nodded weakly, unable to form words.
Just before he reached the door, she found her voice.
“Draco?”
He paused.
“That memory… it was nice.”
She swallowed.
“I’m… glad it was with you.”
Something bright and fragile lit Draco’s eyes.
He bowed his head just slightly.
“So am I.”
Then he left, walking quietly down the hall.
Hermione pressed a shaking hand to her chest.
Because for the first time—since waking in this broken, half-empty world— she felt something real about him.
Something new.
Something old.
Something hers.
And outside the room, leaning against the wall, Draco let out a long, unsteady breath.
And smiled.
Just a little.
Notes:
what is your favorite memory for her to remember? Leave a comment.
Chapter 234: Trying
Chapter Text
Hermione stood just inside the doorway of what had once been “her room” at Nott Manor—
her room from before the marriage bond, before the triad suite, before everything she couldn’t remember.
It had been made up beautifully for her return:soft blankets, charmed candles, the fire always warm, a window that overlooked the orchard.
Familiar… and yet not.
Comforting… and also lonely.
Taking a breath, she stepped into the hall.
Theo was waiting just outside, leaning against the wall with his hands folded in front of him. He straightened immediately, relief softening his face.
“You’re out,” he said warmly. “How do you feel?”
“Steady. Tired,” Hermione admitted. “But I think I’m ready for dinner.”
Theo held out his arm—not pushing, not crowding, just offering.
After a moment’s hesitation, Hermione slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.
Halfway down the corridor, they passed a doorway.
Draco was inside, pacing.
The moment he felt them through the bond—even faint as it was—he stepped out.
His expression was hopeful, cautious, and so full of feeling she had to look away for a second.
“Are you—joining us?” he asked quietly, as though terrified she might say no.
“Yes,” Hermione said softly. “If that’s all right.”
The look on Draco’s face—relief collapsing into gratitude—nearly broke something in her chest.
“More than all right,” he murmured.
He fell into step beside her, not touching, but hovering protectively as the three of them walked toward the dining room.
The bond hummed—weak, flickering, but undeniably present.
They had not taken her to the formal dining room.
Instead, Draco had set up a smaller, more intimate room off the kitchen—soft rugs, golden sconces, a table arranged with gentle candlelight that didn’t overwhelm her senses.
Hermione stopped short.
Someone—Draco, obviously—had charmed the space to feel warm but not hot, bright but not harsh. He had placed a blanket on the back of her chair, her favorite herbal tea steaming beside her bowl.
“You did all this?” she asked, looking between them.
Draco cleared his throat, pink rising in his ears.
“Theo helped.”
Theo snorted quietly. “I put three rolls in a basket. He did everything else.”
Hermione smiled—a tiny smile, weary but genuine.
“It’s lovely,” she whispered.
They sat—Theo on her right, Draco on her left.
Not crowding, but near.
Dinner was simple:
warm leek and potato soup, soft bread, fresh fruit.
Nothing too heavy that would tire her.
Nothing overly flavored that might overwhelm her recovering senses.
For a while, they simply ate quietly.
Hermione was the one who spoke first.
“How was your day?”
Draco blinked, startled. “Ours?”
“Yes.”
Theo answered first. “I had the morning shift at St. Mungo’s. Nothing dramatic. Thank Merlin.”
He glanced at her meaningfully.
Draco added, “Ministry firecall meetings. Boring. Paperwork. Endless speeches. Nothing worth repeating.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “You sound like me about half the classes I attended in eighth year.”
Both men stilled.
Draco’s voice softened. “You always said the Wizengamot needed to modernize its filing system.”
Hermione gave an inelegant laugh—something impulsive and honest that surprised even her.
“I said that every week.”
Theo grinned. “You still do.”
She paused, spoon halfway to her mouth.
“…Do I?”
Both men nodded at the same time.
And something warm flickered in the bond—faint, but real.
As dinner settled into comfortable rhythm, the conversation drifted more freely.
Theo told her about a trainee Healer who had accidentally transfigured a patient’s bed into a giant puffskein.
Hermione laughed—really laughed—and Draco visibly melted beside her.
“And what about you?” Hermione asked Draco cautiously. “What did you do today besides paperwork?”
Draco hesitated.
Theo nudged him under the table.
“Go on. Tell her.”
Draco cleared his throat. “I went to the orchard.”
Hermione tilted her head. “Why?”
“You always liked the orchard,” he said softly. “When… before. When you were tired or stressed. Sometimes you sat under the big ash tree with a book.”
A pause.
“I thought—maybe when you’re ready—I could take you out there again.”
Hermione’s breath caught unexpectedly, her chest tightening with an echo of a memory she couldn’t quite place.
“That sounds… lovely,” she whispered.
The bond gave another soft, encouraging thrum.
Halfway through her tea, Hermione’s posture slumped slightly.
Theo noticed instantly. “You’re tired.”
“A bit,” she admitted. “More than I expected.”
Draco was on his feet at once—without hovering, without rushing—just ready.
“Let us walk you back?” he asked.
Hermione nodded.
She stood slowly, and both men adjusted their pace to match her fatigue. Draco kept to her left, Theo kept to her right. Their presence was steadying, not overwhelming.
At her door, she turned to face them.
“I… enjoyed dinner,” she said quietly. “Thank you for… trying to make this feel normal.”
Theo smiled gently. “Normal is whatever makes you comfortable, Hermione. We’ll follow your pace.”
Draco swallowed hard, emotion rising thickly through the bond.
“We’re here,” he whispered. “We aren’t going anywhere.”
Hermione’s throat tightened.
“Goodnight,” she said softly.
Theo pressed a feather-light kiss to her forehead and Hermione froze, breath catching as a warm memory flickered:
Theo kissing her forehead on nights she cried over exams.
Theo holding her hands on cold winter mornings.
Theo whispering that she wasn’t alone.
She blinked hard, overwhelmed.
Draco watched her carefully, his own heart in his eyes. “You remembered something.”
“Just… a feeling,” she admitted.
“That’s enough,” Theo whispered.
“And it’s a start,” Draco murmured.
Hermione stepped into her room, exhaling shakily as she closed the door.
Behind it, Draco and Theo stood in the dim hall, quiet and hopeful and hurting.
“She remembered you kissing her forehead,” Draco said softly.
Theo nodded, eyes bright. “And she let us walk her down.”
The bond pulsed—stronger than yesterday.
Still fragile.
But growing.
“Tomorrow,” Draco whispered, “will be better.”
Theo slipped his arm around him.
“And the day after that.”
And together, they walked back toward the parlor, leaving her door glowing with the first quiet spark of healing.
Hermione woke feeling clearer than she had since waking in the dungeon.
Still fragile. Still fogged at the edges.
But… better.
She rose slowly, wrapped her robe around herself, and padded down the hall.
Theo and Draco were in the small parlor just off the kitchen — both of them looking up the moment she appeared.
Theo’s smile was soft, relieved.
Draco’s was almost painfully hopeful.
“Good morning,” Hermione said shyly.
Theo stood immediately. “Sit. I made breakfast.”
“And I made tea the way you like it,” Draco added, then hesitated. “Or—how you liked it. Before.”
Hermione smiled gently. “Thank you.”
They sat at the small round table, sunlight spilling across the wood. A simple breakfast waited: warm porridge with honey, berries, toast, soft eggs. Draco pushed the honey toward her without thinking. Theo nudged the fruit bowl her way.
The easy domesticity made her throat tighten.
For a while, they ate in gentle quiet.
Theo broke the silence first. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“More like myself,” Hermione admitted. “Less foggy.”
Draco nodded but didn’t look up from his plate.
She could feel the bond flickering — cautious hope, fear, longing.
“I want you both to know,” Hermione said quietly, “that dinner last night… helped. Being with you helped.”
Theo exhaled softly, shoulders easing.
Draco’s grip on his fork loosened.
“We’ll keep going at your pace,” Theo told her.
“You don’t have to rush anything for us,” Draco added, voice low.
Hermione reached for her tea, and her hand brushed Draco’s by accident.
A jolt of warm magic flickered through the bond.
All three of them froze.
Theo whispered, “It’s stronger today.”
Hermione nodded, heart thudding. “I… felt it too.”
The three of them shared the quietest, smallest smile.
It was a beginning.
After breakfast, Theo left to shower before his healer shift, leaving Draco standing awkwardly in the kitchen doorway, hands in his pockets, as though unsure whether to stay or retreat.
Hermione surprised both of them.
“Draco,” she said softly, “could we… talk? Alone?”
Draco blinked, pale eyebrows lifting. “Of course.”
They moved to the garden terrace — her favorite place once, though she barely remembered it. The morning was crisp, leaves shimmering with lingering frost.
Hermione wrapped her arms around herself. Draco noticed instantly and wordlessly draped his own cloak around her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
They sat on the stone bench beneath the ash tree.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Hermione inhaled slowly. “Theo told me… about Astoria.”
Draco’s face tightened. His throat worked once, twice.
“You don’t remember it,” he said quietly. “You don’t remember any of it.”
“No,” Hermione whispered. “But I’d like to understand.”
Draco stared out at the frost-covered garden.
“Her illness was… fast,” he said. “And cruel. And I couldn’t fix it. No matter what magic I tried, no matter which healers we begged—”
He swallowed. “I couldn’t save her.”
Hermione’s heart clenched.
“And the baby?” she asked gently.
Draco closed his eyes.
“She was two months along when we found out,” he murmured. “I wanted that child more than anything. I wanted to be better than my father. I wanted… a family I could love without fear.”
Hermione reached out slowly, placing her hand on his.
“And when she died?” she whispered.
“The baby died with her.”
His voice cracked. “And I blamed myself”
Hermione’s breath hitched at the rawness of it.
She squeezed his hand — gently, but firmly.
Draco stared at their joined hands as if surprised she hadn’t recoiled.
“I remember something,” Hermione whispered suddenly.
Draco’s head snapped up.
“My memories are still foggy. But I remember… her funeral.”
Draco froze.
Hermione continued softly, the memory unfolding inside her like a fragile flower.
“I remember standing beside Theo. And Pansy holding your mother. And you—Draco—”
She swallowed.
“You were standing at the front. And you looked… shattered.”
Her eyes filled. “And I remember feeling this ache in my chest. Like I wanted to go to you but didn’t know if I was allowed.”
Draco’s eyes shimmered.
“Hermione…”
“I remember thinking,” she whispered, voice trembling,
‘No one should ever feel that alone.’
Draco’s breath hitched audibly.
For the first time since her rescue, the bond rippled strong and sure — a wave of aching tenderness.
Draco turned toward her fully.
“Hermione,” he said hoarsely, “I wasn’t alone. Not really. Not after you. Not after Theo. Not once the three of us began to—”
He broke off, eyes closing. “And losing your memories… it felt like losing you all over again.”
Hermione’s chest squeezed painfully.
“I’m still here,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes — silver and stormy and vulnerable.
“You are,” he whispered back.
And very slowly, very carefully, Hermione leaned her head onto his shoulder.
Draco stiffened — then melted.
His hand rose, hesitant, and rested atop hers.
The bond hummed like a small flame catching.
After a long, quiet moment, Hermione spoke.
“I don’t remember everything yet,” she said softly. “But… I remember how awful I felt for you. And I remember wanting to be near you. Even then.”
Draco’s breath left him in a shaking exhale.
“That’s enough,” he murmured.
“And I want to remember more,” Hermione added.
Draco turned his cheek so it brushed the top of her head — barely a touch, but meaningful.
“We’ll find it together,” he whispered.
The bond pulsed again.
Gentle.
Warm.
Growing.
Hermione and Draco were still sitting on the terrace bench, her head resting uncertainly on his shoulder, when Theo appeared in the doorway from the house.
His eyes widened.
He didn’t say a word at first; he just felt it — the bond humming faintly, the way the air around them had softened.
“Hi,” he said quietly, stepping out onto the terrace.
Hermione sat up a little too quickly, blushing. Draco straightened but didn’t pull away from her entirely.
Theo’s face softened even more at that.
He walked over slowly, as though afraid to break something delicate, and crouched down in front of Hermione.
“How’s your… morning?” he asked gently.
Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I’m… trying,” she said honestly. “And I think something shifted. A little.”
Theo exhaled with so much relief she felt it down the bond.
“That’s all we want,” he murmured, eyes warm. “Just… tiny steps. Whatever feels safe.”
She smiled at him — small but real.
Draco cleared his throat lightly. “Mum is coming soon.”
Hermione blinked. “Narcissa?”
Draco nodded. “She wanted to check on you. She said only if you felt up to it.”
Hermione’s stomach tightened.
She remembered Narcissa as polished, distant, elegant.
A Malfoy Matriarch — intimidating even when kind.
She did not remember being close to her.
“I suppose… I can try,” Hermione said quietly.
Theo and Draco exchanged a look — supportive, cautious — and the three of them went inside.
The knock on the door was soft, impeccably timed. Draco opened it, and Narcissa swept in gracefully, draped in pale silver robes, her hair pinned back with understated pearls.
She looked at Hermione immediately.
“Hermione,” she said warmly — too warmly for how Hermione remembered their relationship.
Hermione gave a small nod. “Lady Malfoy.”
Narcissa’s smile faltered at the formality.
Draco winced.
Theo stared at the floor.
Narcissa recovered gracefully. “My dear, Narcissa is fine. Or… even Cissy, should you feel comfortable — you used to.”
Hermione’s shoulders tightened.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I don’t… remember us being close.”
Narcissa’s expression softened into something heartbreakingly gentle.
“That is quite all right,” she murmured. “Memories return in their own time. I am simply glad you are safe.”
She reached out — and paused, giving Hermione a chance to step back if she wanted. Hermione didn’t move, so Narcissa lightly squeezed her hand.
The touch was warm. Careful.
Not commanding — comforting.
“Come,” Narcissa said softly. “I brought imported tea.”
They settled in the formal blue sitting room. Draco and Theo took the far sofa, letting the women sit together.
Narcissa poured tea with a precision born of old pure-blood etiquette. She handed Hermione her cup — the exact tea Hermione liked.
Hermione blinked. “You… remembered.”
“You told me once it comforted you during winter storms,” Narcissa said gently. “And that my blends reminded you of warmth and safety.”
Hermione stared into her teacup.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t remember telling you that.”
“You will,” Narcissa said softly. “And until then, I will remember for you.”
Hermione swallowed hard.
Narcissa didn’t push.
Didn’t hover.
Didn’t crowd her.
She simply spoke of small, gentle things — the manor gardens, a new variety of witch-peonies blooming late, the small ways she’d tried to keep busy while they hunted for Hermione.
Hermione listened, wary but trying.
“You were very nervous before the Orphans’ Gala,” Narcissa said with a soft smile. “But you were radiant.”
Hermione frowned. “Nervous why?”
“Because you said,” Narcissa continued quietly, “that it was your first formal event since becoming a Malfoy, Nott, and Granger all at once. And you worried everyone would stare.”
Hermione opened her mouth to say she couldn’t imagine that—
And suddenly the room tilted.
The scent of verbena oil.
The weight of a heavy red-gold gown being fastened at her back.
Cissy’s hands smoothing her curls into place.
Another day.
Pansy laughing from the vanity.
A tiara being lowered onto her head — Narcissa whispering,
“You are family now.”
Hermione gasped.
Her teacup rattled in its saucer.
Narcissa sat up straighter but didn’t rush to her. “What do you remember?”
Hermione pressed her hand to her chest.
“I remember… you putting the tiara on me. The Malfoy heirloom. My veil was attached to it. You said it was my something old.”
Her voice cracked. “And you told me I looked like I belonged.”
Narcissa’s eyes shimmered. “You did belong. You do.”
Draco looked away, swallowing hard.
Theo blinked slowly, relief softening his posture.
Hermione’s voice trembled. “You and I… got ready together.”
“Yes,” Narcissa whispered.
“And… and I wasn’t afraid of you.”
“No,” Narcissa said, gently brushing Hermione’s knuckles, “you were not.”
Hermione’s throat tightened.
“I’m sorry I forgot.”
Narcissa shook her head. “My dear girl, you have nothing to apologize for. Memory loss is not a failing. We will simply make new ones… until the old ones return.”
For the first time, Hermione let Narcissa’s hand stay over hers.
And the bond with Draco and Theo warmed noticeably — humming with cautious hope.
Hermione was exhausted by the time Narcissa left — too many emotions, too many memories that came in sudden lightning-like flashes and then slipped away again.
Theo noticed the moment they were alone in the hallway outside the sitting room. He stepped beside her, brushing his knuckles lightly down her forearm.
“You did really well,” he murmured.
Hermione let out a shaky breath. “I feel like I’m pretending half the time. And the other half I’m lost.”
Theo’s eyes softened. “You’re allowed to be both.”
Draco stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, posture tense in that familiar Malfoy way. He looked proud of her… and also heartbreakingly careful. As though any wrong move might spook her.
“The healers said your magic might feel different for a while,” Theo said gently. “And working with it again could help stabilize the bond.”
Draco stiffened.
He hated that word now — stabilize.
He hated that the bond was his fault for being too overwhelmed, too emotional, too frantic when she was gone.
Hermione slowly nodded. “I… think I’d like to try a spell. Just something tiny. See how it feels.”
Theo gave her a warm, soft smile. “Then I’ll be right beside you.”
Draco swallowed and nodded once. “Me too.”
They walked her to the manor’s storage room— a tall, airy space lined with reinforced shelves.
Hermione hadn’t stepped inside it since the memory loss.
It felt both familiar and utterly foreign.
“This is where you practiced wandless magic the first time that summer preparing for the mastery,” Theo said quietly. “You were brilliant. You were—”
“Terrifying,” Draco finished with a weak smirk.
Theo elbowed him lightly. “I was going to say stunning.”
Hermione huffed a small laugh.
Her nerves made her grip her wand a little too tightly.
Theo stepped behind her but not crowding, hands resting loosely on her upper arms. The contact grounded her… steady, warm, safe.
“Just an Accio,” he said. “You’ve cast that since you were twelve. Easy.”
Draco stood a few feet away — close enough to protect her, not close enough to overwhelm her.
Hermione inhaled.
Okay. Easy. Simple. I can do this.
She raised her wand toward a small crystal paperweight on the far shelf.
“Accio—”
The word was barely out when the air around her seemed to crackle.
Magic surged through her arm like a pulse.
Wild. Uncontrolled.
More force than she intended — much, much more.
The paperweight didn’t fly toward her.
Every object on the table exploded outward.
The crystal shatter-blast ripped through the room with a deafening CRACK. Shards sprayed in every direction, sparking off the walls and protective charms.
Theo grabbed her instantly, pulling her tight against him, shielding her with his entire body.
Draco’s shield charm erupted out of instinct, catching several larger fragments midair.
When the magic settled, the room smelled like dust and ozone.
Hermione trembled violently.
Theo’s hands were firm on her shoulders as he scanned her for injuries. “You okay? Hermione—look at me.”
Her eyes were huge, terrified. “I didn’t mean— I thought— Merlin, what did I do?”
“You over-channeled,” Theo said softly. “Your core is still healing. And the bond is unstable. Your magic doesn’t know where it’s supposed to ground yet.”
She swallowed, throat tight. “So I’m— dangerous?”
Draco stepped forward so quickly his shoes skidded on the floor.
“No,” he snapped — too intense, too sharp. Then he softened. “Hermione. You are not dangerous. Your magic is loud right now, that’s all. It’s adjusting.”
Theo nodded. “Healers warned us this could happen. We’ll get through it.”
But Hermione’s eyes filled with tears.
“I can’t even cast a first-year spell without blowing up a table—”
Her voice broke.
Theo wrapped his arms around her before she could pull away. “Hey. Hey. None of this is your fault.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Draco added, but she wasn’t sure she believed him.
Hermione buried her face in Theo’s shoulder.
“Why is everything broken?” she whispered.
Theo stroked a hand through her hair. “It’s healing, not shattered.”
Draco looked away for a moment, jaw tightening as guilt flickered in his eyes — the truth was that bond-instability was partly because of him. His panic. His loss of control. His grief when she was taken.
“We’ll figure it out,” Draco murmured. “Together.”
Later, in their sitting room, Theo had her wrapped snugly in a blanket, a mug of calming tea in her hands. Draco paced until she finally told him to sit.
“I’m frightened,” Hermione admitted quietly.
Theo brushed a thumb along her cheek. “I know.”
“What if my magic hurts one of you?”
“It won’t,” Draco said immediately.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “You don’t know that.”
“No,” Draco said, “but I know you. And I know us. And magic listens to intention even when it’s wild.”
Theo nodded. “And your intention is never harm. Ever.”
She looked down.
Theo took her chin gently, turning her gaze up.
“We’re not afraid of you,” he said softly.
“And you don’t have to pretend you’re not scared yourself,” Draco added, voice low but sincere.
Hermione inhaled shakily.
“I don’t remember the version of me who was strong enough to do wandless magic,” she whispered. “How am I supposed to get back to that if I can’t even do this?”
Theo kissed her forehead.
“You’re still her.”
Draco reached out, threading his fingers through hers.
“You never stopped being her.”
The bond warmed — just slightly — like a candle being coaxed back to life.
Hermione closed her eyes, leaning against both of them.
“I want to try again,” she whispered.
Theo smiled softly. “Good. But not tonight.”
Draco nodded. “Tonight you rest.”
“And tomorrow?” Hermione asked, voice small.
Theo smoothed her curls back gently. “Tomorrow we try again.”
Notes:
The magic is an issue though... yikes.
Chapter 235: Progress
Chapter Text
After the disastrous Accio experiment, and after Draco had calmed himself and Theo had coaxed Hermione into eating half a bowl of soup… she finally curled onto the chaise in the firelit sitting room with the boys on either side.
Her head felt heavy but her mind was buzzing.
She stared into the flames, blinking slowly — and then froze.
Theo instantly noticed.
“Hermione?” he asked softly.
She didn’t speak at first. Her breathing hitched.
Because she was somewhere else.
In her mind, she stood in a bright vaulted classroom with white stone floors and floating lecture diagrams. A Charms professor was pacing, wand behind his back, explaining magical compression and amplification theory.
Hermione saw herself, neat handwriting filling the page with equations and glyph notations.
The image flickered, sharpened, and then she gasped as she came back to the present.
Draco’s hand was already on her back. “What? What did you remember?”
She pressed her fingers to her temple. “I… I was at the Charms Institute. I remembered a lesson. A very complicated one.”
Theo straightened, eyes wide. “You remember a class?”
Hermione nodded, dazed. “Not vaguely. Perfectly. Every detail. The theory, the diagrams, the homework assigned afterward.”
Draco looked stunned. “But not— not us? Or the triad? Or anything personal?”
Hermione swallowed, eyes flicking between them, suddenly feeling both hopeful and unsettled.
“No,” she whispered. “Nothing emotional. Nothing about… us. But the academic memory— it was very complete.”
Theo exchanged a look with Draco — a look full of cautious hope.
“That’s good,” Theo murmured, brushing her knee lightly. “Academic pathways and emotional pathways aren’t stored the same way, but if one is healing…”
Draco exhaled shakily. “Then the other might too.”
Hermione wasn’t sure whether to cry or cling to that hope.
It felt fragile. Dangerous. Precious.
After several long minutes of silence and comfort, Hermione sat up straighter.
“Can you bring me the Charms volumes I was working on last? And my notebooks?”
She said it with unusual determination — the kind they remembered from before.
Theo brightened in a way she didn’t fully understand. “Of course.”
He disappeared first.
Draco lingered.
“You’re sure you’re up for reading?” he asked softly.
Hermione swallowed. “I don’t know. But I need to see what I still recognize. What I don’t.”
A flicker of pain crossed Draco’s face. He hid it fast.
She squeezed his hand — a gentle gesture, confused but sincere. “I need to try.”
Draco nodded. “Then we’ll bring everything.”
He didn’t say it aloud, but Hermione could feel the intent beneath it:
Within minutes, they’d brought her:
- Three thick Charms theory tomes
- A leather-bound notebook labeled Hermione Nott-Malfoy — Term Three Notes
- A stack of loose parchment covered in her handwriting
- Two books folded open with dozens of color-coded tabs
She blinked at the sight.
“I… I organize like this still?” she asked weakly.
Theo laughed quietly. “You always have.”
Draco sat beside her, and she didn’t miss the way he held his breath when her arm brushed his.
Hermione opened her notebook.
And gasped.
“I remember this,” she whispered. “I remember writing this. This spell matrix— I remember adjusting it. And this rune translation— I remember the exam question it was based on.”
Theo leaned closer, watching her expression shift from confusion, to recognition, to amazement.
“You remember all of it?” he asked softly.
“All the theory. All the lessons.” Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “It’s like I never lost it at all.”
She turned another page. And another.
“I remember the day Professor Harte had us attempt binding-lattice expansion. I remember sitting in the courtyard afterward arguing with myself about the ethics of enchantment amplification.” Her voice trembled.
Draco’s hand hovered near hers before finally closing gently around it.
“What about anything personal from that day?” he asked quietly.
Hermione looked up at him — brown eyes wide, vulnerable.
“No. I remember the work. The material. But not what I did afterward. Not if I came home to you. Not if I… kissed either of you goodnight.”
Theo’s breath shuddered.
Draco looked like she’d physically struck him.
“It doesn’t make sense,” she whispered. “Why would only the emotional memories be gone? Why not the academic ones? Why not everything together?”
Theo rubbed his thumb gently along her wrist bone, a soft touch meant to calm her. “Hermione, memory loss from trauma or magical injuries isn’t symmetrical. Academic memory is stored differently — and you protect it differently. You fight to understand things. You fight to learn. That instinct is… very Hermione.”
Draco nodded, voice quiet. “Knowledge is your anchor. It makes sense it stayed.”
“But you two didn’t?” she whispered.
Theo answered first, voice gentle but honest. “We think it’s because those memories were tied deeply to emotion, vulnerability, intimacy. They’re harder for the brain to reconstruct after trauma.”
“And harder to face,” Draco murmured.
Hermione blinked, startled. “Face?”
Draco looked pained but steady. “Being taken… being a prisoner… even the thought of intimacy or emotional connection might have felt unsafe to your subconscious. So it walled those memories off to protect you maybe.”
She could barely breathe.
“So my mind protected the parts that were safest,” she whispered, voice cracking. “And locked away the parts that meant the most.”
Theo pulled her gently against him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
Draco placed a hand on her knee and didn’t move it.
Hermione felt heat behind her eyes.
“I don’t want them to stay locked away,” she whispered. “I want—I want to remember you. Both of you.”
Theo kissed her temple softly. “And you will.”
Draco’s voice was a low promise. “We’ll help you.”
Hermione looked down at her open notebook on her lap — a life she remembered… next to two faces she didn’t fully yet.
But something new flickered in her chest.
A step forward.
A fragile one.
But a real one.
Hermione slept for an hour after her memory flashes and the emotional weight of everything. When Theo gently knocked on her bedroom door, she expected to be too tired to stand.
But she surprised herself by sitting up and saying softly:
“I… I think I can try eating with you both. Downstairs again.”
There was a pause — as if Theo needed a second to absorb it — and then:
“That would make us so happy,” he said, voice rough with relief.
He offered her his arm. She hesitated only a moment before taking it.
As they descended the marble stairway, every portrait seemed to hold its breath. Hermione felt her pulse pick up. The dining room was lit warm and low, table set for three, plates steaming with simple comfort food — roasted chicken, rosemary potatoes, warm bread.
Draco stood waiting at the far side of the room.
He froze when he saw her.
Not completely — but enough that the bond shivered between them, a soft trembling thread of electricity she didn’t know how to name. His grey eyes weren’t cold or guarded like she feared they’d be.
They were devastated and hopeful, all at once.
“Hi,” she whispered.
His breath caught so sharply she felt it in her own chest.
“Hi,” he whispered back.
Theo pulled out a chair for her — instinctive, familiar — and she sank into it slowly. Draco sat across from her, every motion careful, as though any wrong movement might scare her away.
But then something unexpected happened.
The bond stirred.
Tentative. Questioning. But alive.
Hermione felt warmth bloom low in her stomach, a pull toward both of them she didn’t intellectually understand, but her body… her heart… recognized anyway.
She inhaled sharply.
Theo seemed to feel it too — he glanced at Draco, then at her, eyes darkening just slightly in concern and amazement. Draco’s knuckles tightened around his fork.
“Hermione?” Theo asked gently.
“I—” She pressed a hand to her sternum. “I don’t know. It’s like… like something’s humming inside me. Like I… remember something in the wrong part of my mind.”
Theo’s voice dropped, soft as velvet. “That’s the bond. It knows even when your memory doesn’t.”
Draco exhaled shakily. “You don’t need to force anything. It’s just the magic responding.”
But Hermione’s cheeks felt warm.
And her pupils were wide.
She knew, instinctively, the way the air thickened wasn’t just her.
It was all three of them.
They began eating — slow, quiet at first. But as minutes passed, the bond threads kept brushing against one another, soft electric sparks that made Hermione press her thighs together under the table without meaning to.
A small clink of silverware startled her — because she felt a flare of heat through the bond. Draco’s. Low and unguarded.
Her breath stuttered.
He froze, mortified.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I— that wasn’t intentional. I’ll get it under control.”
Hermione surprised herself.
“You don’t have to apologize,” she whispered.
Theo looked between them, eyes softening, something like relief loosening his shoulders.
They all continued eating, but the chemistry only magnified.
Hermione lacked memories of their intimacy, yet… her body remembered every touch. Every look. Every breath between them.
Her magic thrummed with theirs like three notes of one chord.
When her hand brushed Theo’s by accident as she reached for the bread, she jolted — because her whole body lit up warm.
Theo inhaled sharply and did not pull away.
Draco’s eyes darkened again.
Hermione swallowed hard.
“I don’t understand any of this,” she whispered. “My mind doesn’t know you like this. But something in me… reacts to you both.”
Theo leaned in just slightly. Not enough to overwhelm, but enough she could feel his warmth.
“That’s normal,” he murmured. “Your magic remembers. Your body remembers. The emotional center of memory is healing slower than the instinctive one.”
Draco’s voice was low, careful, reverent.
“You don’t ever have to pretend to feel anything that you don’t.”
His gaze softened painfully.
“But you also don’t have to fight what your magic already knows.”
She stared down at her plate, breathing unevenly.
“It’s confusing.”
Theo gently placed a hand — the back of it — against her forearm. Just a warm anchor.
“You don’t have to figure anything out tonight,” he promised.
“We’re just having dinner.”
But the bond thrummed louder.
Hermione’s chest tightened with another wave of instinct she didn’t understand — a need to be closer to them. To lean into them. To feel them near.
Her fingers trembled around her fork.
She set it down slowly, looked up at them both, cheeks flushed.
“I… feel safer than I expected to,” she admitted. “Even with all of this.”
Theo’s expression went soft, almost undone.
Draco swallowed hard.
And the bond pulsed warm and steady.
They finished dinner with quieter smiles, lingering glances, almost-touching hands. When she grew tired, she let Theo help her stand, and Draco follow a step behind like a silent guardian.
Before going to her room, she paused.
Just long enough to whisper:
“Thank you. Both of you. Tonight felt… good.”
Draco nearly broke.
Theo brushed a careful hand along her arm, voice faintly trembling.
“It felt like you, too.”
She went to bed with the bond humming gently around her — not overwhelming or demanding.
Just warm.
Just safe.
Just theirs.
Hermione lingered in the doorway of her room longer than she intended. Theo had already wished her goodnight with a gentle smile, and Draco stood in the hallway just past him, stiff and careful, pretending he wasn’t watching her every move with terrified attentiveness.
She could still feel the bond humming quietly from dinner — like soft, overlapping warmth between her ribs.
She took a breath.
“Um,” she said softly, fingers tightening on the doorframe. “Would one of you… stay with me until I fall asleep? Just to sit. Nothing more.”
Draco inhaled sharply.
Theo blinked, surprised — but his expression melted into something warm and relieved.
“Of course,” he said instantly.
But Hermione’s gaze flickered toward Draco.
Not because she preferred him.
Not because she remembered him better.
And not because of desire.
Because his eyes looked haunted.
Like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks.
Like he feared that if he left her alone, she would disappear again.
Her heart clenched.
“I think…” she said gently, turning to Draco, “I’d like you to stay. If that’s okay.”
For a moment Draco just stared at her, jaw trembling.
Theo stepped forward, touched Draco’s back lightly. “Go on. I’ll be right down the hall.”
Draco nodded once, barely managing it, and followed her into the room.
He stayed near the door at first, hands clasped behind his back like he was in front of the Wizengamot. Only when she sat on the bed and gave a small, encouraging smile did he step closer.
“Is… is there anything you need?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Hermione hesitated.
Her mind still saw him as someone she respected, someone she was rebuilding trust with.
But her body — her magic — recognized him on a level that made her chest ache.
“Just sit with me.”
He nodded, perched carefully on the edge of the mattress like she might break if he touched too much air between them.
Hermione lay down on her side, pulling the blanket over her. Draco remained stiff and upright until she whispered:
“You can relax.”
He exhaled slowly and settled his weight into the mattress.
For a long minute, neither spoke.
Hermione’s breathing steadied.
Her eyes grew heavy.
But some part of her reached outward — instinctively — toward the comfort she used to know.
Very tentatively, she touched Draco’s wrist.
He jolted softly — not pulling away, more like a man struck by lightning.
“Is this okay?” she asked.
His throat bobbed.
“Yes,” he managed. “More than okay.”
And something in the bond pulsed warm.
Not desire, not even romance — just a quiet, primal recognition.
She drifted toward sleep with her fingers lightly touching his, and Draco didn’t move a single muscle until her breaths turned slow and even.
Then—and only then—
He let himself look at her. Really look.
She didn’t see him cry.
Just one tear he brushed away angrily, as if ashamed.
But she felt something soft and safe in her sleep, a gentle warmth trailing up her arm.
The bond holding her.
Hermione woke earlier than usual.
The sun was faint across her window, and the house was quiet — Theo already at an early shift, Draco somewhere downstairs. She stretched, rolled her shoulder…
And froze.
Her heart hiccuped.
A flash — not a memory, not fully — just a sensation.
Her back hitting a soft mattress.
Warm hands supporting her hips.
Someone whispering her name in a reverent, breathless tone.
Her chest tightened sharply.
Her breath stuttered.
She swallowed.
Her body remembered something.
Not visually.
Not clearly.
Just sensation.
Intimacy.
Safety.
Heat.
Being held.
Being cherished.
And the overwhelming rightness of being between Draco and Theo.
Hermione sat up, heartbeat quickening in confusion and embarrassment.
She touched her own wrist—
And felt phantom warmth there, as if someone had been kissing it.
No.
Not kissing.
Holding.
Steadying.
Loving.
And inexplicably—
She knew it was Theo’s touch.
Her hand flew to her chest as the bond flared slightly, as if responding to her recognition.
“Oh,” she whispered to herself. “Oh no… oh yes… I don’t know…”
Her instincts were conflicted—
Mind confused
Body yearning
Magic recognizing them both
Heart terrified of betraying memories she didn’t have yet
She was still sitting there when Draco knocked lightly at the open door.
“Hermione? Breakfast is—”
He paused.
“Something’s wrong,” he said quietly.
She shook her head quickly. “No. Nothing wrong. I just… remembered a feeling.”
Draco swallowed. HARD.
“What feeling?” His voice sounded strangled.
She met his eyes, cheeks warm.
“I think… I think my body remembers being with you both together. At least… pieces of it.”
Draco’s breath left him in a shudder.
Not lust—
Not even relief—
Just overwhelming tenderness.
“Hermione,” he said softly, stepping forward but not touching her. “That’s good. That’s very good. It means your memories are healing even if they’re not explicit. It means your magic is reconnecting.”
She pulled her knees to her chest.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered. “Either of you. I don’t want to make promises I don’t mean”.
Draco knelt in front of her chair instantly.
“You’re not hurting us,” he said, voice steady. “We’re just grateful you’re here. Alive. Healing. Everything else will come back when it’s ready.”
She sniffed.
“And if it doesn’t?”
He exhaled softly.
“Then you fall in love us all over again.”
Hermione’s breath caught.
Draco insisted on cooking that morning—something simple and steadying. Hermione sat at the kitchen island with a cup of tea, watching him move around the stove with a concentration that was almost comical.
She’d forgotten how domestic he could be.
Every time he glanced up at her—checking, monitoring, worrying—her chest tightened just a little bit more.
When Theo arrived home midway through breakfast, still in healer’s robes, Hermione felt a shift in the air.
His eyes softened the moment he saw her.
But something else happened too—
A faint thrum in her ribs.
The bond acknowledged them all in the same place again.
Theo didn’t say anything at first. He just leaned down and kissed the top of her head the way he used to, gentle, anchoring, familiar before anything romantic had ever begun.
And something inside Hermione, something deeper than memory flared.
Not desire.
Not panic.
Recognition.
The air rippled.
A quiet wind stirred through the kitchen despite the closed windows. The mugs on the counter rattled. One of the overhead lights flickered.
“Merlin…” Draco muttered, grabbing the nearest mug before it slid off the counter.
Theo froze beside her.
Hermione pressed a hand to her own chest, breath trembling. “I didn’t— I don’t know what that was.”
Theo crouched in front of her, healer instincts taking over.
“That,” he said carefully, “was the bond strengthening. Just a little. It’s not dangerous. It’s a good sign—just… intense.”
Draco nodded, still holding the wayward mug. “It means your magic recognizes us again. Even if your mind doesn’t quire yet.”
Hermione looked between them with wide, overwhelmed eyes.
“I’m not doing it on purpose.”
“We know,” Theo murmured, touching her knee gently. “It’s instinct. And instinct is good.”
Draco sat beside her, steady but visibly emotional.
“You don’t have to force anything, Hermione. Your magic is just… remembering.”
She swallowed.
“Then maybe,” she whispered, “it’s time I see more of what I’ve forgotten.”
The boys exchanged a look—one of hope and fear and something heartbreakingly protective.
The request dropped into the room like a stone into still water.
Hermione held her breath.
Draco blinked rapidly. Theo’s throat bobbed. Neither moved for a moment.
“You’re sure?” Theo asked softly.
“No,” Hermione admitted honestly. “But I think I need to see it. Maybe it will help. Maybe it will make things… less abstract.”
Draco stood immediately—but slowly, cautiously, as if any wrong move might scare her.
“Then we’ll show you.”
He offered his hand without touching her. Not pushing. Not assuming.
She slipped her fingers into his.
Theo walked beside her, close enough for support, not possession.
They led her up the familiar staircase, one she now realized she had walked daily for months she didn’t remember.
They paused outside the double doors of the suite.
Draco exhaled shakily. “We’ll leave if you want. At any point. Just say it.”
Hermione nodded.
Theo pushed open the doors.
Hermione stepped inside.
A soft scent, lavender, something warm, something clean, hit her first. Not perfume. Not cologne.
Home.
Her breath hitched.
The suite was… beautiful.
Not ostentatious. Not Malfoy overwhelming. But a blend of all three of them. Shelves of books, hundreds. A botanical print on the wall she somehow knew she’d picked out with Theo. Soft rugs and a sprawling sofa buried under throw blankets and pillows.
A desk covered in parchment and quills, her handwriting unmistakable.
Three sets of drawers.
Three jewelry trays.
Three lives intertwined.
Her legs felt weak.
But the bedroom, the bed…
Large, elegant, but messy in a lived-in, familiar way.
Her memories didn’t come back in words.
Just sensations.
Warmth pressed at her sides.
Strong arms holding her safe.
Soft laughter in the dark.
Hands stroking her back as she drifted to sleep.
Theo’s even breathing at her shoulder.
Draco’s arm draped over her waist.
Their magic intertwined around her like a blanket.
Her knees buckled.
Theo caught her at once, arm around her waist. “Hermione?”
But she was staring at the bed, tears welling.
“I— I remember… something.”
Draco moved carefully closer. “What do you remember?”
She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.
“Not a moment,” she whispered. “Not a scene. Just the feeling.”
Both boys went utterly still.
Hermione’s voice broke.
“I felt so loved.”
Theo closed his eyes. Draco swallowed hard enough to be audible.
“I felt… safe,” Hermione whispered, voice cracking. “Like I belonged here. Between you. With you both.”
She turned, tearful, confused, overwhelmed.
“I don’t know the memories. I don’t know the story. But my body—my magic—remembers how it felt to sleep with both of you holding me.”
Draco’s breath faltered.
Theo’s eyes shone.
And the bond, for the first time in weeks, glowed warm and steady on their fingers.
Hermione let her tears fall freely.
“I want that again,” she whispered. “Someday. When I’m ready. When I remember more. But I want… that feeling.”
Theo cupped her cheek gently. “You’ll have it. Every bit of it. No rush.”
Draco stepped in, voice low, breaking. “We’re not going anywhere, Hermione.”
Hermione reached for both their hands, trembling, confused, hopeful.
And the bond, fragile but healing, wrapped gently around all three of them again.
A promise.
Hermione woke slowly on the chaise in the triad’s private parlor, the afternoon sun warm on her legs beneath the blanket Theo tucked around her.
She’d been drifting in and out for the past hour while Theo wrote notes in the study and Draco paced because he can’t sit still when she’s sleeping in the same room.
Hermione pulled in a deeper breath.
And everything shifted.
A sensory flash hits her so vividly she jerks upright.
Cold.
Snow.
The sharp smell of woodsmoke.
Laughter, Harry’s loud, Ginny’s snorting, Luna’s bells-in-wind softness.
Theo’s hand catching hers as she nearly tripped on the ice.
Her heart slams into her ribs.
The scene blooms behind her eyes:
The Burrow pond frozen into a perfect shimmering mirror under the early January sky.
Ginny zooming in wild circles.
Neville holding Luna’s elbows as she drifted like a drifting swan.
Harry losing a glove and blaming Ron.
Pansy complaining dramatically about the cold while Blaise skated effortlessly backward to annoy her.
And Draco.
Holding Hermione’s waist, steadying her as she wobbled.
His breath warm against her ear as he teased,
“Granger, you are a brilliant witch, but apparently you cannot stand upright on a flat surface if it’s frozen.”
Hermione gasped aloud.
Theo is at her side immediately. “Hermione? What’s wrong—?”
She’s shaking, but smiling so hard tears spill.
“I… I remember skating,” she whispers. “At the Burrow. All of us. That day.”
Theo freezes, eyes widening. “The pond?”
She nods, breath hitching. “Ginny almost crashed into the tree. And Draco pulled me around the rink when I couldn’t figure out how to move.”
Draco stands in the doorway of the study like he’s been struck.
“You— you remember that?” he says hoarsely.
Her eyes lift to his.
And suddenly she’s laughing through her tears.
“You tried to teach me how to glide, and I nearly knocked you both over.”
Theo laughs in shock. “You did, actually.”
“And Harry,” she continues, “had cocoa warming charms on the mugs but kept accidentally making them too hot so we all burned our tongues.”
Draco’s face crumples in relief, and he sits beside her so gently it almost breaks her.
“That was one of our best friend days,” he murmurs. “You were… so happy.”
Hermione wipes her cheeks and nods.
“It felt like… like belonging,” she whispers. “Like being part of something warm.”
Theo sits on her other side. His thumb brushes her knee.
“Those are good memories.”
Hermione smiles faintly. “I’m glad I still have them.”
She leaned into both of them, their bodies bracketing hers.
The bond—weak but present—warms noticeably, a soft hum instead of the sharp, disjointed ache it’s been.
Not whole yet.
But healing.
Notes:
I love thinking back on their memories.
Chapter 236: Vows to Remember
Notes:
Something very special to remember.
Chapter Text
The first day of December settled over Nott Manor like a pale chilled blanket, cold but gentle, the air crisp, the orchard rimed with the slightest touch of frost.
Ginny and Luna step out of the floo in the main hall, both in thick cloaks and wool hats. Hermione greets them wrapped in a deep green cardigan Draco insisted she wear because it made her look “warm enough for a December orchard.”
Ginny hugs her tight, rubbing her arms.
“You look better than last week,” she says.
Hermione smiles faintly. “Some days. Some moments.”
Luna hands her a little jar of shimmering pale honey.
“It’s starlight honey,” Luna says serenely. “For when your heart is remembering more quickly than your mind. And it tastes nice with toast.”
Ginny rolls her eyes but smiles. “Translation: it won’t hurt.”
Hermione laughs softly and links arms with them as they walk outside into the cold morning.
They take the long path under the bare branches and lingering apples. Their breath fogs in the air. The world smells like snow even though none has fallen.
Hermione walks slowly, and the other two match her pace without comment. Her magic is still unpredictable since her rescue; the healers saying exhaustion would linger for a while still.
“So,” Ginny says lightly, “the boys told me you remembered the Burrow ice-skating day.”
Hermione nods. “It was… nice. It felt like touching a memory that had always belonged to me. It didn’t confuse me. It didn’t hurt.”
“Good,” Ginny says warmly.
Luna hums as she steps over a frozen puddle.
“Memories are like frost,” she muses. “They appear when the world gets cold enough for you to notice them.”
Ginny snorts. “Translation: they show up when they feel like it.”
“No,” Luna says, “they show up when you’re ready for them.”
Hermione feels that land hard somewhere deep in her chest.
They reached an old bench beneath a leafless cherry tree and settle there. Hermione rubs her hands together in the cold.
Ginny studies her face.
“You’re doing that thing where you look like you’re sitting on a secret. Spill.”
Hermione’s shoulders tense.
“It’s just… complicated.”
Luna nods as though expecting that. “Everything important usually is.”
Hermione exhales slowly, watching her breath cloud.
“My memories are patchy,” she begins. “Some—like ice skating, or lessons at the Charms Institute—came back easily. But the memories about them…” She swallows. “About Draco and Theo… are harder. Slower.”
Ginny leans forward. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
Hermione’s cheeks flush.
“But, my body… doesn’t feel slow.”
Ginny blinks. “Meaning—?”
“I mean,” Hermione stammers, “my body reacts to them. To their presence. The way they move. The way Draco looks at me. The way Theo touches my hand. I—” She curls her fingers in her lap. “I feel desire. Heat. Pull. All the things you feel when you’re… involved.”
Luna gives a little soft “ahh.”
“But mentally,” Hermione continues, voice small, “I’m still the girl who moved into the manor after graduation, uncertain about Draco and not even knowing I’d eventually love Theo. I can’t reconcile the two halves of myself. My body remembers being in love and being intimate. My mind doesn’t.”
Ginny whistles low.
“That’s… a lot.”
Hermione nods, mortified.
“And it’s driving me mad. Because I feel guilty for feeling the things my body does. I feel guilty for not having memories to match. And I feel guilty because I know they’re trying so hard to give me space.”
“You’re not guilty of anything,” Ginny says firmly.
Luna touched Hermione’s wrist gently, like she’s handling something precious.
“Your body knows truth before your mind knows how to name it,” she says. “Bonds don’t disappear just because memories do. That part of you is still whole.”
Hermione’s throat tightens. “But what if it never comes back?”
“It will,” Luna says with total certainty. “Memories return the way birds do—they find their way back even after storms.”
Ginny squeezes Hermione’s knee.
“And until then? You’re allowed to feel whatever you feel. You’re allowed to want them physically even if your head isn’t ready yet. That doesn’t make you broken.”
Hermione looks down. “I’m afraid they think I’m rejecting them.”
“Are you?” Ginny asks softly.
“No,” Hermione whispers. “No. I’m scared. Maybe confused. But I don’t want to push them away.”
Luna smiles dreamily.
“Then you won’t.”
They walk again, further into the orchard, Luna stopping occasionally to examine winter mushrooms or frost patterns on bark. Ginny conjures floating balls of warm golden light as the sun starts dipping toward the horizon.
By the time they return to the manor steps, Hermione’s cheeks are rosy from the cold, and something in her chest feels a little lighter.
Before they step inside, Hermione whispers,
“Thank you. Truly.”
Ginny kisses her forehead.
“Anytime.”
Luna hugs her lightly.
“Tell them what you told us. They feel more left out than you think.”
Hermione nods and watches them leave.
Then she breathes deeply, steels herself, places her hand on the door handle—
Because inside the manor…
Theo and Draco are waiting.
And even without memory, her body recognizes them.
Hermione steps back into the manor, heart still warm from their talk, and—if she is honest—trembling inside. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold but also from the weight of everything they’d discussed: her body remembering desires her mind couldn’t yet place, the pull she felt toward the men waiting somewhere inside these walls.
She wipes her palms on her cardigan and quietly heads toward the library where she assumes they’ll be waiting.
Halfway down the hallway she stops—because she hears their voices.
Low.
Serious.
Emotional.
The bond hums faintly in her chest, like static she can’t interpret. She takes one more step closer and her breath catches.
They’re talking about her.
“…she’s probably mortified.”
Theo’s voice is gentle but strained. “I can feel her desire flickering in the bond and I know she doesn’t understand why. It must be… confusing for her.”
Hermione clutches the doorway, pulse thundering.
Her desire? They felt it that strongly?
Theo continues, voice tight.
“And we cannot bring it up unless she does. It would violate her trust. She doesn’t remember choosing us.”
Hermione presses her lips together, throat tight.
“I know,” Draco whispers. “Merlin, I know. But Theo—”
He sounds wrecked.
“it’s killing me.”
Hermione’s breath stops.
Draco rarely talked like this. Not openly. Not without charm or sarcasm buffering it.
He continues, voice cracking a little.
“She looks at me sometimes… the same way she used to. And I can feel it in the bond. That she wants me. Or us. I don’t know.”
A painful inhale.
“And I can’t even put my hand on the small of her back without her flinching because she doesn’t know why her body reacts to me.”
Hermione feels tears sting her eyes.
Theo sighs. “She doesn’t flinch because she’s afraid, Draco. She flinches because her mind hasn’t caught up to her instincts. Her body remembers you. Her magic remembers you. Her heart probably remembers you too, just… quietly.”
Draco gives a choked little laugh.
“That’s somehow worse.”
Theo’s voice softens.
“She just needs time.”
Hermione swallows hard. She can feel Draco’s ache through the bond now that she is tuned into it. His longing. His restraint. Theo’s steady, painful patience.
Draco continues, voice barely above a whisper.
“I can’t take much more of pretending I don’t feel her wanting us.”
Theo murmurs, “I know. But she has to come to us. We don’t want her to feel pressured into anything she isn’t ready for.”
Hermione’s breath shakes.
Because she is ready maybe.
Maybe terrified.
Maybe confused.
But ready to try something.
And she can’t let them keep hurting because they’re trying to protect her.
She steps forward.
They both jolt upright when they hear her.
The bond tightens instantly, like cords pulling taut.
“Hermione?” Theo asks, standing.
Draco goes white, realizing immediately how much she might have overheard.
She lifts a hand.
“It’s… alright. Actually… I think it’s good that I heard it.”
They both blink, startled.
She steps into the room, shuts the door softly behind her, and turns to face them.
Hermione takes a shaky breath.
“We need to talk. Honestly. About all of it.”
Theo nods and wordlessly conjures a small fire.
Draco pulls out a chair for her automatically, muscle memory of a marriage she barely remembers.
She sits.
They sit across from her—tense, hopeful, nervous.
Hermione folds her hands in her lap, trying not to shake.
“I… know something’s been happening in the bond. I thought I was hiding it better.”
Her cheeks flush. “But apparently not.”
Draco chokes.
Theo stays utterly still.
Hermione looks between them.
“My body responds to you. Both of you. Strongly. And it’s frightening because I don’t have the memories that explain it.”
Draco opens his mouth, closes it, tries again.
“You don’t ever need to feel ashamed of that. Not with us.”
Theo nods, eyes gentle.
“It’s normal. It’s the bond. It’s the history your body hasn’t forgotten even if your mind hasn’t caught up.”
Hermione laughs shakily.
“Ginny asked if I was attracted to you. And I realized the answer is yes. Very much. It’s overwhelming sometimes.”
Draco looks like he might break.
Theo rubs the back of his neck.
“You don’t have to act on anything until you’re ready.”
“I know,” she says quietly. “And that’s why I am ready to try.”
They freeze.
“I don’t remember everything,” she whispers. “But I feel everything. And it’s pulling me toward you both so strongly I can barely sleep.”
Her voice cracks.
“And I don’t want to be afraid of that anymore.”
Draco swallows so hard it’s audible.
“Hermione,” he whispers, voice wrecked, “what are you saying?”
She stands.
Steps closer.
And says softly,
“I’m asking if… maybe… you could both kiss me.”
Theo’s breath catches.
Draco’s eyes slam shut.
Hermione’s voice is steadier this time.
“I just… want to see if it shakes anything loose. If maybe… my memories might come back.”
She looks between them.
“And because I want to know what it feels like to kiss my husbands again.”
Draco makes a broken sound and stands up so fast his chair nearly tips.
Theo rises slowly, eyes dark with emotion.
They step toward her—slow, careful, reverent.
“Are you sure?” Theo whispers, breath brushing her cheek.
“Yes,” she whispers. “Please.”
Draco’s hand lifts first, hesitant, and touches her jaw like she’s made of glass.
Theo’s fingertips skim her waist, grounding her.
She gasps at the warmth of both touches.
Then Draco kisses her.
Soft.
Slow.
Devastating.
Hermione’s breath hitches deep in her chest.
A flash.
Snow falling.
A winter garden at Nott Manor.
Draco’s hands trembling as he lifts her veil.
Theo behind him, hand on Draco’s shoulder, their eyes warm.
Her wedding day.
Theo kisses her next, gentle but warm and familiar in a way that makes her knees nearly give out.
Another flash.
Theo’s lips trembling as he whispered his vows.
The way he held her hand so tightly like she was life itself.
The moment all three rings flared with golden magic as the bond locked into place.
Hermione gasps and pulls back, eyes wide and watering.
“I—”
Her hand flies to her mouth.
“I remember that.”
Both of them stiffen.
“What?” Draco breathes.
“My, our wedding.”
She presses trembling fingers to her temple.
“Draco, I remember you lifting my veil. And Theo kissing me. And—Merlin—I remember the magic.”
Theo’s eyes shine wet. Draco looks like his heart just burst open.
Hermione laughs shakily, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“I remember… us marrying.”
Theo cups her cheeks, forehead pressing to hers.
“Hermione, that’s—gods, that’s everything.”
Draco wraps his arms around both of them, holding her like he’ll never let go again.
She melts between them, crying softly but finally feeling something real and whole and hers.
And for the first time since waking up in the hospital…
…she feels like she’s coming home slowly.
For a long moment, there was no movement at all.
Just the three of them locked together:
Draco’s arms banded tight around Hermione’s waist,
Theo’s forehead still touching hers,
Hermione sandwiched safely between them like the most natural place in the world.
Warm.
Protected.
Whole.
It felt like her magic finally stopped shaking long enough to breathe.
Draco is the first to shift, drawing a trembling hand up into her curls as though memorizing the texture.
“Hermione…” His voice is low and frayed. “You remembered.”
Theo’s thumb brushes away a tear sliding down her cheek.
“Do you remember anything else? Anything at all?”
Hermione inhales shakily, still holding onto both of them.
“Not much,” she admits. “Just… feelings at first. Desire. Pull. Then when you kissed me—” she looks between them reverently, “it felt like a door unlocked.”
Theo lets out a breath like he’s been underwater for days.
Draco’s grip tightens around her waist, just a fraction.
Hermione swallows.
“I remember the snow,” she whispers. “I remember my hands were cold during the ceremony and—Merlin—Theo kept brushing them with his thumbs because I couldn’t stop shaking.”
Theo’s soft gasp breaks the moment. His eyes shine.
“And you—Draco—you kept staring like you thought I might change my mind.”
Draco looks away sharply, blinking rapidly.
“I always thought you were too good for me,” he says, voice cracking. “I still do.”
Hermione reaches up, touches his cheek.
“I married you,” she whispers. “Clearly some part of me disagreed.”
Draco leans into her touch like a starving man.
Theo watches the two of them with a softness she never remembered before but which feels impossibly right, now.
Hermione shifts so she can take Theo’s hand too.
“I’m still confused,” she admits. “And scared. But… being in your arms feels like—”
She searches for the word. “like something in me finally stopped fighting.”
Theo presses a kiss to the top of her head.
Draco rests his cheek on her hair.
They don’t move for a long time.
Eventually Theo pulls back just enough to look at her.
“You’re tired,” he murmurs gently. “We should get you to bed.”
She nods, exhausted but glowing with the first hope she’s felt since the kidnapping.
They walk her to her room, slowly, carefully, each of them holding one of her hands like she’s something precious.
At her doorway, Draco stops.
“Hermione,” he says softly, “if you remember anything else… anything at all—you can tell us. Even if it’s confusing or painful.”
Theo nods. “Especially if it’s confusing or painful.”
Hermione hesitates, then squeezes both their hands.
“I will.”
Theo presses a feather-light kiss to her temple.
Draco presses one to her knuckles.
She steps into her room, closes the door softly.
And leans back against it, heart thundering.
The room is silent except for the soft crackle of the charmed fireplace.
Hermione stands there for a full minute, barely breathing.
Her lips tingle.
Her magic hums.
Her mind is a storm.
She presses her palms to her face.
“Oh, god,” she whispers. “I kissed them.”
The memory rushes in again—Draco’s hand on her jaw, Theo’s warmth at her waist, the taste of snow, the way her knees nearly gave out when their bond surged.
She crosses to the bed, sinking onto it heavily.
Confused.
Elated.
Terrified.
Hungry for more.
Relieved.
Overwhelmed.
She pulls her knees up, wraps her arms around them, and rests her head.
And then, a flicker.
A flash.
A memory not of the wedding but of something quieter:
Her sitting at this very vanity, Draco behind her, pinning her hair up before a party.
Theo lying on the chaise across from them, smiling sleepily, book forgotten in his lap.
Her heart lurches.
Another flicker: Theo’s hand gripping hers under the table during a Ministry dinner when she’d been nervous about speaking publicly. Draco sliding a calming potion to her wordlessly and giving her the smallest reassuring nod.
Hermione blinks hard, tears gathering.
They’d supported her.
Loved her.
Held her.
She didn’t remember it all now, but she could feel it.
Like warmth blooming behind her ribs.
And then another fragment surfaces:
Her wedding vows.
She can’t remember the exact words, just the feeling—
Theo’s hand squeezing hers so tight she’d felt it days later.
Draco’s voice shaking as he swore to protect her.
The wash of golden light as their bond sealed.
Hermione presses a trembling hand to her chest.
“I loved them,” she whispers.
She feels the bond, faint but steadying, like a damaged bridge being rebuilt plank by plank.
She closes her eyes.
She sees the snow.
The vows.
Theo’s shaking hands.
Draco’s soft smile when he lifted her veil.
A small, trembling laugh escapes her.
“Maybe… maybe I can find my way back.”
She lies down, pulling the blankets up around her, letting exhaustion wash over her.
Outside her door, she can swear she hears footsteps, Theo’s soft tread, Draco’s heavier one, lingering like they’re guarding her without intruding.
The bond warms at the sensation.
Hermione lets herself drift toward sleep.
Chapter 237: Feet and Kisses
Chapter Text
Hermione’s bedroom door clicked softly shut.
For several long seconds, Draco and Theo stood frozen outside it, shoulders tense, hands still tingling from touching her, hearts pounding in their throats, the bond sizzling everyone.
The corridor was dimly lit by old sconces, the manor quiet around them.
Theo exhaled first.
A shaky, unsteady breath.
Draco didn’t move. His gaze was still fixed on the closed door like he could will himself through it.
Theo finally turned to him.
“Draco.”
Draco still didn’t look away.
“I thought…if we kissed her, she’d panic.” His voice cracked, barely audible. “I thought we’d lose her by pushing.”
“You didn’t see her face then,” Theo murmured. “She wanted it.”
Draco swallowed hard. “I felt it in the bond. Merlin. She burned intensely.”
Theo nodded. He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“And she remembered something. Our vows, Draco. Your vows. Mine. That’s so important. She knows she married us willingly.”
That finally broke Draco;s resolve. A tear slid down his cheek, wet and hot.
“She remembered our wedding,” he whispered. “After everything, after being taken, hurt, terrified, she remembered us.”
Theo didn’t speak; he didn’t have to. He placed a firm hand on Draco’s shoulder.
“We’re going to get her back,” Theo said quietly. “Not force anything. Not rush her. But we’re going to help her remember to fall in love with us again.”
Draco scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I miss her. Even when she’s right there. I miss… everything we’d been building.”
Theo nodded, voice tightening. “I know.”
They stood in silence a while longer, two men desperately in love, bonded and bruised, terrified of mishandling something so fragile and breaking it for good.
Finally, Draco sucked in a breath.
“She’s exhausted. We should let her sleep, us too.”
Theo nodded.
Together, they walked down the hall toward their shared rooms.
Halfway down, Draco whispered softly, “Theo?”
“Hm?”
“If she forgets me, if she can’t get those feelings back we built, I want you to stay with her anyway. She needs you at least.”
Theo stopped in his tracks angry.
“No,” he said firmly. “Don’t you dare start that bull again.”
“She was closer to you all along,” Draco murmured. “You were the one she—”
“No.” Theo’s eyes were suddenly fierce.
“We’re a triad. All three of us. Together. And she chose us. All of us. I’m not losing you, she’s not losing you, we’re not breaking apart because of this.”
Draco swallowed thickly. “But I—”
Theo stepped closer and rested his forehead briefly against Draco’s.
“You’re not losing her,” he whispered. “You’re not losing me. We’re finding her again. Together. Stop being negative.”
Draco let out another shuddering breath, and he nodded.
Together they went to bed, holding hands in the dark, each lying awake far too long, thinking of the woman down the hall who used to sleep between them.
The next morning, Hermione had barely finished her tea while Draco and Theo explained they needed to attend an emergency briefing with the Auror Office and the Minister about her kidnapping.
Hermione immediately insisted she’d be fine alone.
Both of them stared frustrated at her like she’d suggested juggling cursed daggers.
Draco was amendment, “Not happening.”
Theo too, “Absolutely not happening.”
“I’m not a toddler.”
Draco looked more frustrated, “No, but someone is still trying to murder you, so forgive us.”
Theo kissed her forehead, hesitantly, watching for her reaction. She flushed and didn’t pull away.
“We’ll only be gone a few hours,” he murmured. “Pansy’s coming to keep you company.”
Hermione groaned. “She’s going to fuss over me.”
“She’s pregnant and bored,” Draco said dryly. “This is the highlight of her week. Indulge her.”
Sure enough, Pansy apparated into the sitting room three minutes after they left, wrapped in an absurdly glamorous emerald robe and carrying a box of pastries.
“Hello, traumatized princess,” she announced. “I’m here to entertain you and also judge your life choices for you with snark.”
Hermione snorted despite herself. “Pansy.”
Pansy swept her into a hug, belly between them, gentle, careful, oddly soft.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Pansy whispered fiercely. “If you’d died, I would’ve killed you again. That’s how grief works.”
Hermione let out a strangled laugh and let herself be steered to the sofa. Pansy perched beside her, already unpacking pastries and an unhealthy amount of gossip.
After a few minutes of chatter about nothing consequential, Pansy suddenly fixed Hermione with a sharp, assessing stare.
“So,” she said eyes glinting.
“Draco’s convinced you hate him, and won’t ever love him again. It’s all very dramatic really. He thinks Theo should just run off with you into the sunset.”
Hermione startled. “I don’t—! I don’t hate him. I never said that at all.”
Pansy raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You flinch every time he walks in the room he says.”
Hermione bit her lip. “I don’t mean to. It’s just… intense.”
“Of course it is. He’s Draco.” Pansy shrugged.
“He loves like he breathes. Loudly.”
Hermione snorted again.
“And Theo?” Pansy’s voice softened. “How’s that feeling? Being around him?”
“Good, I mean you know what it was like in 8th year, we were all already so close. I never forgot trusting him. He makes things so… easy.”
Hermione looked down at her hands, picking at an invisible hangnail.
“My body…” she swallowed, “responds to them. Both of them. Even if my mind doesn’t remember why.”
Pansy smirked cheekily. “Does it now?”
“Pansy!”
“Oh don’t ‘Pansy!’ me. I was there for the entire messy, dramatic, passionate saga of you falling for them both long before you admitted it outloud.”
Hermione flushed deep pink in the cheeks.
Pansy leaned forward, resting a hand on Hermione’s knee.
“Listen to me, Granger.” Her voice was softer now. “You are not broken. You are not betraying your old self. You loved them. They loved you. They still do. And your body remembers that kind of love even when your mind gets temporarily scrambled.”
Hermione swallowed hard.
Pansy continued:
“If your body wants them, if your magic wants them, don’t fight it. Don’t overthink it like you always do with everything.”
“It feels wrong,” Hermione whispered. “Like I’m cheating on myself.”
“No. Don’t be crazy. ” Pansy shook her head firmly. “You’re just finding your way back home.”
Hermione’s eyes misted over.
“And,” Pansy added smugly, “if kissing them shook loose wedding memories, imagine what a little more kissing and sexy action might do.”
“Pansy!”
Her friend only grinned back wickedly.
“Oh please, Hermione. I’m a zillion months pregnant and even I can feel the sexual tension radiating off you.”
Hermione hid her face in her hands.
Pansy gently pried them away.
“You’re safe,” she said softly, seriously now. “You’re home. And those two idiots would die before they let anyone hurt you again.”
Hermione’s voice trembled. “I know. I feel it. Even without the memories. The bond has been still pulling us around together.”
Pansy squeezed her knee.
“Good. Now drink your tea. You look like you’re about to have an existential crisis, and I can only handle one of those a month.”
Hermione laughed, choked on the tea, and wiped her eyes.
She wasn’t facing this alone. She had good friends to help her.
Hermione was curled up on the far end of the sofa when the wards chimed softly, announcing familiar magical signatures. She straightened a little, smoothing Pansy’s borrowed blanket over her lap.
Theo and Draco stepped through the doorway a moment later.
Theo looked exhausted, tight shoulders, tired eyes, still pulling off his gloves.
Draco looked like he hadn’t taken a full breath in hours. The moment he saw her, everything in his posture softened, like he’d been holding himself together by force of will.
Hermione’s heart tugged painfully.
“Hey,” Theo said first, voice warm, relief softening the edges, “we’re back.”
Draco didn’t speak right away.
He crossed the room slowly, searching her face like he was checking for injuries no one else could see.
“Did you have a good few hours with Pansy?” Theo asked, setting down his satchel.
Hermione nodded. “She… helped.”
Draco let out a breath.
“I’m glad.”
They both sat, one on each side of her, giving her space but still close enough for their warmth to spill over her like a safety net.
It should have felt overwhelming considering the circumstances.
But, it didn’t.
It felt like she’d stepped back into a familiar constellation and the stars were shifting to make room for her.
Theo rubbed a hand over his tired face. “Kingsley wants to give you updates, but Draco and I told him no.”
Hermione blinked. “No?”
Draco nodded firmly. “Not right now. Not until you’re stronger. We aren’t going to drop trauma in your lap when you’re still healing magically.”
“You’ll get every answer soon,” Theo promised softly, “but once your body has had more time.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “You’re… protecting me.”
Draco’s hand brushed hers briefly, careful. “Of course.”
As they talked, Hermione shifted her sore ankle slightly, wincing. It hadn’t felt quite right since the tumble in the tunnels. Theo noticed immediately.
“Still hurting?” he asked.
“A little bit when I walk too much on it. Needs more rest I think.”
Theo’s healer-instincts flared; she could see it.
“May I?” he asked gently, gesturing to her foot.
Hermione hesitated. Then nodded.
Theo moved with quiet, gentle care, sliding her foot into his lap. His hands were warm, healer warmed charms most likely, and the first press of his thumbs into her arch made her exhale sharply.
“Oh Godric,” she whispered.
Not pain.
Not even comfort.
Something deeper. Something electric.
She felt it first in her stomach, then lower.
A warm, internal liquid response she couldn’t control at all and hadn’t expected.
She swallowed hard.
Draco was pretending to read beside her.
But his jaw flexed.
His grip on the book tightened.
No doubt having felt it through the bond.
His gaze flicked to her lips, her neck, her flushed cheeks, then snapped back to the page.
Hermione felt it in the bond.
The sudden flare of heat.
Deep and sharp and hungry.
Hers?
His?
Everyone’s?
Theo felt it too for sure. She saw it in the way his movements slowed.
The way he swallowed hard like he was fighting an internal battle.
The slight sudden tremor in his fingers.
He didn’t stop massaging though, if anything, his touch gentled, became more reverent.
Hermione’s breath hitched.
“Theo…” she whispered shyly.
“Yes?”
His voice was no longer steady either.
“I… feel.. it’s nice, but maybe…”
She couldn’t finish.
Draco’s book snapped shut.
She jumped.
Theo inhaled sharply.
Draco looked at her like he was trying not to devour her with his eyes. He took a deep steading breath.
“We feel you,” Draco said quietly. His voice was deep, strained. “You don’t need to explain anything.”
The bond thrummed, alive, hot, pinging between all three of them in a heady, dizzy triangle.
Hermione’s fingers curled into the couch , worried.
“I don’t want to be afraid of this,” she whispered.
Draco’s breath left him in one sharp exhale.
Theo set her foot down gently, his touch lingering a beat too long.
He met her eyes insistently.
“Then tell us what you want,” he murmured. “Not what you think you should want. Not what you think we want. You. Right now. Just what you need.”
Hermione stared at both of them, Draco’s hungry, trembling restraint; Theo’s trembling calm; her own pulse thundering.
“I want to kiss you please,” she whispered, to Draco.
He froze.
Like she’d set all the oxygen in the room on fire.
Then he moved.
Slowly. Carefully. As if approaching something sacred that might run for it.
He cupped her cheek gently, so gently it made her shiver.
“Are you sure?”
His voice was wrecked with emotion.
She nodded solemely.
He leaned in and kissed her. It was slow, deep, exploratory.
Heat shot straight through her.
Her hands slid into his hair on instinct.
He made a low, involuntary groaning noise she felt in her bones.
The bond lit up. Rings pulsing brightly for a moment.
Theo inhaled sharply.
His breath ghosted against her shoulder.
Hermione turned slightly, Draco still kissing her and Theo pressed his lips to the curve of her neck.
She gasped wide into Draco’s mouth.
Theo kissed her neck again. Slower this time.
His fingers lightly tracing her hip, her waist, the silk of her shirt.
Draco’s mouth moved to her jaw.
Theo’s lips traveled to the soft spot below her ear.
Her whole body trembled in want.
They were both holding back with Herculean restraint she could tell, waiting for the smallest sign to stop.
It was overwhelming and perfect and far too much all at once.
When Theo pulled back suddenly, breathing hard.
“No.”
His voice was soft but absolute.
Hermione blinked, dazed, eyes blown wide. “What—?”
Theo cupped her face in both hands, eyes gentle but firm.
“We could keep going,” he said, voice hoarse. “We want to keep going. Salazar, do we ever. But this… this fire… this desire… it’s real but it’s also bond pressure and memory confusion and your recovering magic.”
Draco nodded slowly, forehead leaning against hers.
“We aren’t going to take advantage of you being overwhelmed,” he whispered. “We want you, not just your body remembering us, or a forced moment.”
Hermione’s pulse throbbed with a strange mix of relief, frustration, and gratitude.
Theo stood, offering her his hand. “I’ll walk you to your room.”
She let him.
As they walked down the hall, he spoke quietly.
“Your body moving forward is good,” he said. “It means the bond isn’t frozen or broken. But going too fast is dangerous for you, and for us. We need to be careful, everything at the right time when your really ready.”
They reached her door.
Theo brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
“Forward slowly,” he murmured. “Not rushed. Not stalled. Just… us together. Step by step.”
Hermione’s chest ached at the tenderness of it.
They lingered there for a moment, Draco standing a few paces away, hands in his pockets, looking like he wanted nothing more than to kiss her senseless again.
Theo kissed her forehead softly.
Draco whispered, “Goodnight, wife,” with a voice that cracked at the end.
Hermione stepped inside her room, breathless, trembling, and warmer than she had felt in weeks.
The bond hummed with contentment for hours.
Notes:
I'm expecting a bunch of time for editing old content this weekend... so this may move the story faster.
Chapter 238: No Rush
Notes:
I've become such a fan of these gentle discovery moments.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione fell asleep that night feeling warm in a way that made her both comforted and unsettled. Theo’s gentle forehead kiss still lingered on her skin. Draco’s mouth on hers earlier haunted her every time she closed her eyes.
The bond, once a trembling mess earlier in the week, was suddenly pulsing with a faint but definite rhythm.
A heartbeat.
Her magic felt warmer too, like a low ember finally remembering it used to be a fire. She suspected the kisses had helped her core regenerate in some way faster.
But it also felt restless.
Like it was pacing inside her.
Like it wanted more.
She slept fitfully, rolled in blankets that suddenly felt too warm and too cold all at once. Her fingertips tingled. Every few minutes her magical core flared, just a soft, warm pulse, but it sent shivers down her spine.
And then by midnight, the dreams began.
At first she was dreaming of the orchard.
The three of them in late summer.
Theo’s shirt off.
Draco kissing her in the shade of the apple trees.
Her own laughter, breathless and hungry.
Then the dream changed—
A silk scarf.
Smooth.
Theo tying it loosely around her wrist.
Theo’s breath warm on her shoulder.
Light touches. Agonizing waits. Draco’s heavy gaze.
Hermione gasped in her sleep.
Her pulse skyrocketed.
Her legs shifted and tangled in her sheets.
Needy heat rolled through her.
Another flicker of scene.
A drawer opening.
Theo handing her something small and gleaming, his cheeks flushed but playful.
It buzzed in her palm as she took it.
Draco behind her, chin on her shoulder, whispering something wicked that made her smile and wetness gather.
She woke abruptly with a strangled sound and collapsed back into the pillows, breathing fast, cheeks burning bright.
Her magic pulsed hard thru the room, so hard her lamp flickered twice.
“Oh… Merlin.”
She pressed her hands to her eyes.
They were memories.
They felt warm. Familiar.
Sharp at the edges the way real memories always were.
But she didn’t know the exact context.
Didn’t know when.
Didn’t know how far those nights had gone.
Only that she had been happy.
Safe.
And deeply, deeply desired.
And apparently rather adventurous and satisfied.
She tossed and turned the rest of the night, unable to pull her brain away from what she’d remembered.
That morning, everything was too sensitive, too loud, too bright.
The feel of brushing her hair.
The warm steam of the shower.
The scent of Draco’s cologne embedded in the hallway air.
The faint hum of Theo’s magic downstairs in the kitchen.
Her magic twinged sharply whenever either of them got close, like it was gripping her from the inside and trying to pull her toward them with a heavy chain.
It wasn’t exactly painful.
It was unadulterated craving.
Hot, insistent need.
Not purely physical, but also magical.
She went downstairs for breakfast and the moment she saw Draco, uncharacteristically barefoot, hair messy, holding a mug, sexy pout on his lips, the bond flared.
She inhaled sharply, face flushed, and nearly stumbled over the therehold.
Draco caught the unsteady motion instantly.
“Hermione?”
His voice unsure a little in concern.
Theo turned from the stove.
His eyes widened at the swirl of magic suddenly around her.
That’s when it happened.
A silverware drawer slammed itself open on the counter beside her, spilling forks acrossed the floor.
Hermione yelped. Draco swore under his breath and rushed to her side.
Theo stepped forward, hands raised slightly. “Hey—hey—it’s okay. Just unstable magic. You didn’t do anything wrong. No big deal.”
Hermione pressed a shaking hand to her sternum.
“I… my magic…it’s…”
She struggled for breath. “It keeps surging. Demanding something and I don’t know what exactly.”
Draco swallowed, voice low, eyes predatory suddenly.
“We do.”
She looked up sharply.
Theo cleared his throat gently. “It’s searching for bond resonance.”
“Bond, what?”
Theo rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
“It went from dormant and fractured to suddenly, turned on yesterday. Kissing you like that likely unlocked a channel we didn’t think could open until your memory stabilized and returned.”
Draco’s jaw flexed nervously.
“It’s not just emotion or desire,” he said softly. “Your magic is trying to reconnect to ours. Fully. It’s like muscle memory I think. My boss mentioned that may be a possibility.”
Hermione flushed deeply.
Her pulse hammered.
“So… it wants me to—?”
Theo blushed helplessly. “Yes, well no. Not necessarily sex. Just… closeness. Intimacy. Contact. The kind the three of us used to have constantly because the bond encouraged it. Yes, sexual contact too, but just all those everyday simple touches, domestic moments too.”
Draco added quietly, “It’s not pressure intentionally. Not from us directly at least. Just how triad magic works when it’s been fractured or apart for a while and is trying to fuse again.”
Hermione exhaled shakily.
“So I’m not… my magic itself isn’t broken?”
Theo took her hand. “No, nothing like that. You’re healing.”
Draco took her other hand, kissing her knuckles softly. “Your body remembers. Your magic remembers. Your mind will catch up soon.”
That made her throat tighten.
“But I’m going mad with it,” she whispered.
Both men stepped closer instinctively, drawn by the bond.
“It’s normal,” Theo murmured.
His thumb stroked her wrist. “When the bond first formed, before you lost your memories, if we were apart or fighting, it was like this sometimes.”
Draco smirked softly. “We all were.”
Hermione let out a soft, strangled laugh into her palm.
“And the memories I’m having?” she whispered.
She flushed, but pushed through, “Last night, I thought of more. The… silk scarves and… for Godric’s sake… we have toys?”
Theo inhaled sharply and flushed to the tips of his ears.
Draco made a noise suspiciously close to a growl swallowed.
“Yes,” Theo said gently. “Those were… ours. Together. Real memories.”
Hermione stared into the distance of the wall for a moment, heart pounding.
Her magic pulsed again, this time less wildly, more like a question.
More like a hand reaching.
Theo felt it, she heard him breathe in sharply.
Draco felt it too, he pressed his lips together hard.
Hermione whispered, voice trembling:
“What am I supposed to do with all of this right now?”
Theo’s answer was soft, full of aching patience.
“Let it happen slowly. Act when your ready with what feels right.”
Draco leaned his forehead against hers.
“And let us hold you through it when your unsure.”
Hermione didn’t trust her voice to not falter.
So, she simply nodded.
The bond hummed, warm, alive, possibly stabilizing just a little more.
And Draco exhaled in relief.
Hermione insisted she was “fine enough” to sit in the library and try to read, but she barely made it three steps into the room before another wave of wild magic shuddered through her.
It wasn’t painful.
Just rather overwhelming.
Like her core magic was a set of violin strings someone kept plucking unexpectedly.
A ripple shot up her spine and the vase on a nearby table exploded into shards and dust.
Hermione gasped, clutching the edge of a bookcase feeling dizzy.
Theo and Draco were at her side instantly, two blurs of panic and protective instinct.
Theo’s hands hovered just shy of touching her waist.
“Hermione, look at me. Your magic’s surging again.”
She tried. She really did.
But everything was blurry, overwhelming, too hot, too fast, too much.
“I… I can’t… contain it” she whispered, voice panicking.
Draco stepped behind her firmly, his chest warm against her back, one arm sliding around her middle without touching anything wayward.
He pressed his cheek near her temple and whispered softly, “Breathe.”
Her magic pulsed again, wild, erratic, untethered, and a stack of books flew off a shelf behind them.
Theo caught them midair with a spell and winced as another surge slammed against the bond.
“It’s the bond I think,” Theo murmured. “It’s trying to fully reconnect with us. It’s pulling too hard. Having a bit of a temper tantrum almost.”
Hermione grabbed Draco’s sleeve with shaking fingers.
“It hurts kind of,” she whispered concerned.
“Not my body. My magic. It’s like it’s reaching for something I can’t give it because I don’t remember enough to give into it.”
Draco breathed out shakily against her neck.
“It’s reaching for us.”
Theo stepped closer and placed his palm gently over her sternum, not touching skin, just hovering inches above, feeling the crackling magic below her skin.
“Hermione… you have to let it link a little,” he said tenderly. “Not all the way if your not ready of course. Just enough to keep it from misfiring though. This is only going to keep happening more if not.”
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. “How?”
Theo swallowed. “Close your eyes. Let yourself feel the connection. Don’t fight it.”
Draco held her a little closer from behind, but not in a sexual way, in a caring, comforting embrace.
More like someone steadying a friend.
Hands careful. Movements soft.
Hermione’s breath hitched, then her magic surged again.
This time Draco tightened his arm around her, grounding her chest to him.
Theo leaned forward and pressed his forehead lightly to hers, eyes closed.
“Let it happen, try to relax into it,” he murmured.
His voice was so gentle it almost shattered her heart.
Another surge hit.
But instead of exploding outward, it split between the two men touching her.
Hermione gasped as warmth rushed through her, gentler than before.
Still urgent, but no longer oddly painful.
The magic wanted them.
All three.
Connected.
Draco’s voice was low, almost worshipful.
“See? You’re doing it. It’s working.”
Theo smiled softly, eyes still closed against her forehead.
“You’re stabilizing.”
When the surge finally ebbed, Hermione leaned fully against Draco, breathless, exhausted, but not afraid.
Draco whispered in her ear:
“We’ve got you.”
Theo brushed a curl from her cheek. Hermione smiled.
Hours later, Hermione was wrapped in a blanket on the sofa in the music room. The earlier surge hit her harder than she admitted evn to herself, her magic now felt warm and soft, but her body was wrung out and tired.
Feeling her exhaustion hit, Theo was the one who knelt beside her first.
“You should rest. Really rest this time.”
Hermione nodded, eyes heavy.
When Theo went to stand, she surprised even herself.
She grabbed the sleeve of his jumper.
“Theo… stay closer please?”
Theo froze.
Draco, who had been leaning in the doorway, also went still.
Hermione felt heat rise up her neck. “I—I don’t mean—proper cuddling. Just… being near you. I feel steadier with you both close.”
Theo’s heart beat wildly.
He slid onto the sofa slowly, deliberately, letting her see every movement so she could pull away if she wanted.
She didn’t.
She shifted closer, tentatively settling her head against his shoulder.
His arm came around her waist lightly, fingers careful, touch gentle.
The bond thrummed like a soft harp note.
Almost instantly, her magic stopped its nervous fluttering.
Draco inhaled abruptly as he felt the stabilizing pulse through the bond.
Theo noticed and gave a small nod, both permission and invitation.
Draco crossed the room quickly and quietly.
“Are you sure? Me too?” he asked Hermione softly.
She looked up at him with tired, honest eyes.
“Yes. Please stay close.”
Draco exhaled a long, shaky breath and sat on her other side, close but not touching her until she leaned into him of her own accord.
She rested her cheek on Theo’s shoulder and her back against Draco’s chest, almost exactly how they used to lie together without thinking about it.
But this time, she trembled.
Not from fear.
From the strange familiarity of being home without remembering where home was.
Draco wrapped an arm around her upper body lightly.
Theo tucked the blanket around her legs.
Hermione closed her eyes.
The bond steadied.
Her magic softened.
Her breath evened out.
Theo whispered, barely above breath:
“She’s anchoring to us I think.”
Draco pressed his lips to the top of her head ever so softly.
“So are we.”
Hermione murmured sleepily, surprising even herself:
“I feel… really safe.”
Theo rested his cheek against her hair.
“We won’t let anything hurt you again. I promise.”
Hermione fell asleep between them, breathing soft and steady, the bond humming warm and bright around all three, rings pulsing.
Draco and Theo held her, quiet, gentle, reverent, until the afternoon sun slipped behind the orchard.
Draco didn’t dare move an inch.
He stared at her for a long time, her curls falling over Theo’s sleeve, her lips parted slightly as she dreamt, her body finally relaxed after days of mutual tension.
Theo stroked her hair once, respectfully.
“Her magic feels… quiet finally,” he whispered.
Draco nodded, emotion thick in his throat.
“It hasn’t felt like this since before… everything.”
Theo looked at him then, eyes soft and unbearably tired.
“I was so afraid we’d lost her. Not just the kidnapping,” His voice broke. “Before that, I thought we’d lose her because of me. Because I pulled away. Because I couldn’t handle the bedroom thing. Thought she may just run off with you to be happier. And then she forgot me now, and I thought… maybe that was the universe agreeing with me.”
Draco’s jaw clenched hard, teeth grinding.
“That’s bollocks and you know it.”
Theo huffed a humorless laugh. “Do I really?”
Draco looked at Hermione sleeping, her cheek resting on Theo’s collarbone.
“When she first woke up,” Draco murmured, “she barely knew me. And she still leaned into me quickly. Still asked us both to kiss her.”
Theo swallowed hard. “Her body remembers us.”
“Her heart does too,” Draco said quietly. “Even if her mind’s lagging behind. I’m sure it’s there.”
Theo’s eyes shimmered.
“And you? Are you really okay, Draco? You act like I’m the only one struggling with this?”
Draco hesitated.
Then, quietly, painfully honest, “No. I’m not okay.”
Theo looked startled at the honesty that rarely happened so bluntly.
Draco kept going, voice tight.
“When we found her… lying on that floor… I thought I’d die right there with her. And when she woke up and didn’t look at me like she used to? I felt like someone ripped the bond right out of my ribs. I love you… I do Theo. But her… she’s deep in me too. I need her.”
Theo rested his forehead against Draco’s shoulder, a rare, unguarded moment between the two lately.
“I’m scared too,” Theo whispered. “Terrified she’ll stay… halfway gone.”
Draco shook his head fiercely.
“She won’t. Not with what we felt today. Not with how she melted into us. I’m more sure now than before that it’ll come back in time.”
Their eyes dropped to Hermione again.
She shifted in her sleep, a tiny whimper leaving her lips, then she burrowed closer into both of them, her arm sliding across both their ribs as though her body wanted to hold them.
Theo’s voice was barely breath:
“She’s still ours.”
Draco closed his eyes, trying not to break.
“And we’re hers.”
They stayed like that, both men flanking her protectively, their fear of losing her a tad muted, until Hermione began to stir an hour later.
Hermione blinked awake slowly, her eyes adjusting to the dim afternoon light.
For a moment, everything felt warm and safe, right.
She felt two heartbeats close to hers.
She felt the soft brush of breath against her temple.
Felt two hands, Theo’s at her waist, Draco’s on her shoulder, holding her with an unconscious gentleness.
She didn’t move.
Because suddenly she was drowning in a memory that didn’t feel like a dream.
She saw wandlight glowing off a frozen pond.
She heard laughter, hers, bright and breathless.
Draco holding her mittened hands as she wobbled on ice skates.
Theo skating backward, smirking, catching her when she nearly fell.
Ginny calling, “Slow down!”
Harry cheering them on.
Hermione’s breath hitched.
“I remember, even more” she whispered.
Both men froze.
Theo lifted his head slowly.
“What do you remember, sweetheart?”
Hermione’s lips trembled as she looked between them.
“Skating,” she murmured. “At the Burrow. On the pond. The night we all had cocoa afterward and my nose was numb and… Draco wrapped his scarf around me because he said he’d never forgive himself if I got sick. More than I remembered before. More details.”
Hermione turned to Theo next.
“And you… you held my hand under the blanket on the bank when everyone else was distracted. Just because you wanted to.”
Theo’s eyes went molten.
Hermione pressed a shaking hand over her chest.
“And I remember how warm I felt with you both beside me. How right it felt.”
The boys exchanged a look that carried equal parts relief and love so fierce it bordered on painful.
Draco whispered, “Another memory fully back. Doesn’t sound incomplete.”
Theo stroked her cheek.
“And a good one.”
Hermione nodded, a tiny tear slipping down her cheek.
She whispered, voice raw:
“I want them all back.”
Theo kissed her forehead.
“You will.”
Draco tucked her gently against him.
“We’ll get you there. One memory at a time.”
Hermione relaxed into them again, her head on Draco’s chest, her fingers loosely curled into Theo’s sleeve, the bond humming warm.
And all three breathed for a moment in the quiet, letting hope take root again.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d slept again, just that she felt cocooned in warmth, the faint thrum of the bond no longer jagged and painful, but soft… coaxing… like someone humming under their breath.
She blinked awake again.
The bedroom was dimmer now. Draco was gone, likely pacing somewhere worrying, and Theo sat in the armchair near the window, a book closed in his lap, watching her with quiet concern.
“Hermione?” His voice was gentle. Hopeful.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes.
“Theo… I…think I remembered something again.”
He leaned forward instantly, every part of him alert.
“What did you see?”
Hermione bit her lip, emotion flooding her chest.
“It was a night. Late. Snowing.”
She breathed shakily. “You and I… were in the courtyard behind the Charms Institute. I’d been crying. I think I was overwhelmed by something—school, the bond, everything. Maybe the approaching wedding.”
Theo’s throat bobbed.
“Yes,” he whispered. “I remember that night. You were just overwhelmed by everything pilling up… assignments, exams, wedding planning, trying to figure out how to make things work with Draco…”
Hermione’s eyes shimmered.
“You found me sitting alone on the stone bench,” she said. “And you sat down next to me. You didn’t say anything at first. You just put your coat around my shoulders and waited.”
Theo closed his eyes.
“I was so afraid of pushing you. I always waited for you to come toward me.”
Hermione’s breath stuttered.
“And then I told you… that I didn’t know how to handle how much I felt. That I didn’t understand why being near you made everything sharper, even when the world was turning too fast.”
Theo’s fingers curled against his knees.
“You told me,” Hermione whispered tremblingly, “that you’d felt that way since eighth year.”
Theo’s eyes opened, dark, vulnerable, aching.
He nodded.
“And then,” Hermione whispered, “you leaned your forehead against mine. And you said you wouldn’t rush me, or pull me, or expect anything from me. That you’d wait forever if that’s what it took.”
Theo swallowed hard.
“Yes,” he murmured. “I meant every word.”
Hermione pressed a hand to her chest, overwhelmed.
“You kissed my cheek,” she said. “Just once. Soft. And it felt like my entire world tilted.”
Her voice trembled. “I remember thinking… maybe this was what feeling safe with someone was supposed to be. Maybe together we could make this work with Draco.”
Theo’s breath hitched audibly.
“Hermione…”
Theo stood slowly, as if afraid to startle her, and came to sit beside her.
He didn’t touch her, not yet. He waited, giving her the choice.
Hermione looked up at him, her eyes searching.
“Theo,” she whispered, “I don’t remember everything… but I know this—whatever we were before? It mattered. A lot. I cared very deeply for you… as more than just a friend.”
Theo let out a nervous breath.
“We were…” He hesitated, searching for the right word. “Soft with each other. Careful. But also… drawn. More than drawn. You were—still are—the most important person in my world.”
Her heartbeat fluttered painfully.
“And Draco?” she asked quietly.
Theo smiled sadly.
“Draco came later. But when he did, it wasn’t competition. It was… like the bond was leading all of us toward something bigger together. Something more complete, more final.”
Hermione bit her lip.
“But I don’t remember loving him still.”
Theo reached out then—slow, gentle—and took her hand.
“That’s okay,” he murmured. “You don’t have to love him today. You don’t have to feel anything you’re not ready for.”
Hermione squeezed his hand.
“But I… felt something when he kissed me. Something familiar.”
Theo’s expression softened with relief.
“You loved him,” he said softly. “You still do. Even if your mind forgot, your magic didn’t.”
Hermione blinked as emotion surged in her chest.
“Theo…” Her voice broke. “I’m scared. I feel things I don’t understand. My body remembers things my mind doesn’t. And I don’t want to hurt either of you.”
Theo brushed a curl gently behind her ear.
“You’re not hurting us,” he whispered. “You’re home. And we’re going to help you remember at your pace.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. Theo wiped it with his thumb.
“Can you stay?” she asked quietly. “Just sit here with me?”
He gave a small, heart-wrenching smile.
“As long as you want, love.”
Hermione leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder.
And Theo, soft, steady, endlessly patient Theo, wrapped an arm around her, holding her the way he always had, carefully, protectively, like she was made of something precious.
For a long, quiet stretch of time, neither of them spoke.
Just breathed.
Just existed in the small, fragile peace of the moment.
And Hermione thought:
I’m finding my way back to them.
One memory at a time.
Notes:
Theo is such a dream. I need a Theo =P
Chapter 239: Smoldering Embers
Chapter Text
Hermione woke in the dark hours before dawn in her bed, heart flying, sheets tangled around her legs, breath seizing in her throat.
For one disorienting moment she thought she was still dreaming.
But no…the memory was still there, vivid and molten:
Their first time both in her together.
All three of them.
The way the bond had pulsed like a living heartbeat.
The way their magic had wrapped around her until she felt suspended, weightless, wanted.
The pleasure, the pain, the desire, the sweat, the pounding rhythm, the tension.
Her whole body felt hot, aching, as if her magic were pushing against her skin, demanding release from her cage.
She pressed a trembling hand to her heart.
“Not now,” she whispered. “Please, just slow down. Relax.”
But the bond was humming, alive, reacting to her unlocked memory.
She knew they would feel it if she wasn’t careful to dull it quickly.
So, she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and sent the gentlest wave of calm, reassurance she could manage through the bond, thinking:
I’m safe.
I’m okay.
Don’t come.
Please let me be.
Immediately she felt the bond shiver and settle, not fully calm, but soothed enough that they didn’t bolt out of bed and burst through her door at least. They had felt her push of calm to them.
She got up, legs still unsteady, and crossed to her old dresser. She stood there for a moment, unsure. The moonlight filtering through the curtains illuminated the drawer she hadn’t opened since before her disappearance.
Her fingers hesitated on the handle.
She didn’t know what she was looking for, not really even admitting it to herself.
Only that her body felt too full, too tight, as if her magic and nerves were sparking off each other in a way she couldn’t ignore anymore. Her belly felt taunt and overwhelmed. The memory hadn’t just returned, it had lived inside her, woken something, demanded something.
When she opened the drawer, she froze.
A velvet pouch sat in the back corner.
She didn’t have to remember te details of owning it to know exactly what it contained. Her cheeks flushed as she touched it, her body reacting even before her mind caught up.
Merlin, she thought shakily. My own body is going to drive me mad before my memories ever do.
The need was overwhelming, not just physical, but magical, emotional. The bond was throbbing faintly, responding to her internal turmoil even though she tried to muffle it to the boys.
She climbed back into bed, sat against the headboard, and closed her eyes.
Her body was burning with unspent need. Memories simmering.
Reflief. She eneded to provide herself relief before she acted on her urges, gave into the bonds demands in a way she wasn’t mentally prepared for yet.
Her thoughts slipped to Theo’s hands, the way he’d touched her so reverently the first time Draco had taken her from behind.
To Draco’s mouth on hers, slow and confident and devastating.
The pump of his hips steady.
To the way the two of them had held her like she was something precious and powerful and theirs.
The memory wasn’t whole, but the feeling was.
Her breath shuddered.
And even without touching herself yet, even with only the images and sensations rising through her of memoires, her magic surged too fast to contain, her core grew wet, pulsing with need.
She gave in, a gift to herself.
Turning the vibrator onto a low setting, she sighed into the warm feelings as she pressed it lightly to her clit under her nightgown.
Not enough contact. She pulled off her underwear allowing for skin to skin and tried again.
Her clit throbbed immediately at the contact, her walls clenching on nothing.
More. She needed more. Needed to stop the burning desire gripping her.
She circled the tip of it around her entrance, wetting it with her leaking moisture. Gently she pulled back her lips with the other hand, angling it at her slit, pushing ever so gently in.
The feel of it breaching her after a month and a half of emptiness, was staggering. Her walls tensed, gripping, puling, trying to make it sink deeper. She added more pressure, her walls parting deeper as she wedged the slick silicone inside.
Her breathing was heavy as she twisted the bulbus end, twirling the dial to generate harder vibrations. She bit back a groan at the immediate pulsing in her core.
Her wrist shifted experimentally, dragging it out a bit, before pushing back in. The delicious friction drove her forward, her wrist now a blur as she created a steady satisfying pace. In. Out. In. Out. By the 5th downward thrust, the whole shaft was disappearing into her depths, filling her in heart fluttering sensations.
She drove it into herself more urgently, her hips joining in as they rose and fell to meet her wrists quick rhythm. She upped the dial another level, and that was all it took.
She bit back a cry as the wave crested, internal tension shattering in an audible gasp.
She didn’t mean to let the bond feel it. She tried to dull back the feeling of release.
She tried to contain it to just herself.
But it slipped through anyway, a burst of heat and yearning and needed relief.
The bond flared alive to them, much to her modification.
Down the hall the boys felt it.
Theo startled awake.
Draco gasped out loud in the suite.
She felt both reactions like distant thunder, a sharp spike of surprise, then confusion, then something else she couldn’t name because she was shaking too hard in embarrassment and aftershocks.
Hermione pressed her palm to her mouth, ashamed and burning and overwhelmed all at once.
But she sent one last message purposefully through the bond as her breathing finally steadied, pushing calm and tranquility to them.
After several agonizing moments, their magic settled too, light concern edged with curious intrigue, but giving her space. No feet in the hall coming.
She curled into her blankets, flushed and trembling, half terrified, half relieved, but finally a bit less burning with desire.
And as she drifted back toward trying to sleep, the only thought she could manage was:
If this is how strong the bond feels now…what on earth is going to happen when I remember everything else?
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Draco woke with a sharp intake of breath, bolting upright in the dark.
The bond had hit him like a pulse of heat, fast, bright, unmistakable. It felt like desire sharpened to a blade, like Hermione’s magic had surged up and out, piercing his chest.
He pressed the heel of his hand to his ribs.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered, voice shaking.
He felt Theo startle awake across the bed, heard the faint thump of Theo’s feet hitting the floor before they both froze, listening.
Nothing from Hermione’s room.
No footsteps.
No cry.
Nothing except the bond, still bright, still humming, but wrapped now in a layer of reassurance she’d pushed out to them.
Draco squeezed his eyes shut.
“Was she just…”, Theo puzzled.
Draco unsure, “It felt like when she used to…”.
“But, not quite though right? It was different than that too. The magic was weird.”
Draco could only grimace, and agree “It was odd. Maybe she was having a memory dream… intimate variety? She may have responded to it in her sleep then woken up, and sent us the reassurance.”
Every instinct in him, every protective, possessive, passionate part of him, wanted to ignore her clear message to them, and push open her door. See her. Touch her. Make sure she was fine.
But she had clearly asked them not to come.
So he stayed.
Barely able to restrain himself.
He dragged both hands through his hair and let his head fall back hard against the pillow.
Merlin, the desire he’d felt through the bond had nearly knocked him off the bed. He hadn’t felt her like that since before the kidnapping. Since the nights she’d tangled between them, laughing, devouring them, and them her, pulling them closer like she’d never get enough.
But now?
Now she barely remembered them in that way.
Draco’s breath hitched, quiet, pained into the silence.
He wanted her.
He wanted her memories back.
He wanted her safety more than anything though.
And he was terrified that wanting her this intensely with desire much would push her away.
He curled onto his side, facing the closed door across the room.
“Please let this be a good sign,” he whispered to the dark.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Theo had jolted upright when the bond surged, almost toppling off the edge of the mattress.
He felt it all.
Hermione’s tension.
Her need.
Her release.
Her panic.
Her embarrassment.
Not in a graphic way, the bond didn’t work like that, but in a pure, emotional, magical wave, as though she’d poured her heart straight into his chest.
He had to brace himself against the nightstand.
“Shit,” he breathed so softly only he could hear it.
Part of him wanted to run to her.
Part of him wanted to send Draco, let him incur her wrath at the breach of privacy.
Mostly, he wanted to pace, walk until the feelings inside him made sense, but the bond thrummed again, faint but deliberate.
Calm, tranquility, clearly messaged for them.
He pressed a trembling hand over his mouth.
He’d been so afraid since she came home. Afraid of pushing her. Afraid of overwhelming her. Afraid of her remembering the hurt they’d each caused each other in their early days.
He’d taken so much care with her the first time, so much patience, and now she didn’t even remember why their pace mattered, their history together.
Theo sank back against the headboard, chest aching.
His fingers shook slightly as he pressed the bond toward her, sending only one feeling back, acceptance. When he finally calmed down again, he stared at the ceiling for hours.
He didn’t sleep.
He just waited for morning.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Hermione didn’t sleep either.
After the surge, after her body finally settled, she curled under her blankets, burning with embarrassment.
She could feel them.
Both of them.
Theo’s tightly leashed concern. Then his understanding, followed by curiosity.
Draco’s restraint, tense interest, desire.
Their need for her tied up with fear of hurting her.
Her heart ached.
She’d never meant to make them feel that kind of emotional whiplash. She wasn’t trying to taunt them or toy with them, she simply didn’t know where the lines were anymore between them all.
She pressed the pillow over her face and groaned quietly.
“I can’t keep doing this,” she whispered to herself. “My body remembers everything they taught me, everything we shared, but my mind…”
She didn’t know how to reconcile the two.
Her body felt like a married woman longing for her long lost lovers.
Her mind felt like the eighth-year girl barely starting to hold Theo’s hand.
Her magic felt like molten gold under her skin, pushing toward Draco and Theo like a plant seeking sunlight.
She turned over, face buried in the pillow, breathing hard.
“I’m going to combust before I remember everything at this rate,” she muttered weakly.
The bond pulsed again, a warm brush from both of them, worry and tenderness, not knowing she was awake.
Her eyes stung.
How am I supposed to do this?
How do I move toward them when I don’t remember us?
How do I stay away when my whole body wants them?
Hermione swallowed around the heartache.
By the time dawn touched the curtains, she was still awake, immensely tired, still unbearably aware of the two men tied to her soul.
The air at breakfast was thick with unsaid things.
Hermione walked into the shared sitting room slowly, cautiously, as if approaching a sleeping dragon. Draco and Theo both looked up from the table the moment she appeared.
Draco froze with his mug halfway to his lips.
Theo straightened so fast his chair scraped the floor and nearly tipped.
“Hermione,” Theo said softly, like a hopeful prayer.
Draco’s throat bobbed in a swallow.
She had planned a dozen things to say.
None felt right now.
Instead she sank into the chair between them, keeping her hands folded tightly in her lap.
Draco spoke first.
“Hermione…about last night…” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat awkwardly.
“We felt you. Are you ok? Were you… we’re a bit confused…?”
“I know, I’m so sorry” she whispered.
Both men froze.
“I didn’t mean for you to feel that.”
Her cheeks burned bright crimson, embarrassment grew in the bond dramatically.
“I wasn’t trying to… confuse you. Or make things worse. Merlin, I don’t even know what I was doing, why I did that. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed. You have agency. You don’t need our permission to… it’s your body after all,” Theo said gently.
“But I am,” she whispered. “Because I don’t remember us mostly, and last night I was feeling things I shouldn’t feel for people I barely know like that. And I acted on those feelings.”
Draco’s hand clenched the table edge tight.
Hermione reached out instinctively, placing her hand over his.
They both stared at her in surprise.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly, voice tight.
“I just… I’m trying so hard to catch up, and my body is acting like my heart already remembers everything. It’s driving me quite mad.”
Theo leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“Hermione,” he said softly. “Your heart does remember. Even if your mind doesn’t yet.”
She blinked, throat closing.
Draco nodded shakily.
“The bond remembers for you,” he murmured. “Every soft moment. Every fight we survived. Every time we held you through nightmares. Every day we chose each other. Every time… we were intimate.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
She hadn’t fully cried in front of them since they brought her home.
Theo reached for her hand cautiously, giving her every opportunity to pull away.
She didn’t.
Their fingers tangled.
The bond warmed.
Her breath shuddered.
“I woke up because of a memory,” she whispered finally. “One from all of us together. And it felt… real. Too real.”
Draco inhaled sharply, anxiety flickering across his face.
“Oh gods,” Hermione said quickly, mortified. “Just— heat. Hands. The feeling of being—” She choked off the rest blushing.
Theo squeezed her hand gently.
“You’re remembering, Hermione,” he said. “Piece by piece. And that’s good. But it’s confusing, we know. And overwhelming.”
Draco swallowed painfully.
“Hermione…we want you too. We miss you. The entire you. But we’re not going to push. You can do whatever you need to do to get through this with us.”
His voice broke. “We’re terrified of losing you.”
Her heart cracked open.
She reached for Draco’s hand with her free one, holding both of them now.
“I don’t want you to lose me,” she whispered. “And I’m scared too. But I think… maybe letting myself want what my body remembers isn’t the wrong thing.”
Their breaths both caught.
She whispered the next part shakily:
“I think… maybe it’s time we stop being afraid of how much we want each other. Let it happen naturally.”
Hermione wasn’t entirely sure what guided her the rest of that morning, logic, longing, instinct, or the subtle glowing hum of the bond, but she knew one thing with certainty.
She was tired of being afraid of her own heart.
After breakfast, Draco and Theo were giving her space, deliberately keeping a comfortable distance the way one would approach a skittish unicorn.
They had moved to the couch in the sitting room, both reading (or pretending to), trying not to look like they were waiting for her to make a move.
It made her smile, soft, bittersweet.
She got up and hovered in the doorway, hands twisting nervously.
Both of them looked up at the same moment.
Theo’s eyes softened first.
Draco’s breath caught second.
“Hermione?” Theo asked gently.
She stepped into the room, heart pounding.
“I… want to try,” she said quietly.
Draco sat up straighter so fast it made her mouth smirk.
Theo closed his book slowly, carefully, like one wrong move might break her courage.
She walked toward them, feeling the bond flutter with growing tension, warm, hopeful, terrified, electric.
When she reached them, she stopped right in front of where they sat.
“I want to see,” she whispered, “if being closer to you brings more memories back. Good ones. Safe ones.”
Theo swallowed hard.
Draco looked like he forgot how to breathe.
“Hermione,” Theo murmured, “you don’t have to push yourself—”
“I’m not,” she insisted softly. “I want this.”
She lifted her hands, palms slightly trembling, and reached for them both.
Her fingers brushed Draco’s cheek first—feather-light, tentative.
He closed his eyes at the touch, jaw tightening like he was holding back everything inside him.
Then she touched Theo’s face with her other hand.
He leaned into it instinctively, eyes shining, breath unsteady.
“I don’t remember loving you the way I know I did,” Hermione whispered, “but I definitely remember wanting comfort. Safety. You both gave me that long before anything physical ever happened originally I think. Let me… have that part again.”
They nodded, small, reverent, wordless.
Theo shifted first, moving slowly, offering her the space between them on the couch without reaching for her. Draco mirrored him.
Hermione slipped between them.
She sat close and the bond pulsed warmly, like three heartbeats aligning.
She inhaled sharply as something fluttered behind her ribs.
Familiarity.
Like warmth sliding into old grooves.
Draco noticed.
“Hermione?” he asked softly, barely above a whisper.
“It feels…” She swallowed. “Right.”
Theo let out a breath that sounded like drastic relief.
She turned toward Draco, studying him in a way that made a faint flush rise across his cheekbones. She could feel how tightly he was holding himself walled in, afraid one wrong brush of his fingertips would scare her off.
So, she bridged the gap for him.
She lifted her hand and cupped his jaw very deliberately this time.
His eyes fluttered shut.
The bond bloomed warm and bright.
She leaned in, heart thudding, and pressed her lips to his, gentle, slow, unhurried. Draco made a sound deep in his throat, soft, utterly undone, and kissed her back with a care so delicate it nearly broke her.
His hand stayed on his own knee. He didn’t even dare lift it.
When she pulled back, breath shaking, she murmured:
“You can touch me now.”
Draco’s lashes lifted, silver eyes burning with restrained emotion.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded and placed his hand on her waist herself.
The moment his skin touched hers, a flash of memory pulsed, warm hands on her hips, moonlit honeymoon, laughter tangled with desire, water, warmth, stretching, and she gasped softly.
Draco froze.
“Hermione—?”
“Memory,” she whispered flushed. “A very good one.”
Theo’s breath hitched again.
Slowly, Hermione turned toward him.
Theo’s expression was almost painful in its tenderness. She reached for him, threading her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck. His hands clenched at his sides as if he was restraining himself from mauling her.
“You can touch me too silly,” she whispered.
Theo breathed deep, lifting a trembling hand to rest against her cheek. His thumb brushed her skin and the bond surged again, hotter this time, like embers catching.
Hermione leaned forward and kissed him.
Theo kissed her like he’d been waiting years for permission, all soft lips, trembling breath, quiet reverence, but he didn’t push farther. He let her set every pressure, every angle. She deepened it for them.
When she drew back, she rested her forehead against his temple. Her pulse was racing. Is was too. Her magic hummed.
Her entire body felt like a memory trying to surface.
She turned slightly so she faced both of them together.
“I…” she breathed, voice shaking, “feel like there’s something inside me that remembers the three of us all together. It’s like my magic knows what to do, even if my mind’s still catching up.”
Theo nodded slowly, swallowing hard.
“That’s normal,” he whispered. “Magic doesn’t forget like memory does.”
“And neither do bonds,” Draco murmured, voice thick.
Hermione reached out and took both their hands, one in each of hers, threading her fingers through theirs.
Her cheeks were warm, her heartbeat unsteady, but this time she didn’t hide it.
“I don’t know how long it’ll take,” she admitted, “but I want to relearn how to be with you both. Emotionally. Physically. All of it. I know I was happy with you before. And I… I want to find that again. Soon I hope.”
Draco looked like her words had just put him back together with glue.
Theo closed his eyes in silent relief.
Neither moved to kiss her again.
Instead, they wrapped around her, one on each side, arms sliding around her without urgency, without heat, just pure aching need to be close.
Hermione let them.
She leaned sideways against Draco’s chest, while Theo rested his forehead against her shoulder.
The bond glowed for a moment.
Hermione sighed, sinking into the warmth.
“I think this,” she whispered, “is a memory too.”
Draco tightened his hold on her, voice breaking as he murmured:
“It was always one of your favorites.”
Theo’s voice was quiet, trembling.
“It was one of ours too.”
Hermione closed her eyes.
Notes:
eave a comment with who you think is going to combust first.
Chapter 240: Fumbling in the Bond
Chapter Text
Hermione found Theo that evening in the smaller family records library, the one with the tny enchanted skylight and the velvet green chaise he always sprawled on after long shifts to decompress emotionally form a hard case.
He was sitting there now, book open but clearly not reading a single word of it.
He looked up the moment she entered.
Her pulse picked up in her throat. The bond tugged, warm, nervous, hopeful.
“Hey,” Theo said softly. “You feeling alright? You seemed tired after dinner.”
Hermione approached slowly, then sat beside him, tucking her legs under herself.
“I’m… thinking alot,” she admitted.
He marked his page, still pretending he’d been reading, and set the book aside. Then he angled toward her, waiting, letting her lead.
The quiet crackle of the fire filled the space between them.
Hermione looked at her hands for a long moment before saying, very quietly:
“I need to talk to you about… earlier.”
Theo didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. He just softened.
“Okay,” he whispered.
She drew a slow breath and forced herself to meet his eyes.
“I feel guilty,” she confessed. “About… last night. About what I did.”
Theo’s face shifted instantly, surprise, compassion, a sharp note of concern.
“Hermione,” he murmured gently, “why would you feel guilty about that? Its natural.”
“Because,” she whispered, cheeks burning, “it feels unfair that I’m… feeling all of this, and dealing with it alone, while the two of you are stuck in this strange limbo because of me. Because my mind still won’t catch up fast enough. It’s hurting you both. Even Pansy thinks you’ve gotten colder to each other.”
Theo slid a little closer, not touching her yet, just enough that she could if she wanted to.
“It’s not unfair,” he said softly.
“Isn’t it?” Her voice wavered. “I know what I’ve been feeling through the bond. It’s been scalding at times. And I know you feel it too. Both of you. It’s driving me mad, this constant heat and want and I hate that you’re both absorbing all of it without… without any release.”
Theo inhaled sharply, not arousal, but emotion.
“Hermione,” he said quietly, “you don’t owe us anything. Not a single thing. The bond doesn’t demand sex explicitly usually. It demands connection.”
“But sex is part of that connection,” she insisted, voice trembling. “I know enough from what I’ve remembered. From what you’ve told me. From what the unspeakables have said. And I’m… I’m not ready to do anything with you both quite yet, but I don’t want you and Draco putting your lives, or your relationship with one another on hold because of me.”
Theo froze flushed.
She looked down, wringing her fingers tightly.
“I heard you both a few nights back,” she whispered. “Talking when you thought I was sleep on the couch. Draco was so frustrated. You were trying so hard to be patient. And I realized… obviously you two are married to each other too. The triad isn’t all about me. You’re allowed to be with each other you know? And I shouldn’t be… the thing that stops that.”
Theo let out a slow deep breath.
“Sweetheart… we’re not stopping because of you exactly,” he said softly. “We’re stopping because it hasn’t felt right without you involved . Not emotionally. Not magically.”
Hermione shook her head.
“But… Draco said he misses you. Wants you. And you said—”
Theo laughed under his breath, not mocking her but soft, affectionate chuckles.
“Yes,” he said. “We miss each other. And yes, we both want each other deep down. But we both agreed that with everything so unstable, and with you so lost and confused, our focus had to be on you healing first.”
She looked up at him then, eyes glassy.
“That feels like too much pressure on me.”
Theo reached out slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“It isn’t pressure for you,” he murmured. “It’s a choice. Our choice.”
“But I don’t want to hold you back,” she whispered. “If being together would help the bond stabilize for us all, help you both, then I don’t want you waiting for me to remember or be ready.”
Theo’s eyes softened in a way that made her chest ache even more.
“We’ve talked about it, more than what you overheard,” he admitted. “And we’re not ruling it out forever. But… right now? Right this moment? It would feel like trying to force normalcy when nothing is normal yet. We aren’t attracted to that.”
Hermione bit her lip.
“But what about you both being … uncomfortable because of… everything I’ve been feeling?”
Theo gave a vulnerable laugh.
“We are physically uncomfortable,” he said honestly. “Extremely. But that’s not your responsibility to manage. And… I promise you this without embarrassment, Draco and I can manage ourselves. We’ve had our lives of practice. We know how to take the edge off if needed.”
Her cheeks flushed hot.
Theo smiled faintly, “You dealing with your own arousal by yourself? That isn’t wrong. That isn’t shameful. And Merlin knows it’s better than all three of us climbing the walls like lovesick teenagers.”
Hermione let out a small laugh, half mortified, half relieved.
He cupped her cheek and held her gaze gently.
“We’re proud of you,” he murmured. “For letting your body speak even when your mind is scared. For listening to your instincts. For trusting yourself.”
“I just… don’t want to confuse you both,” she whispered.
“You’re not.” Theo’s voice was steady. “If anything, it told us that you’re reconnecting with us. Even if it’s slow. Even if it’s messy.”
“And you don’t think I’m… wrong? Or lost? Or betraying something by needing that last night?”
Theo shook his head.
“Hermione… desire isn’t betrayal. It’s healing.”
She blinked rapidly.
He gave her the gentlest smile she’d ever seen on him.
“And if you feel overwhelmed? Or scared? Or like you want something but don’t know what? You tell us. And we’ll listen. That’s how this works. It’s the only way for a triad to be steady.”
Hermione nodded, eyes shining.
“And,” Theo added softly, “if you ever reach a point where you want us to help you… really help you… you say so. But until then, what you did last night was healthy. And private, well kind of. And it helped all of us not implode.”
Hermione giggled.
Theo squeezed her knee lightly.
“Sweetheart,” he said softly, “your body remembering us isn’t something to fear. It’s the end goal right?”
She inhaled sharply.
“I just want to make the right choices,” she whispered.
Theo’s hand slid down to take hers, warm and strong.
“You are,” he said firmly. “Every single step.”
Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder. His arm came around her immediately, protective, warm, grounding.
After a long silence she murmured, “Will you… help Draco understand? That I don’t want him to feel guilty or ashamed for wanting you? Or for wanting me? Or for not touching you these last weeks?”
Theo let out a sigh.
“I already told him,” he said softly. “But hearing it from you will matter more.”
She nodded.
“Fine, I’ll tell him tonight.”
Theo kissed her hair.
“Good. He needs it truly form you.”
Hermione closed her eyes.
The bond pulsed, soft, warm, almost humming.
And for the first time since the kidnapping, she felt like the three of them were moving in the
Dinner was quiet at first.
Not tense, just… cautious. Draco kept glancing at Hermione as though afraid she might vanish if he blinked too long. Theo, sitting beside her, seemed calmer than he had in weeks, but there was still something taut in his shoulders.
Hermione knew she needed to talk to Draco.
Not eventually.
Now.
So after they finished eating and Theo took the dishes to the sink, Hermione stood, walked around the table, and gently touched Draco’s sleeve.
“Could we talk?” she asked quietly.
Draco’s breath caught, but he nodded immediately intrigued.
“Of course.”
He followed her into the sitting room, closing the door quietly behind them. The fire was low, the lamps warm. Hermione turned to him and the moment his pale eyes met hers, something in his expression fractured her smile just a little.
“You’re looking at me like something’s wrong,” she said gently.
“I’m looking at you,” Draco murmured, “like I’m still terrified you’re going to decide you don’t want me anywhere near you.”
Her chest tightened.
“Draco…”
He ran a hand through his hair—once, twice—then stopped himself sharply.
“Just tell me,” he said quietly. “If there’s something you need me to fix. Or change. Or stay away from. I can do better, I swear. Don’t give up on this please.”
Hermione took a step toward him.
“I don’t need you to change anything,” she said. “I just need to talk to you about… something I overheard.”
Draco stiffened. “Overheard?”
“Yes.” She looked down at her hands. “I heard you and Theo talking privately. About… the bond. And about me.”
Draco’s face went ashen.
“Hermione… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…”
“No, it’s okay,” she assured quickly. “You weren’t saying anything wrong. You were being honest. And that’s why I wanted to talk about it.”
Draco swallowed.
Hermione stepped closer still.
“I heard how frustrated you were feeling,” she said softly. “Not at me, just at the situation. At restraining yourself. At feeling everything I was feeling. And at wanting Theo.”
Draco’s breath hitched, but he didn’t look away.
“And I want you to know,” Hermione whispered, “you don’t have to feel guilty for any of that.”
Draco closed his eyes, refusing to look at her.
“Hermione, I wasn’t trying to—”
“I know,” she said gently, touching his hand. “I know you weren’t pressuring me. Or expecting anything. But you were hurting. And you’ve been trying so hard to pretend you’re not.”
Draco opened his eyes; bright, vulnerable, terrified.
“It’s… been hell,” he admitted quietly. “Feeling you reach for us in the bond, wanting us, wanting comfort, wanting touch… and not being able to give you anything. Not even a proper embrace without worrying I’d overwhelm you. And then too Theo and I…. it’s not right either.”
She squeezed his hand.
“You’re not overwhelming me,” she said. “You’re grounding me.”
Draco stared at her, stunned.
Hermione took another breath.
“And I also want you to know…” she bit her lip, “I don’t want you holding back with Theo either.”
Draco went still.
Completely still.
“What?” he whispered.
“I heard you both,” Hermione said gently. “You were worried being together without me would break the bond or upset me. But I don’t want your marriage to him to stop just because mine to you both feels… fuzzy at the moment.”
Draco’s eyes went wide.
“You’re telling me to—what?” His voice cracked. “Go back to our bedroom with him? Just get on with it? To touch him while you’re alone and confused and—”
“Draco,” she interrupted softly, “you two love each other still.”
His jaw clenched, eyes shining.
“And if being together helps anchor the bond, helps you both feel steady, helps keep our magic from twisting itself into knots… then I don’t want to be the reason you’re avoiding each other physically.”
He let out a broken laugh.
“Hermione, I can barely breathe without wanting you, and you think I can simply— what? —just redirect all that toward Theo? Theo is … well Theo and Salazar knows he does it for me too, but without you… it feels off.”
She flushed but held his gaze.
“I think,” she said bravely, “that you shouldn’t punish yourself for wanting what you normally have. I think you’re both agonizing over this for my sake, and I don’t want that anymore.”
Draco stepped closer, very slowly, watching her for any recoil.
“You really mean that,” he said, astonished.
She nodded firmly.
“I do. But I also want something else.”
Draco’s breath stuttered.
“What…what do you want?”
Hermione took his hand and placed it against her cheek.
“You,” she whispered. “Both of you. Slowly. Carefully. At my pace. Nothing all at once. But I don’t want you afraid of touching me.”
Draco made a stifled noise.
She moved closer, until they were nearly chest to chest.
“And…” she said softly, “I asked Theo earlier if… if you both would kiss me some more tonight. To see if it triggers any memories. To help my body reconnect to you both.”
Draco absolutely halted.
Then, voice barely audible, “You want me to kiss you more.”
Hermione nodded.
“And Theo too of course,” she muttered. “If you’re both willing.”
Draco didn’t answer with words. He just reached out with trembling fingers and brushed a curl behind her ear, slow, reverent.
Then he cupped her face with both hands.
“You have no idea,” he breathed, “how much I needed to hear you say that.”
She closed her eyes as his forehead came to rest against hers.
“I want to kiss you,” he whispered, voice shaking. “But I need you to tell me one more time… that this is what you want. Not the bond pushing you. Not our pressure. You.”
Hermione looked up at him, eyes full of craving.
“I want you to kiss me now,” she said. “Draco. Please.”
He shuddered like a man breaking, then leaned in, but stopped just shy of her lips.
“Hermione,” he whispered, “I’m going to go get Theo.”
Her gulp caught.
He stepped back, still touching her cheek.
“He deserves to be here too,” Draco said. “This is… al of us.”
Theo appeared seconds later, chest rising and falling quicker than normal, color high in his cheeks.
Draco guided him forward until the two men stood in front of her, one on each side.
“Are you sure?” he asked, voice almost anxious.
Hermione nodded once again.
And then Theo kissed her first.
Slow. Gentle. Reverent. His lips pressing into hers like prayer, a sigh trembling from him as he felt the bond thrum alive beneath her skin.
She gasped softly, memory flickering.
Theo kissing her under a gazebo at the gala, his hands warm on her waist, her heart racing.
She whimpered into his mouth.
Theo pulled back only when he sensed she needed air, his breath shaky.
Then Draco tilted her chin up and kissed her too and the world slanted.
Warmth. Fire. Heat.
A memory slamming into her so hard she nearly stumbled back.
Draco kissing her on their wedding day, hands in her hair, bending her back on the dance floor, whispering “Mine” against her mouth with a laugh.
She gasped, and Draco pulled back instantly, worried.
“Hermione?”
She lifted nervous fingers to her lips.
“I remembered,” she murmured. “The wedding dance floor. The kiss. You both… you both held me after.”
Theo exhaled a halted breath of relief.
Draco’s eyes filled, pain, hope, love all melded.
“Sweetheart,” Theo said softly, brushing her hair back over her shoulder, “that’s an amazing sign.”
Hermione took both their hands.
“I want to keep going,” she whispered. “But slowly. And only when it feels right.”
“We will,” Draco murmured, forehead brushing hers barely. “We’ll make sure of it.”
Theo kissed her forehead.
The bond pulsed.
That night, Hermione tried to sleep.
She really did.
She lay curled under her blankets in her old bedroom in Nott Manor, the room that felt familiar to her mind but wrong to her bones now, breathing carefully, eyes closed, willing seep to come.
But the bond was awake.
And it was hungry.
Draco and Theo were down the hall in their shared suite, and she had told them, both of them, to not hold back on each other anymore.
To reconnect. To stabilize what had grown so fragile. If they wanted it.
She didn’t expect it to feel like this though when she said that.
The bond magic thrummed under her skin first, warm and pulsing in a slow wave across her ribs.
Then came unmistakably Draco, sharp-edged, fiery heat blooming in her stomach.
And Theo, soft, overwhelming tenderness slipping under her skin, like warm water being poured over her.
Her breath stilled.
The sensations weren’t graphic, not images or sounds, they were emotional echoes. The rise of breathless tension. The storng pull of desire. Draco’s own restraint crumbling likely under Theo’s touch. Theo’s answering desire catching like a spark to parchment.
Her thighs squeezed together involuntarily.
“Oh—oh no—” she whispered, but it was already happening. Too late to take back now.
Her magic responded like it had been waiting, calling, demanding this exact moment..
A wave of yearning rolled through the bond, their desire and hers, and Hermione realized with humiliating, intoxicating clarity, if they kept going, she was going to lose her mind. It was a certainty.
She stuffed her face into her pillow and silently screamed.
It didn’t help.
The bond pulsed, boiling and relentless, tightening around her ribs like a hand.
Hermione whimpered and her body made the decision for her quite nearly.
She slipped her hand under her blankets, under her clothes, flushing bright red even alone in the dark.
She couldn’t stop herself; her whole body was trembling, her heart pounding, and her magic was buzzing like a hive.
She tried to stay quiet to them in the bond. She tried.
But the bond didn’t care, it surged, responding to every tiny spark of pleasure form them, every arch of her hips, every spiral of desire building in her belly.
Her fingers worked her frenzy higher, pulling the boy’s growing tension into her own. Circles around her clit, followed by finger fucking herself intensely. Anything to get relief from their flood of burning arousal.
And then suddenly, just as she felt their strain reaching higher, she came hard, muffling the sound in her pillow, shaking, the bond sending her release straight down the line to the boys, while she shuddered in ecstasy.
In their room, far down the halls, yet right inside her chest somehow, she felt them freeze and bond burn with headiness, a heavy scalding yearning.
And then after a long moment, she felt them both come undone.
The bond snapped with white-hot warmth, like three heartbeats slamming into sync all at once. The overwhelming satisfaction of their joint release cascading so intensely through the bond that she lost herself over the hill of another orgasm.
She felt their response immediately as she came down, Theo’s amusement, and Draco’s possessiveness.
Hermione lay there after, panting, stunned, mortified, and somehow deeply comforted.
And for the first time since before the kidnapping: She fell asleep quickly, deeply, safely, satisfied, with a glowing finger.
The next morning was… ridiculous.
The three of them sat at the breakfast table in their usual seats, all pretending they weren’t avoiding eye contact.
Hermione kept stirring her tea even though she hadn’t added anything to it yet.
Theo kept buttering the same piece of toast without eating it, the jam layer ludicrously thick now.
Draco attempted to drink his coffee and nearly choked when Hermione looked up for half a second to meet his eye.
A shared secret.
A shared burn.
A shared bond.
Finally, Theo cleared his throat, cheeks pink.
“So,” he said weakly, “um… did everyone… sleep well?”
Hermione’s face caught fire and she pushed her face down onto the table.
Draco coughed so violently he had to set his mug down.
Hermione squeaked. Actually squeaked.
“We are not discussing it,” she blurted.
Theo turned brighter red. “Right. Yes. Good. Perfect.”
Draco muttered into his coffee, “Wish I could Obliviate myself.”
Hermione smacked his shoulder.
He smiled at her, soft, almost shy, beautiful.
And even that tiny smile made her whole body feel warm again.
She swallowed hard and looked away.
It felt… natural. Normal. Like before. Like them.
And she wasn’t ready for any of what she really wanted, but wanting it felt less scary this morning.
A soft pop echoed through the dining room.
“Hello?” Harry called.
“Hope we’re not interrupting!” Ginny appeared behind him, grinning. “We brought pastries!”
Hermione nearly died.
Theo straightened so fast he knocked over the butter dish.
Draco schooled his face into something almost-but-not-quite poshly normal.
“Oh,” Hermione said, clearing her throat and trying to sound like someone who had absolutely not fallen apart last night and now just been embarrassed. “Good morning.”
Ginny’s eyes narrowed instantly.
“Why,” Ginny Weasley asked in a whisper loud enough to carry to every end of the table, “do all three of you look like guilty teenagers who got caught snogging behind the Quidditch stands by Filtch?”
Theo sputtered his tea.
Draco glared harshly.
Hermione choked on air, quickly recovering.
“Sit,” Hermione commanded, pointing at the chairs. “We’re having normal brunch. Very normal. Entirely normal.”
Ginny took one look at Hermione’s burning face and smirked like a woman who knew exactly what had happened without needing Legilimency.
“Oh,” Ginny murmured privately while Harry helped Theo gather extra plates, “you’re in trouble.”
Hermione froze. “What?”
Ginny’s grin widened wickedly.
“You’ve got the look.”
“What look?”
“The I want to jump both my husbands look,” Ginny whispered.
Hermione turned scarlet.
“I—I—Ginny!”
“Sweetie,” Ginny whispered, patting her hand mockingly, “I’m married to Harry Potter. I know that look anywhere.”
Hermione buried her face in her hands.
Ginny snorted into her tea.
But the brunch was good.
Harry told ridiculous Auror stories. Draco rolled his eyes at all of them.
Theo kept sneaking Hermione gentle glances, checking in without crowding her. And Hermione found herself laughing—real laughing—until she snorted loudly and Ginny teased her mercilessly.
The fear, the trauma, the uncertainty, for one morning, it all loosened its grip.
It felt like before.
Like home.
Like family.
And even if she wasn’t fully herself yet…she was finding her way back.
Hermione thought she would sleep easily after brunch with Harry and Ginny, after the laughter, the teasing, the warmth she had missed without realizing it.
But that night was different.
Her mind felt full… like something was pushing gently from the inside.
She drifted off wrapped in blankets and moonlight—and slid straight into a dream.
Except it wasn’t a dream.
It was a memory.
She was standing on a balcony overlooking the sea—Bali—humid air brushing her bare shoulders. Draco was behind her, shirtless, tracing slow circles on her spine. Theo was in front of her, hands cupping her cheeks like she was the rarest thing he'd ever touched, lips on her breast.
Hermione gasped awake.
Her heart was pounding so hard she had to sit upright, pressing both hands to her chest.
Her body remembered every detail—the breeze, the sand on her ankles, their lips on her nipples… her mind couldn’t keep up, but her magic knew.
The room was dark, silent.
But the bond was burning.
Draco and Theo weren’t asleep either. They felt her spike of emotion like a flare.
Theo sent a soft thread of concern.
Draco sent warmth, protective and aching.
She sent back calmness.
And Hermione curled her knees up, whispering into the dark:
“I remember the ocean…”
The bond hummed back—gentle, yearning.
She didn’t go to them.
But she didn’t feel alone either.
Morning light streamed into the dining room, and Hermione joined them still shaken from the night’s memory.
Draco looked exhausted but alert. Theo kept glancing at her between sips of coffee.
Neither pushed her at first, just waited.
Finally, Theo spoke softly.
“You remembered something.”
It wasn’t a question.
Hermione nodded. “The beach. Bali. Us.”
Her hands juddered. “And how you—both of you—touched me.”
Draco groaned, knuckles white around his mug.
Theo leaned in gently. “Did it scare you?”
“No. I wanted it all and more.”
She swallowed, whispering, “That’s what scares me.”
Draco closed his eyes like that pierced his soul.
She touched his wrist, hesitant but honest.
“I’m remembering pieces. I just… I need time. But I’m trying.”
Theo reached across, warm fingers brushing hers.
“We know. And we’re not rushing you.”
Hermione’s chest tightened painfully, love brushing at the edges of her memory, but not quite landing.
An owl tapped at the glass.
Draco stiffened instantly. Theo stood, wand in hand.
Hermione took it, and opened it carefully.
The letter bore the Minister’s seal.
To Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, and Hermione,
I have received updates regarding the case, including developments that require your immediate involvement.
A full intelligence report has arrived from the Russian Ministry, as well as new evidence from the Department of Mysteries.
We must meet on Thursday morning. All of your presence is mandatory.
– Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic
Hermione’s stomach dropped.
Draco looked murderous.
Theo rubbed a hand over his face, annoyed.
“New evidence,” Theo muttered. “That could mean anything.”
“Or everything,” Draco said darkly.
Hermione folded the letter slowly.
“I’m going with you.”
Draco looked ready to argue. “Hermione—”
“No,” she cut him gently. “I’m stronger. I’m remembering more. And if Kingsley has answers… I want them.”
Theo reached over and squeezed her knee under the table.
“We’ll be with you. Every second.”
The bond pulsed tight around them.
After breakfast they moved into Draco’s study.
Hermione sat between them on the sofa, knees tucked under her.
Draco ran a hand through his hair.
“He wants us there because something big is coming I bet.”
Theo nodded.
“And because whatever siphoning spell is being used, Hermione was going to be next.”
Hermione flinched. “Do you think they’ll want to run more tests?”
“They can shove their tests,” Draco snapped. “You’re not a lab rat.”
Theo shot him a look, calm but firm.
“If they need information that helps stop other victims, we’ll listen.”
Draco bristled, jaw flexing.
Hermione put a hand on his arm, surprising herself.
His breath caught.
“I trust you,” she said quietly.
Theo leaned forward, expression soft.
“We’ll make a plan. We’ll protect each other.”
Draco’s anger melted, replaced with something raw, unguarded.
“We’re not losing you again,” he whispered.
Hermione’s throat tightened.
“You won’t.”
Notes:
Ah finally The Ministry...
Chapter 241: Ministry Shaming
Chapter Text
Thursday morning arrived far too quickly.
Hermione dresses with trembling hands, Theo tying the ribbon at the back of her robes because she still fumbles when she’s tired, Draco smoothing the shoulders with quiet precision.
Neither says it aloud, but all three of them feel the tension twisting the bond.
By the time they step through the floo into the Minister’s private conference floor, Hermione’s magic is jittering like static under her skin.
Harry is already waiting.
He gives her a faint smile, the soft, brotherly one.
“You look steadier today,” he says.
Hermione nods. “Trying.”
But Draco catches her hand and squeezes, jaw tight.
Together, the three of them push open the heavy conference doors.
The room is full.
Kingsley sits at the head of the table, robes immaculate, expression grave.
Two senior Unspeakables stand to his left, wearing their deep hooded cloaks.
To his right, Madam Bones, three Auror Captains, and an international liaison from Russia.
Theo tenses beside her.
Draco mutters, “Bloody circus.”
Kingsley gestures for them to sit.
“Hermione. Draco. Theodore. Thank you for coming.”
Hermione feels every pair of eyes on her, cold, assessing.
She hates it.
Theo subtly nudges their chairs closer so she’s not isolated.
Her fingers slide under the table, brushing Draco’s knee, grounding herself.
Kingsley clears his throat.
“We have updates on the siphoning case. But before that—”
His gaze sharpens.
“Your bond.”
Hermione stiffens.
Draco’s spine goes rigid.
Theo reaches for her hand gently under the table.
Kingsley nods to the Unspeakable on the left.
Her voice is calm, analytical—emotionless.
“We’ve been monitoring magical fluctuations in the bonded triad,” the Unspeakable begins.
“Specifically Hermione’s core instability remains a concern.”
Draco’s teeth clench.
Theo’s brows knit in worry.
The Unspeakable continues:
“Her core is still weakened from the siphoning event, but that is not the primary issue. The larger problem is—”
Another Unspeakable steps forward, cutting in, voice firmer:
“—your bond is out of alignment. Severely out of alignment. And has been for far too long.”
Hermione grips Theo’s hand. Hard.
Draco snaps, “She was kidnapped and isolated—”
“We are aware,” the Unspeakable says bluntly. “But the bond doesn’t respond to circumstance. It responds to reality.”
Hermione flushes with discomfort.
“What does that mean?” she forces herself to ask.
Unspeakable #2 speaks with brutal simplicity:
“The bond is growing impatient with being incomplete, it’s severely unstable.”
Hermione swallows.
Theo stiffens.
Draco turns instantly protective, leaning slightly in front of her.
Unspeakable #1 continues clinically:
“When multi-person bonds are formed and fully sealed, emotionally and physically, they require periodic re-harmonization. If one person loses memory of that period of formation, the bond becomes destabilized. Plus she was gone two and a half weeks, then a week hospital recovery. It’s now been a month since the cores have been in contact. If left unresolved…”
She hesitates.
Theo’s voice is quiet but strong.
“Say it.”
“Then all three of you may start experiencing destructive magical surges. Outwardly.”
Hermione goes ashen.
Draco’s magic flares, sharp, dangerous, protective, but Hermione squeezes his hand to steady him.
Kingsley clears his throat.
“Which,” he says carefully, “is why we need you to fix it.”
Kingsley tries to sound diplomatic.
Emphasis on tries.
“Hermione, Theo, Draco… this bond is no longer a private matter.”
Draco bristles. “The hell it isn’t—”
Kingsley raises a hand. “Please. Let me finish.”
The room is silent.
“Your bond, if destabilized long enough, becomes a societal threat. Magical instability radiates outward. Unpredictable spell events, emotional echoing, magical backlash… possibly even involuntary magical outbursts around you.”
Hermione sucks in a breath.
She remembers shattering glass with a simple summoning charm the other day.
Theo runs a slow, grounding circle on her back with his thumb.
Kingsley continues:
“We need you stabilized. Quickly. For your safety and everyone else’s.”
Draco’s voice is ice:
“We won’t rush Hermione. She’s recovering from trauma and memory loss. She needs time.”
Kingsley nods once, but his tone remains firm:
“I understand. But time is not a luxury the bond will continue to give you.”
Theo speaks then, calm, but carrying weight.
“We’ve already increased emotional intimacy. Physical closeness. We’re re-establishing trust.”
Draco shoots him a sideways look but doesn’t argue.
Unspeakable #1 inclines her head.
“That is good. But it must progress further. Soon.”
Hermione flushes deeply, not from embarrassment alone, but from the raw pressure of the conversation.
Draco’s hand finds hers beneath the table, squeezing tight.
He glares at the Unspeakables.
“We will not push her faster than she’s ready.”
Theo nods firmly.
“Her comfort comes first.”
Hermione closes her eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by how fiercely they both defend her, even when the room is pressuring them.
Kingsley exhales.
“I’m not asking you to hurt her. I am asking you to be honest with yourselves.”
He looks directly at Hermione.
“What do you need to feel aligned again?”
Hermione grips both of their hands.
“I don’t know yet. But I’m trying.”
They leave the conference room in exhausted silence an hour later.
Hermione’s magic pulses erratically, like a bird panicking inside her ribs.
Draco gently places a hand on her back as they walk.
“The Unspeakables can go to hell,” he mutters. “We will figure this out ourselves.”
Theo steps to her other side.
“But they’re not wrong about the instability. You feel it too.”
Hermione nods.
“I do.”
Draco softens immediately.
“Hey. We’re not blaming you.”
“No,” Theo agrees. “This is something all three of us fix together.”
Draco reaches for Theo’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze, an unspoken truce.
Hermione stops walking.
They stop with her.
She looks up at them—at the men she loves but can’t remember loving.
Her voice breaks.
“I want this. I want us. I just need patience.”
Theo pulls her gently into his chest.
Draco circles behind, wrapping his arms around both of them.
In the hallway of the Ministry, public, exposed, they stand tangled together.
A triad trying desperately to fit back into a shape that once felt effortless.
That night at Nott Manor the dark is too quiet.
Hermione lies in her bed, her old bed, the one from before the triad, staring at the ceiling while the echoes of the Unspeakables’ words buzz in her skull.
Incomplete.
Impatient.
Out of alignment.
Her magic is vibrating again.
Not violently, not dangerously, just… relentlessly.
Like something trying very hard to surface.
And beneath it, so much longing she can hardly breathe.
Despite the distance between suites, she can feel Theo and Draco through the bond. Their emotions are muffled but present:
Theo — steady warmth, concern, tenderness
Draco — longing, frustration, fierce protectiveness
She curls her fingers into the sheets.
I want them, she thinks helplessly.
I want something I don’t fully remember.
A frustration that borders on heartbreak.
She finally falls asleep only because exhaustion claims her.
But then, the dream begins.
Except it’s not a dream.
She’s standing on a balcony overlooking Cairo at night.
She recognizes the smell first, sand and spices.
Somewhere they had traveled.
She sees herself, barefoot, hair loose, wearing a thin cotton night dress.
And Theo.
He looks younger, not in age, but in expression.
Worried.
Desperate to be gentle.
Soft in a way he rarely lets the world see.
He stands in the doorway, shirt half-buttoned, as if he’d been walking circles debating coming to her.
Her heart aches watching it unfold.
Hermione in the memory whispers something she can’t quite hear, and Theo steps closer, cupping her cheek.
Suddenly the sound clears.
“You don’t have to pretend,” he tells her in a trembling voice. “I know why you’re nervous.”
Hermione in the memory swallows.
“I’m not nervous about you.”
Theo’s breath stutters.
“You’re tight, and I’m—”
Hermione steps into him, cuts him off with a kiss.
The memory slams into her chest.
They were alone. Draco had insisted on giving them privacy.
He’d even arranged the trip and booked the secluded room just for them.
And Theo had been so careful she could cry.
She sees flashes—
Theo’s hands trembling as he touched her chin.
The way he kept asking if she was sure.
Her whispering yes, again and again.
The fear of pain.
The determination to share herself with him anyway.
And—
Theo holding her afterwards, whispering into her hair:
“You’re mine, Hermione. You’ve always been mine.”
The memory is not graphic, but holy, emotional, overwhelming.
And Hermione wakes with a gasp, hand over her mouth, tears in her eyes.
She sits upright.
Her magic is humming—no, singing—and the bond is wide open.
And she can feel them noticing.
Theo bolts upright, heart pounding.
Draco feels the spike of shock and desire and fear and tenderness all tangled together.
They come running so fast she barely has time to wipe her eyes.
Theo bursts in first, breathless, shirt half-open like the memory itself has manifested him.
“Hermione—what happened? Are you alright? Your magic just—”
Draco skids in behind him, hair mussed, eyes scanning for danger.
“Hermione?”
She looks at them—both of them—and the tears spill freely.
“I… I remembered.”
The two men freeze.
Theo steps forward slowly.
“What did you remember, love?”
She whispers.
“Our first time, Theo.”
Theo goes still.
Draco inhales sharply through his nose, because he feels Theo’s emotions detonating through the bond and the echo of Hermione’s desire mixing with it.
Hermione keeps her eyes on Theo.
“I remembered the villa. And… and how gentle you were. How scared I was. How much it hurt. How much it meant.”
Theo’s hands tremble.
“Oh,” he breathes, voice breaking. “Hermione…”
Draco sinks onto the edge of the bed, one hand covering his face as the bond pulses—ache, relief, longing all at once.
Hermione swallows.
“I didn’t just remember the… act. I remembered how right it felt to connect with you finally as one. How right you felt.”
Theo sits beside her slowly.
“Come here,” he whispers.
She does.
He wraps his arms around her with a desperation held barely in check.
“You don’t know,” he murmurs into her hair, “what this means to me. To us.”
Draco clears his throat roughly.
“I’m… I’m glad that was the one to return finally,” he admits.
“It was a big turning point for all of us.”
Hermione turns to look at him.
“You were the one who sent us away so we could have privacy.”
Draco’s jaw tightens, eyes soft.
“Of course I did. He deserved that moment with you. And you deserved to feel safe.”
She reaches a hand out to him, and Draco takes it instantly, pressing his forehead to her knuckles.
Theo says quietly:
“That memory coming back… it’s a sign the bond knows what it wants. It’s rebuilding.”
Hermione feels it too.
A warmth.
A pulling.
She breathes, “I want more memories to come back.”
Draco lifts his gaze, slow, and intense.
“They will.”
Theo gently wipes a tear from her cheek.
“And until they do, we’ll be patient.”
She nods, trembling a little.
But then she adds, “I’m not afraid of you. Not of either of you. I need you to know that.”
Draco’s breath shudders.
Theo’s eyes close in relief.
They sit like that, Hermione tucked between them on her bed, until her magic finally quiets and the room feels steady again.
Notes:
She's remembering alot of the big moments.
Chapter 242: Losing Control
Chapter Text
Hermione wakes late the next morning, drifting up through warmth with a strange, bright hum in her chest.
The bond again, she thinks sleepily.
Only this time, it isn’t demanding or unstable.
It’s… full.
Full of someone else’s emotions.
Hers?
No.
Theo’s?
No.
Draco.
She can feel him before she even opens her eyes,aA storm of feelings radiating weakly across the link:
love,
relief,
fear,
gratitude,
guilt,
longing,
and something so deep it feels like aching pain.
It’s overwhelming.
Dizzying.
She blinks awake.
Draco is sitting in the chair beside her bed, head bowed into his hands, elbows braced on his knees. He looks exhausted, like he didn’t sleep.
Theo is across the room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
Watching Draco carefully.
Not unkind, just… wary.
Hermione pushes up on her elbows slowly.
“Draco?” she asks softly.
He lifts his head instantly.
And she feels it, his emotions spike so violently the bond throbs like a struck chord.
Fear she’ll disappear again.
Relief she’s here.
Regret he didn’t protect her.
Adoration.
Longing.
Longing.
So much longing.
Hermione inhales sharply.
Theo mutters under his breath, “For Merlin’s sake, Draco, pull it in a little.”
Draco flinches, knuckles whitening.
“I’m trying,” he snaps, voice frayed and ragged. “I can’t, control it right yet.”
Hermione sits up fully.
“It’s okay,” she whispers.
But Theo pushes off the wall, expression tense.
“No, it’s not. He’s bleeding half his heart into the bond, Hermione. You feel all of that, he knows you do. He’s going to overwhelm you if he doesn’t get a grip.”
Draco’s jaw tightens like metal bending.
“I’m not pressuring her.”
“I didn’t say you were doing it on purpose,” Theo shoots back.
“But intent or not, it’s too much.”
Hermione holds up her hand.
“Enough,” she says softly, and both men fall quiet immediately.
She pats the bed beside her.
“Draco. Come here.”
He hesitates like a man afraid to get too close to the thing he loves.
But eventually he sits, shoulders hunched.
Hermione reaches for his hand without thinking.
And the bond flares wildly.
Draco sucks in a sharp breath.
Theo mutters, “This is exactly what I meant.”
But Hermione squeezes Draco’s hand.
“It’s alright,” she says again, gentler now. “I can feel that you’re scared. And grateful. And… everything else. And none of it is hurting me.”
Draco swallows hard.
“I didn’t mean to push anything on you,” he murmurs.
Hermione shakes her head.
“You’re not. You’re grieving. You’re relieved. You almost lost me. Of course your emotions are strong.”
His throat works.
“I thought we’d never see you alive again.”
Theo exhales slowly, some of the tension easing.
Hermione looks between them.
“I’m not overwhelmed,” she assures them. “I’m not choosing either of you. I’m not choosing anything right now except trying to heal and the bond. And you’re both part of that.”
Theo rubs a hand over his face.
“I know,” he mutters. “I’m just… I don’t want anything to make you feel cornered. This is fragile.”
Hermione nods.
“I know. And I need you both to trust me to speak up if something feels like too much.”
Theo nods.
Draco nods.
But Draco’s hand is still trembling in hers.
Hermione looks at him more closely.
“You’ve been crying.”
Draco jerks as if struck.
Theo winces.
“Hermione, maybe not—”
“Why?” she asks softly, interrupting him. “Why are you crying?”
Draco swallows once, twice, and then:
“Because you remembered,” he whispers.
“Because you’re here alive. Because—I didn’t expect to feel this much pain sitting next to you.”
His voice breaks.
“And I’m sorry.”
Theo’s whole posture softens with a sigh.
Hermione scoots closer, resting her head lightly against Draco’s shoulder.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” she says.
“I do,” he murmurs. “You can feel everything I feel now. You shouldn’t have to carry that.”
Theo moves closer too, sitting at the foot of the bed.
“Hermione,” he says quietly, “this is why I said what I said. He’s not doing anything wrong, but we all know you’re… very receptive right now. I don’t want you to feel pushed into intimacy because Draco’s longing is screaming loud through the bond.”
Draco chokes.
“I’m not trying to—”
“I know,” Theo says simply. “That’s why I’m saying it. We need to be careful. All three of us.”
Hermione looks at them, her heart unbearably full.
“I’m not being pushed,” she says firmly. “Not by either of you. I feel desire because I desire you both. There’s a difference.”
Draco covers his eyes.
Theo exhales.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “I just… needed to hear that.”
They eventually convince Hermione to come down for breakfast.
She sits between them at the long mahogany table, Theo buttering her toast, Draco silently monitoring her tea like it might attack her.
It’s domestic.
Sweet.
Almost normal.
But every now and then, Hermione feels Draco’s emotions spike—
a burst of fear when she coughs,
a wave of relief when she smiles,
a surge of longing when she laughs.
Each time, she reaches for his hand.
Each time, he quiets a little.
Theo watches it all with complicated eyes…protective, analytical, but softening with each passing minute.
Finally, as breakfast winds down, he murmurs, “See? You’re stabilizing. The bond too.”
Hermione touches the center of her chest.
“It feels warmer today.”
“Because you remembered something important,” Draco says quietly.
Hermione meets both of their eyes.
“It wasn’t just a memory,” she says. “It felt like… reclaiming part of myself. And both of you.”
The bond pulses gently in agreement.
Theo smiles for the first time that morning.
Draco closes his eyes, shoulders dropping.
Hermione squeezes their hands.
“We’re going to be okay,” she whispers.
They arrive in Kingsley’s private conference chamber mid-morning, after a patrounus summons.
Hermione bundled in Draco’s cloak, Theo at her side like her anchor, Draco radiating tension so sharp it buzzes in the air.
Kingsley stands when they enter.
“I’m glad you’re well enough to attend,” he tells Hermione, but his gaze flicks to Draco. And lingers. “I’m told you cast a magically significant pulse at the manor yesterday.”
Hermione flushes. Theo stiffens.
“It wasn’t intentional,” she says.
“I assumed not,” Kingsley says. “But you must understand, the Department of Mysteries sensed it. Even subdued, a triadic pulse is no small matter.”
Draco’s jaw ticks.
Theo squeezes Hermione’s hand.
Kingsley gestures them to sit.
They do, but the bond is already humming, their emotions crossing and crossing again in tangled threads.
The Unspeakable assigned to them enters next, grey-robed, stern, emotionless.
“We have new concerns,” she says. “Your bond is destabilizing at an alarming rate. Worse this morning.”
Draco bristles.
Theo closes his eyes like he knows exactly where this is going.
Hermione digs her fingernails into her palm.
The Unspeakable lays down a parchment filled with readings.
“Your bond levels show oscillation patterns consistent with… volatility. A state that precedes harmonic rupture.”
Hermione trembles.
Draco snarls.
Theo places a grounding hand on the small of Hermione’s back.
“We are doing the work,” Theo says with restraint. “She’s recovering. Memories are returning every day. The bond is responding to that.”
“Responding,” the Unspeakable echoes, “or recoiling? Are you sure it’s not making things worse to remember? You three risk a magical backlash event.”
That’s the moment Draco breaks.
Something in him snaps like a bowstring pulled too tight.
“You think we don’t know that?” he hisses.
Magic surges off him, white-hot and crackling.
“Draco—” Theo warns, already rising to calm him.
“We were fine before she was kidnapped!” Draco roars.
“Before the Ministry failed to protect her! Before you sent Aurors on wild assignments that left her alone long enough to be taken—”
“Draco—stop,” Hermione pleads.
But he’s already losing control.
Magic bursts from him in invisible waves, the chandelier shakes, the heavy oak table cracks down the center, glass decanters explode off the shelves.
Kingsley slams his wand up defensively.
“Malfoy, control yourself!”
That only makes it worse.
“You think I can just turn off being terrified? Turn off being in love? Turn off feeling her panic through the bond when she was snacthed?” Draco shouts, voice breaking.
“You think I can just sit here calmly while you lecture us like misbehaving schoolchildren?”
Another crack of unstable magic whips through the room, lights flickering, the air turning sharp.
Theo grabs Draco’s shoulders.
“Draco, breathe. Look at me. Not them. Me.”
But Hermione flinches, and that flinch sends another jolt through the bond.
Her magic lashes out too.
Papers on the desk burst into flame.
A chair skids across the room.
A crystal sconce detonates with a shimmer of sparks.
Kingsley throws up a shield charm.
“Enough!”
Theo steps between them all, both hands raised like a healer facing two dangerous magical surges.
“Stop, both of you. Look at me!”
His voice drops low, steady, commanding.
Hermione’s eyes lock onto him instantly, her breath shaking.
Draco’s chest is heaving, magic spitting off him like sparks off a wildfire.
Theo softens his tone, but not his grip on calm.
“We are not going to hurt each other. We are not going to let the bond spiral. Breathe. Both of you.”
He touches Draco’s face with one hand, Hermione’s shoulder with the other.
He is the center of gravity.
He is the tether.
Slowly—painfully slowly— their breathing syncs.
Their magic ebbs just a fraction.
The room stops shaking.
But Kingsley looks furious.
“This is untenable,” Kingsley says sharply. “You three cannot keep walking into public spaces like this. The risk—”
“We’re not dangerous,” Hermione whispers, shaken.
Kingsley’s eyes soften just slightly.
“You aren’t trying to be,” he says. “But destabilized triad magic is inherently volatile. You just cracked a table with no wandwork.”
Hermione’s heart plummets.
Draco looks sick.
Theo closes his eyes in defeat.
Kingsley folds his hands.
“My recommendation is not punishment,” he says carefully. “It’s protection. For you and for the public.”
He looks at Theo.
“You mentioned you had a secluded estate?”
Theo nods reluctantly. “In the northern highlands. Ward-heavy. My family’s winter retreat.”
“You three need time away,” Kingsley says. “Away from public spaces, away from stress, away from eyes and pressure. Take a few days. Recenter yourselves. Let the bond stabilize.”
Draco doesn’t hesitate.
“We’ll go,” he says immediately.
Hermione nods.
Theo sighs and gives in. “We’ll leave tonight.”
Kingsley relaxes just slightly.
“Good. When you return, we’ll reassess the bond and case. For now, your priority is each other.”
As they step out of the Minister’s office into the quiet hallway, all three stand together in a tight circle, breathing the same air, shoulders brushing, hands twitching toward each other.
Hermione speaks first.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
Draco shakes his head violently. “Don’t. Don’t ever apologize for having feelings.”
Theo places his hand over both of theirs.
“We’re going to Scotland,” he says with a quiet certainty. “We’re going to fix this. Together.”
Hermione squeezes their hands.
“Together.”
Draco lets out a shaky exhale.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I am not losing either of you again.”
Notes:
They do need this though, it's been over a month since they were together. The bond is really unhappy.
Chapter 243: Touch
Chapter Text
They packed in silence.
The kind of silence that hums with too many feelings and not enough words. The kind that eats at your soul.
Theo gathers medical potions with clinical focus.
Draco sets wards around their travel trunks three different times, ignoring Hermione’s soft protests.
Hermione folds sweaters into neat stacks until her hands start to shake and Draco gently replaces them with his own.
They don’t apparate, they can’t risk magical instability mid-jump with how unpredictable the bond has been.
So Theo holds the old Nott signet ring in his palm, whispers the activation charm and the family portkey yanks them all into cold mountain air.
They land in a burst of frost and silence.
Hermione stumbles on landing. Draco steadies her instantly.
Theo breathes out, the tension in his shoulders easing as he looks up at the stone house perched above the valley.
“Welcome to the Nott Winter Sanctuary,” he murmurs. “My father hated this place. Too remote for his taste. Haven’t been here since maybe the first winter at Hogwarts.”
“Perfect for our needs then, no one for miles,” Draco says softly without sarcasm.
Hermione looks up at the clouds brushing the peaks, the thin snow dusting the heather, the roaring of a distant river faintly heard.
It’s cold and quiet.
Blessedly, painfully quiet.
Their bond hums faintly between them, like a wounded bird breathing carefully.
The house smells weakly of pine and ancient stone.
Theo flicks his wand, soft, steady magic, and brass lanterns light themselves with a golden glow.
Draco exhales in relief at the stability of Theo’s cast.
Hermione walks through slowly, taking in the details of the place.
There’s a main room with high timber ceilings, a massive empty stone fireplace, shelves filled with old magical tomes and Nott family journals. A kitchen barely used, countertops dusty but unmarred. Upstairs, three bedrooms, all simple, each full of old fmaily quilts that look hand-stitched.
Theo clears his throat.
“I know it’s small compared to Nott Manor and a bit underkept. But—”
“It’s perfect for us right now,” Hermione interrupts gently, hand on his shoulder.
And Draco nods once, firmly. “It’s exactly what we need at the moment.”
The bond pulses with soft agreement.
Soon the house-elves have cleaned up a bit, removing the unlived in feeling, and cobwebs, making the space a bit more homely and welcoming. Theo has overseen the building of a raging fire in the main room’s hearth, heating the space with more than just magic. The fire crackles loudly as the sky outside darkens.
Hermione curls into one end of the worn leather sofa, bundled in a thick flannel blanket. Draco sits across, elbows on knees, staring into the flames, lost in thought. Theo leans against the armrest, looking at both of their profiles in turn.
No one speaks. The air is warm. The bond swirls faintly with exhaustion, fear, affection, longing.
It’s Hermione who breaks the silence.
“I didn’t realize how loud everything had been. Until now in this silence.”
Theo nods. “This place forces you to hear your own thoughts. Maybe another reason Father never really liked it here. Forced to ponder his crimes.”
“Unpleasant as that is for a death eater,” Draco mutters.
Theo watches both of them, expression softening.
“We needed to be somewhere peaceful ad remote,” he says. “The three of us together, no other distractions.”
Hermione looks at him steadily. “To fix the bond somehow.”
Theo reaches for her hand, hesitates, Draco’s breath catches and then she takes his hand herself.
Her magic minutely steadying under his touch.
Draco watches, throat tight, and Hermione reaches out her other hand toward him.
“Come here,” she says softly.
Draco’s eyes widen, but he moves instantly, sitting beside her, letting her hands fold into both of theirs.
The bond warms a tad.
A fragile equilibrium settling between them.
Hermione exhales shakily. “I’ve missed… feeling balanced with you both. Everything has been feeling so fraught with everything.”
Draco bows his head. “We’ve been missing you more than you know.”
Theo looks at Hermione with that steady calm gaze, gentle but unbearably honest.
“There’s something we need to talk about,” he says. “All three of us. The elephant in the room…”
Draco tenses visibly.
Hermione nods very slowly.
Theo continues, “The Unspeakable was right. The bond isn’t just unstable because of trauma. It’s unstable because… it hasn’t been fully aligned in nearly six weeks.”
Hermione’s cheeks flush.
Her body has been demanding connection. Loudly.
Her dreams, her reactions, her bursts of arousal through the bond, all point to a simple, but complicated solution.
Theo sees the understanding dawn in her eyes.
Draco rubs the bridge of his nose, eyes closed.
“We’re not asking you to rush,” he says immediately.
Theo nods. “We won’t push you. Ever. We can just stay here for a long time if needed, it’s ok.”
Hermione gulps.
“I know,” she whispers. “But my magic… it feels like it’s tugging at yours. Like it remembers things I don’t fully.”
Draco looks pained. “We feel it, too.”
Theo murmurs, “Especially at night.”
Hermione flushes brightly.
“You feel that?”
“Every bit of it,” Draco answers honestly.
Silence.
Thick, charged silence.
Hermione finally whispers: “I don’t remember everything, just some moments so far. But my body—my magic—they’re sure. And I… I want to catch up to where they are. I’m trying.”
Theo squeezes her hand. “That’s all we could ever ask.”
They decide to sleep in the same room, but in separate beds arranged close together.
A compromise.
A safe middle ground.
Hermione settles into her bed near the window.
Theo takes the one beside hers.
Draco takes the one closest to the door, protective even here.
The fire still crackles faintly downstairs.
Wind rattles the stone walls. Snow taps at the panes.
Hermione whispers into the darkness:
“Thank you for bringing me here. Being away from it all may be what we really need to focus just on us.”
Theo’s voice floats back, warm, low.
“There’s nowhere else we’d be than here with you.”
Draco adds, almost inaudible, “I sleep better when I know you’re breathing next to me.”
Hermione smiles into the pillow. They quietly talk deep into the night. About nothing and everything. About their plans to spoil Pansy’s child someday, about the first times everyone said they loved one another, and about how much the Ministry lately felt like it was letting them down. Eventually their voices grew horse and quiet, and they each drifted off into sleep.
Hermione wakes to the sound of a kettle whistling.
Her magic feels… lighter.
A tiny bit more aligned.
Still fragile, but not spiraling.
When she sits up, Draco is already awake in a chair beside her bed, watching her with tired eyes soft in thought.
“You slept through the night,” he murmurs.
“So did you I think,” she counters gently.
He huffs, caught.
Theo enters with steaming mugs.
“Breakfast is ready. Nothing fancy. Toast, fruit, eggs.”
Hermione smiles at him.
It makes Theo’s chest loosen and Draco’s hands tighten on the chair arms.
She stands slowly, wobbling from lingering weakness form unstable magic.
Both men move instinctively.
Draco catches her elbow.
Theo steadies her waist.
Hermione feels the bond pulse—
—warmth
—desire
—protectiveness
—fear
—devotion.
And she thinks:
We might actually be okay eventually.
The sow storm outside the lodge had quieted to a soft, distant rumble.
The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting moving shadows across the wide room. Draco and Theo had spread blankets and cushions on the thick fur rug earlier, creating a warm nest for the three of them.
They’d spent the evening talking quietly, small things, memories, the weather, the way the highlands smelled after rain, carefully avoiding anything that might remind Hermione of how fragile the bond was.
But the bond remembered anyway.
Hermione felt it thrumming impatient beneath her skin, a persistent current that had been getting stronger all day. She felt warm, restless, unable to sit still.
Every time either of them shifted beside her, her body reacted, an unmistakable pull deep in her chest and lower, a tightening she didn’t fully understand but recognized from the fragments of memory that had begun seeping in at night. Desire, arousal for her husbands.
Theo noticed first that it was rising.
“Hermione?” he asked quietly, leaning forward slightly. “You’re… sparking.”
She looked down at her hands. Tiny flickers of gold, then silver, danced between her fingers, her bond magic, waking, responding.
Draco announced sharply, “It’s getting stronger.”
Hermione swallowed. Her heart thudded so hard she was sure they felt it through the bond.
“I—” she began, then stopped. Her cheeks warmed. “I think… I think I need more from you both. Touch. Closeness. I’m not ready for everything. But I can’t keep pretending nothing is happening.”
Neither of them moved at first, as though waiting for her to change her mind.
Hermione took a breath.
“I want you both,” she whispered. “Tonight. Closer.”
Theo’s lips curved up on the edges, eyes closing for a moment as if steadying himself. Draco went very still, like a man trying not to rush forward with every ounce of willpower.
“Tell us what pace,” Draco said softly. “Tell us where to start.”
Hermione reached with shaky fingers and took both their hands, pulling them closer until the three of them formed a small, tight circle on the rug.
“Here,” she said. “Just… here. With me.”
They shifted even closer. Draco cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb along her jaw in slow, reverent circles. Theo’s hand slid to the back of her neck, warm, grounding, familiar in a way that made her chest ache.
Their faces were so close she could feel the warmth of both their breaths.
“Is this alright?” Theo murmured.
Hermione nodded, then leaned in and kissed him first.
It was slow at first, hesitant, warm. Theo kissed her with a gentleness that made her eyes sting and heart ache, his hand sliding into her curls, his lips brushing hers like he was learning them anew.
When she pulled back, breath unstable, Draco was watching her like he was afraid to blink and miss a moment.
She turned to him with a small reassuring smile.
The moment their lips met, the bond snapped open with longing between them like a struck match.
Intense heat.
Memory.
Need.
Recognition.
It overwhelmed her, Draco’s desperation, his love, his fear, a month of holding himself back pouring into the kiss. Hermione gasped against his mouth, her hand gripping the front of his shirt as if she could pull him closer, closer, closer, never close enough.
“Hermione…” he breathed against her lips, voice breaking with nerves. “Please tell me this is okay.”
“It’s more than okay,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”
They didn’t rush her.
It was all slow burn, kisses trailing along her cheek, her throat, the hollow just beneath her ear. Theo slid behind her, pulling her back against his chest so gently she nearly cried. His arms wrapped around her waist, warm and strong, anchoring her.
Draco continued kissing her, his lips soft, then firmer, then impossibly tender again.
Her breath stuttered as Theo brushed his fingers down her arm, slow, deliberate, always reverent, while Draco’s hands came to rest lightly on her hips, waiting for her to guide him.
The heat in her belly tightened, the bond humming like a live wire.
“More please,” Hermione whispered, not trusting herself with any more words.
They didn’t need them.
Draco’s hands slid under the hem of her shirt, fingertips tracing the warm skin of her waist. The touch was electric, her body arched into him before she could stop herself. Theo kissed the curve of her neck from behind, slowly, deeply, while his hands braced her ribs, steadying her as though she might melt apart like snow.
“Hermione,” Theo whispered against her skin, “your magic—look.”
She looked down.
Her entire body glowed faintly, gold and silver mist curling over her arms, drifting from where their hands touched her.
Draco’s breath hitched. “Merlin… she’s resonating with both of us.”
He leaned in and pressed a kiss just below her ear, and her whole body trembled uncontrollably.
The warmth pooled low in her stomach, her breath catching in a soft sound she couldn’t contain.
Theo exhaled shakily against her shoulder. “Hermione… if you keep reacting like that, I’m going to lose my mind truly.”
She let out a tiny, nervous laugh. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I feel like I—like I want—”
“Everything,” Draco finished for her, voice rough.
She nodded helplessly.
“But we won’t rush you,” Theo murmured. “Just tell us where.”
Hermione’s cheeks flushed as she guided Draco’s hand lower, not fully intimate, but close, the boundary tempering in a way that made his eyes go dark with desire.
He understood.
He cupped her sex through her clothes, slow, gentle pressure that made her head fall back against Theo’s shoulder.
Theo held her tighter, whispering against her ear, “You feel so good between us. You always did.”
Her hips moved into Draco’s touch before she realized she’d done it, a soft gasp escaping her as heat coiled tighter, deeper, more urgent.
Draco added more pressure, pushing at her cloth covered clit, gently caressing over the wetness soaking thru at her entrance. “Yes,” she whispered, “that—don’t stop—”
Draco kissed her again, slow and deep, while Theo's lips moved down her neck in a trail of fire. The combination, Draco's hand, Theo's mouth, the steady warmth of Theo's body behind her, wrapped around her like a devoted cocoon.
Her breath came faster.
Her thighs trembled.
Her magic pulsed with every heartbeat.
“Hermione,” Draco murmured, voice unsteady, “you’re shaking—tell me if I need to slow— if you don’t want this…”
“Don’t,” she gasped, burying her face in his shoulder. “Please—please don’t stop—”
The pleasure built quickly, then all at once—an ascending wave she couldn’t hold back. The bond surged bright and hot, gold pouring between them.
And Hermione came undone against Draco’s hand, soaking her underwear and pants, Theo holding her tightly as she gasped and trembled and clung to both of them.
The bond flared between them.
All three of them panted from the intensity.
Draco halted on a breath. “That—Merlin—Hermione—”
Theo pressed his forehead to her temple. “Are you alright? Hermione?”
She nodded, trying to breathe.
“I’m… better than alright.”
Her voice was wobbly.
Soft.
Awed.
“And I remembered,” she whispered softly.
Both of them froze.
“What do you remember?” Draco asked delicately, afraid to hope.
Hermione cupped his cheek gently, staring into his eyes with hope.
“A lot. The waterpark, Cape Town, Harry’s birthday, Vienna, Malfoy Manors flower bed of us, some shower and tub escapades… and Theo being upset with our unhinged roughness… ,” she said, brows furrowing.
“It’s coming back in big chunks now I suppose.”
Theo let out a broken, relieved laugh and wrapped his arms fully around her, pulling her against his chest.
Draco kissed her with a kind of admiration that felt like unending devotion.
She held them both, breathing between them, warm and tired and safe.
Hermione exhaled softly.
“I want more,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to theirs. “But slowly. Just… stay with me tonight, all of us one bed.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Theo murmured.
“Not ever,” Draco added.
And with the fire burning low and the Scottish wind rattling the windows, the three of them curled together on the rug, breathing in sync, heartbeats aligned, bond warm and bright.
For the first time in weeks, none of them were afraid of needing to re-start from scratch.
The fire had burned lower, as the snow spiraled outside.
The three of them lay together still, exhausted, hot, and tangled in the blankets they’d pulled around themselves after the passion of the morning.
Hermione rested between them, head on Theo’s chest, one arm slung over Draco’s waist.
For the first time since she had awakened in St. Mungo’s, the bond hummed with something remotely resembling a tentative like balance.
Not perfect. Not complete. But steadier.
Much more hopeful.
Theo stroked her hair absently, his touch gentle and reverent, almost nervous. Draco was watching her penetratingly, like looking away even for a moment would break something fragile.
When she shifted to look between them, both men tensed subtly, waiting.
Not wanting to pressure.
Trying not to hope too loudly.
Hermione licked her chapped lips, cheeks warm. “I… feel clearer now after that.”
Theo’s hand stilled. Draco’s gaze darkened.
She pushed herself up onto her elbows, looking at each of them in turn.
“When I was… touched earlier,” she said softly, “it unlocked more than just memories. I remember quite a few feelings as well, how careful you’ve always been with me. And how much I loved touching you both too.”
Her face flushed deeper pink. “And I want to… do that again. To both of you.”
Draco swallowed a lump in his throat so hard she could have sworn she felt it through the bond. “Hermione, you don’t have to—”
“I know,” she said gently, placing a hand over his heart. “I want to though.”
Theo smiled, sitting up slowly as if afraid to startle her.
“Whatever you choose… we follow your lead.”
Hermione nodded. Her whole body felt heat, not just with desire but with certainty, with the rightness of the moment. She reached out, her hands resting on each of theirs.
“I remembered what it feels like to love you both. And I remember how my magic responded to your touch…” She leaned in, her voice a whisper.
“I want to feel yours too when I touch you back.”
The air thickened.
The bond warmed.
Neither man moved closer, they waited for her.
Hermione closed the distance swiftly.
She kissed Draco first, slow, deep, intentional, learning his mouth again while warmth pooled deep in her belly.
Then she shifted to Theo, cupping his jaw, kissing him with the same tenderness. Theo’s exhale was almost a tremor.
And then, still keeping everything slow, and measured, she let her hands gradually trail beneath blankets, over warm exposed waist skin, letting the intimacy deepen. Not hurried. Just touch, closeness, giving.
She traced her fingertips along their waistbands, dipped hands into boxers, cupped ballsacks, and spread pre-cum lightly along their slits. Eventually, with her aid they each shimmed out of their underclothes, giving her full access to their steel shafts.
Her hands glided up and down their lengths with varying speeds and pressures. Thumbs glossed over heads, and twisted Theo’s piercing.
There was no rush, just tenderness, just connection, just simple pleasure.
Their reactions were quiet but strong, soft groaning breaths, whispered endearments, hands gripping blankets or brushing reverently over her arms, their bond thrumming hotter and hotter in response to every movement she made.
She didn’t rush it.
She didn’t push herself beyond her comfort.
It was gentle, exploring, reconnection, the kind of intimacy that meant more than anything explicit ever could.
And when each man finally gasped her name into her throat and shoulder, releasing all the pent-up emotion and longing they’d been holding for weeks, the bond lit up like a sunrise between them. Bright, alive, pulsing.
Magic wrapping around them, settling, weaving.
Stronger. Softer. Steadier.
Hermione’s body went weak from their blissful surge and both men caught her, holding her, folding her between them. No one spoke for a long time. They only breathed together, foreheads touching, the magic humming quietly through them.
Finally, Draco whispered, voice emotional, “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.” Hermione kissed his cheek. “But I wanted to. And I remembered more while doing it.”
Theo’s hand slid through her curls, his thumb brushing her temple. “What did you remember?”
She smiled softly. “That you both always took care of me like I’m precious. And that I was never afraid with either of you nearby. And…” Her cheeks flushed. “That intimacy helps my magic regulate. Helps me feel grounded. Makes me feel whole.”
Draco genuinely smiled, “Hermione… you can take all the time you need. This—today—it’s more than we ever expected this quickly.”
She snuggled between them, warm and sleepy now. “Just lay with me?”
They did. They wrapped themselves around her, drawing blankets up again as the fire flickered low. Draco kissed her hair. Theo’s fingers traced small circles on her back.
The bond pulsed once, slow, full, momentarily content.
For the first time since Hermione woke without her memories, she felt whole enough to drift into a restful sleep in their arms.
And she did.
Notes:
How long is her resolve going to hold out you think? =P
Chapter 244: Whole
Chapter Text
The next day, the wind outside had long since passed. The place was silent but for the rise and fall of breath, three bodies tangled on the wide bed they’d barely managed to fall into late in the night after waking on the rug downstairs.
They were all exhausted from the emotional unraveling of the day before.
Hermione startled awake.
Not out of fear.
Out of remembering.
A rush of fragmented images flooded through her mind, Draco’s mouth at her throat, his voice low and hungry against her skin. Her own laughter against the headboard. The way she had once trusted him to push her just far enough to hurt, but never too far. The way Theo’s hands had steadied her when her magic overwhelmed her. The way they always shared heated looks a crossed Granger Center rooms, how her girlfriends had teased her for her increasing drive.
Heat coiled through her stomach, sharp and overwhelming.
Her breath caught.
Her pulse stuttered.
And the bond surged awake. Powerful and demanding.
Theo jerked upright with a gasp, hand on his heart.
Draco choked out her name and sat up too, eyes wild and sleep crusted.
“Hermione?” Draco’s voice was rough with concern.
“Your magic—love, you’re practically burning through the mattress—”
Theo reached blindly toward her hand. “What’s wrong? What do you need?”
Hermione was trembling, not in fear, but in a need so fierce it bordered on painful.
“I— I remembered more things,” she whispered. “Further intimate things. With both of you.”
Theo’s eyes relaxed instantly. Draco’s grip tightened.
“And now I feel…” She swallowed, unable to find air. “I feel like my body is pulling toward you. Both of you. Like the bond is…commanding for full alignment.”
Draco pressed a hand to his mouth as if in prayer.
Theo’s voice went low. “Hermione… you don’t need to do anything because you think the bond wants it.”
“I know.” She looked up, eyes bright with desire and final decision.
“This is me wanting it too.”
Silence fell, heavy, electric, vibrating through the floorboards.
Hermione stood, deliberately, intentional, and the blankets fell away from her bare shoulders. Both men froze, breathless. She wasn’t trying to seduce. She wasn’t putting on a display. She pulled off her remaining clothes. Stood naked before them. Eyes blazing with invitation.
She was showing trust.
Showing choice.
Showing them that she was honestly ready.
Her voice did not tremble. “I choose this. I choose both of you. I choose to realign us. Fully.”
Theo looked like he might cry.
Draco looked like he already was crying.
“Hermione,” Draco whispered, voice shaking. “If you are certain—”
“I am.”
She reached for their hands. They took them, reverently, nervous. They drew her closer, wrapping around her, kissing her slowly, deeply, without rush or force, just need, devotion, rediscovery.
After an intense make out session with all combinations of them, their clothes had also been stripped bare. Everyone was breathless and ready for more. Theo pulled back from her, standing quickly form the bed, reaching into his bag, searching. He pulled out a shimmering pale blue vial.
He handed it to her, “Your monthly potion ran out while… well while you were gone.”
She nodded in understanding and threw it back hurriedly; face disgusted at the taste.
Theo settled in again beside her, a husband on each side of her. Their eyes were all bright and anticipatory, smiles wide.
Hermione lay in the center of the blanket. Her brown eyes suddenly flooded with tears, her voice a shattered whisper, raw with vulnerability. “I don’t remember everything... but I feel you both entangled in my soul. I want to feel you both again in me.”
Draco’s silver eyes brimmed with tears, his voice cracking as he brushed her cheek. “Hermione... you’re everything to us. We’ve been dying without you. Every moment you were gone was the worst day of my life.”
Theo’s stormy eyes glistened too, his hand shaking as he rested it on her thigh in anticipation. “You’re our heart, our wife. We’re been broken without you, but we’ll heal each other.”
They moved with dutiful care, Theo leaning in to kiss her, his lips tender yet still desperate, tongue caressing hers with a soft smack, gentle as he tasted her tears and emtions, each kiss a vow to mend her, lingering for agonizing seconds as he savored her.
Draco kissed her neck, his lips brushing her pulse with feather-light commitment, sparking warm shivers, his own tears lightly falling onto her skin, his tongue tracing her collarbone with gentle licks that soothed her anxious soul.
Hermione’s sighs were fragile, a sob caught in her throat, her hands reaching for them, fingers tracing Theo’s muscles with aching tenderness, caressing Draco’s scars with acceptance, relearning their bodies as if they were sacred texts, her touch lingering on every ridge and valley.
“I’m been missing you... both of you,” she choked, more tears streaming down her face, her heart shattering with the weight of the bond.
Theo whispered, his voice soothing yet cracking with emotion. “Let me love you first, my darling. You’re safe with us.”
His cock pulsed impossibly hot pulsed against her thigh, pre-cum beading in tiny drops that glistened on her skin. Draco’s long cock hardened against her other hip, pre-cum oozing out the slit.
Hermione reached for Theo’s cock, fingers wrapping around the thick girth, stroking gently with remembered practice, thumb smearing the slick in slow circles.
“Theo... you’re so calm, so patient, you’ve bene grounding me… it means so much,” she whispered, her other hand now caressing Draco’s shaft too, stroking the curving underside veins with gentle care.
Theo moaned, his voice loving and fractured. “Your touch—gods, it’s healing me.”
Draco sighed, his hand guiding hers more insistently on his shaft, tears in his eyes. “Keep going—you’re everything, our whole world.”
Theo twisted and positioned himself, coating his cock with lube, aligning the head with her pussy, pressing gently against her swollen lips, the warmth of his tip kissing her entrance for agonizing moments, teasing her with slow circles before pressing in.
“Ready, my darling? I’ll be gentle,” he murmured, pushing in with agonizing slowness, as her pussy stretched around his brutal girth. Her walls parted tightly for him as he gradually sank deeper, her moans and cries already high pitched.
“The…yes… ugh… too much… so full,” she gasped, emotional tears streaming as he bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt, her pussy clamped down like a vice.
His piercing was pressing her G-spot like a trigger, her walls jerking iratically in ecstatic torment, arousal gushing form her that soaked his balls.
Hermione’s first orgasm burst almost immediately after Theo was fully buried, her pussy tight and stretched completely.
“THEO—FUCK—MERLIN!”
Draco worshipped her body, his hands caressing her breasts with nimble dedication, thumbs circling her nipples until they pebbled tight, sparking soft jolts that radiated to her core, his fingers tracing every curve of her chest, sides and waist with reverent care. His hand trailed down, circling Theo’s wide base, fingertips playing along the edge of her stretched channel, causing Theo and Hermione to both cry out at the sensation.
His lips kissed her shoulders, her neck, her cheeks, lapping at her tears with gentle licks, his voice loving and heavy. “You’re perfect—let Theo make you feel whole, let us love you.”
Theo thrust at first with cautious hip rolls, the slap soft and intimate, each movement a vow of love, pausing to grind slowly, the piercing caressing her G-spot with learned precision, sparking gentle waves of pleasure that built her up again slowly.
Constantly he was pausing to circle his hips in slow, deliberate motions, drawing out every sensation, her slick coating his shaft, pausing again to withdraw nearly all the way as her pussy clung to him, before gliding back in with excruciating slowness, the piercing scraping her G-spot with care, repeating this torturous rhythm for many strokes, while her clit throbbed with building need.
Shifting his stance abruptly, Theo’s cock pressed confidently against her cervix—not hard, but a constant, delicate pressure that made her gasp, eyes blown wide, shattered moan tearing from her throat.
“So good… don’t stop.”
Her voice cracked with raw emotion as she whimpered and thrashed against him, her pussy clamping ferociously around his girth, a new, deep, throbbing pleasure erupting from her cervix, her arousal pulsing out in waves of liquid. She was swearing between moans, caught in the feeling.
Draco, watching her scream with wonder, whispered to Theo, his voice awed and curious. “Theo, what… are you breaking her?”
Theo smiled through his own emotion induced tears, his voice proud. “She loves gentle cervical pressure, found out right before she was gone. Makes her loose her mind.”
Draco nodded, his voice silky with awe. “Gods, that’s beautiful—I’ll remember that. Does it make her ache for more?” Theo nodded, his voice tender.
“It does—deep in her core. Watch…” Theo adjusted his angle minimally, pushing the head of his cock against her cervix with mild yet adamant pressure on every thrust, his piercing bumping her deep, her pussy flooded in response.
“Feel that, love—claiming you all the way with so much love,” his voice a shattered vow.
His thrusts sparking intense, full-body earthquakes, her pussy convulsing with every shift, the pressure gathering, scorching in waves that tensed her abdomen, her clit throbbing in sync to the thrusts, her body being played in a perfect tune.
Hermione’s second orgasm built slowly as Theo ground and thrust.
“Theo—Draco—close!”
Theo’s thumb circled her clit, his voice encouraging. “Let go, cum for us, you’re ours.”
Her scream filled their ears, “THEO—FUCK—I’M YOURS—!” Her body shuddered, her soul exploding with pleasure.
Theo’s orgasm hit harshly right as she was coming down form her high, his cock pulsing as he roared, “Hermione, I’m yours!”
He nudged her cervix one last time, his cock throbbing against her deepest barrier, his blistering jets bathing her cervix, the sensation exploding through her womb like molten fire, her cervix quivering with electric intensity, her pussy quivering in overpowering tremors, the scalding cum coating her deepest walls. Theo cried out to her accompanying wail.
When Theo had deflated and shifted back, Draco pulled her into his arms, his cock hard, throbbing with need, she was still slick with Theo’s cum still inside her.
“My turn—let me love you,” he murmured, positioning her flat on her back, her pussy wetted with Theo’s cum and her own.
He aligned his cock, the head pressing against her cum-filled entrance, teasing her with slow circles, the warmth of his tip kissing her swollen lips for agonizing moments, drawing out her need.
“Draco—please—inside,” she begged, her voice raw with desperation.
Draco smiled, his voice loving yet playful. “Patience—let me savor every inch of you.” He pushed in only the first few inches, pausing to grind slowly, her pussy clamping around his tip.
He was teasing her with shallow thrusts, then withdrawing nearly all the way, before sliding back in just a bit further, repeating this torturous rhythm till she was begging harder.
“Draco—more—please,” she sobbed. He pushed in further, pausing again to circle his hips in slow, deliberate motions, drawing out her sensitivity, her pussy leaking Theo’s cum, before adding the last few inches inside with agonizing slowness.
He bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt, her pussy clinched so tight around him, he called out
“Fuck, Hermione, so tight and hot.”
Draco thrust with elongated strokes, caressing her internally, her walls quivering. Theo stroked her body, kissing her lips, her breasts, his hands stroking her thighs, his voice soothing. “You’re perfect, my angel—let Draco heal you.”
After a few minutes, Hermione’s pleading began, her voice intense with need. “Draco—please—harder—I need more!”
Draco’s eyes locked with Theo’s, a silent question passing between them—Can I give her more? Theo nodded slightly, his gaze benevolent yet encouraging.
Draco lifted her legs, draping them over his shoulders, her knees bent to her chest, her pussy opened wider, exposed to his deeper thrusts.
“Love—fuck—you’re ours forever,” Draco growled softly, his voice loving, his thrusts intensifying to harder strokes, the slap-slap-slap of balls on ass thunderous and relentless, his cock hammering her pussy with firm force, Theo’s cum squelching out of her with every thrust. He bent her middle more, pushing down on her bent legs, the angle driving his cock deeper, pounding her pussy a few times before pausing to grind in slow, deliberate circles, drawing out every sensation for them both.
He was sweating at the effort, and she was keening with each determined thrust ripping a guttural moan from her throat, the instinctual impact of his hips slamming against her thighs sending shockwaves through her body.
Hermione’s next orgasm slammed into her, “DRACO—FUCK—HARDER—I’M YOURS—!” Her body shook, arching off the bed, her pussy clenching him tighter thn ever.
Draco’s orgasm gushed, his cock pulsing as he roared, “Hermione—ours!” Cum flooding her channel, mixing with Theo’s, overflowing onto the bed in a sticky puddle.
At some point, their rings had ignited in bright light, casting soft light that filled the entire room. The bond thrummed, tightened, and then snapped into alignment with a force that made all three gasp.
Magic flooded through all three of them— powerful, sure, whole. It wrapped them in colors they could not name, in sensations they had forgotten or never known, in a unity so profound that Hermione felt tears slip down her cheeks once more.
Draco pressed his forehead to hers.
Theo kissed her knuckles with trembling hands.
The bond pulsed once, twice.
Steady.
Centered.
Whole.
When they finally collapsed together into the blankets, Hermione tucked between them, their bodies curved protectively around her, the bond felt lit from the inside.
Theo whispered sleepily against her shoulder, “The bond feels… quiet. Peaceful. Deliriously happy.”
Draco kissed the back of her hand. “You feel like home again.”
Hermione closed her eyes as warmth spread through her, soft and golden.
“We’re whole again,” she murmured.
And all three drifted into sleep with the bond glowing like a heartbeat linking them.
Notes:
Finally <3
Chapter 245: Better
Notes:
Short and sweet.
Chapter Text
In the morning, Hermione surfaced slowly from the tangle of blankets, as though rising through layers of thick mud.
The place was quiet except for the soft crackle of the embers in the hearth across the room and the steady breaths of the two men wrapped against her.
Theo’s arm lay heavy and warm around her waist.
Draco’s hand was curled around hers, his thumb still resting against the back of her knuckles as if he’d fallen asleep mid-reassurance.
The bond hummed.
Not in panic.
Not in pain.
Not fractured.
Steady.
Whole.
Alive.
She inhaled sharply.
And suddenly, it felt like the floodgates opened.
A rush of a lifetime of memories—whole, bright, vivid—hit her with such force she inhaled deeply.
The three of them dancing barefoot in the orchard under lantern light.
Theo reading to her late at night when she couldn’t sleep.
Draco brushing her hair after a long day, quiet, careful.
Their wedding—her hand shaking in Draco’s before she took Theo’s, both vows spoken through tears.
Their first winter holiday in the manor, stringing up enchanted snowflakes that never melted.
Theo kissing her the morning after she defended her charms project proeosal, proud tears in his eyes.
Draco holding her after her first panic attack following the attack on the Granger Center.
The three of them lying tangled in bed after she’d told them she wanted children with them someday.
Draco’s birthday in Cape Town, firelight, whispered promises.
Theo’s laugh as he chased her through the muggle amusement park funhouse.
Draco crying into her shoulder after Luxembourg, whispering he loved her.
The orphan’s gala.
The maze.
Theo bleeding.
Draco breaking.
Her kidnapping.
And the way they had held her last night, reverent and desperate and gentle and sure.
She pressed her hands to her face as tears welled, overwhelmed. She was sobbing, gulping in air like it would go away.
“—Hermione?”
Theo’s voice was a groggy murmur as he blinked awake, then froze when he saw her face.
Draco shot upright so fast he nearly fell out of the bed.
“What’s wrong? Sweetheart—are you hurting? Are you dizzy? Is it your magic—?”
She shook her head, sob-laughing. “I remember everything.”
Silence.
Stillness.
Then Theo sat up fully, eyes wide and shining. “You… remember?”
“Not every tiny, detailed thing,” she said, breath trembling. “But everything important. I remember us. I remember—” Her voice fractured.
“I remember loving you both.”
Draco made a sound so small and broken it nearly undid her.
Theo’s hand flew to his mouth, tears spilling instantly.
“I do, love you both.”
Draco surged forward first, wrapping his arms around her like he was terrified she’d vanish. “Hermione—Merlin—don’t tease us—please don’t say it unless—”
“I’m not teasing,” she whispered into his shoulder. “I love you.”
His breath hitched, his entire frame shaking, and he clutched her tighter.
Theo reached for her next, pulling both of them into his arms. His voice cracked on the words.
“I’ve missed you. Even with you next to me, I’ve missed you so much, my love.”
Hermione pulled back just enough to cup his cheek. “I love you too.”
Theo’s face crumpled. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her hair, unable to contain the emotion spilling out of him.
Draco exhaled a sob of relief and pressed his forehead to hers. “The bond feels normal again,” he whispered, voice hoarse.
“Merlin, Hermione, it’s so calm. It hasn’t felt like this in months.”
“It’s like it was before?” she asked.
Theo shook his head softly. “No.” He traced her jaw with light fingers.
“It’s stronger.”
Hermione felt it hot happy magic humming through her bones, through all three of them, braided tight.
She looked between them and let out a watery laugh.
“I think my memories… were waiting for the bond to be physically whole.”
Draco swallowed hard. “Then thank God last night happened.”
Theo nodded. “We needed it. You needed it. The bond needed it.”
Hermione leaned into them fully, overwhelmed with love still sobbing.
“When we get home,” she whispered, “No more sleeping alone. No more pretending I don’t feel what the bond feels.”
Theo smiled softly. “We’ll take it at your pace.”
Draco kissed her temple. “Anything you want.”
“And,” she added, tears falling again, “I want you both like how we’ve always been.”
The way both men froze, then melted into her, holding her like something sacred—
it was the kind of moment she’d never forget again.
Chapter 246: To Be Home
Chapter Text
The portkey dropped them just outside the orchard, the familiar grounds of Nott Manor rising in soft morning winter mist. The manor looked the same as it always had—grand, warm, inviting—but for the first time since she had woken in St Mungo’s, she fully felt like she belonged in it again.
Theo, carrying their bags in one hand and holding her waist with the other, kept glancing sideways as if making sure she hadn’t disappeared.
Draco hovered at her opposite side, brushing her knuckles every few seconds, unable to stop touching her.
The bond hummed, low, warm, steady.
Hermione exhaled. “It feels like a true home again.”
Both men halted at the same time.
Draco made a sound like he’d been punched. “Love, don’t—Merlin—don’t say things like that unless you mean them.”
She smiled softly and squeezed his hand. “I do. I remember this place. I remember how safe it’s always felt. And I want it again. Everything to go back to normal. I remember it all now.”
Theo closed his eyes, visibly bracing himself against emotion.
“Come inside. Let me check you over to be sure. Harry would kill us if you fainted on the rug.”
Draco let out a choked laugh. “Please do not faint on the parlor rug. My mother gave us that one.”
Theo led her to the quiet sitting room beside his study and gently guided her onto the couch.
Draco hovered, pacing, rubbing the back of his neck, watching her like she might evaporate.
Theo set down his healer satchel and knelt in front of her. “May I?”
She nodded.
His hands were gentle, checking her pulse, her pupils, the strength of her magic flow. When he let his fingers brush the inside of her wrist to read her magical currents, warmth rippled through her, the kind to make her melt into his touch.
Hermione flushed.
Theo cleared his throat at the same moment Draco abruptly looked away, sensing it through the bond.
“It’s… better,” Theo murmured carefully. “Your core is already up to ninety-three percent. That’s faster than even St Mungo’s predicted.”
“Is that because of the bond?” she whispered.
Theo nodded. “Realignment accelerates healing. And—” he paused, cheeks reddening slightly, “— all the memories you regained last night likely stabilized the magical flow between us.”
Draco snorted. “That’s a polite way of saying we spent a month all tied in knots and last night finally fixed it because we fucked.”
Hermione blushed deeper. Theo shot Draco a look but didn’t deny it.
Then Theo grew serious. “The bond is stable. For the first time in nearly two months… it feels quiet. No turbulence. No pain. It’s very stable.” He exhaled shakily. “Hermione—do you feel it too?”
She reached for both their hands, feeling the thrum of gold magic braid itself through her chest. “I do.”
Draco nearly broke. He bent down and kissed her knuckles like he was thanking the universe.
Theo gently stroked her cheek. “You’re healing beautifully.”
A soft thump sounded against the window. A ministry owl tapped insistently.
Draco strode over, plucked the envelope free, and froze at the crest.
“Kingsley.”
Theo tensed. “Good or bad?”
Draco scanned it, then laughed under his breath, completely stunned.
“Well,” he said hoarsely, “the Unspeakables were very efficient.”
He handed the letter to Hermione.
She unfolded it carefully.
To the Triad,
It has come to my attention that your bond has undergone full realignment and stabilization.
The Unspeakables overseeing your case have confirmed the bond now measures in the highest range of functional, healthy triadic magic.
After months of strain, fear, and instability, I am deeply relieved to hear of your recovery—both personally and magically.
Please accept my sincere congratulations on the restoration of your bond.
I look forward to meeting with all three of you next week regarding next steps in the investigation and Hermione’s case.
For now, rest.
You all deserve it.
—Kingsley Shacklebolt
Minister for Magic
Hermione’s vision blurred as she finished reading.
Draco sat beside her instantly. “You ok?”
She handed the letter to Theo and wiped at her eyes.
“It feels… real now. They’re saying it’s stable. That everything we fought through lately… worked.”
Theo slipped onto her other side, heart in his eyes. “It did.”
Draco rested his forehead against hers, voice breaking. “Hermione, you came back to us. Completely.”
Theo pressed a hand over all three of their joined ones. “And we’re never losing you again.”
Hermione leaned into them both, overwhelmed, the bond warm and bright and full of love.
As the fire crackled in the hearth and the winter afternoon light filled the room, Hermione curled into their sides.
Theo kissed her hair, steady and warm.
Draco kissed her temple, grateful and breathless.
For the first time since her kidnapping, since the memory loss, since the shattered bond—
Hermione felt whole.
And so did they.
Hermione stood in front of the carved double doors of the master suite.
Her hand hovered over the doorknob.
She had lived behind these doors. Slept here. Loved here. Fought here. Laughed here.
And yet… it felt like she was coming to it for the first time.
Draco and Theo stood slightly behind her, trying not to crowd her, but unable to hide the way their bond kept pulling them closer.
Theo murmured softly, “You don’t have to do this tonight. You can sleep in your old room again if you want.”
But Hermione shook her head.
“No,” she whispered. “I want to… come home. Everything is good now. We can be who we always have been together.”
The second she said it, the bond rippled—warm, aching, hungry. Both men shuddered.
Draco swallowed hard. “Then open it, wife. We’re right here.”
She pushed the door.
The suite was beautiful.
Her books still sat on the left-hand shelves.
Theo’s healer journals and rare plant manuals on the right.
Draco’s immaculate rows of quills and parchment on the desk.
The bed, the enormous one with the emerald and gold coverlet, was neatly made. There were still three pillows. Still her slippers beside the nightstand. Still the faint lavender scent she always charmed into the sheets.
Hermione exhaled shakily.
“It feels familiar,” she admitted, voice trembling. “Like I never left.”
Draco stepped closer but stopped a foot away, as if waiting for permission.
Theo did the same on her other side.
The bond pulsed. Hard.
Hermione closed her eyes, gripping the bedpost.
“I can feel how much you want to touch me,” she whispered. “Both of you.”
Draco gave a sharp, nod.
Theo closed his eyes like he was holding himself together with raw effort.
“Yeah,” Theo said hoarsely. “It’s… it’s been weeks of trying to keep our hands to ourselves. And now the bond—Merlin, Hermione, the bond is starving for connection since we’ve relit it last night.”
Draco added quietly, “And we don’t want to scare you by taking too much too fast.”
Hermione turned to them, heart pounding.
“I don’t want distance anymore, at all” she said, voice small but certain. “I want… to feel close to you again. I just need you to act normal.”
Both men exhaled like she’d lifted a mountain off them.
Theo moved first, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with trembling fingers.
She leaned into his touch instinctively.
She heard Draco breathe out something like a curse behind her.
“Hermione…” Draco’s voice was ragged, pleading. “Can we all be together again?”
Hermione reached behind her without looking and found Draco’s hand. His breath hitched violently when she interlaced their fingers.
“Of course, all the time.”
Then she turned and placed her forehead against his chest.
He folded around her instantly.
Theo stepped behind her and put a hand on her back, grounding her between them.
Her body lit up at the contact, remembering, craving.
Theo whispered into her hair, “We missed you so much.”
Draco’s hand slid gently up her spine. “We didn’t think we’d ever get you back. We were scared.”
Hermione’s breath came out in a shaky rush, overwhelmed by their warmth, the bond, the intensity of their emotions rolling through her.
The three of them stood there, pressed together in the dim room, breathing the same air.
Hermione felt the bond flare—hot, needy, urgent.
Her legs wobbled.
Theo steadied her immediately. “Bed?” he asked softly.
She nodded.
They guided her to the bed, one on each side, they stood at the foot of it, embracing her between them. She felt small, surrounded, safe.
Theo brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “Your magic is practically humming.”
“I know,” she whispered. “It’s… loud. It keeps pushing me toward you.”
Draco laughed breathlessly. “Join the club.”
Their foreheads touched, Theo on her right, Draco on her left.
Hermione shivered violently.
“Are you cold?” Theo whispered.
“No,” she breathed. “Just overwhelmed. Our feelings are all very demanding.”
Theo kissed her forehead. Draco kissed her temple. She moaned quietly before she could stop herself.
Both men froze.
But she tugged them closer, fingers curling into their shirts.
“Don’t stop.”
Draco leaned in, his mouth consuming her with passion, as Theo worked his and Draco’s shirts off, breaking off the kiss to pull it over his head. Draco’s chest was heaving.
The three stood at the foot of the bed, hearts pounding, eyes locked in lust.
Hermione’s cream dress clung to her curves, her skin flushed, curls wild.
Draco and Theo, already shirtless, their scarred and muscular bodies taunt with anticipation, stepped closer.
“Our treasure,” Draco growled, as he unzipped her dress, the fabric sliding down her body like liquid silk, pooling at her feet.
“My angel,” Theo murmured, his hands caressing her bare shoulders, unclasping her bra, her breasts spilling free, nipples pebbled tight.
Hermione shivered, her voice husky. “Love you—both of you— touch me, take me now.”
Draco launched into action, kneeling, kissing her thighs as he slid her knickers down, her pussy glistening. Theo stepped out of his trousers, cock already half hard.
Draco followed, his own shaft at full attention.
They guided her to the bed, Theo settling against the headboard, pulling her onto his lap, her knees bracketing his hips, chest to chest. Draco knelt behind her, his hands caressing her arse, spreading her cheeks.
“My darling, you’re ours,” Theo whispered, aligning his fingers with her pussy.
“Going to make you feel so good, let us fill you,” Draco murmured, coating his fingers with lube.
Theo coated his fingers with some too, her low moans soft as he circled her swollen lips, teasing her clit with feather-light strokes, pausing to trace every fold, drawing out her need, circling her entrance without entering, brushing her clit with maddening slowness.
“Theo—fuck— now, I need your fingers stretching me,” she demanded, her hips bucking. Theo growled back, his voice possessive, “I’ll make you beg until you’re shaking for me.”
He slid one finger in just the tip, pausing to wiggle it, withdrawing to circle her entrance again, repeating this torturous tease till her walls were clenching around nothing.
Draco whispered, “Theo, she’s ours—make her beg more, make her drip for us.”
Theo added a second finger, sliding in only halfway, pausing to curl it slowly, brushing her G-spot, withdrawing to circle her clit with his thumb, repeating this torturous rhythm for agonizing minutes.
“Theo—gods—deeper, stretch me, I want you all,” she moaned.
Theo added a third finger, scissoring slowly, stretching her pussy with tender care, pausing to grind his fingers in slow circles, teasing her G-spot, withdrawing nearly all the way, circling her clit with maddening precision, her pussy clamping ferociously.
Theo moaned envisioning the tightness on his cock. Draco smiled, his fingers circling her arse.
“Theo, she’s ours—make her ache more, make her ours.”
Draco was gentle as he circled her tight ring with fingertip strokes, teasing the sensitive rim for agonizing minutes, brushing the tip of one finger against her spreading lube in maddening patterns.
“Draco—fuck—now,” she insisted, her hips pushing back.
He slid one finger in just the tip, withdrawing to circle her rim again, ”Granger, good things come to those who wait patiently.”
Draco added a second finger, brushing her walls, withdrawing to circle her rim with his thumb, her arse quivering.
“Draco—gods—Merlin, more”, she cried, her voice shattered.
Draco added another finger, stretching her arse with affectionate care.
“Theo, her arse is mine to prepare—feel her clamping for me, so tight, so wet, so mine,” Draco moaned.
Theo smiled, his fingers still teasing her pussy. “Draco, I’m going to take her, she’s so ready.”
Theo supported his cock, the head pressing against her channel. He flicked at her clit as he sank just his tip into her.
“Merlin fuck”, he groaned, “Hermione, so tight every time.”
He surged his hips upward, lodging himself fully into her.
“Godric—so full, fuck me now,” she moaned, chest to chest, her knees bracketing his hips, her breasts pressed against his toned torso.
Theo thrust up at a steady pace, his cock spearing her pussy over and over, each time he was fully inside he added a little grind of his hips, pushing just a tad deeper.
“Feel me, all of me inside you, making you tremble, love you so much.”
Hermione moaned, “Theo—I’m burning for you… need more.”
Draco aligned his cock, the head notiched on her stretched ring, pushing in with agonizing slowness as her arse strained around his girth, Theo’s cock throbbing in her pussy, the thin wall between them pulsing.
“Draco—fuck—I’m so full,” she sobbed, her voice shattered with love, her pussy and arse clamping around them.
Draco paused, grinding slowly, teasing her with shallow thrusts, drawing out her need.
“Granger, you’re taking me so well—feel us both, feel how we stretch you?”
Hermione screamed, “Draco—Theo—I’m so full—it’s so much, fuck me deeper”.
Draco pushed deeper, pausing again to circle his hips, stretching her further, before bottoming out, his cock buried to the hilt, her arse compressed tight.
“Theo, I can feel your cock pulsing—Merlin, she’s stuffed, so tight around us,” Draco groaned, his voice low.
Theo thrust up once more, the slap echoing, his cock spearing her pussy again, pausing to grind into her.
“Draco, your cock’s rubbing mine—fuck, she’s perfect.”
The rhythm escalated intensity with mixed intensity, Theo thrusting up with more force , cock hammering her pussy, the piercing beating her G-spot, pausing to grind in slow, deliberate circles, drawing out her pleasure, then swapping to long, profound strokes.
“Hermione, your cunt’s milking me—gods, I feel Draco’s cock throbbing against mine, so hard, so thick,” Theo bellowed, his voice filled with love.
Draco pounded her arse with ferocious strokes, deep, hard, all consuming. Their cocks rubbing through her thin wall, the visceral friction sparking electric jolts to all of them.
“Theo, your cock’s pushing against me—fuck, she’s so full of us, so tight, so perfect,” Draco growled.
Hermione screamed, her voice shrill. “I’m so full—both of you—don’t stop—I’m burning, need more!”
Theo shifted to pulsing thrusts, thrusting up in rhythmic waves, fast then slow, pausing to grind in tight spirals, her pussy gushing with every varied motion.
“Hermione, so perfect, so wet, so good,” Theo moaned, his voice trembling.
Draco matched with erratic patterns, thrusting in frantic bursts, pausing to circle his hips in slow loops, then slamming in deep, repeating this torturous rhythm.
“Theo, I feel every pulse—fuck, she’s stuffed with us, so tight, so perfect,” Draco boomed, his voice tender.
“Draco, your cock’s throbbing so hard—gods, she’s clamping us, so stretched, so complete,” Theo groaned.
Hermione screamed, “I’m so full… can’t take… need more.. ugh… please.”
Theo switched to teasing withdrawals, pulling out almost completely, pausing to circle his tip at her entrance, then blasting back in with fierce vigor.
“Draco, your cock’s rubbing mine—fuck, too much”, Theo groaned.
Draco mirrored with shallow teases, thrusting just the head in and out, pausing to grind shallowly.
“Granger, so perfect,” Draco snarled.
As the edge of their climax loomed, Hermione’s body trembling on the brink, Theo rumbled, “My love, let me push you over.”
He pressed his signet ring—charmed with a vibration spell—against her swollen clit, the hum electric, pulsing in rhythmic waves, intensifying with each thrust form them both.
“Theo—fuck—yes, need that” she praised. The vibration exploded through her clit, syncing with Theo’s thrusts and Draco’s ferocious pounding, their cocks rubbing through her thin wall, the visceral friction detonating them all in cataclysmic waves.
Their climax burst forth together, Hermione’s pussy and arse tighting as her plassure wave washe dover her.
“THEO—DRACO—I’M YOURS—!”
Theo’s cock throbbed, cum flooding her deepest walls. Draco’s cock erupted in a deafening yell, “Hermione—my forever!”.
They collapsed bodies entwined, cum and slick dripping from Hermione’s stretched pussy and arse. Theo cradled her, kissing her face, his voice broken. “My love, you’re really home.” Draco curled behind her, rocking her, his own tears streaming. “My family, always ours.” They cleaned her with reverent care, kissing every inch, whispering vows, the bond glowing with unbreakable love
Later, she lay wrapped between them, the sheets tangled around their limbs.
Draco traced idle circles on her hip, voice quiet and reverent. “You came back to us.”
Theo kissed the top of her spine. “You’re ours again forever.”
Hermione inhaled slowly, content and warm. “I never stopped being yours. Even when I couldn’t remember.”
The bond hummed—strong, steady, euphoric.
For the first time since she’d woken in captivity—
She wasn’t afraid.
She wasn’t confused at all.
She wasn’t lost between past and present.
She was home.
Notes:
More plot coming soon.
Chapter 247: Flint Chaos
Chapter Text
The next afternoon, the three of them walked through the Ministry atrium together.
Hermione was between Theo and Draco, not because they insisted this time, but because her body had simply gravitated there. Her magic felt steadier than it had in a long time, but she was still slightly fragile, newly reconnected, still not fully recovered physically form he rordeal.
The bond hummed warmly between them.
Just… present.
Strong again.
They took the lift down to the secured level where Kingsley had asked to meet them.
The doors slid open with a soft hum.
Harry was already waiting in the hallway outside the briefing room, rubbing the back of his neck and giving them a small, worried smile.
“Hey,” he murmured. “Kingsley’s inside. He wants this one kept small, just us and an Unspeakable.”
Draco nodded curtly, jaw tight. “Good. We don’t need an audience.”
Theo squeezed Hermione’s hand once. “You ready?”
Hermione exhaled slowly. “Yes. I think… I think I finally remember enough to be useful.”
Harry blinked. Draco and Theo both snapped to look at her.
“You remember more than what we’ve talked about?” Theo asked carefully.
Hermione swallowed guilty.
“Yes. From when I was held captive.”
Their bond jolted with shock and a spike of protective fury from Draco that crashed through her chest.
Harry placed a steadying hand on Draco’s arm. “Let’s hear it inside.”
Kingsley stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, eyes tired. An Unspeakable in deep blue robes sat beside him, quill poised over parchment.
“Thank you for coming,” Kingsley said. “Please, sit.”
They settled around the table, Hermione between both her husbands, Harry across from them.
Kingsley’s gaze sharpened as soon as Hermione met his eyes.
“You said in your urgent owl that you might have more information.”
Hermione nodded slowly, gathering herself. “My memories returned. I think… I think I can finally tell you a clearer picture of what I heard while I was captive.”
Theo shifted closer, concern radiating through the bond. Draco reached under the table to take Hermione’s hand.
Kingsley gestured gently. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Hermione inhaled and began.
“At the time,” she said softly, “I couldn’t understand everything. I only heard fragments through the door. But now that my memories are clearer… the patterns make more sense.”
Draco’s grip tightened.
“What did you hear?” Kingsley asked.
Hermione’s voice went quieter still. “They said… the first experiment was a success.”
Silence hit the room like a blow.
Harry froze. Theo inhaled sharply. Draco’s magic pulsed with a dangerous ripple.
Kingsley leaned forward. “Experiment? You mean—”
“The siphoning,” Hermione whispered. “They were talking about siphoning a magical core. Successfully. Used it somehow I think. Before I arrived.”
The Unspeakable’s quill scratched furiously.
Theo’s throat bobbed. “Hermione… are you sure?”
She nodded, eyes glossing. “Yes. They weren’t just draining cores for chaos. They were experimenting. Iterating. Refining. Using them for a purpose.”
Draco swore under his breath, low and vicious.
Harry looked sick.
Kingsley’s expression hardened. “What else?”
Hermione’s fingers tapped the table anxiously. Draco immediately covered both her hands with his.
“I overheard one of them mention a Flint,” she said quietly. “Not Marcus himself I don’t think—someone related maybe. A distant cousin maybe? They said he was helping or doing something.”
Theo frowned. “Not the boss?”
Hermione shook her head. “No. They made it clear the Flint wasn’t the leader. They were waiting for ‘the boss’ to arrive, but… he never did. Not in the entire time I was held. They seemed surprised he hadn’t shown up yet.”
Harry leaned forward. “Did you hear a name? Anything identifying?”
Hermione bit her lip. “No. They only ever called him ‘the boss.’ But…” She swallowed. “They were afraid of him.”
Kingsley’s jaw tightened. “Afraid?”
“Yes. I could hear it in their voices every time they mentioned him. They were terrified of disappointing him.”
Draco ground his teeth. “And he wanted Hermione, didn’t he?”
Hermione nodded. “They said they were keeping me alive and untouched because the boss wanted me for—”
Her voice cracked.
Theo brushed a soothing hand up her back. “Hermione…”
She forced the words out.
“—for a public demonstration. A spectacle. They were planning to siphon me in front of others to prove the success of the method.”
Draco inhaled sharply, magic crackling violently in the air. Harry put up a steadying barrier with a flick of his wand, murmuring, “Easy, mate—don’t break the room.”
But the bond made it impossible for Hermione not to feel Draco’s spiraling fury.
She reached out and touched his cheek.
“I’m here,” she whispered. “You stopped them. I’m alive. Still full of magic.”
He bowed his head against her hand, breathing hard.
Kingsley waited until Draco had controlled himself before continuing.
Hermione continued, voice steadier now.
“I didn’t understand at the time, but they also talked about ‘stabilizing the vessel’ and ‘host calibration.’ I think… I think the siphoned magic is being stored somewhere to be put into something else.”
The Unspeakable stiffened. “That confirms our latest theory.”
Harry looked grim. “They’re collecting magic. Stockpiling it. Lovely.”
Theo murmured, horrified, “For what purpose?”
“Power,” Kingsley said. “Influence. Control. Maybe even resurrection-level rituals. We don’t know yet. Could be so many things.”
Hermione pressed a hand to her chest. “But I know this—they weren’t ready for the fll scale demonstration yet. They were waiting for the boss because he wanted to be the one to use my siphoning as proof to the public. That means… they’re still refining something. Only the first experiment worked so far, not fully what they want it seems.”
Draco’s voice was ice. “And we’re going to find them before they finish.”
Kingsley nodded. “Agreed.”
Kingsley gathered several parchments and slid them toward Harry.
“We’ll start tracking every Flint with any known anti–Muggle-born ties. The fact that Hermione remembers a Flint involved gives us a real lead. You three—”
Theo sat straighter.
Draco’s eyes sharpened.
Hermione exhaled slowly.
“—will be receiving full briefings as we learn more. Your bond makes you a security concern and a security asset. Until we know more, I want the three of you together as often as possible. We can’t risk you falling back into instability. I’m also concerned they’re going to try to get her back for their purposes. Stick close, and I’m doubling down on auror protections.”
Draco muttered, “Not a problem.”
Theo nodded firmly. “We won’t leave her vulnerable.”
Hermione leaned into them, exhaustion settling in her bones.
As they left the room, Harry idly walked beside them.
“You did good, Hermione,” he said softly. “That information might be the key to everything.”
Hermione nodded, but her hand drifted to Draco’s sleeve and held tight.
Theo took her other hand.
Draco looked down at her with a soft, fierce ache.
“Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s go home.”
The bond thrummed warm and steady between them.
And for the first time since her rescue—
Hermione felt like she had purpose again.
Like she was one step closer to justice.
By the time the four of them returned to Nott Manor, the winter light had already faded. A fire crackled in the sitting room, casting gold across the walls as they settled together on the couch, Hermione curled between them, Draco’s arm loosely around her waist, Theo stroking slow circles on the back of her hand. Harry say at a low table, looking over notes, giving them space.
They were exhausted, all three.
Emotionally raw from the meeting.
Quiet.
Healing together still.
For the first time in weeks, Hermione felt steady inside herself—like she wasn’t floating half-out of her own skin. And the bond pulsed calmly in the background, no longer screaming or splintering or begging for realignment.
A sharp tap hit the window.
An owl.
Hermione startled lightly. Theo squeezed her hand reassuringly before standing to open the window.
The barn owl flew in gracefully, dropping a thick envelope into Theo’s palm before perching on the back of a chair, patiently awaiting a treat.
Draco handed it a biscuit. “From Kingsley,” Theo said quietly, seeing the seal.
Hermione sat up a little straighter. “Already?”
“He said he’d follow up quickly,” Draco murmured. “Kingsley’s nothing if not thorough.”
Theo broke the seal and slid out several pages.
Hermione leaned forward. “What is it? Did he send you a list of Flints?”
Theo’s brow furrowed deeper with every second his eyes scanned the parchment. “Not just a list,” he said slowly. “Their entire family tree.”
Draco stiffened beside her. “Good. Then we can see which one she overheard about.”
But Theo didn’t look relieved.
He looked… troubled.
Hermione swallowed. “Theo? What is it?”
He handed the parchment to Draco.
Draco’s eyes darkened immediately. “This is… wrong.”
Hermione’s heart skipped.
Theo took the second page and spread it between them. “Look.”
Hermione took the parchment.
And her breath caught.
The Flint family tree was sprawling, stretching back centuries like most Sacred Twenty-Eight lineages—but that wasn’t what shocked her.
It was the gaps.
Entire branches blurred out. Lines that abruptly stopped. Sons with no children listed. Daughters with no mention of marriage at all. Cousins whose birth records existed but whose adult lives were apprently entirely… missing.
Hermione’s fingers trembled as she traced the gaps.
“This isn’t normal,” she whispered. “Even the pureblood families that try to hide scandal—like the Blacks—still have documentation. Crossed-out names. Notes. Something.”
Draco nodded grimly. “Pure-blood families don’t fully erase. They censor. They condemn. They disown. Disinherit. But they do not leave blank space.”
Theo exhaled hard. “Kingsley’s note says these gaps aren’t clerical errors. They’re intentional omissions. Someone has been systematically altering Flint records for decades.”
Hermione’s skin chilled. “To hide people.”
Draco looked murderous. “To hide the ones working on this new siphoning maybe? But that’s too far back… before even The Dark lord. There’s another reason.”
Theo tapped several gaps along the right side of the tree. “These branches line up roughly with the ages of the men Hermione overheard through the door some days.”
Hermione’s breath hitched.
“Do you think…”
Her voice shook.
“…the ones who took me are from these missing branches?”
Theo nodded. “Maybe.”
Draco sat forward, elbows on his knees, magic flickering at his fingertips. “These voids mean we can’t track them by standard records. Not through birth certificates. Not through Ministry census. Not through lineage registries.”
Hermione swallowed hard. “They erased themselves from the system.”
Theo corrected gently, “Their family erased them I think.”
Draco’s jaw clenched. “Because they’re being used for something foul.”
Hermione took the small note that had been folded separately at the back of the envelope.
She read aloud:
“These omissions are deliberate. Someone within the Flint line has removed records for at least three generations—likely to protect individuals involved in illicit magical activity. We are cross-referencing old Gringotts vault logs and Wizengamot attendance rosters to reconstruct what’s missing if at all possible. Will update as soon as we have confirmed identities. —KS”
Hermione lowered the note slowly.
Theo rubbed the back of his neck. “Kingsley’s right—those are some of the only records families can’t fully erase if they ever did exist.”
Draco stood and began pacing, the parchment clenched in his fist.
“This explains everything,” he said tightly. “How they’ve stayed hidden. How they’ve moved freely. How they’ve avoided detection with smuggling and siphoning and gods know what else.”
Hermione felt dizzy.
Theo sat beside her again. “This is bigger than we thought.”
Hermione nodded.
“So much bigger.”
Draco finally sat again, this time pulling Hermione fully against him. “You overheard them say a Flint was involved. We dismissed it at first as maybe Marcus or some idiot cousin henchmen.”
Theo added quietly, “But if this family has dozens of scrubbed members… then any of them could be the one who helped design the siphoning. Merlin, they could be the whole network themselves internationally.”
Hermione swallowed hard. “Or know the boss directly.”
That made both Draco and Theo go perfectly still.
“Hermione,” Theo said gently, “did you ever hear anything that hinted the boss was from the Flint family?”
“No,” she whispered. “Only that the Flint who was part of the experiment wasn’t the boss. They deferred to someone else. Someone more powerful. Someone they feared.”
Draco’s eyes sharpened. “A Flint working under someone else. Interesting. Or a Flint working for more Flints…”
Hermione leaned into him, the exhaustion finally settling deep under her skin. “I hate this. I was right there. For weeks. And I still don’t know who it was.”
Theo kissed her hair gently. “You remembered the most important part today. You remembered enough to give us a direction.”
Draco wrapped an arm around both of them. “We’re closer than we’ve ever been.”
Hermione let out a shaky breath.
“But there are so many missing people,” she whispered. “How do we even begin to look for someone who’s been erased from existence?”
Theo’s voice was soft but steady. “We don’t need the whole tree. We just need one piece to lead to another.”
Draco kissed the top of her head. “And we’ll find that piece.”
Hermione pressed her forehead into Draco’s shoulder, voice muffled. “I remember something else.”
Both of them froze.
Harry—who had been sitting quietly at the far end of the room giving them personal space—looked up sharply.
“What is it?” Theo asked gently.
Hermione closed her eyes, the memory flickering like a match in the dark.
“When I was half-conscious once… I heard one of them say—”
Her voice trembled.
“—‘he’ll use the vessel again when the next collection is complete.’”
Theo’s breath stopped.
Draco went white with fury.
Harry whispered, “Merlin.”
Hermione swallowed. “That’s all I heard. I don’t know what it means, but it sounded like they were storing the siphoned magic… and waiting to use it, already had a plan for the next experiment.”
Draco’s magic flared dangerously. “We have to find this place. The vessel. The missing Flint. The boss. All of it.”
Theo pulled Hermione to him and held her tightly. “We’re not stopping now. We’re closer than ever.”
Hermione nodded into his chest.
Notes:
Anyone got theories on the Flints? Let me know in the comments.
Chapter 248: The Focus of Friends
Chapter Text
Hermione tried very hard not to notice that Draco had not, in any measurable way, stopped hovering in the last few days.
She was curled sideways into one corner of the big library sofa, legs tucked under a blanket, stacks of Charms Institute texts and parchment spread across the low table in front of her. A warm teapot steamed gently at her elbow. Her quill scratched steadily over parchment as she worked through weeks of missed assignments and revision notes.
Draco sat in the armchair nearest the sofa, so near his knee nearly touched the cushion where her feet were. He had a book open on his lap, but Hermione had caught him reading the same page for at least half an hour.
Every so often, his gaze slid to her like a nervous orbit.
“Stop it,” she said at last, without looking up.
“I’m not doing anything,” he replied, far too innocently.
“You’ve watched me re-copy that paragraph three times.”
“Your handwriting was uneven,” he said primly. “You were pressing too hard. That means your hand will cramp, and then you’ll complain, and then Theo will look at me as though I caused it.”
She huffed, but it was fond. “I am capable of writing in a straight line without supervision.”
“Mm. Argue with the evidence.” He waved vaguely at her notes, then eyed the tray. “You’ve only eaten half your sandwich.”
Hermione finally looked up, brow arched. “Are we counting bites now?”
“Yes.”
“Draco.”
He met her gaze directly, grey eyes fierce under the pretense of cool. “You were kidnapped. Your magic was nearly taken. You hit your head so hard you lost a year and a half of memories. Forgive me if I’m not quite ready to give you a five-mile radius.”
Her annoyance dissolved into something softer and aching. The bond hummed quietly with his anxiety: low, constant, like a bruise.
Hermione put down her quill and shifted, sliding her legs off the sofa so she could lean forward and touch his knee.
“I know you’re worried,” she said, voice gentle. “And I’m… oddly okay with you hovering, for now. But you have to promise me you’ll eventually stop being quite so Malfoy about counting my bites.”
He snorted. “Impossible. Malfoys are constitutionally incapable of not overreacting when someone they love nearly dies.”
Her heart twisted.
“Someone they love,” she repeated softly.
His eyes flicked up to hers, all the shields slipping away for a moment. “You know I do.”
“Yes,” she said, and she did.
“And I love you, too. Which is why I’m going to finish this essay so I don’t get behind again without banishing you out of the room.”
“Only if you finish that sandwich,” he insisted, but his mouth had tilted into a small, relieved smile.
Hermione rolled her eyes dramatically, then picked up the sandwich and took a very pointed bite.
“Happy?”
“Marginally.”
He went back to his book, but now his magic felt less like a clenched fist and more like a hand still holding hers, just a little looser.
For the rest of the afternoon, he stayed within about five feet of her, moving when she shifted locations, to the writing desk, to the window seat, back to the sofa. It would have driven her absolutely mad a year ago.
Now, with echoes of stone walls and mangy blankets still lingering somewhere in her bones, it was… oddly comforting he cared so much.
She pretended not to notice when he refilled her tea exactly the way she liked it before she even reached for the pot.
He pretended not to notice when, every so often, she reached out to rest her toes lightly against his leg, just to feel him there.
By very late afternoon, the light outside had gone soft and golden. Hermione stretched, winced slightly as her back cracked, and dropped her quill at last.
“That’s enough,” Draco said immediately, snapping his book shut. “You’re done for the day.”
“I could finish the last—” she teased.
“Hermione.” His tone was soft but firm. “You promised to rest. We have a house full of people coming tonight. You’re not going to be half-conscious at your own ‘welcome back, your memories aren’t broken anymore’ dinner.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” she asked, amused.
“Unofficially,” he said. “Officially, it’s just dinner with friends. No siphoning talk. No case. No Ministry. Just… us.”
Hermione swallowed at that, emotion catching in her throat unexpectedly. “That sounds… really nice, actually.”
Draco’s expression gentled. He stood and offered her his hand. She took it, letting him pull her up.
“Come on,” he said. “Theo’s due back soon, and if we don’t let him ‘doctor’ you for five minutes, he’ll combust.”
“You’re both insufferable,” she muttered, but she didn’t let go of his hand as they walked through the corridor together, the faint warmth of the bond thrumming steady and whole between them.
In the parlor, a house-elf had already started laying out drink trays and setting candles around . Hermione paused by the mantel, letting herself breathe in the normalcy: the clink of glass, the soft hum of the wards, the gentle murmur of fire.
“Hey.”
She turned.
Theo stood in the doorway, still in his healer robes, hair mussed, tired circles under his eyes—but smiling. That soft, private smile that always made something inside her shiver.
“You’re home,” she said, ridiculously relieved.
“Always,” he said quietly, crossing the room to pull her into his arms.
The bond pulsed warmly as she pressed her forehead against his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of antiseptic, tea, and Theo.
“How was the hospital?” she asked against his shirt.
“Better now that you’re not in it,” he murmured into her curls. Then, louder: “If you did more than three hours of work today, I will stage a mutiny.”
Hermione grunted. “I did not.”
“She absolutely did,” Draco said dryly from the drinks table.
“Theo,” she complained.
Theo stepped back just enough to look at her face. “How are you feeling, really? Any headaches? Nausea? Dizziness?”
Hermione shook her head. “No. Just… tired in a normal way.”
“And the bond?” he pressed, voice gentle but direct. “Any spikes? Flickers?”
She closed her eyes briefly, checking. “No. It feels… settled. Warm. Steady. Like it did before all of this went to hell in a hand basket.”
Relief flickered through both of them from Theo so strongly she almost staggered.
“Good,” Theo said, the word thick with feeling.
Draco stepped closer, one hand brushing her lower back. “Then tonight, no case talk. Agreed?”
Hermione nodded. “Agreed.”
Theo’s mouth quirked. “We’re geniuses and war heroes, Hermione. Surely we can manage one night off.”
She gave him a look. “You say that now. Five minutes in, and Pansy will start interrogating me about the bond again.”
“That’s why the wine is out,” Draco said dryly. “For you or for me, I haven’t yet decided.”
Hermione laughed, and let herself enjoy the quiet moment: both of them at her sides, the house filled with the anticipatory buzz of soon-to-arrive friends, the weight of terror and fractured memory just a little lighter.
“They’re here,” Draco said a few minutes later, as the wards chimed.
He straightened his collar.
Theo squeezed Hermione’s hand.
The front doors of Nott Manor swung open to admit warmth, noise, and the easy chaos of found family.
“Where is she?” Ginny demanded before she was even properly inside, hair wild from the wind, cheeks pink.
Hermione barely had time to brace herself before she was engulfed in a Weasley hug that lifted her slightly off the floor.
“Ginny,” Hermione wheezed, laughing. “Can’t breathe—”
“You got your memories back and didn’t write me a scroll-long owl immediately, about how” Ginny scolded in one breath, setting her down but not letting go.
“I should hex both of them for keeping you to themselves.”
“Still time,” Luna said dreamily, drifting in after her with Neville and baby Celine bundled against his chest. “Though I suppose the bond might object. Never good to wake a sleeping dragon.”
“Hello,” Hermione said, already tearing up as she reached for the tiny bundle. “Oh, Luna, Neville—she’s so big already.”
“She’s not even four months,” Neville protested, but he was grinning as he carefully shifted the baby so Hermione could see her properly. Celine blinked up at her with solemn dark eyes and a tuft of soft brown hair.
“Hi, little star,” Hermione whispered, brushing a gentle finger over Celine’s fist. The baby promptly wrapped her hand around Hermione’s finger and would not let go.
“She knows,” Luna said serenely. “Her godmother is back.”
Hermione swallowed hard.
“Alright, move, move,” Pansy announced, sweeping in on Blaise’s arm like she owned the manor. “Let the woman breathe, Longbottom, it’s not like you have a monopoly on emotional reunions.”
She pulled Hermione into a sharp, perfumed hug, then held her at arm’s length, assessing. “You look tired, but in a good way. Like someone who has recently remembered they have an excellent sex life.”
“Pansy,” Draco hissed.
Hermione flushed scarlet. Theo visibly choked on air.
Blaise just snorted.
“We’re not talking about that,” Hermione managed, both mortified and secretly amused.
“I’m just saying,” Pansy went on, utterly unrepentant, “I told you your body remembered them even before your memories did. Nice to have confirmation.”
Ginny elbowed her. “Subtlety, Parkinson. We talked about this.”
“We did, and I ignored you,” Pansy said cheerfully. “As always.”
Behind them, Narcissa Malfoy entered with the sort of frozen elegance that could silence a room. Except this room was already loud, and she looked… softer than usual. There was a slight smile in her eyes as she watched Hermione with baby Celine.
“Mother,” Draco said, stepping forward to kiss her cheek.
“Narcissa,” Hermione said, a little shy.
“My dear,” Narcissa said, drawing her into a light, surprisingly warm embrace. “When I heard your memories had returned, I insisted on being included this evening. I hope that was alright.”
“It’s more than alright,” Hermione said, heart twisting.
Harry arrived just then with Ron and Cho, slightly disheveled as always. “Sorry we’re late—the floo wanted to deposit us in the attic for some reason.”
“It missed,” Draco said. “We had it calibrated for ‘dramatic entrance,’ not ‘awkward tumble.’”
Harry grinned, eyes searching Hermione’s face. “How’re you doing?”
“Better,” she said honestly. “Still… piecing little things together, but the big pieces are all back.”
“Good,” he said softly. “Good.”
Ron hovered a bit behind him, but didn’t look away when Hermione’s gaze found his. “You look more like… you,” he said awkwardly. “Less pale and… er… possessed.”
“Thank you?” Hermione said, laughing.
Cho squeezed his hand, smiling gently. “We’re really glad you’re alright, Hermione.”
“Thank you,” Hermione said again, and meant it.
Theo cleared his throat. “Right. Everyone’s here. We should… move toward the dining room before Pansy starts eating the centerpiece.”
“I would,” Pansy said seriously. “It looks like sugar. The baby likes sugar.”
“It’s literally pine,” Blaise murmured.
“Sugar pine,” she shot back.
Everyone laughed, the sound bubbling up bright and easy as they made their way into the dining room, the long table glowing with candlelight and floating lanterns.
Hermione sat between Theo and Draco at the center of the table. Narcissa took Draco’s other side; Harry and Ginny sat directly across from them, with Ron and Cho flanking, Neville and Luna, Blaise and Pansy filling in the rest.
The food was abundant, house-elves had clearly gone to heroic lengths, roast chicken and lambchops with lemon and herbs, roasted vegetables, buttered garlic rolls, pumpkin soup, a selection of dipping sauces Hermione recognized as some of Theo’s favorites.
Conversation started light, complaints about Ministry paperwork, teasing about Ginny’s upcoming match schedule, Cho’s odd cravings, Pansy’s dramatic commentary on outgrowing half her dresses already.
“Honestly,” Pansy was saying as she stabbed a roasted potato, “no one told me my ankles would swell from pregnancy. I thought that was just a Muggle myth meant to keep women from running away.”
“Where would you run?” Blaise asked lazily. “You own half of Wiltshire now.”
“To somewhere with better shoes,” Pansy said. “These are hideous and yet they’re the only ones that fit.”
“They look fine,” Hermione said.
“I know,” Pansy said mournfully. “That’s the problem. Fine. Practical. Stable. Next thing you know, I’ll own a cardigan.”
Ginny snorted into her wine. “You’re having a baby, not turning into my mom.”
“Speak for yourself,” Pansy muttered. “She makes excellent stew. She’s bene sendin git over weekly for the baby. He loves it. I could live with that.”
Ron, two seats away, cleared his throat. “Er… Hermione?”
“Yes?” Hermione turned to him, pleasantly surprised he’d spoken up.
He looked awkward, but determined. “Just wanted to say… it’s nice. Seeing you like this. With them.” He glanced briefly at Draco and Theo, then back at his plate. “You look… happy. Even after… you know. Russia and everything.”
Hermione’s chest warmed. “I am happy,” she said quietly. “Scared, sometimes. Still… adjusting. But happy.”
Draco, very quietly, slid his hand over hers under the table.
Theo’s knee brushed hers on the other side.
Ron pretended not to see, but his shoulders relaxed.
“So,” Ginny said, smirking. “When exactly did the memories come back? Asking as a friend. And also as someone who is nosy.”
Hermione shot her a look. “Bits and pieces came first. But most of them… came back after we were in Scotland for a few days.”
“Mm,” Pansy said, taking a sip of wine. “I adore rural Scotland. Must be the clean air. Very good for clearing the head. And apparently restoring long-term memory. And stabilizing magical triad bonds.”
“Pansy,” Draco said warningly, pink at the tips of his ears.
“Oh, come on,” Ginny chimed in. “We’re all adults. We all know how triad magic works. The newspapers practically write you like the wizarding world’s most powerful throuple.”
Cho nodded thoughtfully. “The way Witch Weekly speculates, I’m surprised they haven’t tried to calculate a formula: emotional intimacy times physical compatibility equals cognitive restoration.”
Neville looked alarmed. “They can… calculate that?”
“They absolutely cannot,” Hermione said quickly. “And if they try, I am burning the publication to the ground.”
Luna, who had been quietly feeding Celine a tiny bottle with one hand and eating soup with the other, tilted her head.
“It makes sense, you know,” she mused. “Memory is just another kind of story our magic tells itself. The bond remembers even when the brain forgets. It just needed… a nudge to turn the pages back to the right chapter.”
Everyone went quiet for a second.
“That’s…” Theo began slowly, “…accurate.”
“Luna is always surprisingly correct,” Neville said fondly.
Luna smiled serenely. “Besides, you three were never meant to stay half-unwoven. The magic was sulking. Now it’s purring again. Like a content cat.”
Hermione felt her cheeks heat, but she also felt Draco and Theo’s magic flare in pleased agreement.
Narcissa, who had been sipping wine silently, set her glass down gently. “I am… glad,” she said carefully, eyes resting on Hermione. “That your memories returned in a way that reaffirmed the bond rather than weakening it. It has been… distressing to see my son so frightened and haywire.”
There was the tiniest tremor in her voice on the word frightened.
Hermione softened. “I’m sorry I scared you,” she said quietly.
Narcissa met her gaze. “You didn’t. The people who took you did. But you came back. And you chose to stay.” Her eyes flicked briefly to Draco and Theo, then back. “That matters.”
Something in Hermione’s chest loosened.
“Thank you,” she said, meaning so many things at once.
“Oh, enough melancholy,” Pansy declared. “This is a celebration. Our favorite bookworm has all her chapters back. I propose a toast.”
She raised her glass; everyone else followed suit.
“To Hermione,” Pansy said grandly. “Who stubbornly refuses to die, forget her lovers, or stop trying to save the world every five minutes. We’re very proud of you, darling. Please try not to give us all another collective heart attack anytime soon please.”
Laughter rippled around the table.
“Hear, hear,” Ginny said.
“To Hermione,” Theo said softly.
“To Hermione,” Draco echoed, voice thick.
They all drank, and Hermione blinked fast against sudden pricks of tears.
Luna watched her with considerate calm. “You’re allowed to cry,” she observed. “It’s just your heart emptying out all the panic it had to store for when your mind was too busy surviving to feel it.”
Hermione made a choked half-laugh, half-sob. “Thank you, Luna,” she said, and meant that, too.
Later, after dessert of apple tart (and treacle pudding, because Molly Weasley had insisted on sending “something proper” with Ginny), they migrated to the informal parlor.
The fire crackled warmly; someone—probably Blaise—had charmed the ceiling to mimic a clear night sky with slowly drifting stars.
Harry sat cross-legged on the rug with Celine cradled in his lap while Neville and Luna watched him like act like he’d been handed the moon. Ron and Cho played a lazy game of Exploding Snap; Narcissa and Blaise were engaged in a low-voiced conversation about vault structures and international curses. Ginny and Pansy were arguing fiercely about the merits of different Quidditch training regimens for enhanced reflexes.
Hermione sank onto one of the sofas, feeling deliciously tired in a way that was all warmth and no fear.
Theo dropped down beside her, stretching an arm along the back of the sofa so his fingers could toy lazily with the ends of her hair.
Draco sat on her other side, legs crossed at the ankle, one hand resting casually over hers on the cushion between them. Their rings glowed softly, almost invisible unless you knew to look for them.
For a long moment, Hermione just looked.
At these people she loved.
At this life she had fought for, bled for, and almost lost.
She felt the bond hum in contentment, not silent, not screaming, just purring like Luna had said. Threads of emotion flowed steady between them: Theo’s mellow joy, Draco’s fierce protectiveness finally unclenching into something like peace, her own relieved gratitude weaving around both.
Ginny caught her looking and flashed her a small, conspiratorial grin before turning back to Pansy.
Eventually, Luna drifted over and perched on the arm of the sofa, Celine now sleeping against her shoulder.
“You all feel softer,” Luna said conversationally.
Theo blinked. “Softer?”
“In your edges,” she clarified. “Less sharp from fear. Still bright. Just… less likely to cut yourselves on each other.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “We’re trying.”
“You’re doing,” Luna corrected. “Trying was what you did before Hermione remembered naked in Scotland.”
Draco choked on his drink.
Theo made a strangled sound.
Hermione covered her face with her hands. “Luna.”
Luna tilted her head. “What? Scotland is very good for aligning certain… frequencies. The wld heather helps. And the cold. And the orgasms.”
“OH MY GOD,” Ginny yelped from across the room. “You cannot just say that while my brother is in hearing range!”
Ron, who had very clearly heard, went brick red. “I am leaving,” he declared, standing up. “I’m going to… check on… the floo. Or something.”
Cho followed him, laughing.
Narcissa was trying not to look at any of them politely.
Blaise looked delighted. “Please, Lovegood, never change.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” Luna said serenely.
Hermione, Theo, and Draco all dissolved into helpless laughter, half from mortification, half from sheer relief that they could laugh like this again.
Much later, after everyone had trickled home through the floo, after Narcissa had kissed Hermione’s cheek and whispered, “Goodnight, my dear,” like it had always been the most natural thing in the world, after the elves had cleared the dishes and dimmed the lights, the manor finally quieted.
The three of them stood alone in the now empty parlor.
Hermione could feel the tired satisfaction in both of them humming through the bond.
“Told you we needed a night off,” Theo said gently, reaching to tuck a curl behind her ear.
“You were right,” she admitted. “But, don’t get used to it.”
Draco smirked. “You say that like we aren’t going to drag you away from your books on a regular basis now. For your health, of course.”
“For the bond,” Theo added solemnly.
“For the bond,” Draco echoed, mock-serious.
Hermione rolled her eyes, but she stepped between them willingly, letting them each take a hand. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For tonight. For… not treating me like glass. But also for hovering when I needed it.”
Draco’s eyes softened. “We’re not going to stop hovering entirely. But I’ll try to stop counting your sandwich bites.”
Theo pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We’re just glad to all be together, safe, and stable.”
Notes:
Damn... anyone notice Harry baby brooding =P
Chapter 249: The Surprise Tree
Chapter Text
The early afternoon sun spilled across the long table at Nott Manor, warming the dark polished wood and turning the steam rising from their tea into soft, gold-tinted curls.
Hermione sat between Theo and Draco, a half-eaten plate of roasted vegetable couscous in front of her. She’d been in a good mood, sleep thick in her bones after a late night, and the bond humming in a settled, contented rhythm through her chest.
Theo was telling Draco about a new diagnostic charm he wanted to try on her magical pathways when they returned tonight, “just to confirm her core isn’t straining from the restoration process,” he’d said.
Draco had immediately objected that she didn’t need more tests, she needed rest.
They were bickering lightly over it when the wards chimed.
Not the polite chime of an invited guest.
The sharp tone of a high-level Ministry escort.
The three of them straightened in unison.
“Harry,” Hermione murmured under her breath. “And—Kingsley.”
Theo flicked his wand toward the doors. “Enter.”
A second later, Harry stepped through with Kingsley behind him. Both looked as though they’d come straight from a high-stress meeting. Neither removed their cloaks before approaching the table.
“We’re interrupting,” Kingsley said politely.
Draco rose immediately. “You only interrupt when there’s a reason.”
Harry nodded. “Unfortunately, yeah. A few reasons.”
Hermione’s stomach tightened. Theo reached beneath the table, brushing her knee with a grounding touch.
“Listen,” Kingsley instructed. “All of you.”
They did.
Harry exhaled heavily and went first. “We interviewed Marcus Flint this morning.”
Hermione leaned in. “And?”
Theo’s jaw tightened. “He is involved?”
Kingsley shook his head. “Nothing so far. At least… nothing beyond what’s predictable.”
Draco snorted. “Predictably unpleasant? Reeking of blood supremacy? Barely literate?”
Harry cracked a faint smile but sobered quickly.
“He’s what he’s always been—aggressive, mouthy, thick as granite. But we didn’t find any signs he’s connected to the siphoning ring. No foreign travel. No unexplained owls. No suspicious Gringotts withdrawals or deposits. And no ties to the Russian cells we uncovered.”
Hermione frowned. “But Hermione heard the word Flint while she was imprisoned.”
“I know,” Harry said gently. “And we’re not writing it off. But we don’t have anything yet that ties Marcus himself to it.”
Kingsley folded his arms, eyes narrowing. “That doesn’t mean the Flint family as a whole is clear. You were right—there are holes in the genealogy. Purposely erased lineages. We can’t fill them. But we need more to connect the dots.”
Draco looked frustrated, but Hermione put a hand on his wrist, silently calming him.
“Something else happened,” Theo said quietly. “You’re both too tense for that to be the entire visit.”
Harry’s expression darkened. Kingsley’s hardened.
“Yes,” Kingsley confirmed. “The second piece of news is far worse.”
Hermione felt Draco stiffen beside her. Theo’s hand found hers under the table, grip tightening.
Kingsley sighed. “The guard you brought back alive from Russia—the one you stunned instead of killing—”
Draco’s jaw clenched.
“He’s dead,” Kingsley finished.
Hermione’s fork clattered against her plate. “Dead? How?”
Harry swallowed. “He committed suicide apparently. Sometime between midnight and four in the morning.”
Theo shook his head sharply. “Impossible. He was under high-security containment. Monitored. Restrained. Warded.”
“We know,” Harry said. “Which is why it’s suspicious as hell.”
Draco leaned forward like a drawn bow. “You’re telling me someone got to him.”
Kingsley nodded gravely. “That’s exactly what we think. There's no sign of a struggle—no obvious magic signature—but the timing is too perfect. He killed himself before we learned anything of value.”
Hermione’s heart dropped. “Did you get anything? Any information at all?”
Harry exhaled. “Only the same thing he said all along—he didn’t know the boss’s name. Never met him. Only got written instructions. Fragmented, coded. And he claimed he didn’t know where the siphoned magic was being stored.”
They were silent for several seconds.
Then Kingsley set a hand on the table. “There’s one more matter.”
Draco lifted his chin. “What.”
Kingsley’s voice gentled. “The Russian incident.”
Theo stilled. Hermione’s breath froze.
Harry spoke softly. “The Killing Curses.”
Hermione reached blindly for Draco’s hand. He gripped hers tightly.
Kingsley’s tone turned firm and official. “Draco Malfoy. After reviewing the Pensieve memory, auror witness accounts, and Theo Nott’s testimony… I am formally ruling the use of all Killing Curses that night as self-defense under extreme duress.”
Draco blinked. “You’re—”
Harry nodded happily. “There will be no trial. No inquest. No further investigation.”
Theo let out a breath like he’d been holding it for days. “Thank Merlin.”
Hermione pressed a hand to Draco’s chest. “Draco. That’s… that’s good. That’s so good.”
But Draco wasn’t relieved yet.
He was frozen.
Completely still.
Hermione had seen that look before, after the war, when Draco had expected punishment at every turn. Expected Azkaban. Expected chains.
Kingsley softened his voice. “Draco. You saved Theo’s life. Maybe Harry’s. You saved Hermione’s. You acted to protect victims of an ongoing magical terrorism case. There is no guilt here. Not in the eyes of the law. Not in mine.”
Harry nodded firmly. “And not in mine, either. It’s a case closed form our viewpoint.”
A tremor of relief ran visibly through Draco’s shoulders.
Theo moved first, gripping the back of Draco’s neck and leaning their foreheads together for a moment—an anchor, a grounding touch.
Hermione’s hand slid up Draco’s arm. “It’s over,” she whispered. “This part, at least. It’s over.”
Draco inhaled shakily. “I didn’t… I wasn’t sure…” His voice cracked. “I thought maybe—”
Harry shook his head sharply. “No. You saved her. That’s the beginning and end of it. Just don’t consider it a free pass for the future. You’re not an auror authorized to use unforgivables.”
Something finally gave way in Draco’s chest.
A deep, shuddering exhale.
Theo kept one hand on him, soothing. Hermione pressed herself close to him, grounding him with her presence. Through the bond, she felt the wave of grief and relief crash together and break.
Kingsley gave them several seconds before continuing.
“We’re still no closer to identifying the leader behind this siphoning operation,” he said. “But your memories”—he looked at Hermione—“and your survival are crucial. We’ll keep pursuing new leads. For now… heal. Stay safe. Stay together.”
Hermione swallowed. “We will.”
Kingsley nodded. “We’ll be in touch as soon as we have more.”
Harry squeezed Hermione’s shoulder, then Theo’s arm, and finally gave Draco a steady look that said things he didn’t voice aloud.
Then they left.
The door closed.
Silence fell heavy across the dining room.
Theo sank back into his chair and covered his face with his hands. Hermione leaned into Draco, who still trembled faintly, not out of fear, but from a release so massive it left him momentarily unmoored.
Finally, Draco whispered, voice raw:
“It’s really over. I’m not going to be arrested. Not this time.”
Hermione kissed his cheek. “No. You’re not.”
Theo reached for his other hand. “You’re safe, Draco. We’re all safe.”
The three of them stayed like that for a long while, clinging together in the sunlit dining room, the remnants of lunch cooling on the table and the future—uncertain but shared—finally feeling fully possible again.
The days following Kingsley’s visit blurred into a soft, slow rhythm of recovery.
Hermione spent most mornings curled on the worn favorite chaise in the library, wrapped in a thick green blanket Draco kept tucking around her even when she insisted she was warm enough. Her magical core still hovered at 95%—strong, but not quite complete—so she still tired easily. Theo fussed constantly, taking her temperature with diagnostics three times a day until Draco threatened to hide his wand one morning while Hermione laughed.
She slept late most days, dozing under the patchwork of winter sunlight spilling across the manor’s tall windows. When she woke, she alternated between doing her Charms makeup assignments and drinking cup after cup of the French vanilla tea Draco kept endlessly making for her.
Theo joked she was like a cat now, curling, stretching, getting pet and fed, curling again.
Draco, at the same time, still hovered like a stormcloud that refused to break, staying within arm’s reach of her at all times.
They were healing.
But not rushing.
Letting the quiet rebuild all the places inside her that had been scraped raw.
Hermione sat on the window seat overlooking the bare cold orchard, Charms notebook balanced on her knees, when Draco approached her looking entirely too casual.
“You’re staying in today while we go out,” he informed her.
She looked up, arching a brow. “Am I? And who decided that?”
Theo popped his head in from the hallway. “We did. Joint decree. No magic, minimal movement. Rest.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “You’re both acting suspicious. What are you doing?”
Draco’s expression was all airy innocence. “Ward maintenance.”
Theo coughed. Badly. Obviously. “Yes. Ward… maintenance. Outside. Dangerous for you to be near.”
“You’re both terrible liars,” she muttered.
Pansy arrived a minute later, letting herself in through the floo with the dramatic flair of a stage actress.
“Hermione!” she trilled. “I’m here to keep you entertained because apparently your husbands are on very important business.”
“They’re lying,” Hermione said flatly.
“Oh, obviously.” Pansy waved a hand. “But they threatened to hex me if I ruined the surprise.”
Hermione blinked. “Surprise?”
Pansy pressed a finger to her lips. “I said nothing.”
Theo grabbed his coat. Draco grabbed his wand. Both kissed Hermione quickly—Draco on her temple, Theo on the top of her head—before heading toward the door.
She squinted at them. “Whatever you’re doing… don’t get hurt.”
Draco smirked. “We’ll be fine.”
Theo’s eyes softened. “We’ll be back soon.”
And then the door shut, leaving Hermione alone with Pansy, who looked like she was barely containing laughter.
Pansy made Hemrione spend the next two hours looking through nursey magizans to pick out baby furniture.
Late afternoon sunlight stretched long shadows across the foyer when the front door burst open and cold winter air whooshed inside.
“Hermione?” Draco called loudly.
“In the parlor!” she answered, setting aside the baby blanket knitting project Pansy had forced into her hands.
Footsteps—heavy, dragging, and accompanied by the unmistakable sound of needles dropping onto the floor—approached.
Pansy muttered, “Oh sweet Morgana, they actually did it.”
And then, Theo appeared in the doorway first, flushed from the cold, hair mussed, scarf crooked.
Behind him was Draco.
Absolutely covered in pine needles. Pansy snorted.
Between them—floating via a carefully controlled Hover Charm—was the largest Christmas tree Hermione had ever seen. Floor to ceiling. Maybe even taller.
“Surprise,” Draco said, trying to look suave and failing entirely because a branch smacked him in the head.
Hermione stood slowly, hands pressed to her mouth. “You cut—on the property—this whole—”
Theo grinned, breath puffing warm into the cold air still swirling inside. “You mentioned… before everything happened… that you wanted another fresh tree this year.”
Draco shrugged with a wink. “We decided now was someday.”
Hermione’s eyes prickled hot. Her throat tightened. She walked toward them, fingers trembling, and touched one of the lower branches.
“You two—this is—this is perfect.”
Draco’s voice softened. “We wanted to give you something that felt like home for the holidays.”
Theo nudged Draco. “Tell her.”
Draco rolled his eyes, and then—quietly—said, “We… uh… may have nearly died hauling it thru the orchard.”
Theo hit his arm. “We did not nearly die.”
Draco gestured at the tree, incredulous. “It’s like dragging the Whomping Willow through the snow!”
Hermione laughed—really laughed—and the sound filled the foyer like warm light.
After Pansy left, blowing kisses and telling Hermione to “try not to snog both of them under the mistletoe tonight, though honestly, no promises expected,” the house grew quiet again.
Draco and Theo set the tree upright in the main formal parlor—Hermione’s favorite winter room, the one with cream-colored sofas and tall mullioned windows that let the moonlight spill in with a high vaulted ceiling.
Draco cast extra warming charms. Theo lit the fire.
Then Draco flicked his wand, and soft, muffled muggle Christmas music drifted through the room—low, warm, cozy, like snow falling gently outside.
Hermione sat cross-legged on the carpet, sorting through boxes of ornaments.
Theo dropped beside her, close enough that his knee brushed hers. “You don’t have to do much,” he reminded gently. “You’re still recovering.”
“I want to,” she said softly. “This feels… right. Christmas is my favorite you know.”
Draco joined them, sitting on her other side. “Then we help you.”
They decorated slowly—carefully—laughing each time Draco knocked a branch into Theo’s face, and each time Theo put an ornament too high and Hermione grabbed his sleeve to pull it down.
There were old ornaments from her childhood, saved in a dusty box her parents had in the attic she’d salvaged. There were enchanted blown glass snowflakes and snowmen sent last year from Narcissa. There were shimmering gold spheres and icicles from the Malfoy vaults and warm bronze ones from the Nott ones.
Hermione reached into the box and found a small glass phoenix ornament—orange and red, feathers tipped in gold.
She held it up. “I don’t remember this one.”
“I bought it at the Phoenix Gala,” Draco said quietly. “The day of the maze.”
Her breath caught.
“I love it,” she whispered.
She hung it front and center.
Hours passed without any of them noticing. When the final ornament was hung and the fire had burned low, the three of them sat together on the rug, leaning shoulder to shoulder, watching the lights flicker through the branches.
Theo’s head rested against hers.
Draco’s arm curved around her waist.
The bond hummed—quiet, steady, warm—like embers glowing.
Hermione exhaled softly. “Thank you. For this. For today. For all of it.”
Draco pressed a kiss to her temple. “Always.”
Theo kissed her hair. “You’re home forever.”
Hermione closed her eyes and let herself feel it.
Home.
Warmth.
Them.
The tree glowing like a galaxy in the corner of the room.
A perfect December evening.
Notes:
Christmas is coming xD
Any requests?
Chapter 250: Fake News
Chapter Text
The next morning dawned pale and quiet, the kind of winter light that slipped gently across the floorboards of Nott Manor instead of waking anyone abruptly.
Hermione was curled between Theo and Draco on the long kitchen bench, oversized stolen jumper from Draco swallowing her completely, bare feet tucked under her.
Draco stood at the stove, wand in hand, muttering about the correct crispness level of bacon.
Theo poured tea, glancing at her every few seconds the way he always did lately—as though afraid she might vanish.
Hermione was mid-yawn when—
A sharp crack sounded outside the kitchen window.
Draco froze, pan in hand. “We didn’t order anything.”
Theo’s eyes narrowed. “Special delivery.”
Hermione’s stomach tightened.
Draco vanished the fire under the pan and went out into the cold, slippers crunching across the frost. He returned with the stack of papers pressed to his chest and a thunderous expression.
“It’s a special edition,” he said through gritted teeth. “The Prophet printed it overnight.”
He dropped the stack onto the kitchen table.
The headline alone made Hermione’s blood run cold.
----
THE DAILY PROPHET — SPECIAL EDITION
HEROIC RESCUE IN RUSSIA!
MINISTRY WITCH HERMIONE MALFOY-NOTT KIDNAPPED & SAVED IN INTERNATIONAL OPERATION
How Dark Forces Operated Under Our Noses — And How Our Youngest Leaders Fought Back
By Celestina Blenchley, Senior International Correspondent
AN INTERNATIONAL CRISIS HIDING IN PLAIN SIGHT
Shocking news reached the British Wizarding World last month as Hermione Malfoy-Granger -Nott, renowned war heroine, beloved Ministry reformer, and one-third of the first modern legal triad, was kidnapped from the Charms Institute during a normal school day.
Sources say the abduction was the result of a long-term plot by foreign dark wizards, possibly connected to Shadow Remnants of the Second War. At this time, the Ministry refuses to confirm or deny any connection to You-Know-Who loyalists, though many international experts believe the pattern of violence is “highly reminiscent” of Death Eater tactics.
One unnamed Unspeakable reportedly stated:
“This is the most dangerous magical crime we’ve seen in fifteen years.”
Hermione’s disappearance caused significant political turbulence, as she is not only a Ministry figure but also magically bonded to Healer-to-be Theodore Nott and Lord Draco Malfoy, both of whom hold prestigious positions and influence across multiple societal departments.
THE CHAOTIC RESCUE MISSION
Reports confirm that Hogwarts Herbology Professor Neville Longbottom, while attending a conference abroad, alerted international authorities after feeling what one witness described as “a magical earthquake in the bond-field.” (Editor’s Note: it is not confirmed that Neville Longbottom can sense triad bond magic, but his war record suggests unusual sensitivities.)
According to sources within the Auror Office, the rescue team included:
- Auror Harry Potter, who allegedly “ignored jurisdiction entirely” to act.
- Draco Malfoy, rumored to have “shattered walls with wandless magic.”
- Theodore Nott, who is said to have “healed on the run.”
- Luna Lovegood-Longbottom, who is said to have been tracking a yeti in the area of the confinement
- A team of six elite Aurors from the International Magical Cooperation Taskforce.
Reports vary wildly, but some witnesses claim the rescue team traveled through “secret tunnels beneath a frozen palace compound somewhere in northern Russia.”
Others insist it was “a cursed fortress used during the First Wizarding War.”
One dramatic (unverified) account states:
“Potter had to duel ten dark wizards at once while Malfoy cast Fiendfyre. Meanwhile, Nott kept Ms. Granger alive by transferring his own magic directly into her bloodstream.”
(Ministry spokeswitch denies all of this.)
THE CONDITION OF THE VICTIM
While early rumors suggested Hermione was “gravely unstable” or “magically shattered,” her healers now assure the public that she is recovering well at home.
However, sources close to St. Mungo’s tell the Prophet:
- She suffered core depletion.
- She endured concussion-related memory disruption.
- She required “intensive magical realignment treatment.”
Healer-in-training (name withheld) stated:
“Her bond has been strained. A triad bond reacting to trauma can be extremely volatile.”
There is no confirmation that this has affected the triad relationship, though gossip columnists continue to speculate that the bond “may have been weakened for good” and “this is the final nail in the coffin for their marriage”.
A MYSTERIOUS INTERNATIONAL PLOT?
The kidnappers—believed to be part of a multinational siphoning network—remain at large. One captured suspect reportedly committed suicide in Ministry custody under “mysterious circumstances.”
Sources speculate that Hermione was abducted because of her leadership role in the ongoing Magical Core Drain investigation or due to her muggle heritage.
One Ministry official (who refused to give their name) told us:
“Granger-Malfoy-Nott was always the biggest threat to the masterminds. They wanted to use her as a message.”
Others believe she was intended for ritual use, though no concrete evidence we could find supports this.
THE TRIAD — STRONGER OR FRACTURED?
Public interest remains high in the status of Britain’s most famous triad.
Eyewitnesses reported that Theo Nott has been seen leaving St. Mungo’s at all hours for the last few weeks, while Draco Malfoy “looked ready to hex a reporter into the Thames last night.”
Speculation abounds:
- Are the three living together again?
- How stable is their bond after such trauma?
- Will this impact Hermione’s political work?
- Will they fracture in their marriage?
- Is Draco Malfoy keeping her locked in the Nott dungeons for protection?
- Is Theo avoiding them in favor of work to allow Draco and Hermione to run off into the sunset?
Sources close to the family insist the triad is “unified, healing, and deeply protective of one another.”
Another unnamed source added:
“If anyone thinks they can break this triad so easily, they don’t understand Hermione Granger.”
WHAT COMES NEXT?
While the investigation continues, Minister Shacklebolt urges calm and reassures the public that all international leads are being followed.
A press conference is expected later this week.
The Prophet will continue to update this developing story.
---
Silence.
Thick, stunned silence.
Hermione’s hands shook as she lowered the paper. “Half—half of this is outright lies.”
Theo rubbed his forehead. “One quarter exaggeration, one quarter hallucination, half nonsense—yes, checks out for the Prophet.”
Draco was pacing, muttering darkly. “I didn’t cast Fiendfyre. Why do they always think I cast Fiendfyre?”
Theo pinched the bridge of his nose. “You did break walls ad doors with wandless magic, though.”
“That was one time,” Draco snapped.
Hermione swallowed hard. “They called me ‘gravely unstable.’”
“You’re not,” Theo said sharply, kneeling in front of her, taking her hands. “You’re healing. That’s different.”
Draco stopped pacing and sat beside her, pulling her gently into his side. “Tell me who wrote that article. I’ll send them a strongly worded owl.”
“Draco—”
“And then possibly a curse.”
“Draco.”
He huffed. “A small curse.”
Hermione leaned her head against his shoulder. “I hate that everyone is talking about it.”
Theo kissed the back of her hand. “Let them talk. We know the truth.”
“And the people who matter know the truth,” Draco said.
Hermione exhaled slowly, tension leaving her shoulders bit by bit. “I suppose if they’re going to misreport things, at least they didn’t imply anything too cruel.”
Theo gave her a tiny smile. “Honestly, they made you sound terrifying and legendary. I’m a little impressed.”
That made her laugh.
And Draco’s face softened instantly at the sound.
“See?” he murmured. “Already better.”
They ate breakfast together—warm tea, too-crispy bacon, fresh scones—and even though the world outside was buzzing with misinformation, inside the manor everything felt warm and steady and theirs.
Notes:
did it even happen if they don't report on it? =P
Chapter 251: Girl Talk... with Theo
Chapter Text
The December light was thin and silver across the manor’s sitting room, soft enough that Hermione didn’t need to charm the lamps brighter.
A fire crackled low in the grate. She was curled on the sofa in thick socks and a blanket, her Charms texts forgotten on her lap.
Theo sat beside her, a protective presence, reading over one of her diagnostic worksheets with furrowed concentration. He’d been like that all morning, hovering, but quietly, gently, asking nothing except whether she needed another cup of tea.
And Luna and Ginny had just arrived.
Ginny kicked off her boots immediately. “It’s cold as dragon balls outside. Please tell me you have good warm snacks.”
Hermione laughed. “There are scones in the kitchen. And mulled tea.”
“I knew you loved me.” Ginny vanished toward the kitchen.
Luna drifted across the room like she was following an invisible creature only she could see. She paused near Hermione and smiled softly.
“You look more luminous today,” Luna said. “Like your magic is humming again. Not fully, but enough. You’re very close to a full teacup.”
Theo blinked. “How can you see that with the diagnostic tests?”
Luna blinked back. “How can you not?”
Hermione snorted. “Well, that sounds like a typical Luna thing.”
Theo didn’t deny it.
Ginny returned with a plate of scones and plopped herself on Hermione’s other side, boxing her in on the couch between the two women with Theo still perched nearby.
“So,” Ginny said far too casually, biting into a scone. “How’s the recovery? Physically? Mentally? Magically? Emotionally? Sexually?”
Theo choked on air shooting her a glare.
Hermione dragged a hand down her face. “Ginny.”
“What? I’m helping. Someone has to ask the real questions.”
Luna nodded serenely. “The bond is hungry. It’s very loud lately. It wants more snacks”
Hermione froze wide eyed.
Theo’s ears went deep pink and he coughed loudly.
Ginny grinned like Christmas had come early, clapping in glee.
Hermione exhaled slowly. “Okay. Fine. You want honesty? I’ll give you honesty.”
She set her tea down with vibrating hands.
“I feel… like our magic wants to goggle them both up constantly… ok?”
Theo’s breath caught.
Ginny leaned forward. “Meaning…?”
“Meaning desire,” Hermione whispered. “Need. Chemistry. It’s… overwhelming sometimes.”
Theo closed his eyes, jaw tight, because he had felt every bit of it through the bond too lately.
“Can we… not do this?”, he muttered embarrassed shaking his head no.
Ginny pounced, “Lover boy… we’re trying to help her fully recover here, shhh. Plus, you know I’m like a dog with a bone… our day is not going to move on till this is in the open.”
Hermione swallowed hard. “I don’t remember every tiny detail of the last year and a half—but my instincts remember our chemistry fully. My body reacts when Theo touches me. When Draco looks at me. When either of them gets close.”
Ginny smirked. “So your libido survived the concussion.”
Theo made a strangled noise, slamming his notebook closed.
Hermione pressed on, cheeks burning. “It’s confusing. I feel attraction. Want. Like all the time. Nothing is ever enough to feed the bond for long. It’s happy and stable, but it demands more all the time.”
Luna sat down on the rug in front of them, legs crossed.
“That makes perfect sense,” she said lightly. “Trauma tries to steal the body’s truth. Memory loss interrupts linear time. But the heart doesn’t care about linear time. Bonds least of all.”
Theo’s throat barely worked. “Luna…”
She tilted her head. “Hermione’s magic is trying to braid itself back to both of yours. But magic only stabilizes when mind, body, and bond align. She remembers you in her spirit. She remembers what you three were building. Her body is simply trying to reconnect and comfort the bond. The bond was traumatized by the separation for so long. It’s still bruised and healing. It’s nudging her along to apply the bruise paste more often.”
Hermione whispered, “It feels like more than nudging.”
Ginny elbowed her. “ What’s the problem exactly though? Do you want them?”
Hermione startled. “Ginny!”
“Well?” Ginny raised her eyebrows innocently. “Because if your body remembers that it wants Draco and Theo, and they’re literally married to you, and also could explode the Ministry if the bond goes unstable again, then maybe wanting them all the time isn’t a bad thing.”
Theo stared at the ceiling like it might swallow him hopefully.
Hermione, after a long moment, whispered:
“Yes. I… want them. Both of them. It’s not just chemistry. It’s… warmth. Safety. Intimacy. This tugging feeling that I need to be close to them again. It’s like it wants me to live under their skin even.”
Theo exhaled shakily.
Ginny leaned back smugly. “There it is. Gods, I wish Draco were here to watch him squirm.”
Luna nodded solemnly. “Triad bonds cannot lie. You’re healing in the correct order. You just need to keep feeding it. Maybe try to give it more desserts, not little appetizers. No more leek soup, give it the triple decker double chocolate fudge cake. Bonds like dense, thick, multi-layer cakes.”
Ginny was now giggling uncontrollably while Hermione couldn’t look more mortified.
Theo finally spoke, voice low and steady. “Hermione… you never have to rush. We’re not trying to pressure you. The only thing that matters is you being honest. We only do what you want, when you want, you know that.”
“I am,” she said softly. “That’s why I’m telling you all this now. It’s driving me mad. I feel so much—and I don’t know how to ask either of you to touch me constantly without sounding like I’ve lost my damn mind.”
Theo’s voice went hoarse. “You don’t sound mad.”
“No,” Luna said, stroking the sleeping baby strapped against her chest. “You sound like someone in love very deeply.”
Hermione went very still.
Ginny’s eyes softened. “You never stopped loving them, Hermione. Even if a few memories went fuzzy for a bit.”
Theo looked like the words physically struck him.
Hermione met his eyes. “I know.”
He swallowed hard.
Luna rose gracefully to her feet. “You’re regrowing roots together. That’s all. Your magic knows home when it finds it.”
Hermione’s eyes burned unexpectedly.
Theo gently touched her knee. “Hermione…”
She reached for his hand without thinking.
Her voice was thick. “I’m ok”
“We know.” He squeezed her fingers.
“But wanting you—wanting both of you—doesn’t ever feel wrong,” she whispered. “It feels… like I’m waking up, like you both make me alive.”
Ginny wiped her eyes sarcastically. “God, I love a good romance.”
Theo’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t let go of her hand.
Luna beamed. “Good. You’ll need your clarity.”
“Why?” Hermione blinked.
“Because Draco’s back,” Luna said mildly, turning toward the doorway a second before—
The front doors opened.
Hermione’s stomach flipped.
Theo stood immediately tomato faced.
Ginny grinned like she knew everything.
Hermione felt the bond flare, warm and bright and pulling her toward the entrance.
Draco’s voice drifted in from the hall, tired but warm—
“Hermione? Love? Theo? I’m home.”
And suddenly she wasn’t ashamed at all.
Not about what she felt.
Not about what she wanted.
Not about who she belonged with.
Draco barely had time to set his cloak on the hook before Hermione was across the room, catching him in a tight, instinctive embrace.
He froze for a fraction of a moment — stunned — then folded around her like he’d been starved for it.
Theo exhaled quietly behind them, something easing in his shoulders.
Ginny cleared her throat loudly.
“Oh thank Merlin, we were two minutes away from starting the gingerbread without you and that would’ve been a CRIME.”
Luna nodded gravely.
“The dough gets lonely if you don’t include the whole family.”
Draco blinked down at Hermione with a crooked smile.
“Did she just call us a family?”
“Yes,” Hermione murmured, stepping back with pink cheeks. “And she’s… not exactly wrong.”
Luna beamed.
Ginny clapped her hands. “To the kitchen!”
The baking kitchen at Nott Manor was enormous, warm stone, enchanted copper pots, and a massive island crowded with bowls of frosting, all colors of gumdrops, peppermint sticks, and gingerbread walls waiting to be assembled.
Luna had already tied a little apron around her waist, embroidered with dancing dirigible plums.
Theo wiped his hands on a towel and leaned close to Hermione as she stepped in beside him.
“You sure you’re up for this?”
His voice was soft, not patronizing , just concerned.
It made warmth bloom in her chest.
Hermione nudged his arm. “I’m not made of glass. I can decorate a biscuit.”
Draco drifted close on her other side, fingers brushing lightly against hers on the counter, an accidental touch that didn’t feel accidental at all.
The bond hummed.
Ginny noticed and smirked openly.
“We’re doing a competition,” she declared. “Teams of two—”
“Not fair,” Draco cut in. “There are five of us.”
“Oh,” Luna said serenely, “I’ll be my own team with the nargles.”
Theo snorted.
Ginny pointed dramatically.
“Team One: Me and Hermione.”
Hermione sputtered. “Wait—”
“Team Two: Draco and Theo.”
Draco arched an eyebrow but didn’t argue.
“And Team Three…” Ginny gestured grandly at Luna. “…Luna’s Cosmic Chaos Construction Company.”
“Excellent,” Luna said. “I’ve always wanted employees.”
Hermione laughed openly.
The kitchen filled with the noises of holiday mischief: the clack of gingerbread pieces breaking, the swoosh of piped frosting, Ginny cursing creatively when a wall collapsed.
“You put too much icing,” Hermione chided.
“You put too much judgment.”
Hermione elbowed her. “This is a structural problem, Ginny. You can’t—”
Her hand slipped in a bowl of icing, smearing white frosting down Ginny’s cheek.
Ginny froze.
Then lunged.
Hermione shrieked laughing as Ginny retaliated, streaking icing along her jaw. Luna clapped in delight.
Theo looked up from piping intricate windows on his and Draco’s house, smirking.
“You two look feral.”
“Shut up, Nott,” Ginny said, pointing her frosting-coated spoon at him.
That’s when Draco flicked a tiny dollop of icing at her forehead.
Ginny gasped.
“You. Did not.”
“The evidence seems to say I did.”
Hermione burst out laughing again.
Theo leaned close to Draco with a low, wicked whisper Hermione almost didn’t catch,“You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Not half as much as watching her.” Draco’s gaze slid to Hermione, warm, a little hungry, fond enough to squeeze her heart.
She swallowed, cheeks warming.
Theo noticed her reaction and his fingers brushed her lower back in a subtle, steadying gesture.
She inhaled sharply.
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Oh, this is getting good.”
Luna’s “gingerbread house” was less a house and more… an abstract magical creature shrine.
“What exactly is it?” Theo asked, cautious.
“A Crumple-Horned Snorkack habitat,” Luna said brightly.
Hermione peered closer.
“Is that… a chimney made of candied mushrooms?”
“Yes,” Luna said proudly. “That’s where they store their emotional baggage.”
Theo blinked twice.
Ginny whispered, “We’re losing this competition, aren’t we?”
“Oh, catastrophically,” Hermione said.
Luna beamed.
When all three gingerbread creations were complete, Ginny crossed her arms.
“We need a judge.”
“I know just the person,” Hermione said.
Draco paled. “Hermione—”
She was already summoning a house-elf.
“Please inform Lady Malfoy we humbly request her presence in the Nott baking kitchen.”
Theo grinned. “This is going to be amazing.”
Draco muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.
Moments later, Narcissa Malfoy glided into the kitchen in pale grey winter robes, regal as ever.
She paused at the sight.
Five grown adults covered in frosting.
Three gingerbread… “structures.”
Theo and Draco subtly standing a little too close to Hermione.
Narcissa clasped her hands in delight.
“What exactly is happening?”
“A competition,” Ginny said proudly.
“For fun,” Hermione added.
Narcissa sniffed with fond disapproval and stepped forward to inspect the gingerbread houses.
She circled Luna’s creation first.
“…Creative,” she said diplomatically.
Luna beamed. “Thank you.”
Next, Theo and Draco’s.
Narcissa’s brows rose. “This is shockingly good.”
Draco smirked. “Naturally.”
Hermione elbowed him lightly, a soft touch, warm and familiar, and Draco’s breath hitched.
Theo pretended not to notice… badly.
Finally, Narcissa inspected Hermione and Ginny’s disastrous leaning-tower gingerbread cottage.
“It has… personality,” Narcissa said.
Ginny whispered to Hermione, “That means we lost.”
Narcissa straightened.
“The winners are—”
Everyone held their breath.
“—Theo and Draco.”
Theo fist-pumped. Draco smirked smugly.
Hermione rolled her eyes but laughed. The sound made Draco’s expression soften immediately.
Luna applauded politely.
“My habitat was never meant to win. Art rarely is fully appreciated.”
As Narcissa took a slice of gingerbread and sat with them, the kitchen shifted into a easier, low-lit comfort.
Hermione leaned against Theo’s shoulder without thinking.
Theo froze, eye-balling his mother-in-law, then melted slightly, turning toward her.
Draco sat on her other side, his knee brushing hers, warmth passing between them like a pulse of magic.
The bond thrummed, content and bright, a three-note chord finally beginning to tune itself again.
Ginny winked at Hermione knowingly.
Luna sipped mulled tea. “You three glow more clearly now.”
Hermione swallowed. “Do we?”
“Oh yes,” Luna said dreamily. “If you were constellations, you’d be clicking back into your proper alignment.”
Hermione felt Draco’s hand brush her wrist under the table.
Theo’s fingers skimmed her knee.
She didn’t pull away.
She didn’t want to ever again.
Notes:
I just love my Luna so much.
I crack up so much writing her.
Chapter 252: Biologic Truths
Chapter Text
The manor had finally gone still.
Ginny and Luna had flooed home. Narcissa had kissed Hermione on the cheek before leaving — delicately, cautiously, like testing if this could be normal for them.
And the gingerbread war destruction had been cleaned up by house-elves grateful the chaos was over.
Theo, Draco, and Hermione climbed the stairs to their suite together in a quiet, warm silence.
The bind was pulsing, not tense, but still asking.
Their shared rooms, which had felt strange and too-big and too-full-of-memory only days earlier, now felt soft again. Welcoming. Like a comforting blanket being draped around her shoulders.
Hermione sank into the couch in the private parlor, legs tucked under her, the soft glow of the fireplace painting her hair in flame light.
Draco sat beside her first.
Theo hesitated only a second before taking her other side.
The bond pulsed.
Hermione exhaled.
Theo watched her closely. “Are you tired?”
“Not yet,” she said softly. “Just… settling. Or trying to.”
Draco’s expression gentled. “Feels like all three of us are.”
There was a long, quiet moment where none of them spoke — the kind that felt like a held breath finally releasing.
Then Hermione said, “I’ve been thinking.”
Both men tensed.
She swallowed. “About… what happened.”
Draco’s jaw clenched; Theo’s hand twitched against his knee, like he wanted to reach for her but didn’t want to overwhelm her.
But Hermione continued, voice steady.
“I don’t… feel traumatized at all,” she admitted quietly. “Not in the way you both were afraid I would. I was imprisoned and underfed and scared, but… nothing else happened. No torture. No threats to my body. No direct contact with whoever ran the network.”
Draco’s breath came out shaky.
Theo was less comforted. “Hermione… trauma isn’t only physical.”
“I know.” She leaned back, looking between them. “But I’m not having nightmares. I’m not panicking when someone walks behind me. I’m not afraid to be alone. I’m not waking up in terror thinking I’m back in that room.”
Theo looked like he wanted to argue but held back.
Hermione softened. “I think… I want to move forward. Not pretend it didn’t happen — I know it did — but… I don’t want it to define the rest of my life. I don’t want fear to run everything. I just want to pick-up were we left off.”
Draco closed his eyes, something heavy easing in his shoulders.
Theo exhaled slowly.
“But Hermione… we should at least check. Just to be sure. PTSD doesn’t always hit right away.”
She nodded. “I know. And I’m willing. But—”
She jabbed a finger at both of them.
“If I have to see a mind healer, then you two are coming with me.”
Theo blinked. “Us?”
“Yes. Draco nearly burned down half the Ministry trying to find me—”
Draco coughed into his fist. “Allegedly.”
“And you,” she said, turning to Theo, “haven’t slept more than five hours in a row since I got rescued.”
Theo’s ears went crimson.
“If anyone needs a mind healer,” she finished matter-of-factly, “it’s all three of us.”
Draco chuckled under his breath. “She’s not wrong.”
Theo groaned. “Merlin help me.”
Draco leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice was soft and diplomatic.
“We won’t push for anything until after the New Year. But… maybe early January we try one session. Together. See how it goes.”
Hermione nodded. “Okay. That feels fair.”
Theo sighed like he was resigning himself to a fate worse than death.
“Fine. But only if Luna doesn’t find out we’re seeing a mind healer. She’ll hex us all with ‘insightful clarity’ until we’re sobbing. Today almost killed me already.”
Hermione snickered, genuinely, warmly, and both Draco and Theo looked a little undone by the sound.
She leaned into Draco’s shoulder instinctively. He froze for only half a heartbeat before relaxing, resting his cheek against the crown of her head.
Theo shifted closer until his knee brushed hers.
The bond thrummed — not needy this time, but balanced. Content in the moment.
After a long minute, Hermione said softly:
“Can we talk about Christmas?”
Both men perked a little, relieved to shift the topic to something lighter.
“I’d like to do what we did last year,” Hermione said. “Christmas Eve at the Burrow with the Weasleys… then Christmas Day here with your mum. It was really lovely last year.”
Draco looked truly touched.
“You want to spend the holiday with my mother again?”
Hermione smiled gently. “Of course. She made last Christmas feel so… right. Warm. Like family.”
Draco swallowed hard, glossy eyed, throat bobbing.
“She’ll be thrilled.”
Theo nudged Hermione’s knee. “And the Burrow again?”
She grinned. “I want to see Ron try to keep a straight face while watching you two charm the garden gnomes into wearing tiny Santa hats again.”
Draco smirked. “He nearly combusted.”
“He deserved it,” Hermione said primly.
Theo chuckled. “So we’re settled then? Burrow first, then your mum here.”
Draco reached for Hermione’s hand, testing, gentle.
She slid her fingers between his.
Then she reached her other hand out for Theo, who took it almost reverently.
They sat that way for a long time, hands intertwined, fire crackling, December wind whispering against the window, three hearts steadily syncing again.
The bond pulsed warm and golden.
Healing.
Realigning.
Whole.
And Hermione whispered, almost to herself:
“I’m really happy to be home.”
Both Draco and Theo tightened their hold on her at the same time.
Neither trusted themselves to speak.
The main lights had been extinguished for hours, leaving only the faint amber glow of the fire in the hearth and the steady winter wind brushing against the manor walls.
Hermione lay between them in the massive four-poster bed, her head pillowed on Theo’s chest, Draco curled against her back, his arm heavy and protective across her waist.
Their breaths were warm on either side of her, their magic humming lightly now that they’d been intimate yet again — not raw, not overwhelming — but aligned.
Safe.
Balanced.
Home.
It wasn’t the first night she’d slept with them since her memories returned.
But it was the first night where she felt so at peace.
. Their fingers were still lightly tangled from earlier, trailing idle patterns on her skin.
Then Hermione whispered into the soft dark, “…Can I ask you both something?”
Theo’s chest vibrated under her ear. “You can ask us anything.”
Draco’s hand slid up her arm and squeezed. “Always.”
Hermione swallowed, suddenly nervous.
She could feel the bond flutter, not in distress, but like it was leaning closer, listening.
“It’s about February,” she said quietly.
Both men went stone still.
Theo cursed under his breath, soft but unmistakable. Draco’s grip tightened just enough to show tension, not fear.
“Yes,” Draco said, voice low. “We figured it was coming. We should have this talk I think.”
Hermione exhaled shakily. “I know both of you said — before everything happened — that you didn’t want to rush me. And I know the Ministry’s deadline is stupid and invasive and wrong but…”
Theo shifted so he could see her face, brushing curls back from her cheek.
“Hermione, sweetheart, you don’t have to justify anything. If you’re not ready, then you’re not ready. We can try for an extension… in light of the kidnapping I think it may not be so unyielding a date.”
Draco nodded firmly behind her. “We’ll deal with the Ministry. We’re not about to force a child into this mess just because a law says so.”
She turned slightly, enough to see both their shadows in the dim firelight.
“That’s just it,” she whispered the secret. “It doesn’t feel forced.”
Draco blinked dumbfounded.
Theo looked struck.
Hermione took a deep breath.
“When I saw Neville holding Celine… when Luna handed her to me…” she confessed, voice trembling with softness, “I realized I wanted that badly. And seeing Pansy pregnant — actually seeing her bump — and Cho too… it made me think about our children growing up with theirs. Growing up together the way we all grew together. Except… nicer to one another.”
Theo swallowed, emotion thick in his eyes. “Hermione…”
“I don’t want to wait ten more years even if they gave us an extension.” she said softly. “If the Ministry says early February… then…”
Her voice faltered but her meaning didn’t.
“I think I’d be okay trying then. I don’t want a big age gap with Luna’s, Ron’s and Pansy’s. And honestly.. if Harry with his god daughter is anything to go by… I don’t think they’re going to be too far behind either.”
Silence spread for a long moment, reverent, heavy, overflowing.
Theo reached up and cupped her jaw gently. “You’re sure this is your desire? Not pressure? Not fear? Not the deadline looming?”
Hermione nodded. “This isn’t about the Ministry. This is about… everything I feel when I’m with you. Everything I saw these past weeks. I want our children to grow up with Luna and Neville’s daughter. With Ron and Cho’s someday. With Harry and Ginny’s. When I was sitting in that cold stone prison… one of the things I kept thinking was if I died in there, I’d never get to be a mum, and that made me really sad. Almost as sad as never seeing either of you again.”
Draco’s voice was rough. “You want… our children not because of the law.”
She smiled softly. “I do.”
Draco broke.
He buried his face against her shoulder, inhaling deeply, his breath trembling like he was holding back tears he’d never admit to shedding.
“Hermione,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’ve wanted to be a father since before Astoria even. I never thought— I never believed— I thought you would come up with a loop-hole, never want…”
She twisted to kiss him, slow and gentle, grounding him back to her.
His hand slid into her hair, holding her like she was something precious.
Theo pressed his forehead to Hermione’s temple.
“I always thought fatherhood was something I’d never be allowed,” he said quietly. “Not with my bloodline. Not with my name. But with you…”
He exhaled, shaky and warm.
“With you it doesn’t feel frightening. It feels right.”
Hermione felt tears threaten.
“So,” Draco said thickly, brushing his thumb over her hip in slow circles. “We take our time. We celebrate the holidays. We enjoy being whole again. And when February comes…”
He kissed the back of her neck.
Theo completed the thought, voice barely above a whisper.
“…we try when you feel ready. Not a moment before.”
Hermione threaded her fingers through theirs under the blankets.
“I love you,” she murmured.
Theo’s voice was a rough whisper against her ear. “We love you more than anything.”
Draco’s lips brushed her shoulder. “Always.”
And that night, as Hermione drifted into dreams nestled between them, she felt the future she once couldn’t remember settling into place — bright, steady, and hers.
Notes:
The child will not be forced by the law, it will be very wanted.
Chapter 253: Family Traditions
Chapter Text
It snowed lightly all morning, the kind of soft white powder that clung to windowsills and dusted the orchard in quiet magic. By midday, Nott Manor had begun its annual transformation into the warm, candlelit haven Hermione remembered from last year with green garlands, gold ribbons, wreaths hung on doors enchanted to smell of winter forests.
Theo had gone to the hospital for a short shift, and Draco was out quick managing last-minute business before the holiday break.
Hermione, recovering from the last wisps of magical exhaustion, had been gently ordered by both men to take it easy, which — predictably — she was not doing.
She was halfway up a stepladder, charming enchanted candles to float along a ceiling beam, when a soft voice came from the doorway:
“My dear, you are absolutely not meant to be climbing anything yet.”
Hermione almost dropped her wand. “Mrs. Malfoy!—oh—Narcissa—I didn’t hear you floo in.”
Narcissa swept into the room, a vision of winter elegance in a tailored navy cloak trimmed with white fur, the Malfoy crest embroidered in silver thread. She waved her wand subtly and the stepladder descended with Hermione still on it, as though she were a disobedient child caught pulling biscuits off a pantry shelf.
“I was told by both of my boys,” Narcissa said pointedly, “that you are to rest. Not risk falling to your death attempting to hang fire magic from rafters.”
Hermione stepped off, cheeks burning. “I can’t just sit around anymore. I feel much stronger. And I wanted the manor to look festive before Christmas.”
Narcissa’s expression softened — almost imperceptibly — before she set down a long box she’d carried in.
“Then allow me to help,” she said quietly. “There are… old Black and Malfoy traditions that I think you should know, if you are the lady of this household.”
Hermione grinned at her. “I… I’d really love that.”
Narcissa exhaled, touched in a way she hid behind aristocratic poise. She gestured for Hermione to follow her toward the long gallery.
The long gallery overlooked the frozen gardens, where little snow-dusted statues of ancient witches and wizards dotted the lawn. Narcissa opened the long box and removed an ornate wreath, thick with dark green spruce, silver pinecones, and tiny preserved blue-black berries.
“This,” Narcissa said, holding it with reverence, “is the Black Solstice Wreath. Every branch comes from the same ancient tree that grew on Black family grounds for five centuries. It was cut down in the late 1800s, but small branches were preserved and charmed to last.”
Hermione studied it. “It’s beautiful.”
“It represents endurance during dark winters,” Narcissa explained softly. “And the berries represent the promise of magic renewing. My mother hung this every solstice.” She paused, a shadow of sadness passing over her face. “And I hung it every year for Draco as a child.”
Hermione’s chest tightened. “Would you… like to hang it together?”
Narcissa’s lips curved into a genuine, gentle smile. “I would like that very much.”
Side by side, they lifted it onto the hooks above the mantle in the gallery. Narcissa whispered a charm Hermione didn’t recognize, old and lyrical — older than Hogwarts, Hermione thought.
The berries glowed faintly with blue-white light. They both beamed at each other.
Narcissa led her next to the main foyer staircase, where house-elves had placed boxes of ornaments.
“This,” Narcissa said, reaching in and lifting a set of delicate glass stars, “is the Malfoy Star Cascade. Lucius’ mother’s line began it; every new married generation adds one new star.”
Hermione touched one glowing iridescent, shimmering with gold and green. “They’re enchanted?”
“To reflect the magic of the people who live in the house that year.” Narcissa handed her one wrapped in velvet. “This one is yours for the triad.”
Hermione unwrapped it and gasped, it glowed a soft warm gold, with flecks of burnt rose, bronze, and light pink inside that pulsed faintly in time with her magic.
“Narcissa… it’s stunning.”
“It formed that way when it was crafted the first Christmas you lived here. It has been waiting for you all to be married.”
Hermione swallowed hard against the sudden sting of tears.
She let Narcissa guide her to hang it on the garland draped along the banister. When Hermione stepped back, the star shimmered brighter, reacting to her presence.
“See?” Narcissa whispered. “It remembers you.”
After hours of decorating — Narcissa placing charmed icicles in the windows, Hermione charming snowflakes to dance above the sitting room — they took tea in the small sunlit parlor overlooking the snowy orchard.
Narcissa poured tea with elegant, practiced motion.
“You are doing beautifully,” she said in that quiet, refined tone Hermione now knew meant sincerity. “Even with all the chaos. Draco told me how overwhelmed you were those first days home.”
Hermione blushed. “I… I didn’t mean to be standoffish with you. I didn’t remember us being close.”
Narcissa reached out, brushing Hermione’s hand with cool fingers.
“I understood. Truly. But I am relieved to have you back — all of you. My son and Theo were… adrift without you. I feared for them.” Her voice softened, maternal and raw. “And for you.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “I’m just glad to be home.”
“You are family now,” Narcissa said firmly. “Not by marriage law. Not by politics. By choice. By heart.”
She paused. “And someday, by blood. Your children will have my blood, and Theo’s mother’s blood, and yours. New branches on two old houses.”
Hermione felt warmth flood her chest. “I hope so. I want that rather badly.”
Narcissa studied her carefully. “You remind me of the witch I always wished I could’ve been — brave, brilliant, unafraid of tradition when it needs changing. You will raise extraordinary children when you’.”
Hermione blinked tears away. “Narcissa… thank you.”
The older witch smiled, regal and soft all at once.
Before she left, Narcissa stepped close and adjusted a ribbon on Hermione’s banister garland.
“You know,” she murmured, “Draco told me the first pure-blood tradition he wanted to share with you was kissing under the enchanted snowflake boughs.”
Hermione flushed crimson. “Did he?”
“Oh yes.” Narcissa’s smirk was very Black. “He agonized over it for days. Theo told him to just kiss you like a normal wizard and stop being ridiculous.”
Hermione laughed into her hands.
“He also told me,” Narcissa added lightly, “that you make the manor feel alive in a way it hasn’t in years. I readily agree.”
Hermione’s breath hitched. “I… feel like I belong here.”
Narcissa squeezed her arm. “Good. Because you do.”
They walked together to the floo where Narcissa wrapped her in a surprisingly warm embrace before stepping in.
When the flames died down, Hermione stood in the decorated hall, surrounded by glowing stars, evergreen garlands, and the soft magic of two ancient families welcoming her home.
She placed a hand over her heart — the bond humming warm and steady — and whispered, “Thank you.”
Notes:
Christmas is fast approaching... anyone got gift ideas for the triad?
Chapter 254: Trust Us
Chapter Text
The first real heavy snow of December arrived overnight, blanketing Nott Manor and its sprawling grounds in a thick, glittering untouched white. By morning, the sky was a soft, bright blue, the kind of winter day that seemed made to exist only in memories.
Theo had left early for the hospital.
Hermione had woken slowly, feeling the delicious ache of well-used magic and the gentle hum of the bond, steady now, even without both men near.
She wandered from the bedroom to the balcony in thick socks and a borrowed Slytherin sweater, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
She gasped in awe.
The orchard, the fields, the small hill that sloped toward the frozen pond — all of it sat quiet and untouched under a layer of perfect, puffy snow. It glittered like powdered starlight. The kind of snowfall that begged to be played in.
A voice spoke behind her:
“You’re thinking about going out there, aren’t you?”
She turned to find Draco leaning against the balcony doorway lazily.
His blond hair was slightly mussed from sleep. He wore a charcoal cashmere sweater and loose trousers, mug in hand.
She tried not to stare at how stupidly gorgeous he looked in the morning light.
“I might be,” she said with a shy little shrug. “It’s beautiful.”
His mouth curved. “We could… sled, if you want.”
She blinked. “Sled?”
He lifted a brow. “You do know what sledding is, Granger.”
“I didn’t know you did it.”
His eyes twinkled. “I’m full of surprises.”
Hermione laughed softly, breath fogging in the cold. “Well… yes. I’d like that.”
Draco looked almost boyish with how pleased he seemed.
“Give me ten minutes,” he said, already turning. “I’ll get the old Malfoy toboggan.”
Draco returned bundled in a dark green wool coat, gloves, and a ridiculous Slytherin winter hat Hermione quickly swore she’d never let him forget existed.
“Not. A. Word.” he warned.
Hermione grinned. “I would never—”
“Yes, you would.”
He levitated a long wooden toboggan behind him — sleek, enchanted to glide with only the gentlest pull, the Malfoy crest burned elegantly into the curved front.
“This was enchanted by my grandmother,” he said as they stepped outside. “She believed winter sports were character-building.”
Hermione bit her lip to hide a smile. “Did it work?”
“Absolutely not.”
Snow crunched under their boots with each step as they approached the small hill overlooking the frozen pond. Draco paused halfway up, conjured a warming charm around her, and brushed snow from her shoulder.
Hermione stilled at the gentleness of it.
“You ready?” he asked softly.
She nodded.
They settled onto the toboggan, Hermione in front, Draco behind her, his legs bracketing hers. His arms reached around her to grip the sides, and for a moment, the closeness made her breath stutter.
“Lean when I lean,” Draco murmured, his breath warm against her ear.
She shivered and he stilled.
“You cold?”
“No,” she whispered. “Not at all.”
A faint pink touched his cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold.
“Alright then,” he said quietly. “Hold on.”
He nudged them forward, and the toboggan shot down the hill. Hermione shrieked with wild laughter as the wind whipped around them, the snow sparkling, the world blurting past in white and silver. Draco’s laughter — rare, warm, unguarded — untamed right behind her ear.
At the bottom, they skidded to a stop, Hermione breathless and glowing.
“That—” she panted, “was amazing.”
Draco’s smile softened into something warmer, deeper.
“I always loved it,” he admitted.
Her expression gentled. “I think… I’m starting to learn you weren’t all irogant asshole as a child after all.”
After several more runs — each one faster, louder, filled with Hermione’s laughter echoing off the pond — Draco dragged the toboggan back uphill while she brushed snow from her mittens.
On the fifth trip, she scooped up a handful of snow and packed it into a tight ball.
“Draco,” she called sweetly.
He turned.
She threw.
It hit him square in the chest.
He just stared at her.
Hermione froze. “Oh no.”
A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. “You’re done for.”
She squeaked and sprinted across the snow.
Draco was faster.
Snowballs flew, expertly aimed on Draco’s part, less so on Hermione’s, until she managed to duck behind a statue and catch her breath, cheeks flushed, curls damp with snowflakes.
Draco rounded the statue, breathing hard, hair dusted white.
“Truce?” she panted.
“Never.”
He tackled her gently into a drift.
They landed in a puff of snow, Hermione laughing uncontrollably as Draco hovered above her, bracing himself so he didn’t crush her. For a long moment they froze there, his face inches from hers, their breath mingling in the cold.
Hermione’s laughter softened.
His eyes flicked down to her lips.
She went for it, bringing her lips to his. He took the bait, settling his to swallow her groans as their tongues fought gracefully. His pants grew tighter, and she ground herself against his groin, he lost himself for a moment, grinding back on her.
And then he cleared his throat abruptly and pushed himself up, offering her a gloved hand.
“Cocoa?” he asked, voice thick.
She nodded.
Back inside the manor, they peeled off snowy layers and Draco led her to the sitting room where a fire crackled warmly. House-elves brought two large mugs of cocoa topped with whipped cream and cinnamon.
Hermione wrapped her hands around her mug, feeling warmth seep through her fingers.
Draco sat close — not touching, but near enough she felt the pull.
“You look happy,” he murmured.
“I feel… happy,” she admitted. “In a way that feels familiar. Like muscle memory of the heart.”
Draco swallowed hard. “Hermione…”
She looked at him.
“Today was…” he stopped, then tried again. “I’ve missed hearing you laugh like that so much.”
Hermione’s chest tightened. “Thank you for today. Truly.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” he said softly. “I’d give you the whole world covered in snow if it made you smile like that again every day.”
Hermione’s breath hitched.
The fire crackled.
The bond hummed warmly between them.
Slowly, carefully, she leaned her head onto his shoulder.
His hand came up, hesitant, resting over hers on the mug.
Hermione closed her eyes, letting the comfort of him, the softness of the moment, sink deep.
“Draco…” she whispered, her voice breaking just a little. “I think if I had never remembered, I’d still have fallen in love with you again.”
Draco made a strangled sound, then whispered:
“Good. Because I never stopped falling.”
And they stayed like that until the cocoa cooled.
The front doors of Nott Manor opened with that particular soft click Hermione had learned meant Theo was home.
Draco looked up immediately from the sofa where he and Hermione were curled, not touching intimately, just sitting close enough for warmth and comfort.
Theo stepped inside the sitting room still wearing his healer cloak, cheeks slightly pink from the cold. When he saw them, his entire face eased, relief first, then something warm and aching.
“You two look comfortable,” he murmured.
Hermione smiled, moving slightly so there was space between her and Draco for Theo to sit.
Theo eased down beside her, kissing her cheek lightly a careful, tender gesture, still annoyingly mindful of her recovery.
“How was your shift?” she asked.
He exhaled, rubbing his face. “Long. But no emergencies, so I’ll take the win.”
Then he looked between them and added gently, “Everything alright here?”
Draco and Hermione exchanged a look.
Theo immediately straightened. “What is it?”
Hermione reached out, placing a hand on his knee. “It’s nothing bad,” she said softly. “Just… something we’ve been talking about early today.”
Theo’s eyes flickered with worry. “Okay. I’m listening.”
Draco cleared his throat.
“Mate, before she… before everything happened, Hermione and I were exploring some rougher things together.”
Theo’s shoulders tensed, not in anger, but in discomfort and maybe a little apprehension.
Hermione spoke quickly, gently.
“Theo, we’re not bringing this up again because just Draco wants it. I’m bringing it up because… I want to understand myself. My desires. My comfort. What I like. What I don’t.”
Theo’s gaze softened at her honesty.
Hermione squeezed his hand. “I know you weren’t a fan of what we did that day, but I was comfortable. And I wasn’t afraid. I’ve actually thought a lot about it… and I want to explore it because that day felt good.”
Theo nodded slowly, still quiet.
Draco continued carefully, “She said she might want to explore a bit before pregnancy. Nothing extreme, nothing unsafe. Just… to understand herself again. Obviously, she doesn’t want to go down that path pregnant, so time if kind of of the essence.”
Theo looked between them, confusion flickering.
“And where do I fit into this?”
Draco inhaled. “You fit into everything. This bond is the three of us, always. But—”
He swallowed hard.
“Rougher things affect the bond. They push it. They can trigger protectiveness in you. It’s not your fault, it’s how the bond works. With your personal history we both understand why this isn’t something you want to partake in and that’s perfectly fine.”
Theo winced. That was the part that always made him feel guilty.
Draco added quickly, “And Hermione doesn’t want to do anything that hurts you emotionally. So… I suggested that maybe she and I take a short trip. Somewhere neutral. Where you wouldn’t feel the pull in the same way, where we can easily dull the bond for you.”
Hermione nodded, her voice soft but steady.
“Draco mentioned back to Vienna. Just for a couple days after the new year. Only if you’re comfortable with it.”
Theo froze.
Not angry.
Not jealous.
Just very unsure.
Theo’s voice was low when he finally spoke.
“Hermione… be honest with me.”
He held her gaze, eyes searching.
“Is this something you want because you remember wanting it… or because Draco wants it and you feel like you should?”
Hermione’s heart cracked a little at the question, because it was so very Theo.
So protective.
So selfless.
So desperate not to be the reason she forced herself into anything.
She leaned forward, cupping his cheek gently.
“Theo. I swear on everything between us, I’m not doing this for Draco. I’m doing this for me.”
His eyes flickered, vulnerable. “For you?”
She nodded.
“I want to explore who I am. My desires. My boundaries. Before pregnancy changes anything, I want to understand what I like — fully and honestly.”
She swallowed, cheeks warm.
“But I won’t know unless I explore it. Safely. With someone I trust.”
Draco lowered his eyes, suddenly emotional.
“And I would only ever go as slow as she wants. Stop the second she wants. Talk through everything. Nothing would happen that she didn’t actually want.”
Theo exhaled shakily and looked back at Hermione.
“But you just went through a traumatic experience you’re not even healed yet.”
“My core is already back at 98%, in a few more weeks it’ll be perfectly normal again.”
“Are you afraid at all?” he asked.
“No,” she whispered. “I’m curious. Really and genuinely. And I’d regret it if I didn’t try to understand myself more before starting a family.”
She squeezed his hands.
“You’re my heart, Theo. You always have been. You were my first emotional connection… my first love. Exploring another part of myself doesn’t take away from that.”
Theo’s eyes went glossy.
Theo drew a long, steadying breath.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “If this is really what you want… then I’ll support it.”
Draco’s expression shifted, relief, gratitude, something almost like awe.
Hermione leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Theo’s forehead, a kiss filled with trust and love and deep emotional intimacy.
Theo closed his eyes at the touch.
“But,” he added, voice gentler, “I want us to talk about boundaries. All three of us. Before you go, now, and maybe in more detail before leaving.”
“Of course,” Draco said immediately.
“And,” Theo continued, “I want to make sure I’m not shutting myself out of this part of your life. I don’t want you to feel like you can only explore with Draco because the bond makes me react.”
Hermione felt her heart twist. “Theo… that’s not true. It never was.”
Theo’s voice cracked. “I know. I just… sometimes I feel like the weak link.”
Draco moved closer, shaking his head. “You’re not. You’re the anchor, Theo. You always have been.”
Hermione took both their hands.
“We’re going to navigate all of this together,” she whispered. “Every part of it.”
Theo finally nodded, still a little hesitant, still tender, but willing.
And that was everything.
After dinner, the three of them sat cross-legged on the large rug before the fire in their shared suite, not touching yet, but in the soft triangle they naturally formed when they needed honesty.
Hermione tugged her blanket more tightly around her shoulders. The fire painted her cheeks pink, but there was a nervousness there too, anticipation mixed with embarrassment.
Draco leaned forward just slightly, elbows on his knees. He looked calm, but Hermione could read the underlying tension in him: worry for her comfort, excitement he was trying to hide, and protectiveness threaded throughout.
Theo sat very straight, healer-calm, but his hands kept clasping and unclasping on his knees.
Hermione breathed deeply.
“Thank you both for… being open to talking. I know this is delicate.”
Theo shook his head softly. “It’s necessary. And it matters to you. So it matters to us.”
Draco’s voice was steady. “We do this right. All of it. Together.”
Hermione nodded and pulled the blanket tighter.
She drew a breath.
“I want to explore rough intimacy because… pieces of me seemed to like it. Really like it. The vulnerability, the power play, the tension, the lack of control, the line between pain and pleasure.”
Her eyes flicked to Draco.
“But I also don’t want anything too overwhelming or too fast. I know I’m not going to be into any of the super heavy dark stuff.”
Draco gave her a warm, grounding look.
“It’s not about pushing limits. It’s about finding the edges of pleasure safely.”
Theo swallowed thickly, “And it’s about communication, Hermione. Especially for you, after everything. You’re allowed to red-light anything at any moment. No judgement form Draco.”
“I know,” she whispered. “And I want that structure in place. For my peace of mind. But also…”
She blushed.
“I want to understand what I like and what I don’t.”
Both men softened.
Draco reached out, palm up, waiting for her to choose contact.
She slid her hand into his.
Theo exhaled.
Draco stared into the fire for a moment before speaking.
“I’ve thought a lot about this. A lot. Before your memories came back, and now after. If we explore that side, I want to know exactly what you’re looking for. We can go through some lists, see how you feel about trying different things. Only do what interests you. And it will be safe.”
Hermione nodded.
“And,” Draco continued softly, “I won’t touch you in any way that causes pain without you specifically giving permission first.”
Theo’s jaw tightened. Hermione laid a gentle hand over his knee to show she wasn’t frightened.
Draco added,“And when pain is used, it’s controlled. Measured. Never to hurt — only to heighten sensation. The line between pleasure and pain is thin, but it’s real. And the only way to explore that is with structure.”
“And safewords,” Theo added immediately.
Draco nodded. “Naturally.”
Hermione felt her stomach somersault, not with fear, but with an aching anticipation she tried not to show too obviously.
Theo cleared his throat, sounding almost too clinical.
“Safewords need to be simple. Instinctual. Something you can say without thinking.”
Draco smirked faintly. “Healer mode suits him.”
Theo rolled his eyes. “This is very serious.”
Hermione smiled softly.
“I agree. Simple is best.”
Theo scooted a little closer to her. “Traditionally it’s green, yellow, red. But we don’t have to use those.”
Hermione nodded slowly.
“Green for ‘keep going,’ yellow for ‘pause,’ red for ‘stop immediately.’ That works for me.”
Draco added:
“And your body language will matter too. If you freeze, even without saying a word, I stop. Period.”
Hermione’s chest warmed at the certainty in his tone.
“And you’ll have a physical tap-out as well,” Theo added. “Three taps anywhere on either of you.”
Draco nodded. “Good.”
Hermione swallowed.
“Okay. That… actually feels very safe.”
Theo finally reached out, resting his hand over hers.
“That’s the goal.”
Draco leaned back against the sofa, taking a slow breath.
“We should also talk about emotional limits. What you’re curious about, Hermione. What feels too much for now. Right before we leave we can walk through the specific list, but for now generals are fine.”
Theo’s gaze flicked between them, clearly nervous but also wanting to be supportive.
Hermione licked her lips, shaky.
“I’m curious about… tension, edging. Dominance. The line between pleasure and pain. Restraint, maybe. Being a bit out of control with each other, rougher than normal. But not anything too extreme. And not anything that makes me feel powerless or degraded. Absolutely no mudblood, deatheater shit.”
“Good,” Draco murmured.
“That’s a healthy line. And we’ll keep checking in. No surprises. No pushing.”
Theo let out a long breath, visibly calming.
“That makes me feel better.”
Hermione bit her lip.
“And no humiliation play. I know I don’t want that.”
Draco nodded immediately.
“That was never on the table.”
Theo squeezed her hand. “We stick to what’s intimate. Not damaging.”
“Exactly,” Draco agreed quietly.
Hermione let out a small exhale of relief.
Theo shifted slightly, clearly uncomfortable but willing.
“And I need to set a boundary too.”
He looked at Draco, then Hermione.
“I don’t want to be present for the rougher parts. Not yet. The bond might react… unpredictably.”
Draco nodded with surprising gentleness.
“That’s why Vienna was the suggestion, so you wouldn’t be hurt by the bond flare.”
Hermione took Theo’s hand once more, voice soft.
“But I still want you involved. Emotionally. And I want to talk to you about everything. Before and after. Nothing hidden.”
Theo’s eyes went warm.
“I want that too. And I want you to send updates, don’t make me wonder for days if it went badly.”
Draco added, “And I won’t do anything unless both of you feel steady about it. Consent from the whole triad.”
Hermione blinked rapidly, touched.
“That means everything to me.”
Draco reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind Hermione’s ear.
“You’re always safe with us,” he murmured. Soft. Quiet. Intense.
Theo took her other hand and held it firmly between both of his.
“We’ll move at your discretion,” Theo said, voice thick.
Hermione looked down at their hands entwined with hers and felt the bond pulse warm and steady a deep, quiet thrum of connection.
Her heart swelled.
“I love you both,” she whispered. “I trust you. I want to explore this — not to rush into anything, but because I’m ready to understand myself better.”
The fire cracked softly.
Draco’s thumb stroked her knuckles.
Theo rested his forehead briefly against her temple.
And for a long moment, the three of them simply breathed together, the bond humming warmer, steadier, clearer than it had since before her kidnapping.
Notes:
Anyone want anything specific when they go to Vienna?
Chapter 255: Snow Family
Chapter Text
Fresh snow had fallen in the night, thick, soft, and glittering under the pale morning sun. When Hermione woke, the world outside looked like something out of an old muggle Christmas card, the orchard draped in white and the grounds stretching in velvety layers of frost-tipped stillness.
She found Draco downstairs first. He was already dressed, boots on, with a wool coat and the familiar posh Malfoy scarf looped once around his throat. He held two steaming mugs of cocoa and smiled when he saw her.
“Morning,” he said, handing her one. “Theo’s finishing breakfast. We thought we’d drag you outside before he goes to the hospital.”
Hermione blinked at him over the rim of the mug.
“Outside? It’s freezing.”
“That’s the idea,” Draco answered with a smug tilt of his head.
“And your brilliant plan is…?”
He raised one eyebrow, smug.
“Snowmen.”
Hermione laughed despite herself. “Snowmen?”
At that moment Theo appeared at the bottom of the stairs, buttoning his heavy wool winter cloak and looking half-exasperated, half-hopeful.
“We decided,” he said, “that if we’re all going to be stuck in the house recuperating and watching you finish healing, we might as well enjoy the snow before I have to go deal with actual illnesses.”
Hermione couldn’t help the affectionate fondness flooding the bond at the sight of them, both men looking eager and ridiculous and perfect.
“I suppose,” she said, pretending reluctance, “I could be convinced.”
Draco didn’t give her the chance to reconsider. He tossed her the warm mittens he kept in the hall drawer for her, tugged her warmest coat off the rack, and helped her into it in the way he had since her concussion, gently, attentively, slightly overbearing.
Theo wrapped her scarf around her neck, fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary.
And then the three of them stepped out into the cold.
It was crisp and bright, the air sharp enough to sting in her lungs.
Hermione bent down to scoop a handful of snow, testing it. It was perfect for sculpting, slightly wet, firm enough to shape.
Draco didn’t notice, which was his mistake.
She shaped the snowball, aimed, and threw.
It hit him squarely in the shoulder.
Draco froze. Slowly turned.
“Hermione Jean.”
“Oh no,” Theo murmured, taking two very prudent steps away from the soon-to-erupt war.
Hermione, trying to stifle a grin, replied lightly, “You did say we should enjoy the snow.”
Draco bent down in perfect, slow, dramatic menace and collected a dangerous amount of snow in his gloved hands.
Theo groaned.
“Please don’t—”
But Draco was already launching it at Hermione.
Her shriek of playful outrage echoed across the grounds.
And that was how the snowman-building session began — with a snowball fight that left Hermione breathless and laughing, Theo dusted in white, and Draco with a smear of snow melting in his hair.
Once they called a truce — or Hermione surrendered, she wasn’t sure which happened first — they turned to their actual task.
Draco decided his needed to be perfectly symmetrical, and Theo declared that was impossible in nature, and Hermione laughed until her sides hurt.
They rolled the bases through the fresh snow in wide circles. Draco’s ended up enormous, nearly as tall as Hermione’s waist, because he insisted on “proper scale.” Theo’s was medium-sized and slightly lopsided. Hermione’s was small, tidy, and surprisingly round.
“We’ve made an entire family,” Theo said as they lined them up.
Hermione wrinkled her nose. “It was supposed to be one snowman.”
“This feels more accurate,” Draco replied. His tone was light, but the bond pulsed warm under it.
A family.
Hermione swallowed, trying not to blush.
They scavenged for sticks under the trees while Draco used his wand to find small river stones still unfrozen beneath the snow around the pond for eyes and buttons.
Hermione gently pressed the stones into her snowman’s face, crafting a little smile.
Theo stood beside her, adding surprisingly delicate eyelashes to his snowwoman.
Draco built a snow wizard.
Or tried.
He sculpted the robes with surprising precision, using the edge of his gloves to create folds and contours. He crafted sleeves, a high collar, and even a wand in one branch-hand.
Hermione stared at it.
“Draco… is that supposed to be a rendering of yourself?”
He sniffed. “Absolutely not.”
“It absolutely is,” Theo said dryly. “You even gave it your jawline.”
Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“It’s flattering,” she managed.
Draco tossed his head. “Yes, well. Good bone structure should be immortalized.”
Hermione and Theo laughed until Draco threw more snow at them.
When the laughter faded, the cold settled warm and pleasant around them. Their breath clouded hot in the air.
Theo checked the time and sighed.
“I need to leave in about ten minutes.”
Hermione’s smile dimmed slightly.
He looked between them before stepping closer.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “For this morning. This is the most normal life has felt in… months.”
Hermione touched his arm. The bond thrummed quietly, steady, warm.
Draco stepped closer too, shoulders brushing Theo’s.
“It felt good,” Draco murmured. “Needed. You’re not allowed to skip mornings with us anymore.”
Theo huffed a laugh.
“We’ll negotiate.”
Hermione reached for both their hands, impulsive, squeezing gently.
Draco leaned in first, brushing a slow, soft kiss to her forehead.
Theo followed with one to her temple.
And Hermione, leaned forward on her toes and pressed a brief kiss to Theo’s cheek.
Theo stilled, breath catching, not with desire, but with pleased emotions.
Draco’s heart flared warm in the bond at the gesture.
Hermione stepped back, cheeks glowing.
“Go,” she whispered. “Before your supervisor sends a howler.”
Theo smiled sheepishly, squeezed their hands, and disapparated.
Snowflakes began falling again, slow and heavy.
Hermione and Draco stood in the quiet moment after Theo vanished, surrounded by the snow family they’d made:
the tiny round one (hers),
the lopsided one (Theo’s),
and the extravagant snow-wizard (Draco’s).
Draco slid a hand lightly to her lower back, careful, gentle, not assuming.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “For today. For him. For us.”
Hermione leaned subtly into the touch.
“It felt… good,” she whispered. “Normal. That’s all I want.”
A long pause.
A soft smile.
“Ready to go inside, love?” Draco asked.
Hermione nodded, her heart full, warmth blooming in the bond between them.
Together, they walked back toward the manor, leaving the snow-family standing proudly behind them.
Notes:
Any ideas for how they should spend New Years?
Chapter 256: A Granger Center Christmas
Chapter Text
The world looked like powdered sugar had been sifted over London, as Hermione and Draco stepped onto the pavement outside The Granger Center. A soft flurry drifted down, dusting his dark coat and her curls.
Hermione hesitated at the front steps.
Draco noticed her hesitation immediately.
Of course he did.
He turned, gently tugging her mittened hand.
“If you want to go home, we will,” he murmured. “No expectations today. No pressure.”
Hermione took a breath, then another.
Her lungs felt tight, like the cold air and the memory of fear pressed together inside her chest.
But then she met Draco’s eyes.
Steady.
Soft.
Watching her like she was the only thing in the world he cared to understand.
“No,” she whispered. “I want to go in. I want to see the kids. I built this place… it shouldn’t be taken from me by some threatening bigots.”
A slow, proud smile touched Draco’s lips.
“That’s my girl,” he said, brushing his thumb where the fabric of her glove met her wrist.
Her heart warmed instantly and through the bond, she felt his warmth wrap around her like a blanket.
They pushed the door open together.
The noise hit first.
Laughter.
Running feet.
Paper rustling.
A piano charm playing a muggle Christmas song slightly out of tune.
Then the smell:
Hot cocoa
Fresh pine
Warm sugar cookies
And the faintest hint of cinnamon lingering in the air.
Draco blinked once.
Hermione grinned.
“Welcome,” she said dryly, “to a toddler Christmas party.”
A tiny girl dressed as a sparkly snowflake ran past and collided with Draco’s leg. She looked up at him with enormous eyes and whispered,
“Are you Santa’s elf helper? You look fancy.”
Draco stared, affronted.
Hermione had to bite her lip to stop laughing.
The girl continued, “Do you have presents in your pockets?”
Draco cleared his throat. “Regrettably, no.”
Hermione leaned down.
“He has horrible pockets,” she stage-whispered. “Absolutely useless for presents. But I have chocolate coins. Want some?”
The girl squealed in delight and took off toward the craft table with one.
Draco shot Hermione a betrayed look.
“My pockets are perfectly adequate.”
“For quills and nepotism. Not Christmas.”
He huffed, but his eyes softened as he watched the chaos around them.
Hermione sat with a group of children painting tiny wooden ornaments.
They handed her glitter and paintbrushes and immediately demanded help drawing stars and owls and a hippogriff that looked… extremely enthusiastic.
Meanwhile, Draco had been conscripted into helping a group of six-year-olds build gingerbread houses.
He was… struggling. It was nothing like their Nott Manor competition.
“Why,” he muttered under his breath to Hermione, “are these preposterous icing bags designed by sadists?”
A little boy tugged his sleeve.
“Mister Malfoy, you’re supposed to make the roof stick, not fall down.”
“It is sticking,” Draco said tightly. “It’s merely adhering… unpredictably.”
“Mister Malfoy,” another child said, “my icing won’t come out of the bag.”
Hermione smirked, not looking up from painting an owl ornament.
“Just bite the tip off,” Draco sighed.
The tiny boy looked horrified. “But it’s plastic.”
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose.
A little girl handed him her gingerbread chimney.
“It fell,” she said gravely. “It needs fixing.”
Draco repaired it with more concentration than he used on Ministry briefs.
And when Hermione finally looked over, she nearly melted.
Because Draco Malfoy was kneeling in dress slacks on the floor in front of a crooked gingerbread house with glitter on his cheek and a tiny girl was braiding the ends of his scarf.
He looked up, met Hermione’s gaze and she felt it through the bond:
Warmth.
Fondness.
And a soft, aching sort of love.
“Don’t say a word,” he warned through a mostly-controlled grimace.
“I wasn’t going to,” she said sweetly.
“But this is going in the Center newsletter for sure.”
As the party slowed into calmer activities, Hermione and Draco found themselves holding steaming cups of cocoa, leaning against the wall near the window. Snow drifted lazily outside.
Hermione watched a group of children chase enchanted paper snowflakes.
“You’re thinking very loudly,” Draco murmured, brushing her arm with his.
“I missed this,” she whispered. “Missed… helping. Teaching. Being here. Not being afraid.”
Draco tensed just slightly, not at her words, but at the memory of almost losing her.
“We’re never letting anyone take you again,” he said quietly. “This place, your work — you deserved to return to all of it sooner.”
Hermione pressed her hand to his chest.
“I know,” she whispered. “And I’m here now. I’m okay.”
He dipped his forehead to hers.
Through the bond, Hermione felt his magic coil around hers, protective, relieved, tender.
“This place suits you,” Draco said softly. “You shine here so bright.”
Hermione’s breath caught.
And underneath his words she felt it that gravitational pull she always felt with him.
She reached for his hand.
“Thank you for bringing me back.”
“Always,” Draco murmured.
Near the end of the party, one of the staff members, a retired Hogwarts alumna with a bright red Santa hat and enough Christmas spirit to power the entire Leaky Cauldron coaxed Hermione into reading a children’s story aloud.
Draco sat in the back of the crowd of toddlers and parents, arms folded, watching her with the warmest eyes she’d ever seen on him.
She felt it again the bond humming, happy and content. She felt Draco… adoring.
When she finished the story, one of the younger children toddled up, hands raised.
Hermione lifted him onto her hip automatically.
He curled into her, tiny fingers gripping her sweater.
Draco watched her, something soft and aching flickering across his expression.
“You okay?” she asked when the child’s parents collected him and thanked her.
Draco cleared his throat.
“Yes. Of course.”
“You’re thinking something.”
“No, I’m—” He stopped, exhaled. “Just… imagining some future version of this. With ours.”
Hermione’s breath caught.
Warmth flooded her chest.
She leaned into his shoulder.
“We’ll get there,” she whispered. “Sooner than later.”
Draco pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.
“We’ll always wait for you,” he murmured.
The bond pulsed bright and steady.
Notes:
it's just about Christmas!
Chapter 257: Morning Wake-Up
Chapter Text
The morning of Christmas eve, Draco had slipped form bed early to head out for some last-minute Christmas shopping, leaving Theo and Hermione to sleep longer. Hermione had woken first with a wicked, seductive urge to rouse Theo in the most tantalizing way, to drive him wild with pleasure.
Theo lay sprawled in sleep, his sexy frame relaxed, his freckled skin kissed by the dawn, his cock, the apadravya piercing shimmering like a forbidden jewel—resting heavily against his thigh, already stirring with a hungry twitch at her nearness.
Hermione’s brown eyes smoldered with lustful adoration, her voice a husky, teasing purr as she leaned close, her curls brushing his chest like silk. “Oh, my gorgeous Theo, time to wake up, my love, let’s play.”
Theo’s stormy eyes snapped open, blazing with sleepy heat, his voice a low, strained growl. “Love, you vixen, your starting my day by torturing my cock? Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”
Hermione straddled his thighs with a sinful sway, her nightgown slipping off one shoulder to reveal her bare skin, her pussy dripping with arousal but untouched, her focus locked on him.
She wrapped her fingers around his cock with sultry confidence restored from a night full of hot dreams, stroking with seductive care, her thumb circling the apadravya piercing—the horizontal bar slicing through the head, its polished silver balls gleaming like twin temptations.
“Theo, this piercing is sinful—so hard, so shiny.” she purred, her fingers tugging the top ball with deliberate slowness. Theo threw his head back into the pillow beneath him already groaning deep and low.
“Theo, can you get off just from this piercing alone?”, Hermione asked curiously.
Running hand over his face and shielding his eyes from the morning light he nodded, “Yes, it’s very sensitive.”
“I want to do that for you.”
Theo groaned, his voice commanding yet playful. “That’s it then—tug the top ball harder, twist it slow, make my cock ache for you.”
She obeyed with a wicked grin, tugging the top ball with firm pressure, twisting the bar gently to spark white-hot jolts through his shaft, rotating it so the lower ball pressed against the underside of his head tighter, pre-cum bubbling, coating her fingers in slick, shimmering streaks.
“Fuck, Theo—your piercing’s throbbing with your cockhead already,” she observed. He growled, his voice rough with need. “Good girl—now flick the lower ball with your nail, roll it between your fingers, tease my slit until I’m begging.”
She leaned closer, her breath hot and teasing against his tip, flicking the lower ball with her nail, sparking searing shivers, rolling it slowly to torment his slit, sucking the head into her mouth with a hungry slurp, tugging the bar with gentle teeth, swirling her tongue in tight, tormenting circles around the top ball, pressing the tip of her tongue against his slit to ignite blazing tingles down his spine, then releasing it with a wet pop.
“Mmm, your cock’s begging, Theo—this piercing sings when I suck it,” her voice dripping with want. Theo panted, his voice strained. “Fuck, love—bite the bar gently, twist it sideways, make me fight not to cum.”
She nipped the top ball with playful teeth, twisting the bar sideways to barely stretch the piercing, pre-cum flooding her palm in sticky, copious strands that glistened in the morning light.
“Theo—you’re leaking for me,” she whispered. He groaned, his voice desperate. “Yes, love—pinch both balls together, roll them real slow, fuck, I’m so close—please don’t stop.”
She stroked his shaft with both hands, pinching the top and lower balls together, rolling them agonizingly slow to torment his slit, tugging the bar upward to expose the sensitive underside, flicking the lower ball with her tongue, drawing out his pleasure.
Theo gasped, his voice breaking. “Love—fuck, hum on it, vibrate the bar—shit, I’m holding back, but gods, you’re killing me!”
She hummed against the piercing, vibrating the bar, tugging it in rhythmic pulses, twisting it to spark electric tingles down to his balls. He growled, his voice raw. “Now—slide a finger under both ends, lift it up very gently, wiggle it slightly up and down very gentle—fuck, do it!”
She slid her fingers under the bar, lifting it upward slightly, wiggling it slowly to spark intense jolts, pausing to rotate it in tight circles.
“Theo—your leaking so much, this is so fucking hot” she moaned. He panted, his voice desperate. “Yes, love—tap the top ball with your tongue, suck the lower one hard, twist the bar fast— please I’m so fucking close!”
She tapped the top ball with rapid tongue flicks, sucking the lower ball into her mouth with hungry slurps, twisting the bar faster to spark blazing tingles, his cock throbbing uncontrollably, pre-cum flooding in relentless dribbles.
“Gonna keep going until you explode,” she threatened.
Theo roared, his voice raw. “Love—fuck, pull the bar downward, suck the whole head, vibrate it—I can’t hold it!”
She pulled the bar downward to stretch the piercing, sucking the entire head into her mouth, humming to vibrate it ferociously, tugging it in rapid pulses, drawing out the final torment until his control shattered. Theo’s cock throbbed forcefully, cum erupting in scalding, thick ropes, coating her throat.
“Hermione—fuck—I’m cumming!” he bellowed, his body shaking with release, his voice raw with love.
Hermione giggled, kissing the piercing softly, licking the cum from her fingers with a sultry smile. “Theo, you’re so perfect.”
He kissed her gently, lips caressing hers with a soft smack, pausing to whisper. “Come, my darling—let’s shower together, let me cherish every inch of you, let me make that gorgeous cunt sing for me now.”
The bathroom air was rich with chamomile steam charms and heated marble. The spacious glass shower was a soothing cascade of comforting water, the murmur of the jets blending with the pat of droplets on polished quartz.
Hermione stood beneath the showerhead, water gliding over her curves, her pussy dewy—lips tender. Theo pressed close, his sculpted frame glistening, his cock resting gently against her thigh, half hard already again.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, you little minx. That was so incredibly sexy, can’t believe I get to wake up to that with you. I bet your pussy’s already begging for me,” he murmured, his hands cradling her waist close.
Theo kissed her tenderly, lips brushing with care, tongue caressing hers, pausing to whisper, “Your lips, so sweet… but your thoughts so naughty this morning.”
Hermione sighed, her hands stroking his chest. “Theo—please, need you.”
He reached for a magical toy from a nearby niche, a vibrating, enchanted crystal wand, its surface pulsing with soft light, charmed to respond to their bond, warming to their touch, vibrating in sync with their heartbeats, adapting to their desires.
“My darling, let me love you with this—let it fuck you the way I’m going to afterward,” he whispered, activating it with a flick of his wand, the toy humming softly, its tip glowing with a gentle warmth.
He traced it along her inner thighs, the vibration teasing her skin with loving intent, pausing to circle her clit, the toy pulsing in rhythm with her quickening breath, intensifying as her arousal grew.
“Theo—oh,so good!” she moaned, her hips swaying gently into the sensation. He pressed it softly against her clit, the vibration deepening as their bond amplified it, the toy throbbing in sync with her pulse, sparking warm shivers that radiated through her core, pausing to pulse in gentle bursts, drawing out her pleasure.
“Your sweet little clit, is begging for more,” he murmured, sliding the toy along her folds, the toy coated in her slick, pulsing brighter with every touch, warming to her heat.
Ne hand steading her on her feet, he eased the toy inside her, her pussy embraced it, the vibration caressing her G-spot, the toy warming to her inner walls, pulsing in gentle waves that mirrored their deep bretahing, adapting to her every quiver.
“Theo—gods—it’s inside me, so deeply!” she gasped, her voice desperate.
He twisted it slowly, the toy spinning in delicate circles, vibrating against her G-spot, pausing to pulse in soft bursts, drawing out her pleasure, then angling it to press firmly, deeper, the vibration exploding in pulsing relentless waves, vibrating with searing intensity that shattered her senses, warming her walls with scorching heat, fondling her channel in rapid circles that sent violent shudders through her entire body.
“Gods, so much, too much”, she leaned against the wall to keep upright, the vibration surging in unforgiving crescendos as she moaned his name, adapting to her every cry, pulsing with blistering force when she gasped.
“Let’s see if you like this deeper, some vibrations to your womb. Your cervix, my darling—let it love you there, let it fuck you until you shatter,” he vowed, the toy pulsing in intense waves as he pushed it in further, till it bottomed out fully, caressing her cervix in heavy nudges, deep gentle presses, her cervix convulsing with joy, the toy adapting to her every moan, vibrating with ferocious intensity when she whispered his name.
“Ugh, so much tension!” she sobbed, her hips bucking wildly, her pussy gushing down his hand.
He held the toy deep, drawing out every sensation, her pussy bracing around it.
“Fuck, I love how you open for me,” he murmured, kissing her deeply, his free hand stroking her breast with reverent want. The toy responded to his words, vibrating in perfect harmony with their love, scorching her depths, her pussy walls throbbing.
Her first orgasm blossomed with the toy still inside, her pussy fluttering in gentle waves around it, squirting in soft arcs that blended with the shower cascade.
“I’m… ugh… yes”, Her body trembled, slick flowing.
Theo set the toy aside, its glow fading softly, lifting her with tender care, her legs wrapping instinctively around his hips, her pussy hovering over his cock. “Ready, love? Let me enjoy you with all of me,” he whispered.
“Theo—fuck me, love me,” she breathed. Before entering, he murmured a magical lubrication charm, his wand flicking softly, a warm, silky enchantment coating his cock and her pussy, enhancing their slickness, making every touch smoother, deeper, more intense. He glided up her channel with gentle care, as her pussy embraced his girth, the magical lubrication amplifying every sensation, the piercing caressing her G-spot,.
“Your pussy’s heaven, so tight for me, so slick with our love,” he murmured, bottoming out, his cock nestled deep, her pussy cradling him. “Theo—so loved, so full”, she whispered.
He pressed her against the quartz wall, pinning her up, water cascading over them like a loving veil, her legs locked tightly around his hips, her ankles crossed behind his back, thrusting with tender strokes that built in rhythm, gradually intensifying as their love deepened, his cock gliding in her pussy, the magical lubrication enhancing every slide.
“Ugh, so much”, she groaned, her legs clamping him closer, pulling him deeper with every movement. He nipped at her neck with gentle teeth, biting softly at her pulse, soothing with kisses, reaching down to pinch her clit with tender fingers, rolling it gently to build her pleasure.
“Feel me, my darling—every inch is yours, fucking you with all my love,” he declared, his voice trembling with emotion.
“Theo—deeper, make me feel you—gods!” she begged, her legs tightening around him, her heels digging into his back. He tilted his hips gradually, his cock settling deep and wide, pulling moans form her body, her clit throbbing under his pinch, the magical lubrication tingling with every movement.
“Theo—oh—there!” she gasped. He grinded softly, the piercing tickling her cervix, drawing out her pleasure until her body trembled with anticipation, her legs locked tighter, her breath hitching with every loving thrust, his nips on her neck sparking fire.
Theo slowed his thrusts with tender care, easing her legs down from his hips with loving hands, guiding her body in a fluid turn within his embrace, water pouring over them as he spun her gently to face the wall, her hands finding the quartz for support, her legs spreading slightly as she bent forward, her arse arching back toward him.
“My heart—your pussy’s perfect, so wet for me, so ready for my love,” he murmured, thrusting back in with a slam, the slap resounding softly at first, intensifying as their love deepened.
He nipped at her neck from behind, biting softly at her nape, soothing with kisses, reaching around to pinch her clit with gentle fingers, rotating it gently to manufacture her bliss. “Theo—fuck me deep, make me feel you eveyrhwere!” she begged, her voice breaking with emotion. He angled his hips gradually, his cock pressing her cervix with gentle pressure, pausing to grind in devoted loops, luring out every sensation, repeating this rhythm for many agonizing minutes.
“You feel so good, tight, hot , deep, ugh”, he whispered, pausing to let her feel his cock pulse in gentle waves, her pussy closing around him tightly.
Her second orgasm unfolded, her pussy pulsing in tender waves, squirting in soft streams. “THEO—I LOVE YOU—!” she shouted.
Theo’s orgasm flowered, his cock pulsing, cum flowing in warm waves, tricking down he rleg as it flowed from her. “Hermione!” he whispered on her neck.
They sank to the shower floor, water caressing, Theo holding her, kissing her. “You’re my forever.” Hermione smiled, clinging to him. “Theo—my heart.”
They washed each other after with gentle care, murmuring love, the bond radiant with unbreakable devotion.
Notes:
And off to The Burrow we go next.
Chapter 258: Stuck Under the Mistletoe
Chapter Text
Snow fell in soft, lazy flakes as the triad walked up the path toward The Burrow, its crooked silhouette glowing warm in the early evening light.
Inside, sounds tumbled out the ajar door in overlapping waves; laughter, clattering dishes, a baby crying (and immediately soothed), excited chatter, and Molly’s unmistakable holiday scolding.
“No more biscuits until after supper, George Weasley, and I mean it this year!”
Theo snorted. Draco looked vaguely horrified.
Hermione squeezed Draco’s gloved hand.
“It’s just the Weasleys,” she said gently. “They love you.”
“They tolerate me,” Draco muttered.
“Same thing,” Theo teased, bumping him lightly with an elbow.
As they stepped inside, heat wrapped around them, the kind of cozy, enchanted warmth only the Burrow could produce. The smell of cinnamon, nutmeg, roasted meat, and warm bread hit them immediately.
“Hermione! Theo! Draco!” Molly rushed over, wiping her hands on her apron before hugging Hermione tightly, then giving Theo a warm squeeze, and finally, after a moment’s hesitation, cupping Draco’s face in her hands.
“You’re still far too thin,” she declared.
Draco blinked. “I— sorry?”
“Sit. Eat. I made enough for an army.”
“She always does,” Arthur whispered conspiratorially as he passed by with an armful of firewood.
Inside the living room, Ginny and Harry were wrestling a garland of enchanted holly away from baby Celine (who they were babysitting for a few hours while Luna and Neville did some type of creature hunt that could only be done under a Christmas Eve moon). Nearby, Ron and Cho were supervising a cauldron full of mulled cider that kept trying to boil over.
Bill and Fleur danced in the corner to Jingle Bells with little Victoire, who was delightedly jingling a gold charm bracelet. George and Angelina were hanging suspicious ornaments on the already decorated tree that blinked too much to be innocent. And Percy sat stiffly in a chair with Penelope, explaining Ministry protocol regarding holiday greetings.
The moment Draco stepped in, George spotted him and shouted across the room:
“MALFOY! TEN POINTS TO YOU FOR SHOWING UP WITHOUT HEXING ANYONE!”
Draco groaned, rubbing his temples.
“This was a terrible mistake.”
Hermione looped her arm through his.
“No, it wasn’t.”
Theo leaned in.
“Come on, Draco. You survived many Death Eaters. You can survive the Weasleys.”
Draco gave him a flat look. “Can I?”
Dinner was a glorious, chaotic, overflowing affair of roast goose, braised carrots with honey, Yorkshire pudding, chunky cranberry sauce, stuffed butternut squash, two types of warm bread, and bizarrely five types of potatoes (mashed, steamed, scalloped, oven roasted, and sweet potatoes garnished with a marshmallow drizzle).
Everyone squeezed around the long wooden table. Draco and Hermione sat beside each other, Theo across from them.
At one point Harry raised his glass:
“To Hermione’s return, her recovered memories, and the fact she’s cleared to do magic again and to Theo and Draco for finding her.”
Everyone murmured agreement and clinked glasses.
Hermione blushed but smiled warmly.
Draco stared into his wine, suddenly overwhelmed. Theo nudged his ankle under the table, grounding him.
And Molly, whose eyes had gone suspiciously wet, reached across and squeezed Hermione’s hand.
“You’re our family too, dear,” she said softly.
Hermione swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
After dinner came presents.
The tree was drowning in them.
The magical paper changed colors as you touched it, and confetti burst from some boxes when opened (thanks to George; Molly loudly disapproved but Arthur found it hilarious).
Hermione gave Molly and Arthur a framed enchanted photograph of their family from the gala night with everyone waving and laughing.
Molly cried a little.
Arthur beamed.
Theo gave Bill and Fleur charmed vine cuttings for their garden that would glow fuzzy purple blossoms when watered properly.
Draco, after bribing Pansy into helping him shop, smirking gave Ginny and Harry a set of enchanted baby-proofing wards for the day they would need them. Harry looked touched; Ginny muttered, “Don’t encourage him,” but was clearly moved too.
Ron gave Draco a box.
Draco eyed it suspiciously.
“It’s not a curse,” Ron said flatly.
Draco opened it.
Inside was a black Weasley sweater.
With the letter D in silver thread in cursive.
Draco stared.
Ron shrugged awkwardly. “Mum made it. I figured… well… you’re kind of… here a lot. Could use a second one.”
Draco didn’t speak for a full ten seconds, which Hermione knew meant he was emotional.
Theo whispered, “Breathe.”
Hermione nudged Draco gently.
“Say thank you.”
Draco cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
Ron turned bright red. “Yeah well, don’t make it weird.”
Hermione handed Ron the practical gift of a self-cleaning, heated and cooling lunchbox, so Cho could pack him his favorites for long shifts.
Ginny handed Theo a small, thin package with a giggle, which he found alarming. Upon opening it to discover a Karma Sutra book, he quickly shoved it into his jacket pocket, glancing around to make sure no one saw, and shooting her a flushed glare.
Harry gifted Hermione a year subscription to the newest charms academic journal “Curious Charms Explored, which she was quite pleased about.
Bill was relived to find Percy seemed to really like the shoe polishing kit he’d given him.
Authur gave Cho a plug in lava lamp ‘for the baby’s room’ which she clearly found quite odd, but thanked him for anyway.
George passed his mum a surprisingly serious gift, a very thoughtful charmed recipe wooden carved indexing box for her to keep all the family recipes in one place, it self-alphabetized by food type.
Fleur and Bill gifted Cho an elaborate and expensive French makeup kit with ‘an eye shadow is match any occasion’.
Percy beamed proudly when Bill thanked him for his daughter’s wizarding set of ABC blocks.
And Angelina gave Hermione an appreciative smile when she received te best ear plugs on the market, guaranteed to help her sleep through George’s experiments.
But, the biggest laughter of the night came from Harry handing Arthur a small square box with a big red bow. The delighted look on his face when he opened it to discover a yellow muggle plastic rubber bath duck with a wizard hat on its head was so priceless, Hermione actually was crying she laughed so hard, as was Harry.
After an hour more of present opening, everyone drifted around the room, nibbling desserts like sugar cookies and mince pies, chatting by the fire, and sipping spiced cider in small groups.
Hermione and Draco wandered toward the archway that led to the kitchen to get a refill of wine.
And suddenly, a shimmering golden net of enchanted mistletoe dropped over them, sparkling and humming.
Hermione froze.
Draco looked up in horror.
George, from across the room, shouted:
“OH LOOK, THE MISTLETOE GOT ‘EM!
RULES ARE RULES!
KISS OR YOU CAN’T LEAVE!”
Ginny howled with laughter.
Harry covered his face.
Percy looked like he might faint.
Ron gagged loudly.
Cho smacked Ron’s arm.
Theo choked on his cider and averted his eyes on their behalf.
Draco whispered, “I am going to kill him.”
“Later,” Hermione murmured, stepping closer. “Let’s get this over with.”
Draco’s breath hitched.
Even after everything, kissing her in front of a room full of Weasleys as an audience made him flush to the tips of his ears.
Hermione cupped his face gently.
Draco closed his eyes.
The kiss was supposed to be quick.
It was not.
It deepened somehow, warm, soft, slow, full of months of worry and gratitude and tenderness.
A soft sigh escaped Hermione, Draco’s hand slid to her waist on instinct, fingering the hem of her sweater.
The room exploded.
“OH MERLIN—HECK NO!” Ron yelled.
Percy muttered, fanning his face. “Absolutely indecent.”
Ginny laughed until she snorted on her hot cocoa clutching Harry’s arm, who looked like he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or lecture Draco about keeping his sister’s modesty intact.
George shouted, “WORTH EVERY GALLEON I SPENT ON DEVELOPING THAT CHARM!”
Theo just stared at their lips, cheeks red, biting back a cheeky smile.
Hermione finally pulled away fully, breathless.
Draco looked dazed.
The mistletoe net vanished in a burst of glitter, getting caught in their hair.
“Behave,” Hermione scolded George as she walked past, but she was blushing too hard for it to hold weight.
George grinned wickedly. “You’re welcome.”
The next hour or so was spent in a rowdy sing-along of muggle and wizarding winter tunes, where Theo and Harry abruptly found themselves in an unexpected duo singing ‘Santa Baby’ much to everyone else’s glee.
When the evening finally wound down, the Burrow glowed warm and sleepy. Kids dozed on the couch; the older Weasleys sipped the last of the cider with smiles.
Hermione rested her head on Draco’s shoulder.
Theo, sitting beside them, absentmindedly traced circles on her knee.
Arthur approached and said softly:
“It’s good… seeing you all here tonight. All three of you. You bring light into this house. We’re so glad you were ok. You know, even though you’re not married in or blood, Molly and I always thought of you as an extra daughter. Please stop by more often for Sunday brunch when things settle down, we miss seeing you all more often.”
Hermione’s heart clenched.
Theo nodded gratefully.
Draco cleared his throat, looking touched but trying desperately not to show it.
As they bundled up to leave, Molly hugged each of them again.
“You’re so loved,” she whispered to Hermione. “Don’t forget that.”
Then to Draco and Theo:
“And so are you boys. You take care of her.”
“Always,” they answered together.
Outside, snowflakes glowed gold in the lamplight as the triad wrapped their arms around each other and disapparated home.
It had been chaotic.
It had been loud.
It had been absolutely Weasley.
And it had felt exactly like Christmas with family should.
They arrived back at Nott Manor just past ten, snow still clinging to their coats, the silence of the grounds striking after the boisterous warmth of the Burrow.
Theo flicked his wand, the entrance hall lit itself with gentle candlelight.
Draco swept the snow from Hermione’s hair with careful fingers.
“You’re exhausted,” Draco murmured.
“I’m happy,” she corrected softly.
Theo smiled, that warm, quiet smile he only used in private, and kissed her forehead.
“Good. But let’s get you warm.”
They shed boots, coats, scarves, and then drifted together into the main sitting room where the enormous Christmas tree glowed softly in the corner, twinkling with many lights, silver-and-emerald ribbons, and dozens of meaningful ornaments.
Hermione paused, breath catching as she took it in.
“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered.
Draco stepped behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders.
“It’s ours.”
Theo moved toward the tree and crouched beside it, sorting through the wrapped boxes.
Pudding came running over to play with the jostled package bows.
“We never asked,” he said softly, “do you… want to do presents tonight? Or wait until morning?”
Hermione startled slightly.
“I… actually used to do something with my parents,” she admitted, cheeks warming.
“Every year, on Christmas Eve, we’d each open one gift under the tree before bed and leave the rest for the morning.”
Theo’s face softened.
Draco’s did too, though he ducked his head to hide it.
“Then we’re doing that,” Theo said immediately.
Hermione laughed under her breath. “It doesn’t have to be—”
“It does,” Draco cut in gently. “Traditions matter.”
He guided her toward the sofa and eased her between them, Draco on her left, Theo on her right, both leaning into her but not overwhelming her.
“Alright,” Theo murmured, “one present each.”
Theo handed Hermione a small rectangular box wrapped in snowy white paper and tied with an emerald ribbon.
Hermione asked, “This one’s… from both of you?”
“We chose it together,” Draco said, sounding strangely nervous.
She pulled the ribbon loose, peeled back the paper carefully, and lifted the lid.
Inside lay a delicate silver locket, engraved with an otter, a fox, and a dragon, enchanted for them all to circle one another.
Hermione’s breath caught.
Draco smiled. “It’s all three of us. Draco. Hermione. Theo.”
“But you picked the symbols for it,” Theo added quietly. “You made us a triad Hemrione. A true bond. We wanted you to have something you could hold when you’re anxious or overwhelmed or… when we’re not with you. Open it…”
She delicately pulled apart the tiny latch, revealing two black and white mini pencil sketches of both her husbands faces.
“I did those,” Theo proudly explained.
Hermione’s eyes filled instantly.
“I love it,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I love it so much.”
Theo took it gently, brushing her hair aside to fasten the chain at her neck.
Draco wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
Hermione didn’t speak for several seconds. She just leaned into them both.
Hermione sniffed and reached under the tree, finding the box she had placed there earlier, wrapped in deep navy paper.
“This one is for Draco.”
He unwrapped it carefully. Inside was a finely bound, restored copy of The Magical Theory of Triadic Bonds — 1873 Edition, leather soft with age, but the spine in perfect condition.
Draco inhaled sharply.
“I found it in a private antique book shop accidently, I haven’t read it myself yet, so you’ll have to tell us what’s in it,” Hermione said, suddenly nervous. “It’s one of the earliest studies on triad magic I think. I thought… it might help you understand us all better. Or maybe understand yourself better too.”
Theo let out a low whistle. “That’s a very rare find.”
Draco held the book like it was sacred.
He looked at Hermione with quiet astonishment.
“This is… this is the most thoughtful gift anyone’s given me in years.”
Hermione squeezed his hand.
Draco leaned forward and kissed her, soft and grateful.
Hermione handed Theo a slim, green-wrapped box.
Theo raised an eyebrow. “Should I be nervous?”
“Maybe,” Hermione teased.
Draco smirked. “Oh, you should be.”
Theo opened the box and froze.
Inside was a beautifully crafted gold healer’s pocket watch, sturdy and elegant, engraved with the words:
To help you keep time for others,
and also remember to keep time for yourself.
— H.
Theo blinked rapidly.
“This is…” He swallowed. “Merlin, Hermione, this is perfect. I always lose track of time on my shift.”
“It’s charmed,” Hermione said softly. “If your stress levels get too high, it’ll warm. Just a reminder to breathe, take a break.”
Theo’s voice was grateful. “Thank you.”
He pulled Hermione into his arms, hugging her tightly. Draco leaned in, wrapping an arm around both of them.
Hermione melted between them.
After gifts, they stayed curled together on the sofa in front of the glowing fire for awhile.
Draco rested his head on Hermione’s shoulder.
Theo draped a blanket over the three of them and tucked Hermione securely between their bodies.
Hermione let out a long, content exhale.
Theo brushed her hair gently. “Did you have a good Christmas Eve?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “It’s so good to be with family.”
“Good,” Draco murmured against her shoulder. “Because it’s only the beginning of building ours.”
Hermione squeezed both their hands beneath the blanket.
Their magic, warm and steady, hummed quietly through the room, strong, aligned, calm.
Their little family.
Building their own traditions.
Her parents would have approved.
Notes:
And we're going to roll into Christmas day...
Chapter 259: Christmas Morning Gifts
Chapter Text
Hermione woke to the smell of cinnamon and pine.
The curtains were cracked open just enough for pale winter sunlight to spill across her pillow, and she found herself tucked between the warm bodies of Theo and Draco exactly where she’d fallen asleep after their late-night Christmas Eve romp with each other.
Theo stirred first, brushing a drowsy kiss to the back of her shoulder.
“Morning,” he murmured.
Draco groaned into the other side of her neck. “It’s Christmas morning. You have to say Merry Christmas.”
Theo rolled his eyes. “Merry Christmas, sweethearts.”
Draco propped himself up on one elbow, smirking. “Better.”
Hermione laughed sleepily.
Draco flicked his wand, and from across the room floated a folded flannel bundle.
Hermione blinked.
“What’s that?”
“Your Christmas pajamas,” Draco said, smugly triumphant.
“What—?”
“You agreed last night.” Theo stretched, fighting a grin. “You were half-asleep, so I’m not sure you remember, but you did.”
Draco opened the flannel bundle for her, soft red-and-white plaid pajama pants and a matching long-sleeve top with a tiny embroidered snowflake over the heart.
Hermione groaned. “Draco…”
“It’s a tradition now,” he declared, lifting his chin. “And don’t pretend you hate how soft these are. We’re all going to wear some.”
She held them reluctantly, and melted a little.
Theo kissed her cheek. “Humor him. He’s been over the moon about this idea for the last few weeks, he picked everyone’s out.”
Draco did not deny it.
Hermione sighed dramatically. “Fine. Christmas pajamas. But only this once and yours better be as ridiculous.”
Both men smiled like she’d given them the world.
They all padded barefoot down the grand staircase and into the sitting room.
The Christmas tree glowed with shining lights, the room warm from the fireplace Draco had lit magically the moment they’d awoken.
Hermione curled into the enormous plush wool rug, settling between her husbands. Theo sprawled cross-legged on her right in green striped pjs reminiscent of Santa’s elves ; Draco lounged on her left like a smug, elegant cat in far more refined navy plaid pants and a complementing top with reindeer flying over a forest.
Draco clapped once, joyful and boyish. “Presents.”
Theo snorted. “Merlin help us.”
Hermione smiled softly. “Okay. Who’s first?”
Draco reached beneath the tree and handed her a narrow, beautifully wrapped box.
“For you.”
Hermione opened it and gasped.
Inside was a set of enchanted quills, each in varying shades of gold, rose, and midnight blue. Fine-tipped, perfectly balanced, charmed to never blot or smudge.
“Draco,” she whispered, “these are—these are top tier.”
“You deserve the best for your Charms research.” His voice was soft. “And because I know you’ll pretend your quills are fine even when they’re absolute rubbish.”
Hermione laughed through a bright flush. “They were mostly rubbish.”
“I know,” Draco said fondly.
He handed her the second box.
Inside was a silver bracelet, delicate, with a tiny moonstone charm that shimmered with soft rainbow light.
Hermione lifted her eyes, already watery.
“This is… so beautiful.”
“It matches the metal of the locket,” Draco murmured. “You don’t have to wear them together, but I liked the idea.”
Theo leaned over, admiring it. “That’s gorgeous.”
Draco tied it around her wrist with unusual gentleness.
Hermione leaned over and kissed him, long, grateful, warm.
“Just one more,” he softly said, looking more nervous now, handing her a thick folder, not wrapped.
Her face was curious as she opened it, and her mouth fell open in shock. In the pockets of the folder were dozens of photographs… of her parents in all sorts of places.
“Draco… what’s this?”, her voice was soft and emotional.
Draco looked sheepish, “I know it hurts they don’t remember you, but I wanted you to see that you did the right thing by them. They’re ok… look,” he pulled out some photos, spreading them out on the floor between them, “they’re actually really happy. They have a good life still because you protected them.”
She looked down, examining each one… scenes of her mom planting flowers in a community garden, her father re-painting a dental practice sign, the two of them walking on a Gold Coast beach together hands intwined, sitting on a bench feeding each other ice cream cones smiling, dressed-up fancy for a charity gala in a ballroom, fishing off a pier, and many more.
“How did you even get these?”
“It was legal… I hired a private detective. He stayed far back in public spaces only, they never saw him. I just asked him to get some pictures of them over a few months, so you could see their life.”
Hermione was now crying, reaching for him, “This… is a lot. Thank you.”
She cried into his shoulder for a bit while Draco rubbed her back and Theo placed soft kisses on her head.
“You did the right thing because you love them, Hermione,” Draco whispered in her ear.
After, her tears had stopped and she’d regained her composure, the gift giving continued.
Theo picked up a oddly shaped parcel wrapped in green paper.
“My turn.”
Hermione unwrapped it and burst out laughing.
“Theo! You didn’t.”
“I absolutely did.” He grinned.
It was a plush, oversized stuffed orange Kneazle, soft and fluffy with wide golden eyes.
“It’s ridiculous,” Hermione said lovingly.
“You can hug it in your sleep sometimes when we get up too early,” Theo chuckled.
Draco smirked. “Absolutely whipped.”
Theo tossed a pillow at him.
He passed her a second gift, a small black velvet box.
Inside was a pair of rune-etched sterling silver earrings, tiny and elegant, imbued with calming magic specifically keyed to her signature.
Hermione touched them admiringly.
“Oh… Theo.”
“You’ve had enough stress this year,” he murmured, brushing her jaw with his thumb. “You deserve things that soothe you.”
She put one to her ear and Theo fastened it gently, the magic settling warm and soft along her skin. Then the other.
Hermione kissed him, slow and grateful.
“And… one more”, he gently placed a small envelope in her hand.
She opened the seal with one finger, pulling out a small voucher of parchment, her brows furrowed in confusion.
“Theo…? I have a wand…?”.
Theo nodded, “Of course, I’m not saying to get rid of your wand, love! I was talking with my colleague, and she was saying that when her husband did his transfiguration mastery, his master advised him to see if an additional wand felt right. When you get a wand as a child, it chooses you based on who you are then. While childhood wands generally are a good fit for life, and might lean into certain types of magic more than others, most of them are more generalist wands, able to do everything. Some witches and wizards are capable of much higher caliber magic, especially once they’re pursuing a mastery or specialty, but their original wands aren’t always the best for such specific types of spells. Certain woods and cores are better for certain branches of magic than others. This voucher is so you can go find a wand that melds best with your charms work. Lots of Masters and even Healers use a different wand for their research or jobs than their normal daily-life wand.”
Understanding flooded Hermione’s features and she pulled him in for a hug, “Thank you, that’s incredibly thoughtful… I never really thought about that actually. Let’s go in the new year to cash it in!”
Theo nodded and flashed a triumphant smile.
Hermione pulled some packages from under the tree and turned back towards Draco.
She handed him a soft parcel first.
Draco opened it and blinked.
An expensive dark green cashmere sweater, tailored perfectly, embroidered subtly with the Malfoy crest on the sleeve slipped out of the wrappings.
“You kept complaining all winter last year that none of your sweaters were ‘the right weight,’” Hermione said, teasing.
Draco looked both pleased and humbled. “This is… perfect.”
Then she gave him a thin box.
He opened it and froze.
Inside was a framed sketch done by Hermione’s own hand of the three of them asleep together on the sofa during the early autumn, when she’d been studying with her head in Theo’s lap and Draco had passed out on the other side.
Draco ran his thumb over the drawing.
“You drew this,” he said quietly.
“I—I wanted you to have something to keep,” she murmured. “Something maybe for your private study on the desk? To think of us even when you’re working so hard.”
Draco exhaled, honestly moved. “It’s… beautiful.”
He kissed her temple and did not let go of her hand, even as she handed him a tiny pouch.
“So, this one was more of a joint happenstance, but I thought you would appreciate it maybe. Luna actually came a crossed them on her beast excursion last summer and asked if I’d want some of the extras. I was thinking they might be useful for you… maybe for some of the more obscure potions…”, she seemed a bit unsure.
Draco gently pulled open the closing cord, and out tumbled a handful of slightly crumpled dark grey and black swirled eggshell pieces. His eyes widen in surprise and excitement.
“These are Augurey shells! It’s pretty hard to get these, and really expensive. You can’t breed them in captivity, and they’re protected by all sorts of international treaties. You can only really get the shells by observing a nesting pair, then gathering them after everyone leaves the nest! Thank you, these will be very useful for some potions I’ve been wanting to try.”
Draco kissed her check and she grinned back.
Theo handed Draco a rather large parcel in deep navy with shooting star designs on it next.
He placed it a crossed his lap to open it, peeling back the paper almost sadly as the glorious design was marred in shreds, revealing a posh looking leather briefcase.
“Oh wow Theo… this is really nice”, he praised as his hand stroked the polished jet-black leather, tracing the Malfoy crest embossed in gold leaf on the top center.
Theo elaborated, “For days of meetings at The Ministry, but it also as a subtle extension charm on it… enough to put a night or two of clothes in it with the paperwork, so you can use it for your quick business trips!”
“It’s perfect, thank you.” Draco leaned in to brush his lips with a brief kiss, “Your always so thoughtful.”
“And one more…”, Theo handed him another much smaller package gently. He pulled off the siler wrapping, revealing a small bottle of shimmering turquoise ink.
“It’s sum-solving ink,” Theo explained, with a teasing smirk, “to make it easier to manage our estate books and Malfoy industry investments.”
Draco nodded chuckling, “Thank you.”
Theo unwrapped the next parcel from Hermione, a soft pair of black winter gloves.
He smiled. “These are—oh! They’re lined.”
Hermione grinned. “With warming runes. I’ve seen how cold your hands get coming home from late shifts.”
Theo kissed her cheek gratefully.
Draco handed him a large, elongated box with an emerald bow on top.
“I know last summer you talked about wanting to take it up as a relaxing hobby, and as fun as it is to lay out under the stars with you both, I thought more specialized equipment might be needed,” Draco explained.
Theo grinned in realization as he pulled out an enchanted telescope.
“Oh, this is going to be so fun to do together! My dad always said the stars were a waste of time, but I always wanted to study them more. We should even be able to see your namesake, Draco!”, Theo gushed in excitement.
Hermione handed both boys small packages, directing them to, “Open them together.”
She blushed prettily as they both stared wistfully at her after revealing the item inside. Matching cock rings with her name engraved along the cold enchanted metal.
“Oh really, Hermione?”, Draco teased lifting an eyebrow.
She blushed even harder, while Theo dramatically wolf whistled grinning like a lottery winner.
When they’d had their fun teasing her, Draco handed Theo another medium sized package. Inside was a luxurious looking dark brown leather jacket, he quickly tugged it on, the fit perfect and tantalizingly sexy.
Hermione mumbled, “Draco, I think that may be more a gift for us than for him.” Draco smirked back nodding.
Hermione handed Theo a tiny velvet box, announcing “This is from Draco and I, for the voting days at The Ministry”. Inside was a tasteful metal tie-pin of the Nott crest.
“Never thought I’d see a day I felt proud to wear that, but these day’s I’m happy with what I’m making the family name,” Theo claimed, “Thank you both for the gift, and making Nott’s respectable again.” Hermione looked a bit glassy eyed at that.
The final gift was for Theo, a small wooden box from Hermione.
He opened it, and inhaled sharply.
Inside were vials of custom-blended potion ingredients specifically for top shelf healing potions, very rare ones he’d been complaining about having trouble finding.
Organized. Labeled in her neat print. Pristine.
“This must’ve taken you ages to procure,” Theo whispered.
“You work so hard,” Hermione said. “You deserve to have the tools you need. So do your patients.”
Theo pulled her in and kissed the top of her head. “You’re incredible.”
Draco leaned back, “We’ve certainly all gotten very good at this gift giving thing, thank you both. Truly, it means so much.”
“Wait, one more,” Hermione blushed as she pulled a secret envelope from under a branch.
“This is from all three of us.”
Draco frowned. “We didn’t—”
“No,” she said, “I made it. For all of us. To all of us”
Theo looked intrigued.
Draco looked dubious.
Hermione opened the envelope and let them see.
Inside was a photo album, hand-bound in green leather, with:
THE FIRST YEAR OF US
embossed on the cover.
Draco inhaled sharply.
Theo’s eyes instantly shone wet.
She opened the first page.
Wedding pictures.
Followed by:
Photos from the honeymoon.
Then their first Christmas engaged.
Their first time at the Granger Center together. Many candids there.
A candid of Draco asleep with his head on Theo’s shoulder while Hermione studied in the Nott library.
A shot of a dinner party with all their friends.
A picture of the three of them on the beach with Pansy and Blaise.
A shot of Theo and Draco that Pansy had taken during the slip-and-slide weekend.
Theo playing with Pudding by the fire.
Hermione and Draco sitting at the fountain at the Charms Institute.
Vienna at the Opera.
Pages and pages of other important memories too.
Theo was speechless. “Hermione…”
Draco brushed a trembling thumb over her wrist.
“This is… extraordinary.”
Hermione’s voice was soft.
“I wanted us to remember that the first year wasn’t only fear. There was love building-up too.”
They both wrapped their arms around her at the same time, squeezing each other tight.
After the gifts, after the laughing and the soft tears and the good-natured teasing as they explored the book, they ended up curled together on the rug, leaning against the couch, the fireplace crackling softly.
Theo played with Hermione’s hair.
Draco rested his cheek on her shoulder.
Hermione held both their hands in her lap.
The lights on the Christmas tree blinked slowly.
“Best Christmas morning I’ve had,” Hermione whispered.
Theo kissed the side of her head. “Ours too.”
Draco tightened his hold on her waist. “And it’s only the beginning of the day.”
Hermione laughed softly and the sound felt like home to both men.
Suddenly, an elegant chime sounded.
Hermione blinked in surpise.
“Oh. Someone’s here.”
Theo frowned. “Who in Merlin’s—?”
Draco used his wand to glance at the time.
He froze.
“Oh no. Oh—Merlin’s beard,” he muttered, going pale. “It’s my mother.”
Hermione stiffened. “Now? I didn’t realize it had gotten that late!”
Theo snorted into his tea. “Perfect timing.”
Draco whipped around to stare at both of them.
“We’re in pajamas.”
Matching Christmas pajamas, Theo and Hermione realized at the same moment.
The three of them looked like they’d fallen out of a holiday catalogue for cozy domestic triads.
The door knock echoed through the manor, polished, patient, unmistakably Narcissa Malfoy.
Draco panicked.
“Do not let her see me like this! My mother cannot—cannot—see me in plaid or flannel ever.”
Theo raised a brow. “Pretty sure she’s aware you sleep.”
“Not like this!”
Hermione sputtered laughter. “Just… go change!”
All three of them scrambled up at once, bumping into each other, tangling limbs, tripping over the blanket on the floor.
“Draco—move!”
“You move!”
“The stairs are wide enough for both of you!” Hermione hissed.
Narcissa knocked again, one delicate, unhurried rap.
Hermione glanced toward the door in mild panic.
“She already knows we’re here,” Theo whispered urgently. “The wards don’t lie.”
Draco whirled on both of them, mortified.
“Just—stall her!”
And then he and Theo bolted up the stairs like children running from a scolding.
Hermione was left standing in the sitting room in her Christmas pajamas, hair mussed, cheeks flushed, surrounded by discarded wrapping paper.
She took a deep breath, smoothed her snowflake shirt, and opened the door.
Notes:
Well, the boys just threw Hermione to the wolf LOL
Chapter 260: Home For the Holidays
Chapter Text
Narcissa stood on the step in an elegant black cloak trimmed with winter sable, snowflakes dusting her hair like silver glitter. She held a large, beautifully wrapped gift box in one hand and a smaller two in the other.
“Good morning, Hermione,” she said warmly, stepping inside as the wards admitted her. “Merry Christmas.”
“M-Merry Christmas, Narcissa,” Hermione said, trying to act like her life wasn’t just chaos.
Narcissa’s eyes, ever perceptive, swept over Hermione's pajamas.
A single brow rose.
“Cozy morning, I see,” she said smoothly.
Hermione flushed. “We were… having our gift-opening tradition. They—uh—they’ll be down in a moment.”
Narcissa smiled knowingly.
“Of course. I did arrive a bit early.”
She removed her gloves with graceful flicks of her fingers.
“You look sweet,” she added, eyeing the snowflake embroidery on Hermione’s shirt. “Draco’s doing, I assume?”
Hermione laughed despite herself. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Footsteps thundered overhead — doors slammed — muffled curses were exchanged.
Narcissa’s lips twitched.
“Draco always did take an extraordinarily long time getting dressed,” she murmured.
Theo appeared first, hair still damp, buttoning the last button of a crisp white shirt. He straightened immediately upon seeing her.
“Happy Christmas, Lady Malfoy.”
She kissed his cheek. “Theo, darling. Still charming as ever.”
Then Draco arrived, flawlessly composed in perfectly pressed winter robes, though his hair was a bit damp and he was breathing like he’d sprinted.
“Mother,” he said, voice at least an octave too formal. “Merry Christmas.”
Narcissa looked him over, absolutely amused.
“Such a dramatic transformation in under three minutes,” she said. “Astounding.”
Theo coughed to hide a laugh.
Draco shot him a glare.
Hermione bit her lip, failing to contain a smile, heading upstairs to change herself.
They soon all gathered around the tree again, and Narcissa handed Hermione the bigger beautifully wrapped box.
“This is for you, my dear.”
Hermione opened it carefully and gasped.
Inside was a vintage hand-embroidered shawl, deep silver with intricate magical snowflake stitching that shimmered with soft light.
“It belonged to my maternal grandmother,” Narcissa said softly. “It’s meant for family.”
Hermione’s breath caught.
“Thank you… Narcissa, this is—this is extraordinary.”
Draco watched the exchange with a softened expression, pride and gratitude evident in the bond.
Narcissa then handed Theo a long, narrow box.
“It’s not much, but I know you’ll appreciate the craft.”
Theo opened it to reveal a set of rare, antique healer’s surgical wands, each carved from different magical woods and polished to mirror sheen.
Theo actually looked speechless.
“This is… priceless.”
“You work very hard, too much, Theodore,” Narcissa said. “You deserve good tools.”
Finally, she handed Draco a slim rectangular package.
He opened it and froze.
A framed, restored copy of an old Malfoy family photograph with Lucius, Narcissa, and a young Draco at age six, smiling shyly at the camera.
“I found it tucked away in an old box when I was re-decorating,” Narcissa said quietly. “I thought… perhaps you’d want it.”
Draco swallowed hard, emotion tightening his throat.
“Thank you,” he said, voice thick.
Hermione touched his knee under the blanket.
Theo rested a hand on his back.
Narcissa took them all in with quiet satisfaction.
The four of them moved into the more formal guest parlor where a warm brunch buffet waited. The house elves had prepared everything from cinnamon French toast to roasted apples and nutmeg spiced tea.
Narcissa poured herself tea and settled gracefully on the sofa.
“I trust you three exchanged gifts already?” she asked.
Hermione blushed. “Yes. Earlier this morning.”
Theo smirked. “In pajamas.”
Draco groaned into his hands. “Please stop bringing that up.”
Narcissa laughed, a soft, familiar elegant sound that Hermione could now appreciate in a new way.
“Well,” Narcissa said, “I’m delighted to spend Christmas Day with all of you again. After this year… seeing you together, safe and well, is the best gift I could receive.”
Hermione felt Draco soften beside her. Theo exhaled slowly, letting warmth fill the space.
Hermione reached out and wrapped an arm around Draco, leaning into him.
Theo brushed his knee against hers.
Narcissa just watched with a small, content smile.
“You three,” she said gently, “have built something very precious.”
Hermione felt the truth of it settle deep in her bones.
After brunch, the four of them moved into the winter garden, a glass-walled room facing the orchard where snow fell in silent, drifting sparkles. The warming charms kept it pleasantly toasty, and sunlight shone across the frosted panes.
Narcissa settled into a cushioned chair beside the enchanted poinsettias.
Hermione wrapped herself in the silver shawl Narcissa had given her, feeling its warmth humming with subtle protective family magic. Draco and Theo took the sofa beside her, Theo close and relaxed, Draco unnaturally stiff at first, slowly softening as the conversation warmed.
For a while, they simply talked.
Light things.
Gentle things.
Narcissa asked Hermione about catching up on her charms coursework, genuinely curious, no polite pretense, no veiled interrogation. Hermione found herself explaining her recent work on restorative charms, even referencing the ones Draco had helped her practice a year ago.
Draco’s eyes warmed at the memory.
Theo chimed in with healer insights, making the moment feel beautifully domestic.
Narcissa watched the three of them interact, the subtle touches, the shared glances, the bond hummed beneath the surface, and her face took on a quietly pleased expression.
“Seeing the three of you like this,” she said softly. “It eases something in me I didn’t realize was still tense.”
Hermione’s heart tightened.
“It eases something in us too, having you here.”
Narcissa reached out and gently touched Hermione’s hand.
“I’m very proud of you, my dear.”
Hermione’s breath caught.
Draco instantly looked away, overwhelmed.
Theo blinked hard.
And Hermione let the words sink into the parts of her that once feared she would never quite belong.
As the afternoon grew long, Theo suggested a walk on the grounds before dinner.
Hermione grabbed her cloak, Draco and Theo immediately fussed.
“Wear the thicker boots, love, your magic still isn’t fully back, you’ll run cold faster,” Theo said.
“And the warming gloves,” Draco added, already reaching for them.
“Boys,” Hermione laughed, “I’m not made of glass.”
“No,” Narcissa said with a smirk, “but they’re made of anxiety.”
Draco looked genuinely offended.
Theo snorted.
Out in the orchard, the snow was fresh and powdery. Hermione walked between them, Narcissa floating behind with elegant shots of her wand to keep her hem from touching the snow.
They pointed out where they had cut the tree from at the edge of the forest behind the orchard. Narcissa was surprisingly amused.
“You two… dragged an entire pine tree across the grounds in a snowstorm?”
“It was festive,” Draco muttered.
“It was a terrible idea,” Theo corrected.
“It was romantic,” Hermione said softly and Draco lit up.
They walked until their noses were pink and their toes chilled, until Narcissa insisted they return indoors.
As they approached the manor, Draco slipped his glove into Hermione’s.
She squeezed it.
He squeezed back.
Narcissa saw, and her smile softened all the way into her eyes.
The house-elves had prepared a spectacular Christmas feast of honey-glazed ham, rosemary potatoes, spiced carrots, Yorkshire pudding, and a decadent chocolate souffle.
Hermione helped set the table, Narcissa insisting she sit and rest twice, and Hermione rolling her eyes both times.
Draco poured chilled wine.
Theo checked the temperature charms.
And Hermione caught a moment between Theo and Narcissa, quiet, tender respect as he thanked her for the healer tools she had given him. Narcissa touched his cheek briefly.
“You’ve always taken such good care of my son,” she murmured.
Theo’s throat bobbed.
“And now of Hermione too.”
Narcissa’s eyes flicked to Hermione with full, maternal warmth.
“I know.”
Hermione felt herself flush hot under the shawl.
They sat, Hermione between Draco and Theo, Narcissa across from them.
The meal was warm, abundant, glowing with candlelight and enchantments.
Conversation flowed easily. Narcissa telling stories of Draco as a child, him refusing to sleep for a whole week without a toy hippogriff named Sir Nibbles causing Theo to laugh so hard wine came out his nose. Draco retaliating by telling Narcissa how Hermione once cried because she burned the roast she planned to surprise him with, and how she had ended up taking him to try muggle McDonalds that night instead. They all dissolved into laughter.
Midway through dinner, Narcissa grew quieter, more reflective.
“This is the first Christmas,” she said softly, “since Lucius… where I have felt… genuinely peaceful, truly at ease.”
Draco froze.
Theo’s hand found Hermione’s under the table.
Hermione swallowed, voice gentle.
“We’re glad you’re here.”
Narcissa’s eyes shone faintly.
“And I am grateful,” she murmured, “that Draco found not only love but sanctuary. Something I didn’t think Malfoys would ever have.”
Draco looked down at his plate, blinking hard.
Hermione gently rested her head against his shoulder.
Theo reached for Draco’s free hand and squeezed.
The bond pulsed warm and steady.
Narcissa breathed out like she’d been waiting years to see that.
After dinner, they migrated to the parlor where a fire crackled low and warm. Narcissa accepted a glass of mulled wine and curled up in an armchair.
Hermione nestled between Draco and Theo on the hearth rug, Draco’s arm around her, Theo’s hand resting on her thigh.
They talked quietly about Narcissa’s dreams for her future grandchildren. Theo described how the hospital decorated for Christmas. Draco teased Hermione about her and Ginny’s collapsed gingerbread house. Hermione defended herself saying that not all of them grew up with tutors who insisted on practicing fine lines.
Narcissa gave her a knowing, maternal look.
“I’ve seen you grow,” she said softly. “And I’m so proud of the witch you’ve become.”
Hermione’s throat tightened.
“I… I’m really glad you’re part of my family.”
Draco swallowed visibly at that.
Theo’s fingers curled around her knee in silent agreement.
When Narcissa finally stood to leave, Draco helped her into her traveling cloak, and she blessed the two of them with a soft kiss on each cheek.
Then she turned to Hermione.
“My dear,” she said, taking Hermione’s hands in both of hers, “I know the last months were hard… frightening… uncertain. But seeing you here now, safe and whole, fills my heart in ways I cannot describe.”
Hermione squeezed her back.
“And having you here makes this whole season feel right.”
Narcissa smiled, warm, regal, sincere.
“Happy Christmas, darling.”
Hermione whispered, “Happy Christmas.”
As Narcissa disappeared through the floo, Draco exhaled deeply and slumped against the mantle.
Theo wrapped an arm around Hermione’s waist.
The three of them stood in the falling firelight, the warmth of the day settling into the bond like a steady heartbeat.
Notes:
Don't worry... there's going to be some Christmas smut next xD
Chapter 261: Have a Very Merry Christmas
Chapter Text
“Let’s go upstairs,” she said quietly. “I want to end Christmas beside both of you.”
They nodded.
Together, they walked up the stairs, the bond echoing desire, radiating each of their feelings, happiness, admiration, and sexual tension that had bene building all day.
When they reached the landing, Hermione paused, turning back toward both of them.
Her voice was soft.
“Today felt… normal. And safe. And full.”
Theo cupped her cheek gently.
“Having you home made it feel like a real Christmas again.”
Draco didn’t speak at first, he was looking at her like he wanted to commit every second to memory.
Finally, “I’m grateful you’re here. With us. Still.”
Hermione touched his hand.
“We’re past that now, Draco.”
He nodded, but emotion tightened his jaw.
Their shared suite was softly lit when they entered, a small second tree in the corner glowing gently, the fire low but warm.
The air smelled faintly of pine, cloves, and the vanilla sugar cookie candle Hermione had begun lighting each day lately.
Theo closed the door behind them, and they each separated to get more comfortable.
Hermione claimed the bathroom, for a quick private decompressing bath, and Theo and Draco headed for the closets and dressers.
A half hour later, Hermione stood by the fire, her skin glowing in a sheer crimson robe that hinted at her curve. Draco and Theo faced her, their bodies clad in more casual attire, Draco in a loose black shirt and loose trousers, Theo in a soft grey sweater and jogging pants.
Hermione’s voice was needy already, her gift to them at the back of her mind all day.
“Let’s unwrap each other, then I’ll put those rings on you.”
Draco’s silver eyes softened, his hands gentle as he approached her, unbuttoning his shirt one button at a time, revealing his scarred chest, tossing it aside before reaching for her robe.
“Hermione, you’re gorgeous, let me undress you like another gift.”
She giggled as he pulled the bow of her rob, letting it fall down her shoulders, cascading to the floor.
Theo smiled, pulling off his sweater slowly, exposing his toned torso, his fingers tracing her sides as the robe pooled at her feet, kissing her neck softly.
“Yeah, love—let’s take our time, enjoy this.”
They turned to each other, Draco unbuttoning Theo’s trousers with teasing slowness, sliding them down, palming his growing cock through his boxers before pulling them off.
Theo returned the favor, unzipping Draco’s trousers, easing them down, stroking his thigh as he stepped free.
Fully bare, Hermione knelt down in front of them, her hands caressing their cocks.
“Now, let me slip these on you.”
She held the metal rings, warming them in her palms first, the silver starting to hum softly with vibrations.
She slid the ring onto Draco’s shaft, pulling it down to his base with agonizing slowness, stretching the skin gently as it settled, the metal pulsing to life, vibrating softly against his shaft, warming his balls.
“Draco, how is that?,” she whispered.
He breathed in, his voice low and husky.
“It’s tight at first, like it’s holding me back but building it up. This is going to be interesting.”
She turned to Theo, sliding the ring on inch by inch, the silver metal matching his piercing.
“Theo?” He grinned, eyes blown wide already. “Wow, it’s tingling all the way through—feels amazing on the piercing.”
His eyes drifted over, “Draco… damn, it’s hot on you.”
Hermione smiled, her voice playful. “Play with them now—tease each other, while I watch.”
Draco grinned sexily and confident, his hands stroking Theo’s ringed cock, fingers circling the silver band, tugging it gently to shift it along the base, twisting it slowly to spark tingling vibrations up Theo’s shaft.
“Theo, your ring’s vibrating my fingers—fuck, it’s pulsing, shit, it’s hot seeing it glow on you.”
Theo moaned, reaching for Draco’s, palming the veined base, squeezing the ring to intensify the vibration, rolling it up and down slightly to tease Draco’s balls, flicking the edge with his thumb to send electric jolts through his shaft.
“Draco—gods, yours is throbbing so strong—fuck, I’m so turned on by it, the way it hugs your cock so tight.”
They continued the ring play in the evening light, tugging, twisting, flicking, rolling, the rings humming vibrations in perfect sync, tingling their balls, delaying their release, pre-cum already spilling, while Hermione watched entranced.
“Hermione—these rings are pure magic—making me ache,” Theo panted.
Draco added, “Yes—pulsing my shaft, holding me on the edge—fuck, I’m so ready for you both.”
Hermione laid back on the bed, indicating for Theo to join her there, as she spread her legs wide, showing her dripping cunt. She guided Theo’s ringed cock into her pussy with excruciating slowness, her moan prolonged as her walls stretched inch by inch around his wide girth, the vibrating ring pressing firmly against her entrance, pulsing with relentless intensity right at her opening, tingling her sensitive lips and clit with every deep thrust when he bottomed out.
“Theo—fuck—your ring’s buzzing right against my entrance, tingling my clit every time you push in!” she moaned, her voice trembling with the direct pressure of the ring rubbing her opening.
Theo thrust gently at first, bent over her, pausing after each deep entry to grind in slow circles, the ring pressing harder against her entrance, vibrating her lips with building waves.
Draco prepped Theo’s arse with lube, fingers sliding in, stretching him.
“Theo—your arse is tight, ready for me?” Draco murmured.
Theo groaned, “Draco—fuck, your fingers, the ring’s vibrating my cock—prep me good, hurry up.”
Draco aligned behind Theo, pushing into his arse, the ring vibrating against Theo’s tight ring as he pushed into him till the base.
“Draco—fuck—your ringed cock in my arse!” Theo growled.
They moved together, Theo thrusting into Hermione, Draco pounding Theo, the rings pulsing in sync.
“Hermione—fuck, this ring is killing me!”, Theo moaned.
Draco groaned back, “Theo—Salazar ,these rings are so intense!”
Hermione cried out, “Theo, your ring’s so much, on my clit… not going to last!”
Theo bent further over Hermione, thrusting with building rhythm that escalated with each thrust, the piercing rubbing her G-spot with extended pressure, the ring pressing firmly against her entrance, vibrating her pussy lips and clit with direct, relentless pulses that sent electric tingles through her body.
“The rings are pulsing harder now—feel that?” Hermione asked, her voice breathless.
Theo panted, “Yes—my cock’s tingling from base to tip—fuck, I not sure I can cum with this on, it’s holding me. Merlin, I love this feeling!”
Draco added, “Fuck, I can’t cum either, the ring’s locking it in, intense!”
They continued chasing their pleasure, Theo withdrawing nearly all the way before sliding back in with a smooth glide, pausing to circle his hips in slow loops, the piercing tormenting her G-spot, the ring pressing harder against her entrance, vibrating her lips in rhythmic bursts.
Draco was mirroring the rhythm behind Theo, withdrawing and thrusting in sync.
“The rings are throbbing with us—feel how they sync?” Hermione moaned.
Theo panted, “Yes—tingling my piercing relentlessly—fuck, I can’t cum, it’s edging me perfectly, I’m obsessed with this!”
Draco groaned, “Merlin, fuck, this is so perfect!”
Her orgasm crashed after a drawn-out buildup of thrusts, the ring vibrating her entrance mercilessly ,“Oh gods, yes!”
Theo and Draco’s orgasms erupted together, the rings finally allowing release, cum flowing, swamping Hermione and Theo, the rings vibrating to extend their release over long minutes while both cried out form the intensity.
“Hermione—cumming!” they roared in unison.
As the aftershocks lingered, Hermione whispered, “Now—let’s remove the rings, slowly, savor the full release.”
Theo panted, “Yes—fuck, I’m hypersensitive.”
Draco nodded, “Careful—the rush will be overwhelming.”
Hermione knelt before Theo first, her fingers circling his ring with deliberate slowness, tugging it millimeter by millimeter upward, the vibration fading gradually as it slid off his base, the sudden surge of blood flow flooding his cock with intense pins and needles that morphed into pleasurable waves, his shaft throbbing, jerking with final pulses.
“Draco—gods, the ring coming off—fuck, it’s like lightning crashing through my cock, tingling from base to tip, releasing the build-up in waves—shit, I’m still throbbing,” he moaned, his voice trembling with afterglow.
She kissed his tip, soothing the sensitive skin with gentle licks.
She turned to Draco, sliding his ring off, the vibration easing inch by inch as it released his base, the sudden rush of blood igniting intense tingles through his shaft and balls like electric fire, pulsing with raw sensitivity that built in waves, his cock jerking with final throbs.
“Hermione—fuck—gods, I’m still pulsing, so sensitive,” Draco groaned, his body shivering with ecstatic release.
Hermione smiled, kissing each ring-free cock, “That was so amazing… your both so hot.”
They collapsed, rings set aside, Theo and Draco holding Hermione. “Best Christmas,” Theo said. Draco smiled, “Agreed.”
Hermione laughed, “Merry Christmas.”
Notes:
Hope you enjoyed :)
Chapter 262: Boxing Day
Chapter Text
The morning after Christmas dawned with a soft gray sky and a slow sprinkle of snow, the kind that made Nott Manor feel cocooned in warmth and timeless. Hermione woke nestled between Theo and Draco, warm and loose-limbed, still wrapped in that post-holiday sex glow.
Theo kissed her shoulder before rolling out of bed.
“Brunch with Pansy and Blaise soon,” he murmured. “You up for that?”
Hermione smiled as Draco’s arm tightened lazily around her waist.
“If we don’t get up,” Draco muttered into her hair, voice rough with sleep, “Pansy will storm the manor and drag us out by our ankles.”
Hermione laughed. “You mean she won’t wait patiently in the parlor?”
Draco snorted. “Pansy has never waited patiently for anything.”
They got up, and dressed warmly, Hermione in a cozy dark-green sweater that Theo loved because it matched her eyes, Draco in soft charcoal wool, Theo in a navy jumper Narcissa had gifted him for his birthday.
Pansy and Blaise stepped out of the floo in a swirl of glowing air and holiday perfume.
“Oh thank Merlin you three look alive,” Pansy declared dramatically, brushing stray ash from her cloak. “I thought perhaps you’d all died of excessive cuddling.”
Theo gave her a flat look. “Really?”
Blaise smirked. “Don’t act surprised, mate. This is Pansy’s love language.”
“Chaos?” Draco shot back.
“Honesty,” Pansy corrected, sweeping Hermione into a hug that was abnormally heartfelt.
“You look radiant. Healthy. Not recently kidnapped. All things I approve of.”
“Thank you,” Hermione said, laughing despite herself.
Blaise kissed her cheek gently, “Good to see you.”
She squeezed his arm, “Good to see you too.”
They settled at the long breakfast table, charmed candles floating overhead, the room warm with scent of cinnamon scones and roasted apples.
Theo poured pumpkin juice for everyone.
Pansy immediately replaced hers with the nonalcoholic champagne Draco offered her instead.
“A toast,” she said theatrically. “To Hermione’s first Christmas back with all her memories restored and only minor trauma. And to the two idiots who almost died of heartbreak in the process.”
Draco groaned.
Theo rubbed his wetting eyes.
Blaise clinked his glass with hers, “I second the idiot classification.”
Hermione nodded and laughed so hard her eyes watered.
“And you,” Pansy added solemnly, turning to Hermione, “are not allowed to disappear again. Ever. I’m pregnant and emotional and I will never recover.”
Hermione reached for her hand.
“I promise I’m not planning to get kidnapped again.”
Pansy squeezed her fingers. “See that you don’t.”
After plates of roasted pears, raspberry pastries, eggs, sausages, and far too many sweet rolls, they moved to the sitting room for gifts.
Pansy presented her first one to Hermione, a beautifully carved hair stick made of black walnut, tipped with a small Phoenix feather.
“Phoenix Gala solidarity,” Pansy said smugly. “And it matches your gala gown. Consider it fashion continuity and a memory.”
Hermione hugged her tight.
Blaise handed Draco a wrapped sleek, obsidian-handled quill.
“It’s enchanted to never blot,” he explained. “You do enough paperwork to justify top-tier tools.”
Draco looked pleased.
“Merlin bless you.”
Theo gifted Blaise a new wand holster spelled for cold weather combat.
Blaise raised a brow. “What are you expecting me to do in the snow? Duel penguins?”
Theo smirked.
“You’ll thank me next time Pansy drags you to visit the Greengrasses in the mountains.”
Pansy gave Theo an expensive Italian healer’s wand charm to attach to his wand, used to enhance various types of healing spells, “so he didn’t look like a sad little new-age academic in the hospital any longer.”
Theo put it on immediately.
“This is… perfect actually. Thank you.”
She grinned.
Hermione’s gift to Pansy was the one that made the woman go watery-eyed:
a custom planner enchanted to track magical pregnancy symptoms, baby growth progress, and even emotional states. It then turned into a memory book to record the baby’s firsts as a keepsake in the first few years.
“Oh for—Hermione Jean,” Pansy whispered, “you sentimental menace.”
Hermione hugged her.
“I wanted you to feel supported.”
“You succeeded,” Pansy sniffed, wiping her eye aggressively. “Ugh. Emotions.”
“Welcome to parenthood,” Blaise murmured.
Pansy elbowed him.
They lounged for another hour, Hermione curled against Theo on the sofa, Draco seated close enough that his knee brushed hers. None of it felt forced. None of it awkward.
Blaise made an elaborate argument that Draco’s Christmas pajamas from yesterday should be legally burned before Narcissa ever laid eyes on them.
Draco swore vengeance.
Pansy lectured Theo about drinking more water while on shift to prevent burnout.
Hermione couldn’t stop smiling.
The entire room felt like a family.
Just as Blaise began retelling the embarrassing story of Draco singing Muggle Christmas music off-key last year, the cracked open window rattled.
An enormous tawny owl swooped in, scattering snowflakes across the hearthrug.
Pansy shrieked, “Oh! My hair!”
Theo caught the owl on his arm.
Draco untied the sealed parchment from its leg.
Hermione straightened, pulse quickening.
The wax seal was deep red.
Ministry.
Kingsley’s.
Draco glanced between the four of them, jaw tightening.
“Well,” he murmured, breaking the seal,
“seems the holiday peace didn’t last long.”
And he unfolded the letter.
<<<<
To Lord Draco Malfoy, Healer Theodore Nott, and Lady Hermione,
I regret that I must trouble you during the holiday season, but there has been an incident of significance that I believe you should be made aware of as soon as possible.
Yesterday afternoon—Christmas Day—an adult witch was discovered collapsed inside the Leaky Cauldron.
Witnesses report she had been sitting alone at a corner table moments before losing consciousness.
Initial examinations by on-site Aurors and the responding St. Mungo’s team are consistent with a full core siphoning.
Her magical signature is nearly nonexistent.
The witch is currently alive but unresponsive.
No core activity has been detected.
We are aware of the gravity of this development, especially given your recent ordeal and the ongoing investigation. An Auror unit, along with Curse Breaker specialists, is now conducting a full sweep of the premises, surrounding shops, and floo points. As of this morning, we have not established whether the siphoning occurred on-site or prior to her arrival at the pub.
We will notify you immediately as more information becomes available.
I understand, given your personal connection to the case, that this news may cause distress. However, I respectfully ask that you do not interrupt your holiday recovery or ongoing rest, particularly in light of Lady Hermione’s recent rescue and continued healing. At present, there is no evidence that the incident indicates a direct threat to your household.
Please continue your holiday as peacefully as possible.
Your insights, once you are ready to resume collaborative work, remain invaluable to this investigation.
More information will follow via official owl the moment new details are confirmed.
With respect,
Kingsley Shacklebolt
Minister for Magic
>>>>
“Hermione?”
She reads it once.
Then again.
Her hands shake only slightly — but the boys feel it through the bond like a tremor.
“A siphoning… on Christmas…” she whispers.
Blaise swears under his breath. Pansy goes very still.
Hermione keeps reading, lips parted, the words full core siphoning hammering in her head.
Then she hands it to Theo.
And that’s when Draco speaks — low, raw.
“It’s the first new case,” he murmurs. “Since the potion.”
He looks… broken.
Not angry first.
Sad.
Almost defeated.
Hermione has seen Draco furious, terrified, protective, manic with worry.
But this—
She reaches for his hand on instinct.
“Draco…” she murmurs.
Theo reads the letter agaain and sinks into his chair, face pinched with dread.
Draco’s voice cracks.
“We were supposed to have bought more time,” he chokes out. “The potion—if she’s taken it—then it means—”
He has to stop, swallow hard.
Theo finishes for him, voice flat and grim:
“It means either she didn’t take it…”
Hermione nods slowly. “Or the attacker has found a way around it.”
The air drops twenty degrees.
Pansy whispers, “Oh, Merlin.”
Blaise mutters, “That’s… that’s bad. That’s really bad.”
Hermione is squeezing Draco’s hand now, two hands wrapped around his one like she’s anchoring him.
“And if it’s bypassing the potion,” Theo continues softly, “then our extra time to unravel this just eneded.”
Draco lets out a shaky exhale.
“Or they’ve escalated,” he says. “Adapted.”
Hermione feels his panic swelling through the bond, not wild panic, but a deeper, quieter dread. A grief. Almost guilt.
“We should have stopped them by now,” he whispers.
“Draco,” Hermione says, leaning close, “you saved me. Theo saved me. You both have given everything. Other people are responsible for working on this too.”
“That doesn’t matter if they’re changing tactics faster than anyone can track,” he snaps, instantly regretting it. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m not angry at you, I just—”
Theo puts a hand on Draco’s shoulder.
“We know.”
Through the bond, Hermione feels Draco’s sadness like a heavy weight.
Hermione sits up straighter, rubbing her temple.
Draco’s voice is hoarse.
“If the siphoning method has changed… if they’ve found another vector… then the entire public safety strategy has to be rewritten.”
Blaise whistles softly.
Pansy covers her mouth. “That poor woman…”
Hermione swallows hard, “On Christmas of all days.”
Draco is staring at the table now, eyes far away.
“This is how it starts,” he mutters. “The shift. The escalation. They tested something new on Christmas because people are distracted. And now—”
“Draco,” Hermione interrupts gently, touching his cheek with her free hand.
“You can’t do that. You can’t blame yourself.”
Theo kneels beside Draco’s chair, pressing close enough their shoulders touch.
“You’re allowed to take one day off for the holidays,” Theo murmurs. “You are not responsible for every evil thing out there.”
Draco’s throat works.
“But if she didn’t take the potion—did she know about it? Did she trust it? Did someone hand her something? Did—”
“Stop,” Hermione whispers.
Her voice trembles.
“Please. You’re hurting.”
Theo closes his eyes.
“We all are.”
The bond thrums with sadness.
Hermione threads her fingers through Draco’s hair, grounding him.
“You’re here. I’m here. Safe. Alive. And we’re not giving up.”
Draco’s breath shudders.
“You almost died,” he whispers.
“And now someone else—on Christmas—”
She presses her forehead to his.
“I’m not leaving your sight. And we’ll solve this.”
Theo reaches up and takes both their hands.
The room is heavy.
Quiet.
Then, a sudden wash of bright, silvery light pours through the dining room doorway. A glowing stag trots into the room, antlers almost brushing the chandelier.
Harry’s voice fills the space, warm and loud enough to make them all jerk upright.
“Don’t panic. The potion still works.”
“The witch didn’t take it, she hadn’t planned to leave home on Christmas but ran out for more firewhisky for the party and grabbed food while she was out.”
“The siphon didn’t bypass anything.”
“You’re still on the right track. Breathe. We’ve got this.”
The stag bows its head toward Hermione, then dissolves into sparkles.
Theo lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
Hermione sags forward, hand over her chest.
Draco just… freezes.
It’s Hermione who moves first, one hand sliding across the table to cup Draco’s cheek.
He’s staring at where the Patronus vanished, throat tight.
Hermione’s voice is soft.
“Draco. Do you hear that? It still works. She just didn’t take it.”
Theo swallows hard.
“That means we’re not back at square one.”
Draco closes his eyes, jaw trembling.
He stops, breathes, tries again, “It means I didn’t fail.”
Hermione moves her chair closer, wrapping her arms around him from behind.
“You didn’t,” she whispers against his hair.
Theo shifts his seat so he’s directly beside Draco and puts a hand over Draco’s clenched fist.
“You hear that?” he murmurs. “Harry told you to breathe.”
Draco lets out a little laugh — the broken kind that happens right before crying.
“I thought… I thought everything collapsed today.”
Pansy sniffles loudly, then dramatically fans her eyes.
“Well,” she announces, “that Patronus scared a decade off my life, but I suppose that’s better than a new grey hair.”
Blaise raises an eyebrow, “You already have a grey hair. I saw it.”
Pansy smacks his arm, “You take that back, Zabini! I am pregnant and delicate!”
Hermione laughs, the first real one since brunch, and the tension melts just a little more.
Draco’s head drops to the table with a muffled groan.
“Oh Merlin… she’s going to weaponize this baby for months.”
“Of course she is,” Blaise mutters.
Pansy smirks.
“You’re all welcome.”
Theo squeezes Hermione’s hand.
“Okay. So the potion still works.”
Hermione nods.
“We still have a defensive tool that protects the public. That matters.”
Draco lifts his head again, blinking slowly.
“And we have time. They haven’t outmaneuvered us. Not yet.”
Theo exhales.
“And the method of exposure is still consistent, at least for now.”
Hermione gently bumps Draco’s knee under the table.
“You can unclench your spine now,” she teases softly.
Draco gives her a tired but real smile.
Pansy points from Draco to Hermione to Theo.
“You’re all disgusting. I love it. Don’t ever stop.”
Blaise rolls his eyes.
“She’s in the sappy stage of pregnancy.”
“No, I’m in the told-you-so stage,” Pansy huffs.
Theo snorts.
“Don’t encourage her anyone.”
Too late — Pansy sits back, hands on belly like she’s queen of the world.
Draco reaches out and threads his fingers through Hermione’s, then Theo’s.
The bond hums — warm again.
Steady again.
Open again.
And Hermione feels it clearly:
Draco isn’t scared anymore. Just tired.
And grateful.
And so deeply relieved he might cry if she hugs him too tightly.
After a long, tense silence, Pansy softly clears her throat.
“Well,” she says gently, “if there was ever a group I’d bet on to figure this out, it’s the three of you.”
Blaise nods. “Yeah. And you’re not alone, alright? You’ve got all of us and the Ministry, too.”
Hermione smiles back genuinely.
Notes:
I hope to get more up tonight or tomorrow.
Chapter 263: A Potter Lunch
Chapter Text
The triad apparates onto the front steps together, Hermione tucked between them the way she always is now.
Draco’s hand hovers at her lower back, protective ponding in the bond form him.
Theo’s fingers brush hers with every step up the stairs, subtle grounding she doesn’t even realize she reaches for.
Hermione knocks only once, and the door flies open.
“Finally!” Ginny crows, pulling Hermione straight into a hug. “Get inside, it’s cold and Harry’s been pacing like he’s waiting for his OWL results.”
Harry appears in the hallway looking sheepish, “I was not pacing.”
“You definitely were,” Ginny insists, kissing his cheek.
Theo grins. Draco snorts.
Harry ignores them, “Come on. I’ve got news.”
The kitchen is loud and homey, a fire crackling, enchanted garlands floating along the ceiling. There’s a spread on the table: roast chicken sandwiches, pumpkin soup, buttered rolls, and something Ginny proudly describes as “A Weasley version of a salad that’s 80% croutons and much less healthy.”
Hermione squeezes into the bench seat between Draco and Theo, and she notices how Harry watches the motion, assessing, checking, making sure she’s truly okay.
He exhales once she’s settled.
“Alright,” he says, lowering into his seat. “Here’s everything we know.”
The table grows quiet.
Harry folds his hands.
“So. The siphoned witch from the Leaky Cauldron woke up fully lucid last night. Confirmed everything we thought, she didn’t take the potion, ate a pastry she bought fresh that morning while running her errand. Classic exposure route.”
Draco gives a stiff nod, jaw clenched, but a little relief melting into his shoulders.
Harry continues:
“Unspeakables tested leftover pastries from the same vendor. They were clean. Whatever contaminated hers was targeted or extremely limited distribution early in the day.”
Theo frowns, “Meaning it wasn’t random perhaps.”
“Right,” Harry says. “But — and here’s the important part — the potion still holds. She was unprotected. That’s the only reason she was affected.”
Hermione feels Theo’s hand find her thigh beneath the table. Draco leans a little closer, his knee bumping hers. They’re trying to hide their relief behind stoicism but Harry sees it anyway.
“And…” Harry adds, tone shifting, “I know you’ll want to know this bit…Kingsley’s team has gone through every main food-distribution import pier again. No signs of tampering in the major suppliers. That means—”
“That the point of contamination is small-scale,” Hermione finishes softly. “And possibly mobile.”
“Exactly.”
Theo rubs the bridge of his nose, “That makes it so to track.”
Draco mutters challenging, “But not impossible.”
Ginny reaches over and pushes a plate of rolls toward Draco.
“Eat. You three look like you barely slept.”
“We slept fine,” Draco lies.
Theo adds, “He’s lying for all of us.”
Hermione elbows him gently.
Ginny smirks, “You need food before Harry dumps more doom on you.”
Harry huffs.
“It’s not doom. Okay — it’s a little more doom.”
“But controlled doom,” Ginny corrects.
They all laugh, tension easing.
Harry lowers his voice.
“Kingsley asked me to pass on something directly to you three. Off the record.”
The triad leans in — instinctively closer, the bond tightening in quiet anticipation.
“We’ve found indications the network is… splintering more. Someone higher up is still cleaning house, eliminating loose ends.”
Theo goes pale, “Like the Russian guard.”
Harry nods grimly.
“Exactly. Aurors are working with international offices to see if the pattern lines up. But the good news is—”
Draco snorts. “There’s good news?”
Harry presses on.
“Yes. They’re getting sloppy. Sloppy people make mistakes.”
Hermione swallows.
“So there’s movement.”
“Fast movement,” Harry confirms. “It’s not stagnating. Something is shifting. They’re preparing for something big… we can tell the hype is rising.”
The tension breaks when Ginny abruptly stands.
“Alright, enough of this prophecy-flavored misery. I need a palate cleanser.”
She points at Hermione.
“You still planning to do that big New Year’s Eve dinner mini gala? Because you know I’m not missing a chance to dress Harry up like a penguin.”
Harry groans.
“I am not—”
“You are,” Ginny interrupts jokingly.
Hermione laughs, the sound is warmer this time.
“Yes. We’re still doing it.”
Theo leans against her shoulder.
“We thought it would be nice to have everyone together before the term starts again for Hermione.”
Harry’s expression softens in that protective, older-brother way he only has with Hermione.
“I’m glad,” he says. “You deserve something normal. And so do we.”
The conversation drifts into easier topics, Luna and Neville are adjusting to a baby’s sleep schedule, Ron’s holiday gift buying chaos, Ginny’s Quidditch schedule, Pansy's pregnancy moods.
While they talk, Hermione feels it:
Draco’s thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand.
Theo brushing her knee with his.
A quiet, relieved warmth threading between all three of them.
Harry notices and grins into his soup.
Ginny notices and nudges Harry with her elbow.
Hermione pretends not to notice either of them noticing.
Draco pretends he’s not blushing.
Theo pretends he isn’t amused.
As they're putting on their winter cloaks at the door, Harry stops them.
“There’s one last thing you should know,” he says quietly.
“The Potions Department is working on a way to extend the window of effectiveness from three and a half hours to possibly five or six. And swap a few ingredients on the sly in case they’re working on a way to bypass it right now.”
Hermione blinks, “That would change everything. Make it easier for people to safely have normal public lives.”
“It would,” Harry agrees. “And they wanted you three to know that without your early research, your partnership with the healer’s ward, and everything you pushed for… it wouldn’t have happened. Kingsley told me specifically to tell you that.”
Draco stiffens, like praise form the Minister simply short-circuits him.
Theo’s shoulders loosen.
Hermione feels tears prickling behind her eyes.
Ginny steps forward and hugs her.
“You three are making a real difference,” she murmurs.
“Even on the days it feels like everything is falling apart.”
Hermione squeezes her tight.
They leave hand-in-hand-in-hand, stepping into the crisp December air.
The bond is quiet.
Warm.
Stable.
Theo looks over at her and smiles softly.
Draco brushes a curl behind her ear.
“Lunch was good,” Hermione says quietly.
“It was,” Draco agrees.
“We needed that,” Theo adds.
Notes:
Yes, there will be a small New Year's gala at the manor with close friends.
What should the triad wear?!
Chapter 264: Heffalumps
Notes:
I love Luna so much xD
Chapter Text
Hermione wakes early, earlier than she meant to…because Theo’s gone from the bed and the bond tugs gently in the direction of the kitchen to bring them together.
She follows the scent of tea and cinnamon to find him already up, alert, barefoot, and stirring something in a pot.
“Morning,” he says softly, brushing a kiss to her temple as she slips against him. “Luna and Celine will be here in alittle over an hour.”
Hermione nods, already smiling, “I wrapped all her gifts last night.”
Theo kisses her again, “I saw. You used three different ribbon spools.”
Hermione swats him playfully.
By noon, the manor is glowing with winter light spilling across the dining room, and then the fireplace flares and Luna steps out, carrying her daughter wrapped in a pink wool blanket dotted with tiny embroidered daisies.
“Hello!” Luna beams. “She’s been humming contently all morning. Which I’m quite sure means she’s excited to see her godmother. And Theo too,” she adds politely, as if just remembering him.
Theo tries to hide the smile crinkling his cheeks, “Good to see you too, Luna.”
Hermione takes the baby immediately, instinctively. Celine coos at her, a soft, bubbly little sound — and Hermione’s entire heart pulls upward in her chest.
Luna tilts her head, “Oh yes. She remembers you.”
“She’s only a fewmonths old,” Theo murmurs.
“Yes,” Luna replies serenely, “that’s what makes it impressive.”
Hermione sits on the couch with Celine asleep on her chest, and Luna settles beside her, humming some lilting tune that sounds suspiciously like a lullaby sung backward.
“Here,” Hermione says, handing her a pastel-wrapped bag of boxes, “Her Christmas gifts.”
Luna gasps dramatically.
“Oh! Celine, look! Your godmother has given you your very first presents!”
Celine snores delicately.
“I’ll open them for you,” Luna decides, already tearing the wrapping with an innocent chaos only she can manage.
The first gift was a stuffed snowy owl nearly the size of the baby.
“Oh good,” Luna says, stroking its soft wings. “She’ll want a familiar someday. This will help her practice the emotional bonding rituals to be ready.”
Theo looks startled, “She’s… only a few months old.”
“Yes,” Luna says again, “which means she’s behind already. Babies really ought to start their bonding rituals early so their future magic doesn’t crackle sideways and scare the familiars.”
Theo rubs his brow.
Hermione just laughs.
The next gift was a tiny charm bracelet to add to for when she’s older, little beads shaped like stars, moons, and a flower.
Luna squeals. “Oh Hermione, this is perfect. She’ll be wearing it in every formal photo at Hogwarts.”
A pang hits Hermione — soft and deep — at Hogwarts. At imagining the child with magic. Healthy. Growing.
She hopes.
She hopes so hard it hurts.
Luna raises her head suddenly, eyes locked on Hermione with that too-perceptive softness she always has.
“You’re going to be a wonderful mother, you know,” she says simply.
Theo looks away emotional.
Hermione goes pink, “Luna— we haven’t exactly— I mean—”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Luna interrupts, waving a hand. “I’m not suggesting it will happen tomorrow. Or even next week. But your aura has begun shifting. It’s leaning forward.”
“My… aura is leaning?”
Luna nods perceptively, “Like someone bracing before a beautiful tidal wave.”
Hermione stares.
Theo mutters under his breath, “I don’t think tidal waves are beautiful.”
“They are,” Luna says serenely, “if they’re carrying you toward your destiny instead of away from it.”
Hermione tries not to look at Theo. Tries not to think about February. Tries not to think about wanting children with all the terrifying tenderness blooming in her chest.
Celine drifts into an even deeper sleep against Hermione, tiny breath hot against her collarbone.
Luna stands suddenly and announces,“It’s lunchtime. And I need Draco.”
Theo blinks, “Draco… why?”
“Yes,” Luna says cheerfully. “He’s been hiding in his study all morning pretending he’s writing very important things. But really he’s worrying about Hermione’s magic wobbling. So I need him to sit at the table instead, where I can see him and he can feel included.”
Hermione whispers,
“She’s not wrong.”
Theo sighs.
“She’s never wrong.”
Luna is already drifting down the hallway like a pastel ghost.
“Dracoooooo,” she sings, knocking once before pushing open the door. “Come out. I require your presence.”
Hermione winces, “Oh Merlin.”
But Draco emerges seconds later looking suspiciously obedient, like someone who knows better than to argue with Luna.
He walks over, pressing a soft kiss to Hermione’s hair, checking baby Celine with a careful eye, giving Theo a look that says we are surviving this, then sits down.
“Thank you,” Luna says brightly as she starts setting the table with her wand. “You’re much easier to herd than Neville, you know.”
Luna ladles out bowls of vegetable stew of their kitchen counter as if she’s lived here her whole life.
“Is Neville doing alright?” Hermione asks.
“Oh yes,” Luna says, settling baby Celine’s basket beside her.
“He’s been cultivating a new variety of moon-blooming moss. We’re hoping to take Celine to see the Heffalumps in late spring and we can feed it to them as a treat.”
Theo stares.
“The… what?”
“Heffalumps,” Luna repeats calmly. “Beautiful creatures. Very shy. They only appear to people whose souls are balanced and believing.”
Draco glares at his stew. “Well, I guess I’ll never see one.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll see plenty,” Luna says mildly. “Once Hermione finishes the last bit of aligning you three properly.”
Hermione coughs into her soup.
Theo turns red.
Draco chokes on his tea bit before playing it off.
Luna keeps eating as if she hasn’t casually psychoanalyzed their entire bond over lentils.
“Anyway,” Luna continues dreamily, “I’m very excited. Babies who see Heffalumps early grow up with strong intuition. And usually lovely hair.”
Hermione giggles. “Always important to have.”
After lunch, Luna retrieves the baby — still sleeping, tiny fists curled in her basket.
She stands, brushing Hermione’s cheek with a gentle thumb.
“You’re healing,” she murmurs. “In the right direction. And so is everything around you.”
Hermione swallows the sudden knot in her throat.
Draco steps close, his hand warm on her back.
Theo takes her other hand.
Luna smiles at the three of them as if seeing something they can’t yet.
“Spring will be very important for you all,” she says simply.
Then she gathers Celine, gives them each a kiss on the cheek, and floos away in a swirl of blue-green sparks.
The manor feels quieter once she’s gone.
Softer.
Hermione leans into her boys, still warm with Luna’s strange brand of certainty.
“You okay?” Theo murmurs.
Hermione nods slowly.
“Yes. I think I really am.”
Draco rests his forehead against hers.
Across the bond, all three of them feel the same thing:
Warmth.
Hope.
And the quiet promise of something new forming just ahead.
Chapter 265: Frosty and Warm
Notes:
Domestic tranquility suits them.
Chapter Text
Theo wakes first, he often does, and Hermione stirs as soon as his side of the bed cools.
When she reaches out through the bond, she feels him downstairs already, warm, content, steady.
Draco is awake too, but still in bed, lazily flipping through a heavy, leather-bound book that smells like dust, ink, and Christmas.
Hermione sits up, rubbing her eyes.
“What are you reading?”
Draco holds up the book cover, showing what she gifted him on old triad case studies,
“It’s fascinating,” he says, then adds begrudgingly, “and absolutely alarming.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Define alamring.”
He taps the page.
“Well, apparently in a balanced triad, the magical output increases exponentially when emotional alignment is strong, which—” he sighs “—is exactly what the Unspeakables told us. But the book also says that if the bond goes too long without proper intimacy and communication, the magical channels start vibrating on different frequencies and—”
He waves a hand, frustrated.
“It destabilizes everything.”
Hermione is quiet for a moment.
“So basically what we experienced when we were apart too long.”
“Yes,” Draco mutters. “And the book confirms stabilizing almost always requires—”
Theo reappears in the doorway holding mugs.
“—mutual vulnerability, emotional honesty, and regular sexual intimacy,” he says dryly. “I skimmed that chapter yesterday. It needs everything, or it all falls apart, more of one can’t make up for none of another.”
Draco turns his eyes to him, “I wasn’t going to say it quite like that.”
Hermione hides a smile behind her mug.
Theo hands her the tea first, then squeezes Draco’s shoulder and sets his mug down next to him.
“So,” Hermione says softly, “are we all agreeing the Unspeakables weren’t being dramatic?”
Draco groans, “I hate that they’re right. They’re never pleasant about it.”
Theo kisses Hermione’s temple, “Good thing we’re doing much better now.”
Draco’s magic nudges affectionately through the bond in agreement.
After breakfast, Theo motions her toward the sitting room where the winter sunlight is brightest.
“Sit,” he says gently.
Hermione obeys, and Draco hovers until Theo gives him a look.
Theo places his hands lightly over her sternum and abdomen, wandless healer magic that he’s bene getting very good at lately.
It pulses through her body, blooming through her veins.
Hermione exhales.
Theo’s brow furrows in concentration.
Then softens.
Then lifts into a relieved smile.
“Full recovery,” he murmurs. “Your core’s back to one hundred percent.”
Draco lets out a breath of happy relief and drops to sit on the sofa beside her, forehead pressed briefly to her shoulder.
Hermione squeezes Theo’s hand.
Theo adds, “I want you to still go easy on overdoing spellwork for another week just to be sure, but magically? You’re whole again.”
She beams.
Through the bond, tenderness floods from all three.
Draco straightens, determination flickering.
“We should try something from the book,” he says.
“Something that uses the bond. Something coordinated. Soemthing not too draining,” Theo says pointily looking at Hermione.
Hermione nods. “Basic shield charm?”
Theo grins. “Together?”
Their first attempt is chaotic.
Their magic collides mid-air and sputters like a firework having an identity crisis.
Draco swears, “That…I swear that wasn’t me.”
“Mm-hm, sure,” Hermione teases.
The second attempt sends a small shockwave thru the room that flips a chair.
Theo winces, “Okay… not that. Everyone needs to concentrate more.”
The third attempt fizzles out immediately.
The fourth attempt nearly cracks a window, the ping of a spell hitting glass unmistakable.
The fifth attempt works when they maintain body contact.
Draco’s hand is wrapped around Hermione’s. Her other is pressed against Theo’s warm palm. All three inhale at the same moment, focusing through the bond and a shimmering shield blossoms around them, pulsing with iridescent gleams.
“Merlin,” Draco whispers. “It’s… beautiful.”
Theo brushes Hermione’s knuckles with his thumb, “It’s us together.”
They hold it steady until the magic hums low and soft beneath their skin for a minute.
Hermione’s heart blooms, and they grin proudly at one another before heading to the kitchen.
“Alright,” Hermione says after lunch, pulling out an old, worn Risk box form a closet, “you’re trying something new and muggle today.”
Draco narrows his eyes, “What is this? A Muggle war game?”
“Yes.”
Theo looks intrigued, “Do I get to conquer territories?”
“Yep.”
Draco smirks. “Oh I’m excellent at this already.”
As it turns out he is not excellent at this after all.
The game devolves rapidly into Draco assuming Australia is a “strategic masterpiece”. Theo quietly conquering half of Asia without anyone noticing. Hermione pretending not to notice Theo conquering half of Asia. Draco shouting “YOU CAN’T JUST TAKE EUROPE, THEO!”. Theo shrugging with innocence, and eventually Hermione fortifying North America because she’s a menace.
Halfway through, Draco tries negotiating, “If you let me keep Europe, I’ll bring you book shopping.”
Hermione snorts, “No deal.”
Theo rolls the dice, wipes out Draco’s armies, and whispers, “Sorry, mate.”
Draco throws himself backward across the carpet, “I’m betrayed. By my own husband.”
They play for nearly two hours before Hermione ultimately wins.
Theo applauds her.
Draco sulks dramatically, face buried in a throw pillow.
By the time the sun dips behind the trees, they’re all still sprawled in the living room.
Theo makes a simple dinner, spiced pumpkin soup and grilled cheese. Draco cuts the sandwiches up with unnecessarily elegant diagonal precision claiming it’s the only correct way to eat peasant food, but his smile as the melted cheese hits his tongue has no one convinced.
Hermione puts on Frosty the Snowman because it’s cozy and nostalgic to compliment dinner.
Draco dislikes every minute of it.
“What do you mean the hat is magical? That’s not how enchanted textiles work.”
Hermione giggles, “It’s a children’s movie.”
“And why does the snowman have no survival instinct? Why is he running into greenhouses? Snow melts!”
Hermione pats his knee., “That’s the plot.”
“It’s idiotic.”
But he doesn’t move from her side the whole movie.
Theo sits behind her, legs framing her hips as he shares the blanket with them both.
They eat popcorn.
Draco complains about the animation quality.
Theo shushes him twice.
Hermione leans back into them, the bond warm, full, safe.
At one point Draco mutters, “I still think the snowman deserved better.”
Theo kisses Hermione’s hair and murmurs, “He’s very emotionally invested, apparently.”
Draco scowls, “I am not emotionally, the rabbit character is unhinged.”
Hermione laughs so hard she spills the popcorn bowl.
After the movie, the fireplace crackles softly.
The Christmas tree glows.
Hermione sighs softly, “This was a perfect day.”
Theo kisses the back of her hand, “Every day we get with you is.”
Draco lifts her fingers to his lips, “And we’re not done making up for the weeks we lost.”
Hermione threads her fingers with theirs, heart full to the brim.
Everything feels right.
Everything feels like home.
Chapter 266: Stew Gone Cold
Chapter Text
The kitchen was still warm from the embers left banked in the hearth overnight. Hermione padded in wearing one of Theo’s old jumpers and fuzzy socks, hair still a little mussed from sleep.
Draco was already at the table, coffee in hand, reading the Daily Prophet with a scowl.
He looked up the moment she entered, mouth morphing into a small smile, “Morning, Hemrione.”
She smiled softly, and leaned down to kiss his cheek before sliding into the chair beside him.
“Did Theo get off alright?”
“As well as Theo ever does at six in the morning. But I did manage to get a coffee in his hand before he left.” Draco joked lightly.
“He said he’d firecall when he could take a break, and that we’re forbidden to skip lunch while he’s at work. He also said to remind you that cheese and crackers is not a meal.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, “He’s worse than my mother ever was.”
“Because he’s in love with you,” Draco said simply, reaching over to brush a curl off her shoulder.
“Makes people bossy, you should know.”
Before she could answer, a sharp taping hit the window.
Hermione jerked toward the sound, but Draco was already rising, wand out, opening the window with a cautious shield half-cast.
An owl from the Ministry swooped in, dropped a sealed parchment on the table, and took off without waiting for a treat.
Hermione and Draco exchanged a look.
“That’s… never a good sign,” Hermione murmured.
Draco cracked the seal open.
They read it together, shoulders touching.
>>>>>>>>>
To Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, and Hermione Malfoy-Granger-Nott,
As part of our continued investigation into possible Flint connections to the siphoning network, the Department of Records and the Muggle Liaison Office have completed the next sweep of international archives.
While many Flint family members remain missing or untraceable through normal magical or muggle channels, three individuals previously believed to be dead or nonexistent have been identified through Muggle public records:
- Edwin Flint — criminal record in Germany (assault, 1998, Breaking and entering, 1996)
• Michael Flint — marriage certificate in Scotland (1985); listed occupation “retail clerk”
• Rowan Flint — multiple U.S. state records including a driver’s license renewal, and paid property taxes last year
Based on these findings, the Muggle Liaison Office suspects these three may be squibs who were expelled from the family and subsequently living in the Muggle world.
This supports the theory that several erased branches of the Flint family tree consist of individuals whose names were removed from Flint family records by magical means to save face in the pureblood community.
We are continuing to trace additional erased or unlisted Flint members.
Further updates to follow within the week I hope.
— Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic
>>>>>>>>
Hermione exhaled slowly and slumped back in her chair.
“They’re squibs,” she whispered. “And their own family erased them.”
Draco didn’t sit back down. He remained standing, jaw tightening, fingers curling into a fist on the table.
Hermione reached for his hand, “Explain it to me.”
Draco swallowed hard.
“When I say ‘erased,’ I mean obliterated,” Draco said quietly, staring at the letter like it was about to bite him.
“In Sacred Twenty-Eight families, Squibs aren’t just… disappointing. They were considered threats. Proof that the bloodline wasn’t perfect. Proof of weakness. Of inferiority.”
Hermione felt her stomach turn.
Draco continued, voice lower, almost ashamed even though this wasn’t his personal doing.
“They were usually sent away young if no magic was detected early on, sometimes as toddlers, sometimes at five or six when they still showed no accidental magic. ‘Sent to live with distant cousins,’ or ‘adopted by Muggle families.’ That’s what the adults said. What they really meant was: We don’t want you. You don’t exist.And sometimes even… your better off dead.”
Hermione’s breath hitched.
Draco sat down at last, shoulders collapsing.
“In the Malfoy line… it happened twice that I know about. Great-uncle Corvus and a cousin named Marcellus. By the time I was born, their names were gone completely for decades. The tapestry rewove itself even to cover their gap.”
He let out a long breath.
“Flints were always even more brutal than my family. If the records say someone doesn’t exist… it’s because they made damned sure of it.”
Hermione whispered, “Do you think the erased ones could be involved in the network?”
Draco’s eyes flickered with thought, calculating, sharp, dark.
“It would explain a lot. Squibs with a lifetime of resentment. Banished. Humiliated. Forgotten. They’d hate the families who cast them out. Or… sickly, could be trying to get back into hem by making them proud.”
He tapped the letter.
“And what better revenge than stripping magic from the children of the society that told you were worthless, especially from muggles who you think stole your magic originally?”
Hermione’s chest tightened.
It made a horrible, tragic kind of sense.
“And,” Draco added quietly, “it would explain why the boss never showed himself to Hermione. Squibs can’t apparate, can’t cast most offensive spells, can’t maintain long-term wards. He’d have needed others to do the kidnapping, the transportation, the magical heavy lifting. Meet-up with hem to get there in a convent way. Muggle transport to those tunnels would have been a lengthy process.”
Hermione shivered.
“But he could run a siphon,” Draco said. “Because siphons rely on pre-made enchanted doing the magic, not a direct caster.”
Hermione whispered, “Draco… that means he could be literally anywhere.”
“Exactly.” Draco rubbed his forehead. “Squibs move freely in the Muggle world. They disappear into crowds, pass borders by cars and trains. No trace. No magic signature. Perfect for hiding.”
Hermione’s heartbeat thudded, “The erased Flint branches might be really the key to unlocking this whole mess.”
Draco reached across the table and took her hand, squeezing tight.
“Someone will figure it out, maybe even us,” he murmured.
The bond hummed with the faint echo of Theo’s calm.
They ate breakfast together slowly after that, quiet but united.
Later that night, Ginny had already set her dining room table in that half-chaotic, half-charming Weasley style: mismatched plates, and a giant pot of stew steaming in the center with loaves of fresh bread.
Hermione sat between Theo and Draco, trying to ignore how protective both of them seemed tonight, hands brushing her knee, hovering close when she reached for her wine, standing when she stood.
It was sweet.
It was suffocating.
It was also impossible not to understand given the last few months.
Ginny slid into the seat across from Hermione with a sigh.
“Harry sent word he’s running late, another intercepted owl. He didn’t say what’s in it.”
Draco stiffened immediately.
Theo’s hand found Hermione’s under the table.
Hermione braced.
They ate for several minutes in relative quiet , Ginny chatting about Victoria’s first accidental magic yesterday, Theo talking about his brutal morning shift of puking hung-over witches, Hermione explaining her Charms make-up work. It felt almost norma, but nt quite with anticipation hanging in the air.
Then the front door slammed.
Boots hit the hallway.
Fast, heavy.
Ginny stood before he even rounded the corner, “Harry?”
He appeared in the doorway, hair windblown, coat still on, face pulled tight with that exhausted Auror tension she recognized too well.
He held an opened letter in his hand.
“Sorry I’m late,” Harry said, voice low. “Another one got intercepted.”
Hermione’s stomach dropped.
Draco whispered, “Fuck.”
Theo straightened so abruptly his spook dropped into the bowl with a clang.
Harry tossed protective wards over the room with movements so practiced they were like breathing. Only when he was sure the room was sealed did he sit. Lately, he’d become extra paranoid since Hermione’s capture.
He slid the parchment to Hermione.
“I want you to read it,” Harry said. “It was addressed… indirectly. But clearly it’s about the case.”
Hermione swallowed and unfolded the letter, hand shaking slightly at the sight of the unfamiliar angular handwriting.
To our Associate,
Loose ends must be resolved more quickly. The benefactor is displeased that our timetable has suffered unnecessary delays.
The escaped mudblood has jeopardized months of work.
The Boss is furious. Her failure to remain contained has forced us to reevaluate our protocols at home.
We begin the next implantation trial soon. Yellowtail location to be used.
Our newest subject is optimal: young, empty, and unguarded.
The success of the Christmas extraction confirms continued viability of the method.
The public protection draught has stalled our collection rate. Need better flow.
The Boss demands a workaround. Make it quick.
He assures us the potion’s flaw has already been found, and just a modification is needed not an overhaul.
Continue to purge all who know too much. Never trust the unworthy.
— F.
Hermione had to reread the words twice. Her hand shook harder on the parchment.
Implantation trial.
Extracted on Christmas.
Workaround to the potion.
Purge all who know too much.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “They’re still experimenting. They’re planning more soon. And they found a new victim.
“Drained already,” Theo finished, voice grave.
Ginny covered her mouth. “The Christmas witch.”
Harry nodded grimly. “Matches the timeline we’ve bene following too perfectly.”
Draco pushed back from the table so abruptly it rattled.
“‘The boss isn’t happy about Hermione’s escape’ — I’ll tear him apart with my bare fucking hands if he tries it again.”
Theo grabbed his wrist under the table. “Draco.”
But Draco wasn’t calming so easily, he was vibrating with rage.
Hermione reached for him too.
The moment her fingers touched his sleeve, the tension in his shoulders cracked.
He sat slowly. Quietly. Too quietly.
Harry ran a hand through his hair.
“We also know from Kingsley’s letter this morning that at least three erased Flints are verified living as squibs in the Muggle world. And this—” he nodded at the letter, “—is signed only with an ‘F.’”
Ginny frowned. “Could ‘F’ just mean Flint?”
Harry nodded. “Could. Or someone posing as one. Or a splinter branch we don’t have on record. Or it’s really the name… Frank, Fred, Francis, for fucks-sake. Who knows.”
Draco reached for Hermione’s hand again like he needed something to anchor him.
“They’re angry,” Draco muttered. “They’re scrambling. The potion slowed them down. And now they want a workaround.”
His eyes darkened. “Meaning… a new method or a modified one at least.”
Hermione’s throat tightened.
“Implantation trials,” she said softly. “Doesn’t sound like they’re being idle at all.”
Theo’s face went pale.
Harry nodded. “If they’re experimenting with direct siphons, or siphons tied to objects, or touch, or—” he stopped himself when Hermione flinched. “
We’re widening the net. Kingsley wants any piece of Flint DNA, magical trace, or forgotten lineage dragged from vaults, attics, and old houses.”
Ginny leaned forward.
“And you three — did you feel anything from her time in captivity?”
Theo shook his head. “Nothing. It was too far.”
Draco’s voice was rougher, “I should have felt something. I should have—”
“Draco,” Hermione murmured, leaning into him. “No.”
Ginny reached for the wine bottle and poured everyone another glass.
“All right,” she said firmly. “Let’s take this one piece at a time.”
An hour passed as they debated theories and possibilities.
The stew grew cold.
Their wineglasses empty.
The candles burned low.
Harry eventually leaned back, exhausted.
“All right. Tomorrow Kingsley is convening another full strategy session. I want you three there. Between Hermione’s memories and the new trace work on the Flints, we might finally have some real direction.”
Draco rubbed at his eyes. “We’ll be there.”
Ginny touched Hermione’s arm. “Stay safe tonight. And stay together.”
Theo let out a tired laugh. “We’ve barely let Hermione out of our sight.”
Hermione smiled weakly. “I’m aware. I miss peeing alone.”
Theo wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“Whatever comes next,” he murmured, “we face it together. Always.”
Hermione pressed her forehead to his chest, Draco at her back, the bond glowing warm.
Tonight, in Grimmauld Place, with their friends around them and the truth finally emerging into the light—they held each other and just tried to breath.
Notes:
What other Flints might they turn-up in muggle records?
Chapter 267: A Shiver in the Bond
Chapter Text
Hermione woke, tucked between Draco’s arms and Theo’s empty, cold pillow. He’d once again slipped out hours earlier for his shift. Snow dusted the windowpanes. The house was quiet.
Draco stirred behind her.
“Time to get up?” he murmured, voice scratchy with sleep.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Kingsley wants us at the Ministry by eight.”
Draco buried his face in her hair for another moment, breathing her in like he still couldn’t believe she was really there.
Then he forced himself up.
“You eat breakfast,” he ordered softly. “You barely ate dinner with everything we talked about.”
She rolled her eyes but kissed his cheek.
The energy in the Ministry was different, tense, urgent, buzzing like a magical low-grade fever.
When Hermione and Draco arrived, Kingsley, Harry, three Unspeakables, and International Auror Grace Montague were already in the briefing room.
Kingsley nodded. “Good. We need you both.”
Hermione sat between Draco and Harry. A magically projected map of the UK glowed in blue above the conference table, dotted with red where the drained victims had been found.
“We received another fragment from the Flint messenger channels,” Kingsley began. “We’re tracking the possible ‘loose ends’ mentioned in the intercepted letter, but several operatives we’ve had on watchlists vanished overnight.”
“Vanished?” Draco repeated.
Montague crossed her arms. “Killed or hidden. Either way, someone is tying off the chain still.”
Hermione swallowed hard.
Harry flipped a page. “We’ve located three Flint squibs, all confirmed via Muggle records. But the rest of the family tree is… ripped to shreds. Deliberately.”
“That tracks,” Draco muttered, jaw tight. “Half the Sacred 28 erased any squibs they had. The Flints just seem to have more than most. Some branches are missing entire decades.”
Hermione leaned forward, voice steady. “We need more magical lineage records. Old estate logs. Birth ledgers predating Ministry standardization.”
Kingsley nodded. “Which is why Draco will spend an afternoon in the Malfoy archives. If anyone kept obsessive, multi-century genealogical logs…it’s them.”
Draco didn’t even argue.
Kingsley continued, “We also suspect the ‘implantation trials’ refer to an attempt to place the stolen magic into a vessel likely a person or special object.”
“We’re close,” Kingsley said. “Too close, which means they’re getting desperate. That makes them likely to get desperate. We’re tightening surveillance on all suspected and confirmed Flint descendants.”
Hermione took a breath. “Kingsley, what about safeguards? The potion is working, but isn’t foolproof.”
“We’re preparing a second version,” Kingsley said. “Theo sent word this morning that it’s looking promising in early lab tests.”
Draco exhaled slowly. “Thank Merlin.”
Kingsley looked at them both with solemn intensity, “And for now? Stay alert. Stay together. Avoid public places if you can… I don’t think they’re done trying to make an example of you.”
Hermione didn’t argue.
Theo was on shift. Draco was headed to Malfoy Manor for archival hell with his mother. Hermione returned home alone after promising to keep the wards drawn high.
She curled up in the library with her notes from the meeting.
Ten minutes later: BANG. BANG. BANG.
Someone was knocking on the closed floo grate.
Hermione felt the wards for familiarity, then called, “Come through!”
And Pansy very round, glowing, and ready to kill someone, stumbled through the green flames.
“Merlin’s saggy socks, I swear Blaise is trying to drive me into the grave early,” she groaned dramatically, dropping into an armchair and fanning herself. “
Do you have tea? Ice water? A house-elf who can conjure a breeze?”
Hermione laughed. “What happened now?”
Pansy rolled her eyes so hard, Hermione was sure they’d get stuck.
“He thinks I shouldn’t be walking around the Manor alone because ‘you’re very round, Pansy,’ and ‘it would be helpful if you used the handrail for the stairs, Pansy,’ and ‘Darling, I think sitting that way might not be good for your back, Pansy.’”
Hermione snorted into her tea. “He means well.”
“He’s INSANE,” Pansy countered, then pointed a finger. “And YOU. You look far too calm after that letter last night. I came to check you weren’t secretly curled on the floor in trauma.”
Hermione blinked. “I… actually feel okay. It feels like progress is being made.”
Pansy assessed her sharply, then softened.
“Good. Because if you need to talk through anything — nightmares, fear, confusion about Draco’s forehead kisses — you know I’ll be obnoxiously honest.”
Hermione grinned. “That I do.”
“And,” Pansy continued, dropping her voice dramatically, “you should know you three are giving off the sexual tension of teenage rabbits. I can practically smell it through the floo grates.”
Hermione flushed crimson. “PANSY—”
“Oh, don’t pretend you’re not back to wanting them every day. Your bond is practically humping in the air.”
Hermione sipped her tea a little too quickly.
Pansy arched a brow. “See? You’re blushing. Adorable.”
Hermione put her face in her hands.
“It’s… a lot. Desire. Feeling like myself again. It’s overwhelming.”
Pansy softened again — a rare, gentle look.
“Of course it is. But you’re safe. You’re loved. And frankly, darling, the bond wants equilibrium. So don’t torture yourself. Enjoy it. I would if I could.”
Hermione peeked between her fingers. “You’re a menace.”
“Yes, well.” Pansy stood with a dramatic “oof” noise. “A very tired menace whose unborn child seems to think my bladder is a trampoline.”
Hermione hugged her tightly before she floo’d back home.
“Love you,” Hermione said softly.
“Obviously,” Pansy replied. “Who else would keep you sane?”
It was well after dark when the floo crackled again.
Draco stepped through covered in dust, smelling like ancient parchment and moldy stone. His hair was a mess. His coat had cobwebs on it.
Hermione stood from the sofa immediately. “Draco? Are you okay?”
He looked exhausted and grim.
“I found… something,” he said. “Not much, but something.”
She guided him to the couch and warmed his hands between hers.
“Tell me.”
He took a slow breath.
“My mother helped me search the old Malfoy–Flint alliance ledgers and mid-1800s correspondence. But the records are incomplete. Torn. Entire pages cut out.”
“That tracks,” Hermione murmured.
Draco nodded.
“But my mother remembered something the record doesn’t show. Something I didn’t know.”
He met her eyes, “Marcus Flint’s mother had a child before Marcus. A daughter.”
Hermione’s blood ran cold.
“Where is she now?” she whispered.
Draco shook his head.
“She died around age two, a few years before Marcus would have been born. Supposedly. A fever, or an accident, Mother wasn’t sure. She only remembers she existed.”
Hermione felt her stomach twist.
“And there are no records?” she pressed.
“None,” Draco said. “Not in the Ministry. Not in the family tree. Not in the Malfoy–Flint correspondence logs.”
Hermione swallowed. “Meaning she was erased.”
Draco nodded tightly.
“And if she didn’t die…” Hermione whispered.
“…she could be one of the missing, unregistered Flint squibs,” Draco finished. “A grown adult by now. One capable of holding a decades-long grudge.”
Hermione shivered.
Draco leaned back, weary, heart in his eyes.
“I’m scared that whoever the Boss is — we’re looking at someone who doesn’t legally exist anywhere.”
Hermione took his face in her hands.
“We’ll find out,” she whispered. “We will.”
He pulled her into his chest and held her like she was something sacred.
Theo came home past midnight.
Hermione had fallen asleep on the sofa under a blanket, the Christmas tree lights blinking softly against her skin. Draco sat next to her, reading, one hand resting on her ankle.
The floo flared green, and Theo stepped out, hair mussed from running his hands through it during the shift. He looked exhausted, but his eyes softened when he saw her asleep.
“She’s okay,” Draco whispered, voice warm but taut. “Finally fell asleep an hour ago.”
Theo nodded, pulling off his healer cloak.
“Busy shift,” he murmured. “And I kept thinking about that letter Kingsley showed us…”
Draco closed the triad book he’d been reading. “We’ll go through everything in the morning.”
He didn’t get to finish.
Because suddenly —
all three of them felt it.
A shock of cold pulsed through the bond.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Not sadness.
Just— cold.
Foreign cold.
Wrong, like icy fingers sliding down their collective spine.
Hermione jerked awake with a small gasp, hand clutching Draco’s sleeve.
“What—what was that?”
Theo froze.
“That wasn’t me.”
Draco shook his head. “Not me.”
Hermione swallowed hard. “It didn’t feel like me either.”
They all sat very still.
Because it was unmistakable:
The bond had pulsed with warning.
From nowhere.
From no one.
From something outside them.
Theo’s healer instincts kicked in. He crouched in front of them, eyes scanning Hermione’s face, then Draco’s.
“No fever. No curse symptoms. No magical imbalance I can feel.”
He exhaled shakily. “So… this wasn’t physical.”
Draco swallowed and reached for Hermione’s hand automatically.
“It wasn’t emotional either. It wasn’t connected to any of our thoughts.”
Hermione pressed her palm to the side of her head. “It felt like the bond itself shivered.”
Theo slowly sat down beside her on the couch. “Like a reflex.”
They sat in silence, the weight of it settling around them like winter snow.
Finally Draco cleared his throat., “I read something yesterday. In the book.”
Hermione and Theo both looked at him.
He reached for the thick, leather-bound volume on the coffee table.
“There was a passage,” he murmured, flipping through pages with quick, practiced precision. “About one of the older triads — not most of them, but one in particular.”
Theo leaned closer. “What did it say?”
Draco traced a line of text with his thumb.
“They were… unusually aligned. Stronger than expected, stronger than most triads in the book. And the author wrote that sometimes — only sometimes — the bond gave them advance warning.”
Hermione blinked. “Warning of what?”
“Danger,” Draco said quietly. “Or illness. Or… disruptions.”
Theo frowned. “Like a predictive surge?”
“More like a magical intuition,” Draco said. “The bond itself reacting to something external before the triad members consciously felt it.”
Hermione shivered.
“That’s exactly what this felt like.”
“But,” Draco said, jaw tightening, “none of the other triads in the study had this happen. Only one. And the author wasn’t even sure why it happened. Just that it did.”
Theo exhaled.
“So ours just… warned us mayeb?”
Hermione whispered, “About what?”
Silence again.
Draco reached for her, pulling her gently into his side. She curled against him automatically. Theo leaned into her other side, hand sliding over hers.
Hermione breathed them in — lavender soap from Theo, cold air and old parchment from Draco, grounding herself.
Theo finally said what they were all thinking:
“It wasn’t tied to any of us. Not our emotions. Not distress. It came from outside the bond.”
Draco nodded slowly.
“Which means—”
Hermione whispered it for them:
“Something’s coming.”
Theo swallowed, voice low.
“And the bond felt it before we did.”
Hermione trembled once. Draco tightened his hold. Theo pressed a kiss to her temple.
Draco’s voice dropped to a near whisper.
“I don’t know if this is good or bad. That the bond warned us.”
“It means we’re connected at a level that shouldn’t be possible yet,” Theo murmured, hand sliding up and down her arm. “Which is rare. And dangerous. And maybe… an advantage.”
Hermione leaned against Draco’s chest, voice barely audible.
“I’m scared.”
Theo pulled her into his side.
“And we’re right here.”
Draco rested his forehead against the top of her head.
“And we won’t let anything happen to you ever again.”
Another silent shiver ran through all three.
Not from fear.
From knowing the bond was now watching too.
Hermione eventually drifted off again with her head on Draco’s chest, his arm tucked around her waist, Theo pressed along her back with his hand splayed over her ribs. After the strange cold warning, none of them had wanted distance.
They slept tangled together on the sofa until Draco finally murmured, “Bed,” and Theo carried Hermione upstairs.
Hours passed peacefully.
Until the bond jolted them awake.
Cold.
Sharp.
Immediate.
Stronger this time.
Hermione gasped awake with a soft cry, bolts upright in bed.
Theo was out of the sheets instantly, wand in hand.
Draco grabbed Hermione’s arm, eyes blown wide, breath already uneven.
“That—” Draco rasped. “That was stronger.”
Theo pressed a hand flat over his heart.
“It felt like a… spike.”
Hermione looked between them, shaking slightly.
“It wasn’t emotional. Not even a fear echo.”
“No,” Theo whispered. “This was… external. Again.”
Draco slid closer, touching her cheek.
“It felt like the bond flinched.”
Theo nodded grimly, “Like something tugged at it.”
Hermione whispered, “Or prodded it.”
A silence settled, heavy, loaded, drowned in dread.
Draco shook his head, “This wasn’t a fluke.”
Hermione wrapped Draco’s hand between both of hers, “It felt… closer.”
Theo exhaled, “It felt like a warning again. But more urgent.”
Draco met Hermione’s eyes, “We’re not imagining this.”
Hermione whispered, voice thin with fear, “What if something is getting worse?”
Another silence.
Theo rubbed his forehead, “Let’s… not panic yet. But let’s acknowledge the obvious.”
Draco finished it grimly, “The bond is reacting to something real.”
They stayed awake the rest of the night huddled together, stress in the bond.
By early morning, the library was dim except for the fire crackling low.
Theo threw a log on. Draco sank into the armchair with the ancient triad study book, reopening the passage he’d read the night before.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Theo finally broke the quiet, “You really think our bond is doing what theirs did?”
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, “I don’t know for sure, seems like it. But the timing is too specific. Two pulses in one night? After months of near silence?”
Theo rubbed at his jaw, “What did that book actually say?”
Draco flipped to the marked page.
“The triad of Vassili, Mareth, and Aedric. Powerful. Very early magical era. Their bond was described as ‘reactive.’”
Theo leaned in.
“Reactive how?”
Draco read aloud:
‘Their bond displayed anticipatory magic — sensing instability, sickness, or danger before any individual member was aware of it. The bond itself responded, independent of them.’
Theo’s breath left him slowly, “That’s sounds like what we felt.”
Draco whispered, “Yes.”
Theo sank back, running both hands through his hair.
“If our bond is warning us, then something must be happening. Something close. Something imminent.”
Draco nodded grimly.
“And if their triad was the only one in the book to ever experience this by the 1850s…”
Theo finished with dread, “Then our bond isn’t a normal triad bond either.”
Draco tapped the book with one finger.
“The author speculated that rare triads show… unique magical symbiosis. The stronger the emotional and magical alignment, the more reactive the bond becomes.”
Theo raised an eyebrow, “You’re saying because our bond is… strong, it can sense things? We’ve given it more power by being… close to one another?”
Draco gave him a look.
“You felt it too. Don’t pretend the bond isn’t stronger now than it ever was.”
Theo looked down, a little overwhelmed.
“I know. I just—”
He swallowed hard.
“I don’t like the idea of the bond warning us of danger. Not because it’s not helpful, but because it confirms our fears.”
Draco shut the book with a soft thud, “I don’t like it either.”
Hermione found them shortly after, having given up on getting sleep.
She was wrapped in one of Draco’s sweaters, hair messy from tossing all night, eyes still soft around the edges. She padded into the library, rubbing her arms from the morning winter chill.
“What did you two find?” she asked quietly, voice low but steady.
Draco instantly got up, guiding her to the couch. Theo handed her a warm mug conjured from the tea tray.
She curled between them without hesitation.
Theo explained gently, “The triad Draco found in the book… theirs could sense danger.”
Hermione stiffened.
Draco continued, voice careful, “They were the only triad in the study with that trait. It’s extremely rare. And… the bond pulses we felt last night match what the author described.”
Hermione stared down into her tea, “So the bond is definitely warning us.”
Theo nodded slowly, “Yes, seems like it.”
“And we have no idea what it’s warning us about.”
Draco’s voice dropped, “No idea. The siphoning? A new threat? Maybe someone in our life is in danger…?”
Hermione shut her eyes, exhaling shakily. But a moment later she straightened, resolve hardening her posture.
“I need to do research,” she said. “A lot of it. Old magical theory. Bond studies. Ancient triad lore from folklore. I can’t sit here doing nothing.”
Theo reached for her hand, “Hermione—”
“No,” she said firmly. “I survived Russia. I survived memory loss. I’m not going to sit still waiting for something terrible to strike.”
Draco’s jaw clenched with equal parts fear and admiration.
She looked between them, voice quieter now, “If the bond is reacting, then so should we.”
Theo sighed, but nodded, “You’re right.”
Draco exhaled, “I’ll help you.” I still have a few other contacts to reach out to abroad.
They all exchanged a look — fear, determination, love — threading through the bond like a ribbon being pulled tighter.
Draco brushed a kiss to her temple.
Theo squeezed her hand.
Notes:
What do you think the bond is warning about? Leave a comment.
Chapter 268: he Other Nott Triad
Notes:
Turns out... they aren't the first in the Nott family.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The most secure part of the Nott family archives were incredibly old.
Stone-lined hallways beneath the manor.
Hermione followed the soft white glow of the floating lamps Theo had activated for her earlier, her fingers brushing dust-layered spines and cobwebbed scroll cases.
Some rooms were tidy, used more recently my family members.
Some had clearly not been disturbed since the 1400s judging by the thick layers of dust.
She wanted the very oldest records the family had.
The ones that predated the Ministry’s bond theory.
The ones written by families who actually had first hand observations.
After hours searching in the grim, and gloom, she found what she had hoped to in a narrow, hidden alcove behind a shelf Theo had shown her how to open.
Once she slipped inside, the temperature seemed to drop another ten degrees. She shivered and cast another warming charm, almost wishing she’d warn winter gloves.
One trunk caught her eye, a gut feeling, it was darkened oak, iron-bound, etched with a familiar Nott crest.
Engraved with, NOTT, 1693.
Hermione knelt, coughing from dust as she pried it open.
Inside were letters. Journals. A legal document. A small water-stained oil portrait.
Her breath tightened.
Three people in the portrait, a young wizard with Nott-grey eyes and unruly curls, a tall girl with Black-family sharpness in her cheekbones, and a Greengrass girl with pale hair and an anxious half-smile.
The caption had half-faded, ‘The Triad of Elias Nott, Seraphina Black, and Livia Greengrass. 1689–1691’.
Only two years.
Hermione’s stomach dropped.
She began reading the letters.
The story unfolded like a slow-motion disaster like a soap opera. Elias Nott and Seraphina Black fell hard and fast for each other. Livia Greengrass could never connect emotionally with either of them due to personality conflicts. Their bond strained — more and more, until their magic began reacting violently. Spellwork misfired daily. Wand cores overheated often. They tried bonding in isolation, healers, dark rituals — nothing fixed the imbalance. And then… a fatal magical detonation.
Hermione’s hands shook as she turned a brittle page confirming, all three perished instantly. Bond collapse. Magical overload.
She clamped her hand over her mouth in horror, nausea rolling through her.
It wasn’t just tragic.
It was a warning from three centuries ago.
A warning written in her husband’s family history they had covered up. Not even the book she’d given Draco covered this triad. Was it embarrassment of failure they had hidden?
Alignment matters.
Triads can die.
Bond instability is not theoretical.
Not rare.
Real.
Hermione leaned her head against the dusty trunk, breathing unevenly.
Her vision blurred.
Her body trembled.
Not with fear, but with heartbreak and anxiety.
Her magic was crackling just under her skin as she attempted to breath more deeply.
She was overwhelmed with the information.
The lights flickered.
She shut her eyes and whispered, “Not now… please not now…”
But her hands sparked, as her mind spiraled into the possibility of losing them.
The air thinned.
A book flew off a shelf.
“Oh—no—no—Theo— Draco.”
And upstairs, Theo felt the spike like a punch to the gut through the bond.
Theo apparated to the archives so quickly he hadn’t even put shoes on.
“Hermione!”, His voice echoed through the stone chambers.
He sprinted until he saw her form down a hallway, pale, shaking, surrounded by scattered parchment and a floating storm of agitated magic.
Her fingers were glowing faintly gold at the tips with magic static.
“Hermione, look at me,” Theo said, slow, steady, healer-soft. “Not the magic. Me.”
She blinked at him, eyes too bright, too glossy.
“I found… something. A triad. In your family.” Her breath hitched. “It ended horribly, Theo. They died—because of instability. They died.”
Theo swallowed hard, but he pushed the panic down.
Later, he could panic later he told himself.
He crouched, taking her sparking hands gently.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
“But the bond pulsing—then this—what if it’s happening again—what if the warning is about us exploding!”
Theo pressed his forehead to hers, grounding her with contact, warmth, and his steady pulse.
“You are safe. We are stable. We all love each other. We’re good together. This is just your magic overloading. Deep breath. Breath with me.”
He inhaled slowly.
She followed, trembling.
The floating books fell.
The sparks dimmed.
Hermione sagged against him, drained and dizzy.
Theo slid an arm around her waist, standing her up carefully.
“Let’s get you upstairs.”
Her voice faint, “Theo… the triad… they—”
“You said that,” he whispered, kissing her hair briefly. “But you’re not them. And we’re not them. And Draco’s going to want you resting before he finds out you skipped lunch and dug through two centuries of cursed archives just to collapse.”
Despite her dazed fear, she gave a tiny huff, “That predictable?”
Theo lifted her gently into his arms.
“Incredibly.”
Hermione should have rested after that, her magic feeling rather unsteady.
Theo told her to.
Draco told her to when he saw her state upon exiting the archives.
But after Theo tucked her on the chaise in the sitting room with a blanket and tea, she insisted on finishing a single diagnostic charm on one of the scrolls she’d brought up.
“I’ll be careful,” she promised.
She wasn’t careful enough apparently.
Her magic still unstable from the morning, the charm got out of hand and flared too hot, too fast.
The scroll tore itself apart mid-air in tiny flames.
The teacup on the table cracked.
Hermione gasped as the rebound knocked her back against the cushions, magic stinging her hands.
Theo heard the crash from two rooms away.
Draco heard it from the downstairs office.
Terror shot through the bond form everyone.
Both men arrived at the sitting room doorway at the exact same time.
“Hermione—!” Draco’s voice was sharp with fear.
Theo went straight to her hands, checking for burns.
Draco crouched on the other side, cupping her face.
“You’re white as parchment,” Draco murmured.
“You’re done for today, I mean it this time.”
She opened her mouth to argue.
Theo shut it gently with two fingers, “No. Your going to hurt yourself. You’ve barely recovered your full core, and now you’re doing this?”
Draco helped her sit back against the pillows.
Theo healed the faint magic-burn on her palm.
Hermione’s lip trembled in frustration, exhaustion, maybe even embarrassment.
“I just… I wanted to be useful.”
Draco’s expression softened instantly.
“You are always useful,” he murmured. “Right now we need you alive, not electrocuting yourself and scrolls.”
Theo nudged her cheek with his thumb, “And we need you rested. Your magic is still recovering.”
She swallowed, eyes stinging.
“I am kind of tired.”
“Good,” Draco said. “Because you’re going to bed.”
Hermione rarely let them fuss without a fight.
But tonight she was too drained to combat it. The lack of sleep from the prior nights, and the jarring of the archive find left her feeling drained.
Draco helped her upstairs slowly, one hand warm at her back, the other holding her hand firmly. Every few steps he glanced at her, like he was checking she wasn’t going to pass out.
Theo followed with fluffy blankets and a tray, muttering healer-things under his breath about magical attenuation and fatigue thresholds.
They guided her into the triad’s suite, back into the big bed.
Theo adjusted the pillows, making a cozy nest.
Draco dimmed the lights.
Hermione settled into the middle, exhaling shakily.
Theo set a tray on her lap with a vegetable soup, some cranberry muffins, and a tiny chocolate from the kitchen spelled with relaxation draught.
Theo then sat on the edge of the bed and brushed hair from her face.
“Small bites, eat it all,” he said softly.
Draco sat on her other side, thigh pressed to hers, fingers stroking circles at her hip.
Hermione ate quietly between them, the warmth of the food slowly easing the rawness in her chest.
Theo handed her water next.
Draco pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
She closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry I scared you both.”
“Terrified more like it,” Draco admitted.
“But I’m still proud,” Theo added softly. “You’re recovering faster than any healer predicted. But you can’t force it. You need to give yourself time to feel fully healed, even if the core reading is back to 100%. ”
She exhaled, leaning against his shoulder.
“Try to sleep,” Draco murmured.
Hermione whispered, “Stay?”
Theo slipped into bed on her right.
Draco slid in on her left.
Both arms wrapped around her at the same time.
Warm.
Safe.
Loved.
The bond hummed contentedly.
And Hermione fell asleep between them within minutes.
Hermione woke late the next morning, head nestled against Theo’s shoulder. Draco was already up, but the imprint of him remained warm on the mattress beside her, he’d undoubtedly only slipped out a little while earlier.
The suite smelled like tea and cinnamon toast.
Hermione blinked, eyes adjusting. Her body felt steadier than yesterday. The bond was warm again, soft and happily connected. No sharp pulses. No static under her skin.
Theo stirred beneath her.
“Mmm,” he mumbled. “Morning.”
She smiled into his shirt. “Did I sleep all afternoon and evening?”
“Only half.” Theo kissed the top of her head. “Which was required. Honestly, I needed it too myself.”
Hermione stretched, groaning a little at how stiff she felt. Theo sat up with her automatically, hands on her waist to steady her.
Before she could speak, Draco swept in through the door holding three mugs.
“You’re awake,” he said, relief plain even though he tried to hide it. “Good. You’re drinking this before you read anything today.”
Theo accepted his mug with gratitude.
Hermione took hers more cautiously. “What did you put in here?”
“Nothing suspicious,” Draco said. “Mostly milk and a restorative pinch. You both need it.”
He gave Theo an unimpressed scowl as well.
She frowned but drank it without arguing. It was delicious.
Draco perched at the foot of the bed, watching her over the rim of his own mug, hair still slightly damp from a shower.
“You’ve been reading again,” Hermione said, reading the expression easily.
“Of course I have.” Draco set his mug down. “I spent half the night in the records halls myself. Trying not to imagine you blowing yourself up like the doomed 17th-century Nott triad.”
Hermione winced.
Theo nudged her gently, “We’re going to talk about that. Properly. Before it festers.”
But Draco wasn’t done.
“First,” he said, summoning a stack of parchment from his desk. “This.”
Hermione blinked at the spread of notes — some Ministry, some hand-copied from magical record vaults, some clearly Draco’s own scrawl.
“There are more Flint squibs than the Ministry thought,” Draco said, tone sober. “Not just the three they identified last week. I found six more who disappeared from the magical family tree but reappeared in muggle records, birth certificates, prison logs, marriage registrations, mentioned in nott or Malfoy archive documents.”
Hermione’s mouth fell open.
“That many?”
“Well,” Draco said grimly, “the Flints were always selective about which children they acknowledged. It seems they quietly removed squibs from the family registry entirely. But, this is a pretty significant number for a family that claims purity. A few every handful of generations happens randomly I think… but this is way more than that. I don’t think the Flints are as pure as they pretend… that or the inbreeding really did them in… ”
Theo rubbed his temple.
Draco continued, “If one of these squibs had children, or if one was resentful enough to get swept into a siphoning operation… they’d have every reason to hate pureblood society. It’s complicated though too… because what if it’s not about revenge? It could also be that they felt locked out of the family and want to do something to bring themselves back in.”
Hermione’s pulse quickened, “A Flint squib could be the boss. It didn’t seem like the one they were talking about in the tunnels was… but another could be. Heck the network might not even know that’s who they really are even.”
“Yes.” Draco handed her a sheet of names. “We need to track these people. Quietly. Before whoever orchestrated your kidnapping realizes we’re onto them.”
Hermione exhaled shakily, “We should tell Kingsley.”
Theo nodded slowly, “But not today. Today you rest. And eat. And don’t explode magical archives. We will owl him the theory now, lbut et the Ministry look more into it for today.”
Hermione flushed. “I didn’t—explode—”
“You absolutely did,” Draco said not amused.
Later, in the library, Hermione sat wrapped in a shawl on the chaise while Theo and Draco worked at the long table nearby. She had insisted she was well enough to sit up and do light reading.
Draco still hovered.
Theo monitored their interactions, waiting for Hermione to execute Draco for the annoyance.
Hermione behaved though. Mostly.
She ignored Draco, and opened the old Nott letter she’d smuggled upstairs last night. one she hadn’t been able to translate fully in the archives. The Latin was archaic, runic, old-world hybrid.
“Should you be looking at that?” Draco asked, arriving at her side with a plate of sliced pears like a personal waiter.
“Yes,” Hermione said.
“No,” Theo countered from across the room.
“I’m only translating it,” Hermione protested.
Theo sighed the sigh of a healer whose patient was frustrating him and therefore more dangerous. “Fine. But if the parchment starts glowing, sparking, pulsing, writhing, or humming, you drop it.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, “I promise.”
She held the brittle page carefully examining it and casting translation spells.
The bond of three — guardian of life
Her heart kicked.
She traced the next line.
But only if the three souls are held in equal alignment.
She swallowed. Hard.
Her hands shook slightly, not magically this time, just… emotionally.
Theo noticed. He was beside her in seconds.
“That’s about the old triad?” he asked quietly.
She nodded.
Theo sat on the floor beside her chair, close enough that his shoulder touched her knee. Draco came around and leaned on the armrest, bracketing her.
Hermione whispered:
“They died because their alignment failed. They died, Theo. The magic detonated. That is a real risk for any triad.”
Theo rested his chin lightly on her knee.
“Hermione… that triad was never aligned. Ever. You read their letters. One of them didn’t love the others — at all. That’s not us.”
Draco brushed his fingers over the page, avoiding her hand only because he was being respectful of how fragile she felt.
Hermione looked between them, heart twisting.
“But yesterday—my magic—”
Theo reached up, covering her trembling fingers.
“Was exhaustion. And fear. Overextending after a kidnapping. And… you found something terrifying. Of course your magic buckled a bit. That’s not bond instability, it’s being human.”
“Hermione,” Draco said softly, “you don’t destroy rooms when we’re aligned. You barely misfire a spell. Yesterday wasn’t instability. It was trauma and overload.”
Theo squeezed her hand.
“And that’s why you cannot let fear of that triad live inside you. You’ll recreate the instability if you’re terrified of it.”
Hermione swallowed hard.
Draco leaned in slightly, “And you’re not them. Because you love us. Both of us. Deeply. They never had that.”
Hermione’s eyes stung.
Theo brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb, “And we adore you. Which they also didn’t have.”
She exhaled shakily.
Then nodded.
The fear didn’t vanish, but it loosened its grip.
By mid-afternoon Hermione was visibly drooping, her eyes heavy, posture slumped, fingers loosening around the parchment.
Theo stood immediately.
“That’s enough. Bed.”
Hermione protested weakly, “I’m fine—”
“No you aren’t.”, Theo gathered the papers on her lap.
Draco added, “You look ready to fall over. Up you go.”
Hermione was too tired to argue further.
They tucked her beneath the duvet in their bed, smoothing it over her shoulders like she was something delicate and deeply cherished.
Draco brushed hair back from her forehead.
“Sleep, love.”
Theo set a tray on the bedside table in case she wokeup hungry, soup, tea, the fluffy dinner roll she liked.
Hermione blinked up at them, soft and grateful.
“You two don’t have to hover.”
“Yes we do,” Theo said firmly.
Draco kissed her temple, “And we enjoy it. We want to take care of you.”
She drifted to sleep hearing both of them quietly rearranging the room, settling in, keeping watch, staying close.
Their bond hummed steadily.
Warm.
Safe.
Aligned.
And despite the fear, despite the triad from centuries ago, Hermione felt her magic settle inside her chest like a candle glowing instead of sparking.
Notes:
Hermione may have overdone it abit during the holidays for someone who was recovering.
Chapter 269: Luna's tea
Notes:
Little bit of Luna, little bit of smut... what's not to love?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione woke to the sound of pages turning.
Draco sat at the end of the chaise, one ankle crossed over the other, pretending to read, but really was watching her.
Pudding the part-kneazle was not pretending anything.
She was sprawled across Hermione’s lap, a luxuriously smug puddle of fluf, enormous tail thwapping occasionally against her chest, as if to remind Draco who really loved Hermione the most.
Her muscles still ached faintly, weaker than she liked, but steady.
Draco flipped a page.
“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he murmured, not looking up.
Hermione didn’t even get to defend herself because Pudding purred loudly in agreement.
“I’m only going to do charms review work today,” she insisted.
Draco levelled her a flat look, the same one he used on mid-level department heads who tried inflating Malfoy Industries invoices.
Hermione huffed.
Pudding purred louder, kneading her thigh as if saying,
See? Overruled.
Hermione scratched behind the kneazle’s ear.
“You’re not helping.”
Draco smirked. “She’s the only reason you stayed still long enough for your core to finish healing even remotely properly.”
Hermione stuck her tongue out at him.
Draco, infuriatingly, didn’t look up again.
But every few minutes he read out some passage from the old triad book, only the interesting bits, the ones he knew she’d want to hear.
“Apparently,” he said, flipping another page, “it’s not unusual for triads to experience asymmetrical magical recovery. One of the three often stabilizes first.”
“Which one stabilized quickest?” Hermione asked.
“The bossy woman,” Draco said. “And they mention her being an overachiever. Sound familiar?”
Hermione swatted lightly at him.
Mid-afternoon, a surprise visitor entered the wards.
Draco frowned. “We’re not expecting anyone.”
Hermione sat up a little straighteron the sofa. Pudding flopped bonelessly from her lap to the cushions, making it known she disapproved.
An elf popped in.
“Lady Luna Lovegood-Longbottom and her youngling, masters.”
Draco blinked suroised, “Oh. Merlin. Right—let them in.”
Luna drifted into the library as though walking on a cloud, baby Celine strapped to her front in a moon-patterned sling.
“Hello,” Luna said serenely. “The universe told me Hermione needed rejuvenating tea because her magical veins feel like over-stretched harp strings.”
Draco froze.
“…Did the universe mention what’s in the tea?”
“Yes,” Luna said cheerfully. “But you wouldn’t understand unless you’ve personally conversed with moon-touched starcaps under a blood moon.”
Draco closed his book, “Hermione, absolutely not—”
“Draco,” Hermione said gently, “it’s Luna. Luna doesn’t make anything harmful.”
Luna patted his arm with a smile, “You may smell it if that helps you feel in control of the situation.”
Draco sniffed the vial cautiously.
He blinked.
“…It smells like lemon honey water.”
“Yes with a bit of stardust, and waterlily petals picked under a full moon,” Luna said. “It helps the magic reconnect with the crown chakra when things are feeling hazy. It’ll help her recovery.”
“It helps the—?”
“Just let me drink it,” Hermione said, amused.
Draco reluctantly handed her the tea.
Half an hour later and two cups down, Hermione felt remarkably better.
Clear.
Less weighted.
Significantly less tired.
Draco looked personally betrayed by how well it actually worked.
Luna sat on the sofa, rocking baby Celine gently as she chatted.
“Neville’s greenhouse is doing beautifully,” she said. “He’s now convinced our daughter likes the temperature best when the wimblooms are blooming, so he’s arranged them all around her bassinet.”
Draco raised a brow in curiosity, “Does that—do anything?”
“Oh yes,” Luna said seriously. “Babies dream nicer things when surrounded by wimblooms. Especially about future cousins.”
Hermione blinked, “Future—?”
Luna smiled a cryptic little smile.
“Your home feels rather fertile lately. Much more than Ginny’s.”
Draco went wide eyed.
Hermione dropped her quill.
Baby Celine giggled in her sling as though she’d told the joke herself.
“Anyway,” Luna said lightly, “do keep drinking the tea, I’m leaving you an extra pot of it, Hermione. And avoid bottling things up. You don’t have a bottling aura. You have a pouring aura. Pouring auras explode if capped.”
Draco muttered, “She just needs more sleep, thank you.”
Luna kissed Hermione’s forehead before leaving.
“Call if the universe whispers something alarming,” she said.
“Does it whisper to you often?” Draco asked puzzled.
“Constantly,” Luna said. “And rather loudly.”
Then she floated away to leave.
Draco stared at the empty doorway, “I can never tell if she terrifies me or comforts me.”
“Both,” Hermione said.
Theo arrived just after sunset, exhausted but smiling when he saw Hermione upright, pink-cheeked, and clearly improved.
“You look much better,” he said immediately, crossing the room to kiss her hair.
“She drank Luna’s tea,” Draco said dryly.
Theo tensed. “Was it safe—?”
“Yes,” both of them answered in unison.
Theo relaxed.
They ate dinner together in the library, turkey sandwiches with fresh warm bread, and apple slices. Quiet, domestic, soft.
Afterward, Draco closed his triad book with a deliberate thud.
“There’s something we should try,” he said. “A spell designed specifically to help stabilize triad alignment.”
Hermione looked up hesitantly, “Is it… dangerous?”
“No,” Draco said, surprisingly gentle. “It’s a connection spell. Low magic. Symbolic more than anything. But it’s meant to be cast when all three members are together and feeling steady.”
Theo glanced between them, “That describes us today better than it has in months.”
Hermione exhaled heavily.
“…Okay. Let’s try it.”
They moved to the center of the library where a large circular rug lay beneath the chandelier.
Draco took Hermione’s right hand.
Theo took her left.
All three of them faced inward.
The bond thrummed faintly, curious, warm.
Draco spoke the charm softly in Latin, tracing a slow pattern in the air.
Theo added his portion, weaving steadying energy around their hands.
Hermione closed her eyes and felt the magic settle like a warm ring around her ribcage, a sense of alignment knitting closer, tighter, but without pressure.
Like a stabilizing, quiet, shared heartbeat.
Draco squeezed her hand.
Theo leaned his forehead against hers.
Hermione felt tears prick.
Not from fear.
From the peacefulness of it.
From being here, safe, held between them, grounded.
The spell faded gently, leaving heat in its wake.
Draco exhaled shakily, “…That felt right.”
Theo nodded. “It felt aligned for sure.”
Hermione whispered, “It felt like home.”
And it did.
For all three of them.
The moment the spell settled — warm and golden as honey poured through their joined hands, Hermione felt something shift.
A flicker of sensation at the base of her spine.
A tug low in her stomach.
A pulse in the bond that felt, hungry.
Her eyes flew open.
Draco was already staring at her.
Theo too.
For a heartbeat the three of them didn’t move, as though the air around them had thickened, gone syrupy and slow. Hermione’s breath caught; their magic was brushing against hers, feather-soft but electric.
The heat spread.
Theo swallowed hard.
“…Are you feeling that too?”
Hermione’s cheeks flushed, “Yes.”
Draco exhaled sharply through his nose, composure wobbling.
“That’s the spell. Or— no, that’s the bond reacting to the spell. It’s…”
He searched for a word, failed, and laughed weakly.
“Bloody hell.”
Theo stepped closer to her, instinctive, drawn in.
“Hermione,” he murmured, “you’re shaking.”
Her breath hitched.
The bond pulsed, almost pleading.
Draco stepped in behind her before he even realized he’d moved, his chest brushing her back; Theo remained in front of her, close enough that she felt the warmth radiating off him.
Hermione swayed between them like a magnet caught between two poles.
Draco’s voice was hushed and ragged.
“Merlin, sweetheart… your magic— it’s calling to us.”
Theo touched her cheek with trembling fingers, eyes stormy with restraint.
“Tell us what you need.”
Hermione’s voice was barely a whisper, “You know.”
Her body knew exactly what it needed.
Draco’s hand slid from her waist to her hip, slow, reverent, asking permission with every inch of movement.
When she didn’t pull away, he exhaled in relief, forehead dropping briefly against the back of her shoulder.
Theo brushed a thumb over her lower lip, gaze locked on hers.
Her pulse stumbled.
“I feel… overwhelmed,” she confessed, “in a good way, I think. It’s just so— intense.”
“It’s intense for us too,” Draco muttered against her skin.
“So intense I’m trying not to do something stupid.”
Theo gave a shaky laugh.
“A very low bar for him, to be fair.”
Draco flicked the back of Theo’s arm.
“Watch it, Nott.”
Hermione laughed, breathless and airy, the sound cracked something open in all three of them.
She lifted her hands, placing one on each of their chests.
Their breaths hitched in unison.
Draco’s heart was racing.
Theo’s was steady but heavy, weighted with longing.
Her palms tingled.
Her whole body tingled.
And then she said it — soft, halting, honest, “I want to feel you. Both of you.”
Draco went still behind her.
“Hermione,” Theo whispered, voice cracking, “are you sure? Your not too tired?”
She nodded.
Theo cupped the back of her head gently, almost humbly, and pressed his forehead to hers.
Draco’s hands tightened at her waist, steadying but shaking slightly himself.
She felt the bond pulse again, the need in it was unmistakable.
Theo kissed her first.
Slowly.
Tenderly.
A kiss that asked for nothing but gave everything.
Hermione melted against him with a soft sound she didn’t mean to make.
Draco swore softly behind her, a low, broken whisper and when Theo finally broke the kiss, Draco gently turned her to face him.
He kissed her like he’d been starving.
Hermione gasped softly into him, gripping the front of his shirt.
Theo’s hands slid along her sides, grounding her, holding her steady as Draco kissed her deeper, slower, until she broke it off with a soft moan against his lips.
The sound made Theo inhale sharply, the bond surged fiery, and Hermione’s knees almost buckled.
Draco pulled back, panting.
“Sweetheart… if we keep going, I’m not stopping at kissing.”
Hermione looked at both of them, flushed, breathless, burning — and whispered, “Then don’t stop.”
Draco kissed the side of her throat, slow and hungry.
Theo kissed her jaw, then her shoulder.
Draco’s hands were already sliding under the hem of her jumper, palms skating up warm skin. “Off,” he rasped against her mouth, voice low and hungry.
“I need to see you in this firelight, love. Need every inch of you naked for us.”
Theo stepped in behind Draco, tugging the black cashmere from Draco’s shoulders in one smooth pull, lips brushing the newly bared skin.
“Slowly,” Theo murmured, but his own hands betrayed him, yanking Hermione’s jumper over her head, letting it fall forgotten to the floor.
Her bra was simple ivory lace; Theo’s fingers made quick work of the clasp, peeling it away so her breasts spilled free, nipples already tight from the heat and want.
Hermione’s breath hitched as Draco dropped to his knees in front of her, mouth tracing the curve of one breast, tongue flicking the peak until she whimpered.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, reverent.
“Look at these—perfect, flushed, begging for my mouth.”
Theo’s hands slid around her waist from behind, unbuttoning her jeans, easing them down her hips along with her knickers in one slow drag. The firelight painted her bare skin in shifting amber tones; she stepped out of the denim, completely naked now, trembling with anticipation.
Draco rose only long enough to let Theo strip him fully too, trousers shoved down, cock springing free, thick and curved, already slick at the tip.
Theo’s own clothes followed in a rush of fabric and muttered curses until all three stood bare, skin glowing, eyes dark with need.
Theo laid Hermione down on the thick rug like she was something sacred, the fire’s heat licking across her breasts, her belly, the soft curls between her thighs.
“Spread wide for us, Hermione,” Draco said, voice rough velvet.
“Let us taste you.”
She did, knees falling open, back arching slightly as Theo settled between her thighs, breath ghosting over her slick folds.
Draco knelt at her head, cock heavy and flushed, a bead of pre-cum already at the slit.
“Open that pretty mouth for me,” he whispered, guiding himself to her lips.
“Want to feel that warm tongue while Theo makes you drip.”
Hermione’s lips parted eagerly, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of him.
She took him in slowly, first the head, swirling, sucking gently, then deeper, cheeks hollowing as she pulled him in with a wet, greedy sound.
Draco groaned, fingers threading gently into her curls, hips rocking in tiny, controlled thrusts. “Fuck, yes—just like that. Take me deeper, love… gods. So warm, so wet… look at you, taking my cock while Theo worships your pretty cunt.”
Between her thighs, Theo’s tongue traced her from entrance to clit in one long, slow lick, tasting her arousal.
“You’re soaked already,” he murmured against her, voice muffled by her flesh.
“So sweet… going to make you come all over my tongue while you swallow Draco down.”
Hermione moaned around Draco’s cock, the vibration making him curse softly, hips stuttering.
“That’s it,” Draco praised, voice thick. “Feel him licking you open? He’s starving for you, love. And I’m throbbing in this perfect mouth—fuck, the way you swallow me, ugh.”
Theo’s tongue circled her clit in tight, relentless spirals, two fingers sliding inside her, curling, stroking that spot that made her thighs shake.
He pulled back just long enough to speak, lips glistening with her. “Come for us, Hermione. I want to taste it when you fall apart. Want to feel you clench around my fingers while Draco feeds you his cock.”
Draco’s thrusts grew a fraction deeper, still careful.
“You heard him. Let go. I want to feel you moan around me when you come. Want to watch your body shake while you’re full of us—my cock down your throat, Theo’s tongue on your clit. Come on… give it to us.”
The dual assault, Theo’s mouth relentless, fingers pumping, Draco’s cock sliding over her tongue in steady, loving strokes, sent her over the edge. Her back arched off the rug, a muffled cry vibrating around Draco as her orgasm crashed through her, thighs clamping around Theo’s head, hips bucking, slick flooding his tongue in pulsing waves.
Draco groaned, hips stilling to let her ride it out, thumb stroking her cheek.
“That’s it, beautiful… fuck, I can feel you coming—your throat fluttering around me—so perfect—”
Theo didn’t stop, licking her through every aftershock until she was boneless, whimpering around Draco’s cock.
When she finally stilled, panting, Draco eased out of her mouth with a wet pop, leaning down to kiss her swollen lips, tasting himself on her tongue.
“Gorgeous,” he whispered. “Absolutely gorgeous.”
Hermione lay on the thick rug, thighs trembling from her climax, lips swollen and glistening from Draco’s cock, cunt still pulsing with aftershocks.
Draco knelt above her, cock flushed dark and slick with her saliva. Theo knelt behind him, lubed and ready, eyes black with hunger.
Draco’s voice was low, reverent, filthy. “Need to be inside you now, love. Need to feel that perfect cunt milk me while Theo fills me. Want you to feel both of us.”
Hermione’s legs fell open wider, slick and shining in the firelight. Theo pressed in behind Draco, the blunt head of his cock easing past Draco’s rim with a slick, burning stretch.
Draco exhaled shakily, pushing back, taking Theo deeper until Theo’s hips met his arse with a soft slap.
“Fuck, Theo—so thick—can feel you pulsing inside me—”
Theo groaned, voice rough, “Gods, Draco… you’re so tight around me. Every time you breathe I feel it ripple down my cock.”
Draco leaned down, kissing Hermione deep and slow, tasting himself on her tongue, then lined up. The head of his cock nudged her soaked entrance—once, twice—then sank in with one long, slow thrust, her walls stretching around his length.
Hermione’s back arched off the rug, a broken moan spilling from her lips, “Draco—fuck—so good—yes—”
Draco rolled his hips in shallow, teasing circles, letting her adjust, then slid one hand down between them, fingers finding her swollen clit with practiced ease.
He circled it slowly, firmly—wet with her own slick—voice a low growl against her ear.
“Feel that, love? My cock stretching you open and my fingers on this perfect little clit—gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name.”
Theo began to move with slow, deep strokes that drove Draco deeper into Hermione with every thrust. Draco’s breath hitched, his fingers stuttering on her clit before finding rhythm again.
Theo’s voice was wrecked, “Draco… fuck… you’re gripping me so tight—every time I pull back your arse tries to keep me inside.”
Hermione’s hips bucked, Draco’s fingers rubbing tight, relentless circles over her clit while his cock dragged over her G-spot with every thrust, “Draco—so full—don’t stop—”.
Draco’s thrusts grew harder, deeper, fingers never leaving her clit, pinching lightly, rolling, stroking in time with his hips.
“That’s it, Granger—feel my cock splitting you open while Theo fucks me into you. Your cunt’s fluttering around me—so wet, dripping down my balls—gonna make you come all over us—”.
Theo’s hands gripped Draco’s hips, slamming deeper, voice raw.
“Draco, you’re clenching so hard.”
The rhythm turned frantic, hips snapping, bodies slapping, breath coming in broken sobs form each of them.
Hermione came first—sudden, forceful, a scream tearing from her throat as her cunt clamped down on Draco like a vice, squirting in hot pulses around his cock, soaking his groin,“Yes—fuck—coming—don’t stop—!”
Draco followed seconds later, hips stuttering, cock swelling impossibly thicker inside her as he spilled with a guttural cry—thick, searing strings painting her internal walls, overflowing in messy rivulets with every thrust.
“Hermione—fuck—take it all!”
Theo was last, driven over the edge by Draco’s clenching heat, his thrusts turning erratic at the end, slamming deep as he came with a broken shout, flooding Draco in pulsing waves that leaked out around his base and dripped down onto Hermione’s thigh.
They collapsed in a tangle—Theo draped over Draco’s back, Draco still buried inside Hermione, all three shaking, sweat-slick, breathless.
Cum and slick coated thighs, bellies, the rug beneath them in a warm, intimate mess.
Draco’s voice was hoarse, reverent, muffled against Hermione’s neck. “I’ve never felt closer to anyone than I do right now… both of you inside me, around me… fuck, I’m never letting either of you go.”
Hermione’s fingers threaded through both their hair, tears of overwhelmed love in her eyes. “Neither are we, love. Never.”
Theo pressed soft kisses along Draco’s spine, then Hermione’s shoulder, voice trembling. “Together. Always.”
They stayed there long after the fire burned low—hands joined, trembling, hearts beating as one—hearts full, bodies sated, souls irrevocably entwined.
The bond hummed ecstatic and content.
Notes:
Remember, I love engaging with readers :) leave comments so i don't feel like I'm crazy for posting LOL
Chapter 270: Healer's Burden
Chapter Text
Hermione woke slowly, a steady heartbeat under her ear, familiar scents around her, the weight of someone’s arm slung lazily over her hips.
For a moment, she lay completely still.
She shifted only enough to look up. Theo was awake, watching her with that soft, warm expression that always made her chest squeeze.
“Morning,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.
“Morning,” she whispered back.
Draco grumbled behind her, half-asleep, face buried in her hair, refusing to acknowledge the existence of the world yet.
Hermione elbowed him lightly.
“You’re not even conscious.”
“Am,” he argued weakly, pulling her tighter against him like she’d tried to escape.
Theo laughed under his breath, thumb brushing her hipbone as he traced slow circles that made her shiver.
They stayed like that for nearly twenty minutes, drifting in and out of small conversations, quiet kisses, lazy touches along her arms and waist, that familiar triad warmth humming in the bond like a satisfied cat.
Eventually Theo sighed reluctantly.
“I’ve got a shift.”
Draco groaned dramatically, trying to grab his arm and failing.
“No. Denied.”
Hermione gently patted his chest.
“You have meetings too, love.”
“I’ll skip them.”
“No you won’t,” Theo said, already sitting up, hair rumpled adorably. “You’re on thin ice with the Minister as it is.”
Draco glared at him.
“He loves me.”
“He barely tolerates you, you broke his office table just last month,” Hermione corrected lovingly.
Draco scoffed.
“He tolerates the family name.”
“Exactly,” Theo said, pulling on his healer robes. “Try not to commit treason before lunch.”
Hermione giggled. Draco looked offended.
Theo kissed her deeply before leaving, one of those slow, lingering kisses that gently unraveled her from the inside out — then kissed Draco’s cheek (which Draco pretended not to melt over) and disapparated with a soft crack.
Draco rolled over to face her fully, softness taking over the moment Theo was gone.
“Stay in bed with me a little longer?” he murmured.
She brushed a strand of hair from his eyes.
“For a little longer.”
He pulled her close again, tucking her into his chest like she belonged there and she did.
The bond felt warm and steady, humming with quiet contentment.
By the time they made it downstairs, Draco was silently glued to Hermione’s side.
Not touching improperly — just there.
Within reach.
Within sight.
Within scent.
She reached for tea; he passed it to her first.
She sat on the couch; he sat pressed to her thigh.
She tried to go to the library; he followed.
She teased him.
“Darling, are you… hovering?”
“No,” he said immediately.
Then, quieter:
“Yes.”
Hermione leaned into him, resting her head briefly on his shoulder.
“It’s okay if you are.”
He tensed, then slowly relaxed.
“You scared me,” he admitted. “Russia scared me. Losing you scared me. I’m… recalibrating I think.”
She kissed his cheek softly.
“I know.”
He flushed, relieved, and cupped the back of her neck gently.
They spent the afternoon in the library, Draco reading the triad study book out loud while Hermione curled with her notes, his thigh pressed against hers almost the entire time.
Every so often, she’d catch him staring.
Every time, he’d look away too fast.
And every time, the bond warmed like glowing gold.
He took a few firecalls with the Minster and Malfoy Industry employees, but nothing long. He checked in with her between each new call.
It was nearly dusk when Theo returned, windblown, tired, but warm-eyed when he spotted them curled together on the sofa.
Before Hermione could greet him, the floo roared.
Harry stepped out, soot-smudged and looking like he’d sprinted from the Ministry.
“Sorry for the intrusion,” he said, pushing his glasses up. “But we’ve got a situation. You need to come thru to the ministry to meet with Kingsley.”
They followed him back into the floo, coming out in The War room.
Theo came to stand beside Hermione instantly, protective.
Draco straightened, all softness gone, the Malfoy heir in full force.
“What happened?”
Harry handed over a parchment silently, the newest intercepted message.
It was short.
Coded.
Wrong.
And chilling.
To the Apprentice,
The second experiment has succeeded.
Subject remains magically stable longer term.
The new variation is ready for deployment.
Expect rapid progress before the moon turns.
The Boss is restless.
The escape has cost us time.
Do not fail again. Do not become a loose end.
Loose ends must be resolved.
Glory comes with the harvest.
Prepare for the call.
— S
Hermione felt her stomach tighten.
Theo went a shade paler.
“This ‘new variation…’ Harry— this means they’ve changed the siphoning type.”
Harry nodded grimly.
“And before you panic… the revised potion formula the Ministry implemented last week should still block it.”
Draco narrowed his eyes.
“So they’re scrambling.”
“They’re more than scrambling,” Harry replied.
“They’re rushing. Getting sloppy. Writing letters they shouldn’t. Leaving trails they didn’t before. Kingsley thinks the Boss is furious they lost Hermione, and furious your potion is working too well.”
Hermione felt Draco’s hand slide into hers, grip tight.
Theo scrubbed his face with his hands.
“Did you get anything from the encoded section? The moon reference— or ‘harvest’?”
Harry shook his head.
“Nothing solid yet. But we’re pulling every Flint record we can find. The squibs traced in the Muggle world all had loose connections to that region in Eastern Europe or to Asia trade. It’s something.”
Draco’s voice was ice.
“It’s not enough. We need more intel.”
The room grew colder.
Kingsley tapped the map with his wand.
“These points—” red dots across Russia “—are the locations we know were used by smaller cells. Most have fled since the rescue.”
Harry added, “And the guard who died in custody… we think he was silenced magically. Imperious curse to kill himself seems most likely.”
Draco scoffed.
“Of course he was. We’re dealing with zealots, not thugs.”
Kingsley exhaled sharply.
“Which means we aren’t just dealing with a local cult. This is too crafted for what we see around here since the war… to finessed.”
Draco leaned back, jaw clenched.
“You’re dealing with someone highly trained. Someone who understands ritual magic at a level that requires generational knowledge.”
Hermione’s heart skipped.
“The Flints,” she whispered.
Harry nodded grimly.
“Exactly.”
The Unspeakable beside him added,
“We now suspect at least seven Flint offshoots who were erased from the family tree. That means lost magic knowledge. Lost rituals. Lost motives.”
Kingsley’s gaze hardened.
“Someone is possibly resurrecting ancient Flint practices and weaponizing them. For what…. Can’t be good.”
Hermione’s stomach dropped.
Theo reached under the table, brushing his fingers against her wrist.
Draco spoke with icy clarity.
“So what now?”
Kingsley scanned all three of their faces.
“Now,” he said, “we prepare for escalation.”
They barely made it down the corridor before Draco muttered,
“I hate all of this so much, wasn’t all our childhoods spent in chaos enough?”
Theo took Hermione’s hand.
“Come on. Let’s get home. We should recenter together before this gets messy.”
Draco nodded tightly, “Fine.”
The moment they were inside Nott Manor and the wards closed behind them, the emotional pressure of the meeting broke like a storm cloud.
Hermione’s breath hitched.
Theo pulled her close from behind, arms wrapping around her waist.
“Easy. Slow breaths.”
Draco stepped in front of her, cupping her jaw.
“Hermione. Look at me.”
She did — and the bond hummed warm, steady, grounding.
Draco leaned his forehead to hers.
“We’re here. You’re safe. We’re safe.”
Theo kissed the back of her neck softly.
“We’re not losing ourselves in fear again. ”
Hermione nodded shakily.
“Okay. I… okay.”
They stayed like that—warm, close, wrapped around each other—until her breathing steadied, until the shaking in Draco’s hands faded, until Theo’s magic stopped flickering with tension.
Eventually, the bond pulsed contentment.
Draco exhaled.
“We’re getting better at this. Preventing before it escalates too much.”
Theo snorted.
“That’s because none of us exploded anything today.”
“Yet,” Draco corrected.
Hermione laughed weakly, relief flooding through all three of them.
A little while later, Draco glanced at the clock and grimaced.
“I have to meet with the Malfoy Industries lawyers. Do without me to dinner, I’ll meet you both if I finish early enough.”
He kissed Hermione’s temple.
“And don’t overwork yourself.”
Then he kissed Theo in a warm, brief press of mouths, murmuring,
“Keep an eye on her.”
Theo rolled his eyes.
“I always do. I’m the responsible one… remember?”
When Draco left, Theo turned to Hermione.
“Do you want to come to the Center? Just for a few hours. Check in. Stay distracted.”
Hermione smiled.
“Yes. Please.”
The Center was cheerful and chaotic in the best possible way. Winter decorations sparkled from the windows, and a group of magical children were gathered around a table of craft supplies.
The moment they walked in, a small boy gasped,
“Miss Hermione! Healer Theo! Look! We’re making SNOWMAN FRIENDS!”
Theo…calm, capable, tired Theo, lit up like Christmas morning was here again.
Hermione knelt beside the table.
“They’re wonderful. Do you have room for two more?”
The kids shrieked in delight.
Of course, the project was absolute chaos.
One child kept making their completed snowman explode into glittery puffs.
Another glued the coal eyes to their own forehead.
Theo ended up repairing seven branch arms, three paper hats, and one cracked table.
Hermione got caught in the crossfire of a magical glitter burst that drenched her in sparkling silver from hair to chest.
Theo didn’t escape either, a small girl hugged him mid container spill and his entire right arm shimmered white.
Hermione stared at him.
Theo stared at himself.
The kids stared like they expected fireworks.
And then Hermione started laughing.
Theo sighed dramatically.
“If Draco walks in, he’s never letting me live this down.”
Draco apparated into the manor foyer exactly as the door opened and Hermione and Theo stepped inside.
He froze.
His eyes widened.
Then, he absolutely lost it.
Hands on his knees.
Bent over with wheezing laughter.
“Oh— oh Merlin— Theo— you look like the ghost of Christmas past— Hermione you sparkle like a disco ball—”
Hermione smacked his shoulder.
Theo crossed his arms, glitter cascading off him like sparkly snow.
“This is not funny.”
“It is,” Draco insisted, wiping tears as he tried to fight for composure.
“It is so funny.”
Hermione flicked a handful of gold glitter at him from her pocket.
“Now it’s your problem too.”
Draco yelped, then grinned wickedly and pulled them both into a tight, glittery embrace.
“Oh no,” Theo groaned. “No no— now he’s doing it on purpose—”
Draco pressed a messy kiss to Hermione’s cheek.
“You two are so perfect.”
Hermione leaned into him, glitter, exhaustion, joy and all — and felt the bond pulse warm, steady, full.
They didn’t even make it five steps more inside the manor before Draco was tugging at Hermione’s glitter crusted sleeves.
“You two aren’t going another moment looking like festive ghosts or getting this all over the house,” he declared. “Bathroom. Now.”
Hermione rolled her eyes dramatically but followed. Theo muttered, “I’m a healer, not an doll,” but he came too.
Draco filled the big tub with steaming water and a handful of fancy oils Hermione knew he only used when he was anxious. The steam rose in thick lavender plumes hinted with lemongrass.
“Clothes off,” Draco said simply.
Theo arched a brow, “You first.”
Draco smirked, shrugged his coat off his shoulders, and Hermione felt the bond flare with tension.
Hermione sank into the water first, glitter swirling around her as the water lapped up her chest into her hair tips. Theo eased in beside her, brushing her knee with his under the water.
Draco slid in last, pulling her between them, her back to Theo’s chest, her legs draped across Draco’s.
For a while, nobody spoke.
Steam curled around them, softening the world, easing the days aches.
Then Draco picked up a washcloth and whispered, “Let me?”
Hermione nodded with a laugh.
He washed the glitter from her arms with slow, respectful strokes. Theo rinsed her hair gently, fingers massaging her scalp until her eyes flickered closed.
Only after she was clean did they let themselves lean into her fully, Theo kissing her shoulder, Draco kissing her bent knee, gentle touches everywhere but nowhere demanding.
Hermione let out a trembling breath.
“This feels… so nice,” she whispered.
Theo kissed the back of her hand.
Draco leaned his forehead to hers.
“And we’re never losing this again.”
The triad bond surged with a love so deep it felt like it could drown them—Hermione’s radiant vulnerability a blazing hearth in their souls, Draco’s possessive devotion a fierce flame, Theo’s nurturing care a steady glow, their golden rings pulsing with shared emotion.
Draco’s arms were wrapped around her waist, his lips brushing her ear.
Theo’s eyes were soft,, as he reached to the marble shelf beside the tub and lifted something wrapped in black velvet. He unfolded the cloth slowly, revealing the rose-quartz dildo—thick, heavy, 8 inches of polished stone that caught the candle-flames.
Theo’s voice thick with passion, “I saw this weeks ago and… gods, Hermione, I couldn’t stop thinking about using it on you.”
Hermione’s breath hitched as she reached out to touch the stone, her fingers trembling. “Theo… it’s stunning. You got this for me? It looks intense.”
Draco’s arms tightened, his own voice raw. “We love you more than words, sweetheart. Every moan, every tear, every tremble—we want it all form you.”
Draco slid one long finger inside her first, curling to stroke her G-spot, voice deep. “Feel me prepping you—so wet for us already.”
Theo joined, two fingers sliding alongside Draco’s, stretching her slowly, deliberately. Hermione’s head fell back against Theo’s shoulde as she moaned. “Draco—Theo—your fingers—ugh.”
They worked her, fingers curling, scissoring, opening her until her cunt gushed into the water, her thighs trembling, her voice breaking with emotion.
“I’m ready—please.”
Theo pressed the warmed, water resistant lubed quartz to her entrance, voice husky with devotion.
“Breathe, my soul. Let it in. We’ve got you.”
The weight alone was shocking—where silicone would bend, the quartz demanded room, pressing forward with slow, inexorable gravity.
Hermione’s back arched, a raw moan tearing from her throat as the first inch slid in.
“Theo—fuck—it’s so heavy—I can feel the weight of it claiming me—gods.”
Draco’s fingers found her clit, rubbing in tight circles, voice in her ear.
“You’re taking it so beautifully, sweetheart—fuck, your cunt’s swallowing it.”
Theo eased it in deeper—agonizingly slow—the quartz gliding smoothly, her walls stretching wide around the unyielding crystal, the weight dragging deliciously against her G-spot on every inch.
Hermione’s response was immediate and intense, tears streaming freely. “It’s pressing so hard—fuck, I can feel the weight settling inside me.”
Theo fucked her with the dildo with deliberate strokes—pulling it nearly all the way out until her entrance tried to grasp it slightly, flushed and glistening, then sliding it back in to the hilt with a deep thrust of his wrist. The stone’s weight made every thrust feel deeper, heavier, the curve crushing her G-spot with every pass.
Hermione came hard after only a few minutes of the pleasure—her cunt trembling around the quartz, her scream raw and desperate. “YES—THEO—DRACO—COMING—SO MUCH.”
Theo left the dildo buried to the hilt, the heavy quartz settling deep inside her, her cunt clenching rhythmically around it with every aftershock. Hermione’s voice was a broken sob of pleasure.
“It’s still inside—fuck, I can feel it pressing—don’t take it out—”
Draco and Theo shifted, their cocks rock-hard from watching her fall apart before them. Draco’s hand wrapped around Theo’s thick shaft, slick with lube and water, stroking with slow tight pulls, voice raw with love.
“Theo—your cock’s throbbing for me—fuck, let me make you feel how much I love you.”
Theo groaned, his own hand finding Draco’s length, stroking in perfect sync with Draco, voice shattered. “Draco—gods, you’re so hard—I love you.”
Hermione watched with appreciation, her cunt clenching hard around the heavy dildo with every stroke she saw, the weight shifting inside her, pressing her G-spot relentlessly. “Fuck—watching you two—so beautiful.”
Their strokes quickened—hands slick and fast, the wet sounds mingling with their moans, eyes locked on each other, then on Hermione’s face. Draco’s voice was a broken prayer. “Theo—fuck—gonna come for you—love you—”.
Theo’s head fell against Draco’s shoulder, voice shattering. “Draco—with you—always—”
They came together—cum erupting in thick long draws, splattering the water, mixing in the bath in sticky strands. Their groans were deep and drawn out, bodies shaking as they milked each other through every pulse.
As their aftershocks faded, Draco’s hand slid down to the dildo’s base, still buried deep inside her.
“One more, wife,” he whispered, voice thick with tenderness.
“Want to feel you come around this stone one more time, make you feel so good.”
He began slow, deep thrusts—twisting the quartz so the curve crushed her G-spot, the weight dragging with every stroke. Hermione’s final orgasm shattered her—her cunt convulsing around the dildo, her scream torn form her, “DRACO—THEO—COMING—LOVE YOU—SO MUCH—!”.
They collapsed against her, arms pulling her close, kissing her damp face. “My loves,” she whispered.
An hour later, they were wrapped in towels, warm and boneless, when the fire in the hearth roared emerald green.
“Theo Nott!” a frantic voice shouted through the flames.
Theo’s head snapped up.
“That’s St. Mungo’s.”
Hermione’s stomach dropped.
Theo whispered. “That was Healer Mallick.”
He lunged for the hearth.
Mallick’s face appeared, pale and strained.
“We need you. Another siphoning victim was just brought in. Adult. He’s alive but the symptoms are… strong. We’ve never seen a siphon progression this fast.”
Theo swore under his breath.
“I’ll be there in two minutes.”
He turned, grabbed Hermione’s face between his palms, kissed her quickly but fiercely.
“Stay with Draco.”
He quickly pulled on a shirt and pants, dipping in for kiss to Draco as he ran by.
Then he was gone—green flames swallowing him.
Hermione stood frozen.
Draco wrapped his arms around her from behind.
“We knew more cases were coming eventually,” he murmured. “We just didn’t expect it today.”
Hermione swallowed hard, pressing her forehead to his shoulder.
“I hate waiting.”
“I know.” Draco kissed her temple. “We’ll hear from him soon.”
But the bond buzzed faintly with Theo’s rising healer-focus—tight, urgent, full of alarm he was trying to hide from them.
It made Hermione’s skin prickle.
They were halfway through changing into comfortable clothes when a glowing silver lion darted straight through Draco’s dressing room wall.
Hermione gasped.
“Neville?”
The lion balanced on the footboard and spoke in Neville’s gentle, rushed voice:
“Hello—sorry—Luna just told me something and I thought you should know.
She said the air is shifting strangely.
She said ‘some threads are being pulled too tight.’
But she wasn’t alarmed.
She said your triad is strong and safe.
She told me not to worry—so I’m not.”
The feline flicked its tail, roared, and dissolved.
Draco exhaled slowly.
“Well,” he said, “that was appropriately cryptic.”
Hermione sank onto the edge of the bed, processing.
“Threads being pulled too tight… could that be about the bond?” she asked softly.
Draco hesitated.
“Or the siphoning network tightening their operations.”
“Or something else entirely,” Hermione whispered.
They let the silence settle.
Then Draco knelt in front of her, his hands warm on her knees.
“Luna may sound nonsensical, but she’s rarely wrong,” he said.
“If she wasn’t afraid… then we don’t need to be either.”
Hermione nodded, leaning forward until her forehead touched his.
“Stay with me until Theo gets back?”
He smiled faintly. “There’s nowhere else I’ll be.”
He climbed beside her, settling in close, holding her hand in both of his. They stayed like that—quiet, warm, steady—until the bond finally pulsed with Theo’s return: tired, worried, but alive.
It was past eleven when the front doors of Nott Manor finally clicked open. Hermione sat up straight on the sofa instantly, Draco stiffening beside her. The bond flickered—heavy, tired, threaded with that healer-exhaustion that made Hermione’s chest tighten.
Theo stepped in.
He looked… drained. Hair mussed. Shoulders slumped. His healer robes crumpled. His eyes soft but distant, that look he got after hours wrestling someone back from the brink.
Hermione was on her feet before she even realized she’d moved.
“Theo—”
He dropped his robes and pulled her to him, burying his face in her hair. His arms wrapped around her, tight, desperate, shaking just a little. Draco came up behind him, resting a hand on his back.
Theo’s voice cracked.
“He lived.”
Hermione’s relief burst out as a shaky breath.
Draco squeezed him. “Tell us everything.”
Theo nodded, didn’t let go, but began to speak into Hermione’s hair.
“It started at his family dinner,” Theo said, pulling back only enough to breathe steadily. “He felt dizzy. Said his fingers were tingling. His vision went black.”
Hermione winced. Draco’s jaw tightened.
“They were smart,” Theo continued. “His wife dragged him straight to St. Mungo’s. He walked in at… maybe 60%. The old formula of the potion didn’t do anything which is what they’de been taking. Nothing. His core kept sliding lower.”
“And the new formula?” Draco asked, voice low.
Theo finally looked at them—really looked, exhausted but hopeful.
“It worked.”
Hermione’s shoulders sagged in relief.
“Worked how?” Draco pressed.
“It stopped the siphoning completely. Locked his core at fifteen percent. He’ll need… weeks, maybe months to fully regenerate his magic. But he will recover. He’ll live a normal magical life.”
Hermione closed her eyes, whispering a thank-you to no one in particular.
Theo swallowed, rubbing his face.
“And get this… they still had bottles of the old potion at home. Never went out to buy the revised one.”
Draco’s eyes widened.
“So the siphon used on him wasn’t able to bypass the new formula.”
Theo nodded tiredly.
“That’s the working theory.”
Hermione slipped her hand into his.
“So the new version really is working.”
“It seems so,” Theo whispered.
Draco let out a slow breath.
“One win. We’ll take the damn win.”
They led Theo upstairs, not even bothering to pull of his stained shirt until he was sitting on the bed between them. Hermione eased it off his shoulders; Draco unbuttoned the top of his shirt when Theo’s fingers shook.
Once he was settled, warm pajama bottoms, no shirt, blankets pulled over his legs—Hermione curled to his left side and Draco to his right. Their hands found one another over his stomach, forming a loose circle.
Theo let his head fall back against the headboard.
“I’m so tired,” he whispered.
Hermione stroked his hair, soft, rhythmic.
“You gave everything you had today.”
Theo let out a uncertain laugh.
“Feels like I give everything every day.”
Draco took his other hand.
“You’re saving people, Theo.”
Theo’s eyes blinked open, full of something undone.
“I knew healing would be hard but… I didn’t expect this. Not this many emergencies. Not this much siphoning. Half the time I feel like I’m failing before I even begin.”
Hermione shook her head hard.
“You are not failing.”
Theo’s breath hitched like he wanted to believe her but didn’t know how.
“When I started the apprenticeship,” he said quietly, “I didn’t expect to be gone so much. I didn’t expect to come home so drained I can barely talk. I feel like I’m missing everything with you two.”
“You’re not,” Draco said immediately, firmly. “We don’t expect you to be home every minute. Hermione doesn’t. I don’t.”
Theo blinked, throat tight.
Hermione shifted so she could face him fully, knee brushing his thigh.
“Theo… becoming a healer matters. You matter. We’re proud of you every day. You’re doing something incredible—even if it’s exhausting and messy and awful sometimes.”
Theo looked down, voice going soft.
“I just… don’t want to disappoint you both.”
Hermione cupped his face.
“You never have.”
Draco’s voice cracked next.
“You’re not missing anything. When you’re here? You’re with us. When you’re gone? We still feel you in the bond. Quality time matters more than quantity.”
Theo closed his eyes, overwhelmed.
Hermione pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“We love you exactly as you are.”
Draco rested their foreheads together.
“And we’re proud of you. Every damn day.”
Theo let out a long, trembling breath and finally—finally—sank fully into their arms. They held him, warm and steady, until his breathing softened and the bond hummed with quiet, healing peace.
Hermione woke to the smallest movement.
Not the violent jerk of a nightmare. Not a sigh.
Just… a shift. A tightening in the bond. A ripple of distress.
It was deep night — the manor silent, snow drifting past the windows — when Theo sat upright slowly, as though pulled from the depth of sleep like a drowning man breaking the surface.
Hermione rose on an elbow.
“Theo?”
Draco stirred on Theo’s other side, reaching instinctively for him.
Theo dragged a hand down his face.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Hey,” Hermione whispered, brushing his arm, “you woke us because you needed something.”
Theo exhaled shakily.
“I’m… scared.”
Hermione was surprised by the sharp honesty of it.
“Scared of what?” Draco murmured.
Theo’s voice cracked.
“Of losing people. Of failing them. Yesterday—Merlin—yesterday showed me how close we are to losing more. That wizard would have died if he’d waited even an hour longer.”
He swallowed hard.
“And I’m terrified that I won’t be enough next time.”
Hermione moved closer, curling into his side.
“Theo, look at me.”
He did — eyes tired, bare, vulnerable.
“You saved him. You’ve saved so many. And yes, one day you may lose someone… but that isn’t failure. That’s life. You’re a healer, not a god.”
Theo shuddered.
“I just—every time I get home, I feel like I’m carrying the weight of every patient in my chest. Like I shouldn’t rest. Like if I stop for one moment, someone else will die.”
Draco’s voice was low, steady, steadying.
“Theo. You’re allowed to rest. You need to. If you burn out, you won’t be able to save anyone.”
Theo pressed his palms into his eyes.
“I don’t know how to not feel responsible for everyone.”
Hermione kissed the side of his hand.
“That’s why you’re a good healer. But that’s also why you have us.”
Theo looked at them helplessly.
“What if one day it’s one of you I can’t fix?”
Hermione gasped. Draco inhaled sharply.
Hermione cupped Theo’s face and made him look at her.
“If that day ever came—which I hope it never will—you will face it with us. Not alone. Never alone.”
Draco drew him into a long, tight, grounding hug.
“Sleep,” Draco whispered against his hair. “Talk to us. Lean on us. We’re not going anywhere.”
Theo exhaled, the tension easing as he let himself be held.
“I love you both,” he murmured.
Hermione kissed his temple.
“We love you too.”
They fell back asleep twisted together.
Notes:
Poor Theo :(
Chapter 271: Theo's Spa Day
Notes:
Little bit of relaxation...
Chapter Text
Breakfast was cozy that morning, snow was falling lightly outside.
Hermione was buttering toast while Draco kept trying to pile extra eggs onto Theo’s plate.
Theo glared at the fork hovering over his food.
“Draco, I’m not one of your toys.”
Draco arched a brow, “You’re pale enough to pass as a ghost. Eat.”
Hermione bit back a smile.
Then, three taps came at the window.
An official Ministry owl.
Hermione opened the letter and read aloud:
FROM THE OFFICE OF THE MINISTER FOR MAGIC
Effective immediately, the Ministry is issuing a formal recall of public batch of Core Safeguard Potions dated prior to Christmas due to “efficacy inconsistencies.”
All citizens are asked to return unused doses to their nearest apothecary by the end of the week.
Replacement potions will be provided free of charge.
This recall statement will not reference the revised formula or siphon bypass concerns.
—Kingsley Shacklebolt
Theo released a long, slow breath.
“So he’s doing it,” he murmured.
Draco nodded approvingly.
“Smart. Doesn’t spread panic. Gets the new potion out fast.”
Hermione leaned back.
“It’ll save lives.”
Theo’s shoulders eased a little.
“I’m glad.”
But the bond pulsed with deeper exhaustion underneath.
Hermione saw it.
And she worried.
Later that afternoon, Theo went to lie down, finally giving into the healer-exhaustion Hermione had sensed all morning.
Hermione found Draco in the library, parchment scattered in front of him, though he seemed to be staring at nothing.
She shut the door quietly.
“Draco… can we talk?”
He looked up immediately.
“Of course.”
Hermione hesitated, then sat beside him.
“Do you think Theo is burning himself out?”
Draco didn’t answer right away.
He folded the parchment, set it aside, and really looked at her.
“I think…” he said slowly, “Theo is a man who carries the weight of the world because no one carried him his whole life.”
Hermione’s throat tightened.
“And healing lets him feel like he’s… redeeming his family name,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Draco said gently. “And trying to be the opposite of his father. Trying to be good.”
Hermione’s eyes watered, “I don’t want him drowning in it.”
Draco slipped his hand into hers.
“He won’t. Because he has us. And because we’ll make damn sure of it. We can take care of him even when he’s not taking care of himself.”
She exhaled, relieved.
Then Draco gave her a pointed look.
“And Hermione… you don’t exactly have the moral high ground when it comes to overworking.”
Her cheeks flushed.
He smirked affectionately.
“You run the Granger Center. You’re doing a charms mastery. You research the siphoning case. And you mother-hen our entire friend group.”
Hermione made a small noise of protest.
Draco lifted her chin, so she met his gaze.
“Theo isn’t the only one who needs to rest. And he isn’t the only one who deserves to be cared for.”
“You’re right.”
“Of course I am,” he said lightly, then softened again. “We need to make sure Theo isn’t always giving, while we’re always taking though.”
Hermione squeezed his hand.
“So, what do we do?”
Draco smirked.
“I already made plans. I’m sending you and Theo to a spa tomorrow.”
“What?”
“He needs relaxation. You need relaxation. And you two need time together that isn’t trauma or crisis based.”
Hermione felt warmth bloom in her chest.
“And you?” she whispered.
Draco smirked.
“I’ll survive a day without you. Barely. Catch up on some work.”
Hermione laughed, leaning in to kiss him softly.
“You’re a good man, Draco Malfoy.”
He answered by brushing his thumb over her cheek.
Theo returned home later than planned after an evening shift, a little past nine, smelling faintly of pepper-up fumes, healer robes wrinkled at the sleeves.
Hermione and Draco were curled together on the chaise in front of the fire, waiting up for him. The moment the door clicked, both lifted their heads.
Theo stepped in, offering them a tired smile.
“Sorry I’m late. Had a skele-regeneration treatment go sideways. Took hours to fix, my trainer said it was good practice.”
Hermione stood and walked straight into him, arms sliding around his waist.
“You don’t have to apologize,” she murmured into his shoulder. “You helped someone. That matters.”
Theo let himself fold into her embrace, face buried in her curls for a long moment before kissing the side of her head.
“I missed you both,” he whispered, voice rough.
Draco rose and approached, slipping an arm around Theo from behind, chin resting on his shoulder.
“You both waited up?” Theo asked softly.
Draco snorted. “Of course we did. It’s freezing, and frankly, I can’t sleep when the bond feels like you’re dragging a dementor up the front steps.”
Theo winced, “Sorry. Long day—”
Draco cut him off.
“Which is why you are relaxing all day tomorrow.”
Theo blinked. “What?”
Hermione pulled back slightly so she could look at him. Her hands stayed on his waist.
“Tomorrow,” she said gently, “you and I are going to a spa.”
Theo stared as though she’d spoken Meremish.
“A… spa?”
“Yes,” Draco said simply. “A whole day. No responsibility. No injuries to patch up. No worrying. Just rest.”
Theo laughed softly, incredulous.
“Draco, I can’t— I— I have things to— only day off this week to run errands…”
Hermione brushed her thumb over his cheek.
“Theo. You’ve been pushing yourself past empty for weeks. This is good for you.”
Theo’s throat bobbed.
“And you? You’re coming too?”
Hermione smiled. “It’s a couple’s package.”
Theo flushed with a small smile.
“Oh.”
Draco smirked. “Exactly.”
Theo looked between them, overwhelmed. “I don’t deserve this.”
Hermione cupped his face.
“Yes, you do. And so much more.”
Theo’s eyes softened, turning glassy with emotion that he fought not to let spill.
“…Thank you,” he whispered.
Draco kissed the back of Theo’s neck.
“Try to enjoy being spoiled. It won’t kill you promise.”
Hermione added, teasingly,
“And if it does, at least you’ll die nice and exfoliated.”
Theo laughed, tired but genuine, and kissed her sweetly.
“I love you both,” he murmured.
They pulled him to the bed, curled around him until the fire died low, and all three drifted off together.
The spa was hidden deep in the Highlands, tucked between snow-dusted pines and steaming enchanted mineral springs. Warmth and enchantments shimmered over everything in a lavish layout.
Lilac-scented air swirled through the lobby, with soft harps strumming somewhere unseen.
Theo’s hand stayed in Hermione’s as they walked in. He felt shy, out of place, unused to being fussed over.
Hermione squeezed his fingers reassuringly.
Draco had arranged everything in the top tier of service, private suite, enchanted amenities, every detail handled.
“Welcome,” the attendant said, guiding them inside. “We’ll begin with your 3 hour couples massage, then your two-hour enchanted seaweed wrap followed by a sea salt exfoliating scrub.”
Theo swallowed with shock.
“Six hours?”
Hermione laughed softly.
“You’ll survive. Come out nice and polished.”
They undressed behind screens and slipped onto the two heated tables side-by-side, only a few feet apart, both stomach down.
Two spa witches entered, blessing the air first with chamomile and winter sage.
Theo’s eyes fluttered shut the moment warm, oil-slicked hands pressed between his shoulder blades with heavy pressure.
A small, involuntary sound escaped him, half-groan, half-exhale.
Hermione giggled.
“That good?”
Theo muttered into the table, “You have no idea. I thought that knot was just a part of me now.”
Hermione closed her eyes as her own masseuse worked tension from her neck.
For the first hour, neither spoke, the bond drifting warm, relaxed, and peaceful between them.
Then Hermione asked him.
“Theo?”
“Mmm?”
“Do you ever think about next year? After we finish our masteries?”
Theo inhaled deeply, the question threading into his ribs.
“All the time,” he admitted quietly. “It feels strange… that we’re so close. Weird that when we started we were barely even together.”
Hermione shifted her head enough to peek at him.
“You’re going to be an incredible healer,” she whispered. “You already are.”
Theo’s voice was low, “And you’re brilliant, Hermione. I can see how much you love Charms. You’re going to change the world before you’re thirty.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
Their bond pulsed with affection.
“And Draco,” Hermione said, “he’s been changing too. Opening up in ways I never thought possible.”
Theo let out a small breath of agreement.
“He has. It’s subtle, but, he laughs more. He’s softer with us. He trusts… finally. He’s not at all who he used to be.”
Hermione smiled into her face towel.
“He’s become part of us.”
“Yes,” Theo whispered. “And I didn’t think I’d ever have something like this.”
The massage continued, melting every tight knot, leaving them loose, warm and open.
After the massage, the attendants wrapped them in enchanted warm kelp and soft binding cloth — glowing green threads that soaked into their skin, detoxifying magic buzzing through every limb.
The two were laid side-by-side on warm stone beds, inches apart, faces turned toward one another.
Once the attendants left and the door clicked shut…
It was quiet.
Still.
Theo exhaled unevenly.
“This feels… intimate,” he whispered.
Hermione smiled softly.
“It does.”
Hermione’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“Theo… can I ask something? Something… personal?”
Theo’s eyes relaxed at once.
“Anything.”
Hermione swallowed.
“February.”
Theo’s breath hitched.
“Yes…?”
“I want to try because I really want a baby,” she said softly.
Theo pressed his lips together, emotion thick on his face.
“You’re sure? I don’t want you feeling pressured by the deadline—”
“I’m not pressured. I’m… ready,” she whispered. “And seeing Luna with her baby, and Pansy… and imagining our children growing up with theirs… it just feels right.”
Theo shut his eyes, as if containing a wave of feeling.
“I want that too,” he whispered. “I want—Merlin, Hermione—I want to be a father with you and Draco.”
Her throat tightened.
“And Draco?” Theo asked gently.
“He wants it too. But he wanted to follow my timeline, not the deadline.”
Theo nodded.
“We’ll do this your way, whatever you want,” he said softly.
Hermione whispered, “What kind of father do you think you’ll be?”
Theo huffed a soft, emotional laugh.
“A terrified one.”
Hermione giggled.
“A good terrified or bad terrified?”
“Both,” he admitted. “I’ll worry about everything. Feedings. Fevers. When they start walking and might fall. When they get quiet and I’ll think they’ve swallowed something. Healers see all the crazy possible outcomes.”
Hermione smiled warmly.
“That’s exactly the kind of father children need to protect them.”
“And you? What kind of mother do you think you’ll be?”
Hermione blushed, “Probably bossy.”
Theo laughed deeply, “Absolutely.”
“And overly educational,” she added, smiling. “And protective.”
“You’ll be gentle,” he whispered. “And fierce. The way you always are.”
Hermione’s eyes stung with warmth.
“And Draco?” she whispered.
Theo’s smile softened.
“He’ll be the one teaching our children how to climb trees and break rules intelligently… and he’ll read them stories with ridiculous voices and pretend he hates it.”
Hermione laughed, imagining it.
There was a quiet stretch then.
Theo spoke first.
“I want them to feel safe with us,” he murmured. “Loved. Not judged the way my father judged me.”
Hermione squeezed his hand.
“They will be.”
“And I want them to know” — Theo’s voice cracked — “that even if they aren’t perfect… even if they struggle… they are enough.”
Hermione blinked tears away.
“Our children will never doubt that.”
Theo’s eyes warmed.
“And you’ll teach them everything,” he whispered. “Magic, kindness, books, the value of helping others, empathy, good muggle music.”
Hermione leaned her head closer on the pillow.
“And you’ll teach them compassion and healing,” she said softly.
“And Draco will teach them fire, leadership, and responsibility.”
Theo smiled.
“They’ll be unstoppable.”
They lay there, wrapped in heat and magic, souls unguarded.
By the time the attendants knocked to say the two hours were up they couldn’t believe it had passed by so quick.
They both felt lighter.
Closer.
Aligned in ways they hadn’t been in weeks.
Theo whispered as they were unwrapped and sent to the salt rub chamber, “Thank you… for today.”
Hermione squeezed his hand.
“Thank Draco,” she whispered. “His idea.”
Theo smiled, eyes filled with passion.
“I’ll thank him tonight alright.”
The sky was lavender when Hermione and Theo returned to Nott Manor, both wrapped in scarves and holding hands.
Draco was waiting.
Not pacing.
Not anxious.
Just sitting on the edge of the sofa, book closed in his lap, looking up the moment the door opened — eyes bright, hopeful, hungry for them.
Hermione smiled delicately.
Theo stopped just inside the threshold, watching Draco rise slowly to meet them. Something unspoken passed through the bond, hot, molten, simmering.
Draco stepped toward them.
“How was it?” he asked, voice deceptively casual, but Hermione felt the undercurrent of I missed you both.
Theo didn’t answer in words.
He set a hand on Draco’s chest and pushed him gently, firmly, back against the nearest wall.
Hermione inhaled sharply, heat blooming across her skin.
Draco’s breath caught.
“Theo—?”
Theo’s voice was low, warm velvet.
“You did something for me today that I didn’t know how badly I needed.”
Draco swallowed, eyelashes fluttering.
“I’m glad.”
Hermione drifted closer, arms folded loosely, watching them with a soft flush in her cheeks. She didn’t interrupt — she just felt the bond thrum like a quiet drumbeat under her ribs.
Theo leaned in, mouth brushing Draco’s jaw.
“You take care of everyone else,” he murmured. “You think ten steps ahead. You hold this family together. So today… I needed to thank you properly.”
Draco’s fingers dug lightly into Theo’s sleeves.
“You really don’t have to—”
Theo silenced him with a slow, deliberate kiss.
Draco exhaled into it, knees nearly buckling. Hands slid into Theo’s dark curls. Theo pressed closer, one hand cupping Draco’s jaw, the other around his waist.
Hermione’s breath came shallow, heart thudding.
Their magic pinged softly against hers, passion, longing, desire.
Theo broke the kiss only enough to whisper against Draco’s lips, “You deserve relaxation too.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. It was so purely them — Theo’s quiet intensity, Draco trembling because affection always hit him hardest.
Theo kissed his neck next, slow, reverent, thumb brushing his cheekbone. Draco made the smallest, most undone sound — something caught between surprise and relief.
Hermione stepped forward at last, slipping her hand into Draco’s free one. He grabbed it like a lifeline, eyes flicking to her with aching emotion.
She smiled gently.
“You’re allowed to be taken care of too,” she whispered.
Draco shut his eyes a moment, breathing them both in.
Theo kissed him again, slower this time — long, unhurried, claiming and tender.
By the time they pulled apart, Draco’s cheeks were flushed, his breathing uneven, and the bond hummed like warm honey.
Theo leaned his forehead to Draco’s.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“For giving us today. For giving me today.”
Draco swallowed hard, voice barely audible.
“You’re welcome… both of you.”
Theo stepped in closer without a word, hands sliding to Draco’s hips, thumbs hooking into the waistband of his trousers. “Let me say thank you properly,” he murmured, voice low and rough with love.
Before Draco could answer, Theo sank to his knees, unbuttoning them, in one fluid motion, tugging the fabric down just far enough for Draco’s cock to spring free, already half-hard and heavy against his thigh.
Draco’s breath hitched. “Theo—”
Theo didn’t speak. He simply looked up, stormy brown eyes locked on silver, then took Draco into his mouth in one slow deep breath.
The heat was immediate, wet and perfect. Theo’s tongue pressed flat against the underside, tracing the thick vein as he swallowed him deeper, lips stretching around the girth, throat relaxing until his nose brushed the soft silver hair at the base.
A low, grateful hum vibrated through Draco’s cock.
“Fuck, Theo—” Draco’s head thumped back against the wall, fingers threading into Theo’s dark hair, not guiding, just anchoring.
Theo pulled back slowly, lips dragging, tongue swirling around the flushed head, before sinking down again, faster this time, cheeks hollowing, hand cupping Draco’s balls with gentle, rolling pressure.
It was quick, intense, worshipful, perfect suction, tongue flicking the sensitive spot just under the crown, Theo’s free hand braced against Draco’s thigh, feeling the muscle tremble.
Draco’s hips jerked once, twice. “Theo, I’m—”
Theo took him all the way down and held, throat working around the head as Draco came with a choked, grateful groan, pulsing hot and thick across Theo’s tongue.
Theo swallowed every drop, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving Draco’s.
When he finally pulled off, lips red and glistening, he pressed a soft kiss to the tip, then rested his forehead against Draco’s hip.
“Thank you,” Theo whispered, voice rough with emotion. “For loving me.”
Draco hauled him up by the shoulders, kissing him fiercely, tasting himself on Theo’s tongue. “Always,” he breathed against Theo’s mouth. “Always yours.”
Much later, after Theo showered off the spa oils, and Hermione slipped into soft pajamas and Draco into loose sweats, the three crawled into the giant bed of their shared suite.
Hermione sat between the boys, back against the headboard, blankets pulled up to their waists.
She flicked her wand.
“Aladdin” projected onto the curtains across from the bed.
Draco laughed, “What in Merlin’s name is this?”
Hermione laughed too.
“It’s a classic.”
Theo tilted his head. “Is this the one with the flying rug or the one with the singing lion?”
“That’s The Lion King.” Hermione giggled. “Just watch.”
Draco frowned, “They allowed this street rat to touch the princess? Really?”
Hermione snorted, “It’s a story, Draco.”
Theo leaned toward her, whispering, “Honestly, I think the carpet’s the smartest character so far.”
Draco hummed in agreement.
“That carpet clearly has more tactical sense than half the Auror force.”
Hermione laughed so hard her stomach hurt.
Draco pointed at the screen, “I like her. She escapes things. Hermione, she reminds me of you.”
Theo murmured, “Except Hermione wouldn’t need a stray boy to show her around the city.”
Hermione swatted him, “Oh hush.”
Theo stared, eyes wide.
“Oh. Oh, that’s beautiful.”
Draco leaned in skeptically. “It’s very… sparkly.”
Then the carpet dipped suddenly.
“Flying carpets should not be used for reckless courtship displays. It’s irresponsible.”
Hermione kissed his cheek to shh him.
“You’re adorable.”
Theo kissed his other cheek.
“Very.”
Draco melted instantly.
Hermione was lying between them, head on Theo’s chest, Draco’s arm securely around her waist. Theo’s fingers absently combed her hair; Draco’s thumb stroked slow circles on her hip.
The movie faded out.
The fire dimmed low.
The blankets were warm.
Draco mumbled, half-asleep, “…the monkey was barely tolerable. I liked the tiger better.”
Theo murmured, already drifting, “The carpet deserves a medal.”
Hermione smiled, eyes closing, “I love you both.”
Two sleepy murmurs echoed back through the bond.
And with that, the three of them slipped into the deepest sleep they’d shared since before the kidnapping — steady, warm, aligned, bursting with love.
Exactly as a triad should be.
Chapter 272: New Year's Prep
Chapter Text
The manor was still quiet when Theo kissed Hermione goodbye at the bedroom doorway, whispering something soft against her temple before heading to the hospital.
Draco followed minutes later, adjusting his tie, offering her a warm, lingering kiss that made her toes curl and the bond hum faintly.
“I’ll be back mid-afternoon,” he murmured. “Try not to let my mother recruit you for anything outrageous.”
Hermione laughed. “I make no promises.”
Draco’s smirk was fond before he disapparated.
Hermione tied her hair up, threw on a soft jumper, and made her way toward the ballroom wing, only to find Narcissa Malfoy already there, wand in hand, sleeves rolled up with purposeful elegance.
“Good morning, dear,” Narcissa said, her voice warm but measured as always.
“We’ve much to do if tomorrow evening is to feel as special as you want it to.”
Hermione smiled, a bit self-conscious.
“I… I’d like it to be a magical escape for everyone. This year has been heavy.”
Narcissa’s gaze softened. “It has. For all of us.”
She approached Hermione and took her hands lightly.
“And you, my dear, deserve a night that is nothing but joy.”
Hermione blinked hard. “Thank you.”
Narcissa squeezed her fingers once before letting go.
“Now,” Narcissa said briskly, “let’s decorate a ballroom.”
They worked side by side for hours, unexpectedly fluid as a pair.
Narcissa conjured flickering lanterns shaped like blossoming winter roses, charmed to gently open and close like breathing petals.
Hermione transfigured swaths of fabric into shimmering gold and silver banners, attaching to the arching rafters.
Malfoy and Nott house-elves scurried in and out with polished silver trays as Narcissa murmured instructions.
“No seafood. Ronald Weasley insists he’s allergic, though I remain unconvinced.”
Hermione snorted.
“He is actually allergic. He once swelled up like a balloon in fourth year from eating a shrimp dish.”
“Well,” Narcissa said delicately, “that would explain Cho’s insistence about the menu.”
Hermione stifled a giggle.
They arranged the long dining table with crystal settings, and hovering delicate enchanted snowflakes that melted before they ever touched the ground.
Two hours in, Hermione realized she had stopped feeling nervous around Narcissa. Completely.
They moved into the sunroom where a warm winter light filtered through frosted glass. An elf served late lunch, roasted vegetable soup, warm crusty rye bread, cinnamon streusel tarts, and spiced pear tea.
For a while they ate in comfortable quiet.
Narcissa finally spoke softly:
“How are you feeling? Truly?”
Hermione hesitated.
Then she told the truth.
“Tired. Healing. But… good. Really good. I’m remembering almost everything now. And the boys… they’ve been wonderful.”
Narcissa nodded, thoughtful, “You’ve all come far. It shows.”
Hermione looked down at her hands, twisting the napkin nervously.
“There’s—there’s something I should probably tell you.”
Narcissa’s attention sharpened instantly but gently.
Hermione swallowed, “We’re planning to try for a baby. At the beginning of February. Not ask for an extension due to…. My situation.”
Narcissa went still, then slowly set her teacup down with a trembling exhale.
“Oh, Hermione.”
A beat.
And then Narcissa reached across the small table and took Hermione’s hand in both of hers.
“You have made me happier than you could possibly know.”
“I’m still scared,” Hermione whispered. “With everything going on. And the kidnapping and… the lingering danger.”
“That fear is natural,” Narcissa said softly. “But children… they bring hope when the world needs it most. And you will not be alone in raising them.”
Hermione blinked back tears.
“You’ll be a wonderful mother,” Narcissa murmured. “And they will be loved, by all three of you, and by me, and by everyone in your odd little collection of friends.”
Hermione laughed wetly, “That’s one way to describe them.”
“There is no one else whose hands I’d trust with my grandchildren,” Narcissa added quietly.
Hermione flushed warm. “Thank you. Really.”
They finished lunch talking baby names, the logistics of newborn magic, and what colors Narcissa was already planning the nursery to be at Malfoy Manor when she was allowed to babysit (cream and sage, apparently, with soft starlight charms).
Mid-afternoon had settled when Draco appeared in the doorway, loosening his tie and pausing at the sight before him.
“That’s…” he exhaled. “Wow.”
Hermione was enchanting a floating constellation of golden lights.
Narcissa was overseeing elves arranging winter roses down the center of the table.
Draco smiled softly.
“You two work well together.”
Narcissa lifted her chin proudly.
“She’s very capable.”
Hermione rolled her eyes affectionately. “She means she likes bossing me around.”
Narcissa sniffed, “And yet you perform beautifully under structure.”
Draco chuckled lightly.
He stepped closer to Hermione, brushing his fingers against her waist with a quiet intimacy that still made her stomach flip.
“How was today?” he asked.
Hermione beamed.
“Really good.”
Narcissa watched them both carefully before saying, “I’ll leave you two to rest. I’ll return in the morning to help prepare the winter cocktails.”
She swept from the room with a swirl of silver robes.
Draco turned back to Hermione, cupping her face.
“You okay?”
“Mmhmm.” She leaned into him. “We talked a lot. About… us. About February. She’s excited.”
Draco’s expression softened into something warm and disbelieving.
“She’s excited at the idea,” he repeated, as if still not used to it.
Hermione nodded.
“And she helped me pick out the dessert menu.”
Draco groaned. “Mother’s going to make everything ridiculously fancy, isn’t she?”
“Obviously.”
He kissed her, slow and lingering.
“Thank you,” he whispered into her hair. “For today. It means a lot to her for you both to get along. And for making tomorrow special.”
Hermione wrapped her arms around him and sighed happily against his chest.
“Tomorrow’s going to be perfect.”
Notes:
What do you think will happen at the New Years Party? =p
Chapter 273: The New Year's Dress
Chapter Text
Hermione was halfway through combing out her hair when the bedroom door burst open without warning.
“Where’s my fairytale princess?” Ginny called dramatically.
“And where is the woman who controls my entire social calendar now that I waddle like a duck?” Pansy added, pushing the door open wider with her hip.
Hermione laughed and rushed over, hugging them both.
“I swear to Merlin,” Pansy muttered, hand to her lower back, “if one more person tells me pregnancy is beautiful, I’m hexing them. Fat ankles are not beautiful.”
“You’re glowing,” Hermione said immediately.
“She is,” Ginny agreed.
“I am sweating,” Pansy corrected, dropping onto the plush chaise. “My ankles have merged into my calves. Blaise thinks it’s adorable. I think he’s lying because he’s afraid of me.”
Ginny cackled.
Hermione snorted.
Pansy sighed dramatically and accepted her fate.
Within minutes, Hermione had a tray of nail polishes on the coffee table: metallics, deep winter shades, sparkles, and soft neutrals.
Ginny grabbed a ruby red.
Pansy reached instantly for a chunky glittery silver.
“Silver on New Year’s?” Hermione teased. “Very traditional of you.”
“I’m pregnant,” Pansy said flatly. “I am going to wear glitter until the moment this child leaves my body.”
Hermione chuckled.
They took turns painting each other’s nails, Ginny sticky-fingered but enthusiastic, Hermione careful and precise. Pansy mostly lying back with her feet up while the others painted her toes because she couldn’t reach her feet without making a truly tragic sound.
“I miss my feet,” she groaned. “I used to see them occasionally. Now I only just assume they’re still attached.”
Hermione bit her lip, concentrating on the tiny silver brushstrokes.
Ginny leaned over Pansy’s bump.
“You know, you’re going to dance tonight.”
“No, I am not,” Pansy declared, eyes dramatically wide. “I will tilt and sway. I will maybe rotate. But I am not dancing. I feel like I swallowed a Quaffle.”
“You’re beautiful,” Hermione insisted.
“I’m large,” Pansy corrected.
“Luminous,” Ginny added.
“Large and luminous,” Pansy sighed. “Like the moon. A big pregnant moon.”
Hermione and Ginny couldn’t stop giggling.
After nails came hair.
Pansy propped herself in Hermione’s vanity chair and cracked her knuckles.
“Alright. Sit. Both of you. We are going to look like we own the century.”
Ginny saluted sharply. Hermione rolled her eyes affectionately.
Pansy’s wand work with hair was pure art. Hermione’s curls were coaxed into soft cascading waves with strategic golden highlights. Ginny’s hair was swept up into a sleek, high twisted style that made her look like a warrior queen.
When it was Pansy’s turn, she lowered her voice.
“Don’t make me look tired,” she said quietly. “I know I’m tired, but I don’t want to look tired.”
Hermione cupped her cheek. Ginny squeezed her hand.
“Pans, you’re beautiful,” Hermione murmured.
“But also exhausted,” Ginny added sympathetically.
Pansy blinked rapidly. “Hormones. Don’t mind me.”
With a soft charm here and a smoothing spell there, Pansy looked radiant, like she’d slept twelve hours instead of three.
“Well?” she asked nervously.
“Gorgeous,” Hermione said.
“A terrifyingly hot moon,” Ginny nodded laughing.
Pansy preened.
They gathered around Hermione’s little sitting table while house-elves brought in a tray of finger sandwiches, delicate cucumber, smoked salmon with lemon, and egg salad. A teapot of jasmine and strawberry hibiscus tea steamed between them.
“Oh thank Merlin,” Pansy gasped as a plate arrived in the center of powdered mini donuts.
She grabbed one instantly, powdered sugar smearing across her lips.
Ginny laughed. “You’re going to get white sugar all over your face.”
“That’s future Pansy’s problem,” Pansy said through a mouthful. “Present Pansy is having bliss.”
Hermione bit into a sandwich and sighed happily.
They talked — and talked and talked. About Luna’s baby. About Theo working so much. About Harry practically vibrating with nerves over an upcoming meeting that may help led to a promotion.
Pansy also leaned close at one point and whispered, “Are you going to wear something scandalous tonight? Because Draco was watching you earlier like he wanted to drag you into a broom closet.”
Hermione turned crimson, and pretended to not hear her.
Ginny cackled.
Pansy looked smug.
Eventually, Ginny checked the time.
“Alright, lovebirds need help. If I’m not home in thirty minutes, Harry’s going to wear navy with black shoes again.”
Pansy shuddered so hard she nearly toppled off the chair.
“Oh, for the love of Merlin, go. Fix him.”
Ginny kissed Hermione’s cheek and disapparated.
Pansy stood with some difficulty, and Hermione helped her balance.
“I look enormous,” Pansy said again.
“You look breathtaking,” Hermione insisted.
Pansy kissed her cheek, powdered sugar and all.
“You’ll be the prettiest one there tonight,” Pansy whispered. “Just… don’t tell Ginny I said that.”
Hermione laughed as Pansy waddled out to meet Blaise to take her home.
She headed downstairs toward the ballroom where she found Draco and Theo in deep discussion with the elves about lighting charms.
Draco spotted her first, stopping mid-sentence.
They walked over very slowly, expression softening into open admiration.
“You look…”
He cleared his throat.
“Beautiful.”
Theo nodded with quiet warmth. “Glowing. Your hair is gorgeous.”
Hermione flushed, fiddling with the hem of her robe over her pre-gown slip.
“The girls just left. Are the last-minute touches done?”
Theo gestured to the glittering room around them.
“Almost. Everything looks amazing.”
“We’re lucky to have you. This room hasn’t looked so good since the wedding,” Draco added gently.
Hermione’s chest tightened in that familiar, overwhelming warmth.
“Alright,” Draco said, clapping his hands lightly. “Let’s go change. Guests will be here in less than two hours.”
Theo offered his arm.
Hermione took it.
Draco fell into step beside her.
And everything felt exactly as it should.
Twenty minutes later, Hermione stood alone in the center of their bedroom suite, breathing in slowly as she fastened the final clasp of her dress. It slid into place with a soft metallic click. She turned toward the full-length mirror and actually… gasped out loud.
The dress Pansy had helped her pick was even more dramatic than she remembered.
It was a deep forest-green velvet that clung to every curve, with a high slit nearly to the top of her thigh and a modest, elegant sweetheart neckline in front. But it was the back that was the real surprise—a back that plunged so low it nearly grazed her arse.
Her entire back was bare except for a thin velvet strap at her waist. Smooth, soft, glowing skin.
She turned again, watching the slit open like a whisper of temptation.
“Merlin,” she muttered.
This was… a lot. Pansy had convinced her of the impulse buy, but now it felt like too much.
A knock sounded on the adjoining door. Theo’s voice drifted through, warm and careful:
“Hermione? Are you dressed? Draco’s arguing with his cufflinks again.”
She smiled nevously.
“I’m dressed,” she called.
The door opened slowly. Theo stepped in first.
And went absolutely still.
Theo Nott, usually composed even while dissecting medical crises, fully froze, mouth open.
His eyes swept down… up… down again.
“Hermione,” he breathed, “you’re—”
Words failed him. Literally failed. His mouth opened, then shut again. He dragged a hand through his hair like a man completely overwhelmed.
“Beautiful?” she teased, though her cheeks warmed nervously.
Theo swallowed.
“Beautiful doesn’t touch it. You’re—love, you’re… devastating.”
Draco, halfway behind Theo with one cuff still undone, opened his mouth to complain about cufflink engineering, and saw her.
His hand slipped, cufflink clattering to the floor unnoticed.
His pupils blew wide. His breath punched out of him like someone had hit him square in the ribs.
“Turn,” Draco said hoarsely.
Hermione blinked. “What?”
“Turn around more.” He gestured weakly. “Please.”
She turned.
The entire bare expanse of her back was fully revealed.
Draco made a sound. Some kind of strangled, deferential noise.
Theo actually whispered a curse under his breath.
Draco stepped forward, almost involuntarily, stopping just behind her. She felt the heat of him through the velvet.
He didn’t touch her, but his breath grazed her spine. She shivered.
“Hermione,” Draco murmured, voice rough, “this dress should be illegal.”
Theo nodded, looking personally victimized. “Completely illegal.”
She laughed softly, cheeks flaming, suddenly more aware of her body than she had been in awhile.
“You’re both ridiculous,” she said weakly.
Draco leaned in, his lips almost touching the back of her shoulder.
“And you’re…”
His voice dropped, “…the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Theo moved beside her, fingers barely brushing her wrist.
“You feel it in the bond, don’t you?” he whispered. “How much we want you?”
Her breath caught.
Yes.
She felt it like lava in her bloodstream.
“Wait,” Hermione said breathlessly, needing the focus off herself. “Let me see you two.”
Theo stepped back first.
He was wearing a flawlessly tailored charcoal muggle luxury suit, rich fabric, cuffed sleeves, fitted waistcoat, tie the color of midnight. His shoulders looked broader than usual. His jaw sharper.
Hermione grinned at him.
“Wow.”
Theo flushed faintly. “You like it?”
“Like it?” she echoed. “I may need to sit down. This might be illegal too.”
Draco laughed softly, then tugged Theo’s sleeve to the side so Hermione could see him too.
Draco stood tall in traditional jet black wizarding robes, formal and elegant, cut to emphasize his height and lean power. The fabric shimmered subtly with silver threads in the lamplight. He looked like heir to a legacy and breaker of curses all at once.
Hermione exhaled.
“You two…” she whispered. “You look—Merlin. Both of you. Like magazine models.”
Theo smiled, pleased.
Draco smirked like she’d just given him everything and more.
“Now we match,” Draco said quietly. “All three of us. Dark, elegant, dangerous.”
Hermione rolled her eyes fondly. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re stunning,” Theo added.
“And you’re ours,” Draco finished softly.
They moved together through the manor’s upper halls, the three of them glowing in reflected light from enchanted sconces.
Draco’s hand found the small of her back—warm against bare skin—and she nearly shot out of her skin.
Theo laced their fingers together on the other side.
“Are you nervous?” Theo asked quietly.
“A little,” she admitted. “Not about the party. They’re our friends. About… how I look. This is the most risky thing I’ve ever worn.”
Theo squeezed her hand.
“You look unforgettable.”
“You look like you should be on the cover of every wizarding magazine,” Draco added. “If anyone tonight takes your picture from behind, I’m hexing the camera.”
Hermione elbowed him playfully.
But she also leaned into him.
Because… she needed the grounding.
The bond hummed between them—strong, sensual, reassuring.
They reached the ballroom foyer just as the house-elves finished floating the last enchanted lanterns into place.
Music drifted softly through the doors. Candles glowed along the walls. Everything shimmered.
But the boys were looking only at her.
Theo leaned close. “If we don’t start walking, we’re going to be late greeting guests.”
Draco didn’t move, “Guests can wait.”
Hermione laughed despite the nervous flutter in her belly.
“Come on,” she said gently.
She stepped forward.
And when the ballroom doors opened, the chandeliers flared, the velvet caught the light, the slit shifted as she walked, revealing just enough leg to draw every eye instantly.
Gasps sounded around the room.
Hermione flushed fiercely.
But Draco’s hand pressed warmly to her back.
Theo’s fingers brushed her arm.
The bond pulsed between them all.
Pride. Awe. Desire. Love.
All of it flooding her at once.
She lifted her chin and the three of them descended into the New Year’s party as one unit.
Cho, seated beside Ron at the far end of the long, elegantly set table, elbowed him so hard he nearly spilled his water.
“Merlin, look at Hermione! That’s a brilliant dress!”
Ginny let out a low appreciative whistle.
Harry choked on his butterbeer, and gave his wife a disapproving look.
Luna smiled dreamily like she’d known Hermione would wear such a dress all along.
Neville visibly forgot how to breathe it seemed.
Blaise nudged him with a smirk.
Pansy literally fanned herself.
Draco’s mother, Narcissa, placed a hand over her heart.
“Oh,” she murmured to no one in particular, “she looks like a starfallen goddess.”
Fleur whispered something rapid and admiring in French.
Bill grinned sarcastically, “If Malfoy passes out, we’ll know why.”
Because Draco did look like he was about to collapse.
Theo did too.
They escorted Hermione to her seat, Theo sliding her chair out, Draco steadying her arm as though she were a porcelain doll.
When she sat, the boys took their seats on either side of her.
Everyone continued staring shamelessly.
Hermione flushed but smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
The elves served delicate crystal glasses of rosemary-pear soup with tiny pastry twists as a first course. This had been Narcissa’s recommendation for the first starter course.
Pansy immediately leaned over the table.
“Hermione Jean Granger,” she announced, “if you don’t run me through your entire after the dinner evening activities later, I will hex one of these two delicious men at random.”
Theo gave her a wounded look.
“Why me?”
“I said random,” Pansy sniffed.
Hermione laughed, warm and open.
“You look lovely too, Pans,” she said.
“You look like you own the world,” Ginny corrected. “Holy hell, ‘Mione. Pansy needs ot pick my next dress, damn.”
Ron nodded fiercely. “Yeah, I’m just pretending Cho didn’t gasp out loud because I’d get jealous, but you look… you look like you stepped out of a fairy tale.”
Cho elbowed him. “I did gasp. Absolutely. Look at her.”
Draco looked both smug and overwhelmed.
Narcissa raised her glass.
“To Hermione,” she said softly. “To health, strength, and unimaginable resilience.”
Everyone clinked glasses.
Hermione’s eyes shimmered.
The elves next brought plates layered with enchanted winter greens, candied pecans, winter goose berries, a light vinaigrette, and tiny charmed ice crystals that sparkled as they melted.
As soon as everyone took a few bites, Luna spoke serenely, “You shine very brightly tonight, Hermione. Like you’re a spark.”
Hermione blinked. “On fire?”
“Oh yes,” Luna nodded, “the kind of glow people get when they have survived something dark and come out holding the hands of those who love them.”
Draco’s throat bobbed.
Theo reached under the table to squeeze Hermione’s knee.
Hermione swallowed. “Luna… thank you.”
“You also look very snog-gable,” Luna added cheerfully, “but I assume that part is for them.”
Neville nearly inhaled a pecan.
Ginny had to thump his back.
The main course was extravagant, a combination of Hermione’s instances, and a few favorites of Draco; roasted herb-crusted beef, wine-poached salmon, roasted Mediterranean vegetables, buttery mashed potatoes, and enchanted rolls that stayed warm enough for the sweet cinnamon butter to melt on them.
Conversation rose into warm, overlapping chatter.
Bill shared a story about Fleur nearly hexing a Gringotts goblin who thought her accent meant she couldn’t understand math.
Fleur smirked. “He understands now.”
Ron told an embarrassing story about George turning Percy’s cauldron purple during summer holidays.
Ginny pointed her fork at Hermione. “Are you helping plan Pansy’s baby shower? I can’t wait to buy tiny clothes.”
Pansy gasped. “Yes! I need all of your taste levels involved. Blaise will try to put the baby in velvet capes.”
“I stand by the capes,” Blaise said.
Narcissa leaned toward Hermione. “You did the centerpieces yourself after I left?” she asked gently, admiring the sparkling winter floral arrangements. “They’re lovely.”
Hermione flushed. “I… yes. I wanted tonight to feel magical.”
“Mission accomplished,” Harry said.
The boys watched Hermione glow in the candlelight, softening into the woven warmth of chosen family around her. Both looked profoundly moved.
Wine glasses were refilled with a glowing plum-colored seasonal vintage before the next round of food.
Hermione felt the warmth spreading through her limbs, wine, friendship, love.
She stood, cheeks pink, dress shimmering like starlight.
Everyone quieted immediately.
She held her glass with steady hands.
“I want to say something,” she said.
Theo and Draco straightened.
Hermione inhaled, then smiled at the gathered faces.
“This year has been… heavy. Terrifying. Beautiful. Complicated.”
She paused. “But every single person in this room made it survivable.”
Everyone’s eyes softened.
“You’ve all become more than friends. You’re family. My chosen family. And as we go into a new year… I want us to keep choosing each other. Keep celebrating each other. Keep showing up for each other. Never let anything break our family apart.”
Ginny sniffled.
Blaise looked suspiciously like he was blinking too fast.
Narcissa dabbed her eyes delicately.
Hermione lifted her glass.
“To another year together. One with more light than darkness. More love than fear. And… more joy than any of us dare expect.”
Everyone rose.
“To family,” Harry echoed.
“To the future,” Neville added.
“To love,” Luna said serenely.
They all drank.
And Hermione’s heart felt painfully, beautifully full.
Dessert arrived in trios on each plate, a tiny warm spiced apple crumble, a miniature rich dark chocolate cake, and a dollop of champagne sorbet
Pansy moaned in delight. “If I weren’t pregnant, I’d ask for wine with this.”
“You can have sparkling juice,” Blaise offered.
She narrowed her eyes. “Do I look like I want juice right now?”
Cho laughed. “I want wine too.”
Ron beamed at her. “You’re perfect.”
Ginny teased Harry about eating too fast.
Neville fed Luna a spoonful of sorbet while she mused about snow sprites nesting in the rafters of the manor’s attic.
Theo and Draco leaned close to Hermione, one hand on her chair, one hand gently brushing hers, as if they couldn’t bear even an inch of space.
Hermione dipped her spoon into the crumble, savoring the cinnamon warmth on her tongue while they watched lustfuly.
Around her, laughter bounced from wall to wall.
Plates were cleared.
Candles burned low.
A soft musical swell filled the ballroom.
The ballroom glowed.
Not just from the hundreds of floating candles that shimmered across the vaulted ceiling, but from the mood that had shifted into something loose, delighted, and warm after dessert ended.
Music started softly: violins first, then charmed drums, then a lilting waltz that filled every corner of the room.
Ginny was the first to stand, tugging Harry with her.
“Come on,” she grinned. “Don’t pretend you don’t like dancing. I’ve seen you at weddings.”
“I tripped over a flower girl!”
“She forgave you!”
“After she hexed my shoes together.”
Theo snorted.
Draco rolled his eyes fondly.
Hermione laughed into her glass of champagne.
But Harry let Ginny drag him onto the floor, begrudgingly heroic as usual.
As soon as they stepped into the swirl of music, Harry loosened up and Ginny practically glowed, red hair catching the candlelight like a flickering flame.
It was a stunning assortment of formal dress that moved around the room. Ginny in an emerald silk, fitted bodice, with a floating skirt, hair curled and pinned with golden holly leaves twisted on top her head. Harry looked dashing with her in a dark hunter-green dress robe with silver embroidery; simple but flattering.
Ron had on deep burgundy robes that Cho insisted he wear, while his wife supported a midnight-blue satin number with snowflake embroidery and a front low enough that Ron tripped over nothing twice.
Luna was in her glory in a shimmering moon-silver gown layered like fish scales, a tiny charm above her head projecting slowly orbiting moons; ethereal, otherworldly. Her husband oddly complimented her in charcoal robes with a sprig of enchanted winter rose blooming in his lapel, courtesy of Luna.
Blaise was in a crisp black velvet suit with gold cufflinks shaped like small roaring dragons. Pansy in a stunning maternity gown in pale gold chiffon that framed her bump beautifully; she looked like an exhausted but radiant goddess.
Fleur was a vision in white silk and embroidered crystalline beads; Bill in navy with enchanted embroidery of constellations that twinkled as he moved. The two were quite a stunning pair together.
Narcissa, never to be outdone, was in a regal black long gown trimmed with silver fur, pearls woven into her hair in a way that made her look both forbiddingly elegant and unexpectedly warm at once.
Bill and Fleur floated around the dance floor effortlessly, gliding like they were made of moonlight and perfect grace.
Neville shyly offered his arm to Luna; she accepted, beaming, and they twirled in slow circles while her orbiting moons spun faster . Neville kept accidentally bumping into one, which sent him apologizing to thin air while Luna just laughed.
Ron approached Cho with a determined look.
“Right, sweetheart, I practiced—please don’t let me embarrass you.”
“You’ll only embarrass yourself,” Cho teased softly, kissing him before guiding him through the steps.
Pansy waddled to the edge of the floor with Blaise in tow.
“I swear if you try to spin me—”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Blaise murmured, placing his hands tenderly on her hips and swaying with her as if she were a priceless treasure.
Narcissa sipped champagne while observing with a serene smile, until Harry asked her for a dance, which shocked her into a laugh before she gracefully accepted.
Hermione stared at Draco and Theo with raised brows.
“Well? Are you two going to make me ask?”
Theo bowed slightly in mock-theatrical fashion. “My lady.”
Draco offered his hand. “Careful, Granger. Dance with both of us and you’ll never want to stop.”
“That’s the plan,” she teased.
And so she danced, giving turns to each of them.
First with Draco, who guided her with confident, fluid movements, his hand warm on her waist, breath brushing her cheek when he spun her.
Then with Theo, whose movements were gentler, more careful and intimate, fingers trailing the open back of her gown like he was memorizing her all over again.
The room blurred around them.
When the string quartet shifted to a charmed upbeat tune, everything descended into delightful chaos.
Ron stepped on Cho’s foot twice, while she scolded him.
Ginny tried to force Harry into a reverse role swing-dance dip and nearly dropped him.
Neville collided with Blaise and apologized several times red faced.
Luna declared the floor “slippery with destiny” and no one questioned her.
Draco got roped into dancing with Ginny.
Ron’s face during it was priceless.
Theo was dragged into a waltz by Pansy, who ordered him to “make me feel graceful,” which he actually managed, surprisingly well.
Hermione danced with Narcissa, who admitted quietly, “I have always adored dancing. Lucius dragged his feet too much. You step well.”
Hermione flushed. “I learned late. But… thank you.”
Heat built.
Bodies flushed.
Music throbbed.
And Hermione, chest warm with champagne and affection, tugged Theo’s sleeve.
“Air?”
He nodded immediately.
Draco noticed and followed with his gaze, but stayed with Pansy for a few more dances.
The balcony overlooked the snowy grounds, moonlight spilling over frosted hedges and frozen fountains.
Hermione leaned on the cold stone railing, breath clouding in the crisp night air.
Theo joined her quietly, leaning beside her.
“You doing alright?” he murmured.
She smiled. “More than. Just… really warm in there.”
Theo’s fingers brushed the bare skin of her back lightly, like he couldn’t help himself.
“You look so beautiful tonight,” he said, voice low.
“You keep staring,” she teased.
“I keep trying not to,” he corrected softly.
Her heart fluttered.
“Your magic feels settled,” he said after a pause, watching her carefully. “Steady. Happy. Confident”
“It is,” she admitted. “I am.”
He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing.
The wind caught his hair, the balcony lanterns lighting the sharp lines of his cheekbones.
He looked undone by her.
Hermione stepped closer.
Their breaths mingled.
Theo’s voice dropped to something rougher, intimate:
“When I walked into that bedroom… I thought my heart was going to stop.”
Hermione smiled into his chest.
“That would’ve been inconvenient.”
Theo cupped the back of her head, exhaling shakily.
“You’re—”
He stopped. Tried again.
“You’re everything, Hermione.”
She pressed her forehead to his sternum, warmth gathering in her throat.
His arms circled her waist slowly, tenderly… then the balcony door clicked open.
Draco stepped out, breathless from dancing, platinum hair slightly mussed, cheeks flushed from champagne and exertion.
He froze when he saw how close they were.
Then his expression softened, turned hungry seeing Hermione wrapped in Theo’s arms so intimately.
He approached slowly, like he was afraid to break something between them.
“You two hiding from the party?” he murmured.
Theo smirked. “Fresh air.”
Draco stepped into Hermione’s space, brushing a curl from her neck as he murmured, “You’re warm.”
“Champagne,” she replied.
“Mmm.” His eyes darkened. “And him.”
Theo huffed a laugh.
Hermione’s cheeks burned.
The bond thrummed between them, low, hot, tangled.
Instinctively, Draco lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles.
Theo tightened his arm around her waist.
And Hermione felt absolutely wrecked and cherished in equal measure.
She squeezed their hands, pulse fluttering.
“Two of you,” she muttered teasingly. “Ganging up on me.”
Draco smirked. “Merely appreciating.”
Theo’s voice dropped. “Merely breathing you in.”
Hermione felt her knees weaken.
The tension rose, heady, soft, electric.
And then she stepped back with a wicked little smirk.
“Have fun, boys.”
Both blinked confused.
Eyes wide.
Hermione slid past them back inside the ballroom, leaving them standing on the balcony—Draco staring at Theo, Theo staring back, both of them breathing heavy like she’d punched the air out of their lungs.
Theo muttered, “Did she just—?”
“Yes,” Draco rasped. “She absolutely did.”
Hermione’s laughter drifted from the ballroom.
She rejoined the party as trays of warm late night snacks appeared; mini beef pasties, tiny Yorkshire puddings, caramelized onion puff pastries, enchanted berries that popped with fizz, and cocoa shots with marshmallow charms.
Pansy grabbed four pastries.
“Blaise, don’t say a word.”
Ginny clinked her champagne against Hermione’s.
“You sly witch,” she whispered. “You left them feral out there.”
Hermione smiled sweetly.
“Who, me?”
Harry wandered over with a cocoa shot. “Whatever you did, Draco’s pupils are blown, and Theo looks like someone told him he’s winning the lottery tonight.”
Hermione just sipped her drink with an innocent hum.
As the party pulsed into its final hour before midnight—
The air sparkled.
Music swelled.
Friends laughed.
The triad’s magic wound burning and low, ready to ignite.
The minutes leading up to midnight blurred into a soft shimmer of music, laughter, and clinking glasses. The ballroom had grown warmer, light reflecting off dresses and robes, holly wreaths, and twirling ornaments.
Hermione drifted through the crowd , greeting people with hugs, laughing with Ginny, teasing Pansy about her gold heels that she “refused to take off even if they ruined her ankles for life.”
But the bond thrummed low and steady.
Both of them kept watching her.
Every time she turned her head even slightly, she found, Draco leaning against a column, dark robes and darker eyes on her, jaw slack just slightly as if he were still recovering from the balcony. Or Theo, hands in his pockets, pretending to listen to Blaise, but his gaze trailing her like a moth following a flame.
Hermione’s cheeks burned every time they caught her looking back.
Ginny appeared at Hermione’s side suddenly, tugging her toward the center of the ballroom where everyone was gathering.
“Come on,” Ginny laughed. “If you’re not here for the countdown, Ron will shout it all wrong.”
“I will not!” Ron shouted across the room.
Her friends all gathered around her.
Harry with a party popper ready.
Cho and Ron sharing a fond little moment.
Neville rocking on his heels, while Luna swayed beside him, humming.
Blaise rubbing a hand on Pansy’s lower back as she sighed dramatically.
Bill and Fleur glowing like an advertisement for marital bliss.
Narcissa poised and elegant with a champagne flute ready to go.
Hermione stood between Ginny and Luna for the first few seconds, but her heart knew where she belonged.
Draco and Theo moved through the crowd until they were both beside her, flanking her like the world aligned itself again.
Theo brushed her hand with his pinky.
Draco rested a warm palm at the small of her back.
The chandelier dimmed.
The candles brightened.
Ron called out—
“TEN!”
The whole room shouted with them.
Hermione’s breath caught; both boys glanced at her, their expressions warm and hungry and soft, all at once.
“NINE!”
Theo’s hand slipped fully into hers.
“EIGHT!”
Draco brushed the back of her bare shoulder with his knuckles; she shivered.
“SEVEN!”
Ginny elbowed Hermione knowingly.
Hermione elbowed her back.
“SIX!”
A violin swell filled the room.
Theo’s thumb stroked her knuckles.
“FIVE!”
Hermione realized her heart was racing, not from champagne, not from excitement, but because she was between them.
Exactly where she belonged.
“FOUR!”
Draco leaned closer, breath warm on her neck.
“THREE!”
Theo whispered, “Happy almost-New Year, angel.”
“TWO!”
Draco murmured, “Get ready.”
“ONE!”
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
Champagne popped.
Fireworks lit up behind the enchanted windows in a colorful and loud display.
A thousand tiny golden sparkles rained from the ceiling.
And Hermione turned first to Theo.
His hands framed her face softly, reverently, like she was something holy.
Their kiss was slow and deep, warm and steady, a promise sealed into the very heart of the new year.
She felt the bond flare, humming like a chord plucked between them.
When they parted, breathless, Theo whispered, “Start of the year with you two… I couldn’t ask for anything more.” He dove in for a quick peck to Draco’s lips.
Her stomach swooped.
Then a warm hand slid over her waist.
Draco gently pulled her toward him.
He didn’t ask.
He didn’t speak.
He just kissed her.
His mouth hungry, unrestrained, claiming her with a passion that made her tremble. One hand cupped the back of her neck, the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
Heat shuddered through her, electric.
The bond roared with dmeands.
When he finally broke the kiss, his voice was rough, low, devastating, “Happy New Year, Hermione.”
She was shaking.
Breathless.
Overwhelmed.
And utterly theirs.
As if choreographed by fate itself, the orchestra shifted into a slow, lush waltz imediantedly.
The ballroom dimmed to a low warm gold.
And Draco, still holding her hand, murmured, “Dance with us.”
Theo nodded, offering his other hand.
Hermione swallowed hard and let them guide her to the dance floor.
They didn’t take turns this time.
They danced with her together.
Theo leading from the front with his gentle, precise strength, Draco behind her, guiding her hips and steps with confident touches.
Hermione felt wrapped in warmth, cradled in magic, the bond glowing on their fingers like a blinking heartbeat.
Her back rested against Draco’s chest as he kissed her shoulder lightly between steps. Theo’s fingers brushed up her arm whenever he spun her.
Every movement was intimate.
Every breath shared.
Every touch electric.
Around them, Ginny sighed happily against Harry’s shoulder as they swayed.
Pansy cried softly at how pretty everything was.
Ron stepped on Cho’s foot yet again.
Luna whispered that the moon approved of the dance.
Neville beamed.
Even Narcissa watched the triad with something like pride.
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment.
Held between the two men she loved.
Warm velvet against her skin.
Slow music thrumming through her bones.
The bond glowing steady and sure.
If the year began like this, she couldn’t wait to see where it went.
Notes:
Can't imagine what they'll get up to after the guests leave ... =P
Chapter 274: The New Year's Afterparty
Notes:
Little New Year's smut for you folks =P
Chapter Text
They barely make it down the hallway.
Hermione laughing softly between the two of them, flushed from champagne, warm from dancing, electricity still buzzing under her skin from the kisses.
Her heels click on the marble with little stumbles, not because she’s unsteady, but because Theo and Draco keep touching her.
Not grabbing.
Not pulling.
Just… brushing.
Skimming.
Hovering.
A hand at the small of her back.
Fingers brushing her wrist.
A palm guiding her hip around a doorway.
By the time they reach the door of the master suite, Hermione’s breath is coming faster than her footsteps.
Theo opens the door.
Draco shuts it behind them.
The latch clicks.
Draco stepped behind her first, lips brushing the nape of her neck as his fingers found the hidden zipper. He dragged it down slowly, deliberately, letting the fabric whisper over her skin until the dress pooled at her feet.
No bra. Just black lace knickers already soaked through. He hooked his thumbs in the sides and peeled them down her legs, leaving her completely bare.
Theo moved in at the same time, stripping Draco with practiced efficiency: shirt buttons flicked open, trousers shoved down, cock springing free, flushed and heavy. Theo shed his own clothes in seconds, silk scarves procured from a drawer, dark eyes burning with a question.
“Can I?” Theo murmured against her ear.
“Merlin, yes” Hermione breathed, voice trembling with want.
They guided her to the bed. Theo looped soft emerald silk around each of her wrists, stretching her arms wide and tying them securely to the headboard posts.
Then her ankles: legs spread wide, scarves anchored to the footboard until she was spread-eagle, open, helpless, glistening.
Draco and Theo stood at the foot of the bed, naked and hard, cocks jutting up against their stomachs. They took their time preparing her.
Draco started at her throat, tongue tracing collarbones, teeth scraping nipples until they stood red and aching.
Theo knelt between her spread thighs, blowing cool air over her clit till it pebbled, then licking one long, slow stripe up her slit. Hermione jerked against the scarves, a broken moan tearing from her throat.
They edged her mercilessly.
Fingers, mouths, tongues: bringing her to the brink again and again, then pulling back. Theo’s tongue flicking her clit while Draco sucked bruises into her breasts. Draco’s fingers curling inside her while Theo whispered filthy praise against her inner thigh.
Every time her hips started to shake, every time her pleas turned incoherent, they stopped.
By the fourth denial she was sobbing, tears of pure need streaking her cheeks, cunt swollen and dripping onto the sheets.
Draco’s voice was rough with held back desire. “Take her, Theo. I want to watch first.”
Theo nodded with a groan, kissing Draco passionately for a moment. Then, Theo crawled up her body, kissing her hard, letting her taste herself on his tongue.
He lined up, thick head nudging her entrance, and sank into the hilt in one slow, relentless push.
Hermione came instantly, back arching off the bed, a raw scream muffled against Theo’s shoulder as her walls clamped down around him in violent pulses. Theo groaned, holding still, buried balls deep, letting her ride it out.
“Fuck, love,” he rasped against her neck, starting to move in long, deep strokes. “Needed you all night. Needed this perfect cunt. Love you: love your body, your sounds, the way you take me.”
He punctuated every word with a thrust, hips rolling, grinding against her clit until she was whimpering again. Her hips kept trying to rise to meet him, but were help back by the bonds.
He fucked her steady and deep, hands braced beside her head, eyes locked on hers until his rhythm stuttered.
“Coming: fuck, Hermione—” He slammed in once, twice and spilled hot and thick inside her, hips jerking as he filled her.
Draco was already untying the scarves. The moment her limbs were free he dragged her to the edge of the bed with ease, and folded her nearly in half: knees hooked over his elbows, ankles by her ears. He thrust in with one commanding stroke, bottoming out in her soaked, oversensitive cunt.
Hermione screamed again, nails raking down his back.
“You’ve been driving me insane all night,” Draco snarled, pounding into her.
“That dress. The way you laughed. The way you looked at us like you wanted to be ruined.”
Each word was a thrust, the bedframe slamming the wall, her body jolting with every impact.
“This cunt is mine now tonight, Granger.”
Theo sat back on his heels, grin on his face, stroking himself lazily, already half-hard again as he watched Draco take her apart again.
After a few more hard and fast thrusts, Hermione came again with a broken cry, walls fluttering around Draco’s cock. The clench dragged him over: he buried himself deep and came with a guttural groan, pulsing inside her until they were both shaking.
Before the aftershocks had even fully faded for her, Draco pulled out, dropped to his knees and yanked Theo forward by the hips.
Theo’s cock slid between Draco’s lips in one smooth motion. Draco took him deep, throat working, hand pumping the base until Theo’s head fell back with a hoarse moan, coming down Draco’s throat in minutes.
When it was over they collapsed in a sweaty, trembling heap on the bed naked: Hermione in the middle, Draco and Theo curled around her.
Theo pressed a kiss to her temple. “Love you.”
Draco nuzzled her throat. “Insufferably.”
Hermione laughed, breathless and wrecked and perfectly whole. The tattoo ring on her finger pulsed warm, sated, golden.
Chapter 275: Making The List
Notes:
Time as a triad and time for Hermione and Draco to privately talk.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They don’t wake up until nearly eleven.
The room is warm, curtains still drawn. Hermione is the first to stir — not fully awake, just shifting in the nest of limbs and blankets.
Draco’s arm is slung over her waist.
Theo’s face is tucked into her shoulder.
Their legs are tangled with hers so tightly she can’t tell where she ends and they begin.
Her entire body aches — in the good way. In the holy-Merlin-I-can’t-believe-we-did-that-again way.
She’s just drifting back under when—
WHAM.
A heavy thump hits the window.
Hermione startles.
Theo groans.
Draco swears.
Another thump.
Then a faintly offended barn owl hoot.
Theo lifts his head, eyes barely open, “…Is someone trying to break in through the window?”
Draco shoves his face into his pillow.
“If Kingsley is sending us owls at—” he peers blearily at the bedside clock “—eleven in the morning the first day of the year, he can live with waiting five minutes.”
Hermione snorts.
“We should get it. He wouldn’t owl unless it mattered.”
Draco mutters loudly enough for them to hear, “He could have waited until lunch mattered.”
But Hermione is already reaching for her robe, legs wobbling adorably as she stands.
Theo watches her, sleepy and soft-eyed.
“You’re walking like someone who had a really good night,” he murmurs.
Hermione glares playfully over her shoulder, “If I weren’t too tired to hex you, Nott—”
Theo smirks, collapsing back into pillows.
Draco finally drags himself upright, muttering something about traitorous government officials and owls with no sense of timing.
Hermione opens the window; the owl swoops in, lands on the headboard and sticks out a leg.
She unties the note and reads aloud:
“Two additional Flint descendants located.
Muggle world. Tokyo.
Squibs, likely erased from the magical record by the family two decades ago.
Aurors currently trying to contact them.
Will update shortly.”
Theo whistles. “Tokyo. Merlin.”
Draco rubs a hand over his face. “It keeps getting worse.”
Hermione folds the note tightly, thinking.
“We’ll talk more later, when we’re less… horizontal.”
Theo yawns. “Less horizontal might be a while.”
Draco flops back down beside her. “Five more minutes.”
Hermione lies back between them, their arms automatically pulling her in, their warmth pulling her under.
And that’s where they stay, drifting in and out of sleep, until their alarm becomes relentless signaling Theo’s shift is starting soon.
Theo showers quickly (they can feel how tired he is through the bond, but he insists he’s fine) dresses in healer robes, and kisses Hermione once, Draco once, and Hermione again.
“I’ll be home early,” he promises, squeezing her hand. “Don’t overthink anything today, just relax.”
Hermione tries to smile.
“I’ll… try.”
He gives Draco a pointed look and heads out through the floo.
The manor feels much quieter without him in it and he goes a bit fainter in the bond as his distance increases form them.
Hermione and Draco wander rather leisurely into the kitchen for a late breakfast, nearly noon by now. House-elves bustle happily making tea and eggs and pastries for them.
Draco doesn’t touch his food at first. He’s watching her very intently just sipping his tea.
And Hermione can tell he’s been waiting for this moment to speak privately till the holidays were over.
She nods, acknowledging that he wants to have a serious talk, and says “After.”
He looks relieved that she seems to know what’s on his mind, and finally digs into his ham and cheese omelet, popping grapes into his mouth once he’s finished it.
When both their plates and rea cups sit empty, they rise together.
They walk toward the window overlooking the orchard, each carrying a new mug of tea.
Hermione starts it.
“So… Vienna. Let’s do it.”
Draco nearly chokes on his Earl Grey.
“Well. Subtly isn’t a strength for you.”
She lifts one eyebrow. “I’m being direct. We said before Christmas, we’d revisit the topic once the holidays passed.”
He runs a hand through his hair, nervous, but very excited.
Thru the bond she can feel how firmly he’s been holding this inside to not push it on her; desire, anticipation, and the strange, gentle worry of pushing her too far.
He clears his throat.
“I know we said after New Year’s. And I know we still need to talk through every detail, and get Theo onboard.”
His voice softens, “But… yes. I want to go. With you. For you. If it’s what you actually want. I don’t want you to agree for my sake. Only if it’s what you honestly want.”
Hermione watches the winter sunlight bouncing off the snow over the grounds. She take s a deep breath.
“I do want to explore it,” she says quietly. “Before February. Before pregnancy becomes… the priority. But I want it to be safe. Grounded. And with the right boundaries. I trust you so much. I know you’ll make it a good experience and respect me.”
Draco nods immediately. Not the overly eager agreement of someone just excited by the topic, but the composed, attentive agreement of someone who wanted to make her feel comfortable and confident.
“Of course. Safe words. Clear limits. Everything negotiated ahead of time together to establish boundaries. And if at any point—any—point—you feel uncertain, we stop. All of it, at any time.”
Hermione exhales with relief.
“I know, Draco. That’s why I’m not afraid of exploring it with you.”
He looks away from her abruptly, eyes suspiciously shiny in the afternoon light.
“You trust me that much?”
“I do.”
He swallows hard, clearly touched.
They stay in silence for a moment, not awkward, just full of unspoken things between them.
Then Hermione adds, “And Theo’s okay with it, even though he’s nervous. Part of him is… curious how it’ll help the bond too. I did talk with him a bit about it, but he wants to have a conversation with all of us together.”
Draco grins, “It’ll help the bond because it’ll help you understand yourself better.”
Hermione flushes.
“I’ve already been exploring it with you a bit. Enough to know there are some things I’ll probably like… a lot. But I want to take it steps further than we have so far.”
Draco’s pupils blow wide.
“Trust me,” he murmurs. “I remember.”
Hermione laughs softly.
“Well, good. I want to build on that.”
Draco leans in and kisses her, slow, deeply, not heated like last night, but grounded. Very intentional and intimate, but comforting all at once.
“We’ll go to Vienna next week if Theo agrees. Just for a few days. We’ll plan every detail before we leave. No surprises.”
Hermione breathes out, “Thank you, I think this will be good for us.”
Draco shakes his head smirking, “Don’t thank me, your not exactly twisting my arm to get me there with you.”
Hermione doesn’t look away.
“And I’ll trust you… fully while we’re there.”
His breath catches, and the bond glows hot between them.
They settle into Draco’s study after a light lunch. Hermione is curled up in a leather armchair with a blanket over her knees, Draco sitting on the sofa next to her with parchment spread across the low table in front of them.
The doors are closed.
The elves dismissed for the day.
Fire crackling.
This conversation needs privacy and a safe feeling.
Hermione’s nerves are fluttering in her stomach.
Draco, passively gentle, clears his throat, “Alright,” he says, tapping the parchment. “I made a list to go over.”
Hermione snorts a laugh, “Of course you did.”
“It’s organized into categories.”
“Of course it is.”
He shoots her a mock-glare, though he’s smiling. “Be nice. I’m already… embarrassingly invested in this. And it’s serious, we need to be on the same page.”
She leans over and kisses his cheek quickly, “I know. And I’m glad your taking it seriously.”
“Okay,” Draco says softly. “You know the normal rules. You can say yes, no, or maybe but not now. Anything you hesitate on is automatically treated as a no unless you bring it up again yourself. I won’t push anything on you. We only do what you want to explore.”
“Good,” Hermione says. “I want this to be safe.”
“Then let's start.”
Draco reads aloud:
“Being pinned?”
“Definitely, yes.”
“Being held down?”
“Yes, but never with magic, bad memories of that.”
Draco nods immediately. “Of course.”
“Blindfolding?”
“Yes.”
“Restraints?”
She hesitates, briefly thinking. Images of silk scarves, soft ropes, her wrists tied above her head come to mind.
“…Soft only. Nothing too tight. Only things that won’t bit into my wrists.”
Draco writes that down, “Yes, with conditions then.”
“Being ordered to do things.”
Hermione’s cheeks flush, “…Yes.”
Draco smirks, “I thought so.”
She swats him with the pillow, but she’s grinning.
“Spanking.”
Hermione bites her lip. They’d done that before. She remembered the heat, the sting, the way it turned sharp pain into pleasure.
“Yes.”
“Biting?”
She blushes harder, “…Yes.”
“Nails?”
“Me on you? Yes. Maybe not you on me though.”
“Of course. Hair pulling.?”
Hermione’s breath catches, somewhere in her gut heat unfurls.
“…Yes.”
Draco’s quill pauses. His pupils dilate. “Merlin.”
She clears her throat. “Next.”
“Light slapping?”
Hermione freezes, “No.”
Draco immediately reaches the table and takes her hand.
“Then it’s absolutely a no,” he says, firm and protective. “Off the table permanently.”
Hermione exhales, and nods.
“Temperature magic?”
“Yes, cold.”
“Wax play?”
She stiffens, “No.”
Draco nods.
“Silk rope bonding?”
She smiles. “Yes.”
“Feathers?”
She actually laughs at that.
“Draco, that’s barely roughness.”
He grins. “I’m being thorough.”
“Then yes.”
His voice becomes lower, “Being manhandled?”
Hermione blushes, “Yes.”
“Being pushed into the mattress or wall?”
She shivers at the memory of being pinned to the desk, “Yes, with care. Rough is fine, a concussion is not.”
Draco solemnly nods.
“Being told what to do?”
“…Yes.”
“Being begged for?”
Hermione throws the pillow at him, “Draco Malfoy.”
He’s smirking shamelessly.
“I’ll put that as a maybe,” she mutters.
He writes Maybe (Hermione is blushing) on the parchment.
“Anal during rough sex?”
“Maybe, revisit that someday” she says. “But not in Vienna. Not now right away.”
Draco immediately writes that down.
Draco glances at her, nervous.
“You liked me… ordering you around,” he murmurs. “Sometimes.”
“And you liked ordering me,” she counters.
His cheeks go faintly pink.
“Dominance play,” he says, “is that a yes?”
“…Yes,” she breathes.
“With switching depending on the mood?”
“…Also yes.”
“Good,” he murmurs, voice low and warm.
“You said nothing demeaning or derogatory with name calling right?”
“Yes, don’t do that. Dirty talk is a yes… calling me a slut or mudblood is a no.”
“Ok, and I want nothing to do with war dynamics myself, so that’s off the table anyway.”
“What about edging?”
“Yes.”
Draco looks uncomfortable, “Blood play?”
“Absolutely not.”
Draco looks relived, “Thank Merlin… I would have tried ti for you… but it’s not a favorite for me at all.”
“Fake forcing?”
“What do you mean?”
Draco tries to explain, “Like you refusing without using the safe words, resisting me, and me doing it anyway? If it’s a real no, I would know by you using the safe words.”
Hermione looks away while thinking, “Um… I don’t know.”
“Ok, then we table that for now, and you bring it up if you ever want to try it.”
She nods.
“Forced orgasm?”
“I think so… ?”
Draco wrote down, ‘Try, but tread carefully for apprehension.’
“The line between pleasure and pain?”
“Yes, within safe limits… nothing that would have lasting damage. If a spell, potion, or cream can’t fix it afterward quickly then it’s too much.”
“Same with level of roughness then too?”
“Yes, same rules. Bruises, cuts, aches, etc. are fine if they’re not serious.”
“That’s totally reasonable, I respect that.”
“Clit clamp?”
“Ok.”
“Nipple clamps?”
“Once, just to know, then decide on it?”
“That’s ok.”
“Toys?”
“Yes.”
“Cum play?”
“I guess so?”
“Ok, I’ll put it down tentatively.”
He got to the end of the list, “Is there anything else for yes or no that we should include?”
“I can’t think of anything you didn’t cover.”
When they finished, Draco sets the quill down with a long exhale, his eyes wide.
Hermione reaches across the table and takes his hand.
“I trust you completely,” she says softly.
Draco closes his eyes for a moment, visibly moved.
“And I will do my best to keep that every step of the way.”
After the intensity of the list, the tension between them broke.
Hermione spreads her charms work across the table in Draco’s study, stacks of parchment, quills, diagrams, magical theory notes.
She’s humming, murmuring softly under her breath as she works.
Her core feels strong again.
Her magic is responding normally.
Her mind is sharp and focused.
She’s close to fully caught up on her missed classes.
Every so often Draco glances over at her from his own desk, where he’s working through estate ledgers, using the enchanted sum ink she gave him for Christmas.
It adjusts columns automatically.
It balances accounts.
It even leaves margin notes suggesting reorganizations.
Draco is positively delighted every time it does something clever, and can be heard mumbling his excitement every time he turns to a new page.
“It can calculate across holdings in three countries simultaneously,” he mutters in awe. “Why doesn’t everyone use these?”
“Because wizards are stubborn and terrified of enchanted accounting,” she teases.
He narrows his eyes. “This ink is life-changing.”
Hermione laughs, shaking her head, and returns to her essay on charm-based ward reinforcements.
For hours, they work in comfortable quiet.
Every so often Draco brings her more tea without asking and she smiles, grateful for him.
By the time Theo arrives home from his shift, exhausted but smiling, the study smells like parchment, tea, and hard work.
He kisses Hermione’s head.
He kisses Draco’s temple.
“You two look suspiciously productive,” he teases.
Draco smirks.
“We had a very successful day I think.”
Hermione blushes.
Theo notices immediately and smirks at Draco over her shoulder, eye brow raised.
“Merlin,” Hermione groans. “I hate both of you.”
Theo says he’s going to sneak in a quick cat nap before they head out for dinner, and leaves them to keep working together.
Two hours later, Hermione stood between them on the quiet Muggle pavement outside a little Italian place near The Granger Center neighborhood, her hands looped through theirs, and her cheeks flushed from the cold winter wind.
The awning above the restaurant is icicle crusted, and soft violin music drifted out each time the door opened.
Theo opened the door for both of them, murmuring, “Ladies first,” with a teasing bow.
Draco scoffed. “She’s one lady, you’re just dramatic.”
Theo smirked and followed Hermione inside, leaving him to follow.
The warmth hit them immediately, candles flickering in glass holders on every table, the air heavy with basil, garlic, and simmering wine. Everything felt intimate and homey.
A hostess led them to a little corner booth, the three of them sinking into the curved velvet seat together, Hermione tucked in between them. The candle in the center cast golden light across their faces.
Hermione looked radiant.
Relaxed in a honest way she hadn’t in weeks.
Draco noticed instantly. He reached down under the table and twined his fingers with hers. Theo draped his arm along the back of the booth behind her shoulders.
For a moment they just breathed each other in, relaxed and comfortable.
Then Hermione smiled, soft and bright.
“I’ve missed this. We haven’t been out together in a long time.”
Theo kissed the side of her temple, “Mhm… been too long.”
Their waiter appeared , and handed them elaborate homestyle menus. Wine was ordered by Draco, followed by a basket of warm focaccia that smelled of rosemary and sea salt.
When the waiter left, Draco tore off a piece of bread and said lightly, “Well, we’re officially out of the manor. Together. That deserves a toast.”
Theo raised his glass.
“To surviving the wildest autumn of our lives.”
Hermione clinked against his, “To being back to ourselves again.”
Draco touched his glass to both of theirs, “And to not letting anything steal these moments from us again.”
They drank deeply.
The wine warmed them from the inside out.
Theo told them ridiculous stories from the hospital shift. Laughing about the wizard who had come in complaining he’d swallowed a Snitch on a dare.
Draco nearly snorted wine out his nose, then looked accusingly at Theo for telling the story.
Draco complained about ministry bureaucracy misunderstandings due to bad international translations until Theo and Hermione were laughing too hard to even get a bite in.
Hermione told them about her make-up work, and what she was looking forward to covering in the spring.
It happened when the waiter placed their mains on the table; pappardelle for Draco, mushroom risotto for Theo, and black truffle ravioli for Hermione.
Draco nudged her knee under the table.
“So,” he said lightly, “have you thought more about after your mastery? You’ve mentioned a few ideas but not in detail.”
Hermione took a slow breath.
“A lot, actually.”
Theo looked at her, tenderness softening his features, “Tell us.”
Hermione poked a bit of ravioli with her fork, gathering her thoughts.
“Well… I think I want to keep splitting my time with the Granger Center. I love it there. Helping families and Muggle-born kids—it's meaningful. I can’t imagine giving that up.”
Draco nodded thoughtfully, “That’s always been part of who you are.”
“But,” she continued, “I also… don’t know that I want a full workload when we start having children.”
Theo nearly choked on a piece of risotto.
She went on, “I just want to be realistic, but also fulfilled.”
Draco reached for her hand. “What’s the part-time idea you mentioned last week?”
Hermione hesitated, then smiled nervously.
“Hogwarts.”
Theo blinked, “As in… teaching?”
“Maybe,” she said. “A part-time Charms post. One or two courses only. Maybe just one level year. I could work part of the week at the Center, part of the week at Hogwarts, and have days off at home.” She swallowed, cheeks warm. “It would let me be involved with the next generation. And be present for our children still.”
Theo’s expression softened intensely, “I love that for you.”
Draco squeezed her fingers under the table, “It suits you. Honestly, Hogwarts would be lucky to have you.”
She flushed under the candlelight.
“I don’t want to rush anything,” she added. “But… that’s what I see. A life where I’m helping, teaching, and still home enough to… to actually be a family. Maybe think about more when they leave for Hogwarts, maybe something more… political.”
Theo leaned in, “Love, that sounds perfect.”
“And when the time comes,” he said quietly, “our kids will have a mother who’s brilliant, balanced, and doing what she loves. That matters.”
She whispered, “And they’ll have two fathers who adore them.”
Theo kissed her knuckles.
Draco brushed his knee against hers under the table.
The air felt thick with unspoken promises.
Dessert was tiramisu, a large rectangle shared between the three of them.
Hermione fed Theo a bite; he fed Draco one; Draco fed her.
It was messy.
It was sweet.
It was stupidly romantic.
It was also perfect, and the bond pulsed with harmony and love.
When they finally rose to leave, Draco wrapped her coat around her shoulders with a quiet devotion that made her tummy warm.
Theo laced their fingers together as they stepped back into the cold evening.
Hermione exhaled, content.
“I needed tonight,” she said.
Draco kissed her hair, “So did we.”
Theo tugged her closer, “Let’s go home.”
Notes:
Well Vienna will be something =P
Chapter 276: Making Plans
Chapter Text
Hermione shuffled into the kitchen in her robe, hair mussed from sleep and fuzzy purple socks on her cold feet.
Draco was already at the table, unusually informal, barefoot in navy pajamas, sipping coffee with a frown.
Theo was still asleep upstairs, he’d look wrecked from all the crazy work hours lately, and they’d agreed he needed all the rest he could get.
Hermione blinked blearily, “What’s wrong?”
Draco silently rotated the Daily Prophet toward her.
The front page was a massive, glossy photograph of the three of them from the night before stepping out of the little Italian restaurant, Hermione between them in her blue wool coat, her hands in theirs.
The headline screamed:
**HERMIONE GRANGER RETURNS TO PUBLIC LIFE—
WITH TWO HUSBANDS IN TOW!
Triad Seen on Lavish Date Night After Mysterious Absence**
Hermione groaned.
“Oh good. Because this is exactly what we needed, more attention.”
She sank into the seat beside Draco and read the full article.
>>>>
HERMIONE GRANGER RETURNS TO PUBLIC LIFE—WITH TWO HUSBANDS IN TOW!
Triad Seen on Lavish Date Night After Mysterious Absence
By Celestina Watts, Senior Society Correspondent
Last night, for the first time in nearly eight weeks, Hermione Granger—rising Charms protégé, and one-third of the increasingly famous (and controversial) Malfoy–Granger-Nott triad—was spotted enjoying a candlelit dinner with her bonded partners at an exclusive Muggle restaurant in the suburbs.
The trio appeared relaxed, affectionate, and dressed to impress, though sources close to the restaurant report that the group requested “a very private booth,” raising eyebrows about the nature of their outing.
This marks Granger’s first public appearance since her sudden disappearance earlier this autumn. Ministry officials have repeatedly refused to comment on rumors that she was kidnapped, injured, or the victim of a politically motivated attack connected to the series of mysterious magical-core drainings plaguing Britain.
While the Ministry continues to deny any cover-up, last night’s outing appears to confirm that Granger has—at the very least—made a remarkable physical recovery. She was photographed walking unassisted in heeled boots and smiling warmly between her partners.
Lord Draco Malfoy, heir to Malfoy Industries, was reported to appear “handsome but tense,” while Healer Apprentice Theodore Nott seemed “tired, protective, and very attentive” to Granger’s comfort.
Eyewitnesses claim the trio spent over two hours inside the restaurant, speaking in “hushed, intimate tones” and sharing food. One witness describes seeing Malfoy brush Granger’s hair back from her face in what they called “a quite intimate gesture.” IS the notoriously cold Malfoy heir… in love with his triad members? Has affection over the months grown between them since the day of their bonding?
Rumors have swirled for months that the triad bond has been strained by Granger’s ordeal, and some tabloids have speculated that a split may be imminent. However, last night’s public display suggests the opposite: the triad appeared unified and affectionate, walking close together before leaving with intertwined hands.
Interestingly, the dinner comes just days after Minister Shacklebolt issued warnings about potential new developments in the core-drain investigation. Some Ministry insiders speculate that the triad may be “closely connected” to the case.
With tensions rising and the public demanding answers, it remains to be seen whether this outing marks Granger’s return to normal public life or the beginning of a new chapter in the Ministry’s most sensational mystery.
<<<<<<<<<<<
Hermione put the paper down slowly.
Draco waited a beat, then:
“…Well that was a steaming pile of dragon shite... huge invasion of our privacy”
She rubbed her face.
“‘Lavish date night’? They make it sound like we were feeding each other gold flakes and caviar in the middle of a war.”
Draco snorted, “I told you that waiter recognized me.”
“You tell me everyone recognizes you,” she muttered.
He shrugged.
Hermione exhaled hard. “And this part—‘mysterious absence’? As if I went on a relaxing holiday.”
His jaw clenched, “They wanted to write ‘kidnapped’ without writing ‘kidnapped since no one will officially confirm it.’”
“And the bit about our marriage falling apart,” she grumbled. “People love creating drama we don’t have.”
Draco tapped the parchment irritably, “They’re trying to turn us into a spectacle again. As if we don’t have enough to worry about.”
Hermione leaned against his shoulder gently, grounding him.
“I’m not letting this ruin our day,” she said softly. “We have the Center this afternoon. That matters more than gossip.”
His posture softened instantly, “It does.”
Theo wandered in then, hair a rumpled mess, sweater untucked, and eyes still sleepy.
“What did I miss?” he yawned.
Draco slid the paper to him.
Theo read the headline.
Paused.
Then muttered, “Merlin’s saggy left—why am I described as ‘attentive’ every time? Am I a bloody owl?”
Hermione choked on her tea laughing.
By the time they arrived, Hermione felt steadier. The center was warm, decorated for winter with paper snowflakes and evergreen sprigs. Families filled the lobby, all Muggle parents with confused expressions, magical children bouncing around with excitement or nerves.
Hermione shrugged off her coat and slipped seamlessly into work mode.
She greeted a nervous mum with an easy smile.
Helped a little girl control accidental magic flares by telling her a story about her own childhood accidental magic.
Showed a new father how to explain Hogwarts to his anxious son.
Draco stayed close-by, not hovering, but watchful, protective, proud, helping in his own little moments.
He helped a toddler practice simple levitation with a padded block.
He spoke soothingly with a Muggle-born young boy terrified that magic meant “becoming different.”
He fetched tea for a number of anxious parents and answered questions about Hogwarts dinner menu and class curriculum with surprising patience.
Hermione caught him kneeling beside a young girl struggling to control a burst of winter-themed accidental magic—tiny snowflakes sparkling from her palms. Draco let the snowflakes land on his sleeve, smiling as he talked her through calming breaths.
Her heart squeezed.
He was so good with them.
He didn’t even realize it.
Later, while reorganizing a shelf of beginner wands, Draco murmured quietly behind her:
“That article was rubbish. The media are jackals to be praying on your happiness now.”
She nodded.
“But this”, he gestured around them, “this is why the article doesn’t matter. You did this. You built this place. I know you’re too humble to say it, but I’ll say it for you, you’re changing lives every day. That matters so much,”
She swallowed thickly, then reached for his hand.
“We are together. Thanks for helping out here so much too.”
He gave her that soft, rare smile he only ever saved for her and Theo.
And for the rest of the afternoon, they worked side by side, helping kids and families integrate into the magical world.
By the time they made it home from the Granger Center, the house was warm, hearths glowing, and candles lit, full of winter coziness. Theo’s shift ended early today, and he apparated into the entryway just as Hermione and Draco took their coats off.
Theo looked exhausted nonetheless, hair a bit wild from running his hands through it, his healer robes wrinkled, dark crescents under his eyes. But the moment he saw Hermione’s relaxed expression and Draco’s hand on her lower back, he visibly brightened.
He stepped forward, cupped Hermione’s cheek with a gentle thumb stroke, then leaned in for a soft kiss, “Hey, sweetheart.”
Her heart flip-flopped, “Hi. Bad shift?”
“Long shift, lots of vomit” he corrected, forehead falling briefly to her shoulder. “But better now.”
Draco gave him a gentle pat between the shoulder blades as he passed, “Come on, Mate, we started without you.”
Theo lifted his head with a tired blink, “Started what?”
Hermione bit back a smile, “Vienna Plans.”
Theo froze like someone had just dropped a stack of charts on his foot.
She took his hand and tugged him into the sitting room where Draco had already spread out their completed parchments, one list labeled YES, another NO, a third labeled MAYBE—Ask Theo.
Theo’s ears went pink before he even sat down, “You two made… lists.”
Draco smirked, “We’re all scholars, Nott. Organization is our kink.”
Hermione swatted Draco with a cushion, which only made Theo more flustered.
“Look,” she said, voice gentle but firm, “we want you to be a part of this. The three of us agreed on this months ago. And you should know exactly what we’re considering.”
Theo nodded and sat across from them, folding his long legs under him on the rug.
“Okay,” he murmured. “Show me what you’ve discussed already then.”
Hermione shifted close enough that their knees brushed. Draco slid the top parchment toward him.
Theo read it quietly, brow pinched, “…Okay, these are honestly very reasonable for the most part.”
Then he paused, eyes going over a few darker ones, “But also terrifying.”
Hermione squeezed his hand, “We promise we’re not planning to jump into anything intense. You know me, I want to explore, not destroy myself.”
Theo gave her a look that was equal parts fond and pained, “I know. But I’m still… me. I don’t like the idea of anything hurting either of you.”
Draco’s voice dropped softer, “We know. Which is why we want your rules. Your comfort matters too.”
Theo rubbed his palms together anxiously, “Okay. Then… I need to give you potions I’ve been precuring since you first started talking about it.”
Draco blinked, “Potions? I can just make what we need you know…?”
Theo stood abruptly, vanished for a moment, then returned with a small leather satchel bulging with vials and salves. He spread them out before them.
“These are healer-standard preventative and treatment kits for in the field work,” he said firmly.
“And you’re taking all of them with you just in case.”
Hermione tried not to laugh, the stern healer act on him was unbearably adorable, but Theo wasn’t joking, so she swallowed it down.
He pointed to each item as if giving a lecture:
“Level-one healing draught.”
“Level-two for deeper tissue correction.”
“Level- three for high level pain – I’m sending it, but don’t do things that need that please.”
“Soothing cream for muscle strain.”
“Blood replenishers.”
“Numbing gel.”
“Stronger numbing gel—please don’t need this one.”
“Skin mender lotion – for light cuts or abrasions”
“Ache reducer.”
“Pepper-up.”
“Bruise balm – the strongest one we carry.”
Draco raised a brow, “You think we’re going to need bruise balm?”
Theo glared at him, “Draco. Have you met yourself? Merlin, I’ve needed it many times we’ve been together.”
Hermione snorted, covering her mouth too late.
Theo ignored her, rifling through the bag again.
“Also—disinfecting solution, and sterile gauze. In case… in case anything breaks skin more deeply. Not that it should. Please don’t let it.”
Draco held up his hands in surrender, “Nott, I swear: we’re not planning on reenacting medieval torture scenes.”
Theo exhaled hard, “I know. But I won’t be there. And if I’m not there, then I need every possible medical outcome accounted for to feel better about this.”
Hermione leaned over and kissed his temple, “We’ll bring everything. And we’ll use what you say we should.”
Theo finally seemed to breathe.
Draco watched him closely, feeling the bond, “You’re anxious.”
Theo laughed once, a soft and shaky rattle.
“I’m always anxious when it comes to you two and risks. But I’m trying to be better about saying it out loud.”
Hermione squeezed his hand, “Then say it. Tell us all the rules you need to feel comfortable with this.”
Theo hesitated, then nodded, voice low but steady.
“Rule one… if either of you get hurt — like really hurt hurt — you need to get medical attention immediately and contact me to come to you. Otherwise, for small things, I want you healed before you come home. I don’t want to see bruises or cuts or ropes burns or… whatever. Seeing that on you two would… it’d be too much for me.”
They both nodded immediately.
“Rule two, if anything goes sideways, anything at all physically or emotionally, I want a Patronus immediately, no waiting for a resolution.”
Draco replied at once, “Done.”
“Rule three…” Theo hesitated. “…I want an owl or two every day. Just confirming you’re both okay. Even if it’s one sentence. SO I know your safe and happy.”
“Of course,” Hermione breathed. “We can do that.”
“And rule four,” he said quietly. “When you get back… I want us to talk about it. All of it. I want to understand you two better. And I want you to feel safe telling me. I don’t want you both hiding anything that happens, I want to know too. We should debrief it together.”
Hermione’s heart squeezed painfully.
Not because he was asking too much.
But because he asked for so little from them.
Draco leaned over and brushed his knuckles lightly down Theo’s jaw.
“Theo… mate… We want you to understand. This isn’t something we’re hiding from you. We’re doing this because we want to know ourselves better — and come home to you stronger for it.”
Theo’s throat bobbed.
He leaned into Draco’s touch, then into Hermione’s shoulder, letting them hold him between them.
After a long moment, he exhaled and said,
“I also… would like one more thing.”
Hermione ran her fingers through his hair, “Anything.”
“I want…” He flushed, “…to take Hermione to Vienna first. Just one night. Just us before Draco gets you alone.”
Hermione beamed, “Yes. I want that too.”
Draco nodded without hesitation, “Completely fine. I’ll join you the next day.”
Theo looked relieved… then guilty.
Draco nudged his knee, “And before you try to insist I get alone time too with you… I already planned something. End of the month. You and I are going away without Hermione for a few days. We need time together too.”
Hermione’s face lit up, “A date weekend for the two of you?”
Draco smirked, “Something like that.”
Theo rubbed his face, “You two are ridiculous. I need that time too.”
Hermione leaned forward and kissed his cheek, “But you love us.”
Theo sighed dramatically, “Unfortunately.”
Draco snorted.
Theo’s eyes softened as he looked at the lists again.
“I’ll help you make this a good experience. Even if I’m anxious.”
Hermione slid closer until she was pressed against his side, “We know. And that means everything.”
Draco leaned back in his chair, watching them with a fond, private smile.
“We’re really doing this,” he murmured.
Hermione took both their hands, “We are.”
Theo rested his forehead against hers and whispered, “Just… come home safe to me.”
She promised, softly, “We will.”
And Draco, warm and steady beside them, added, “Always.”
The next morning, Hermione was already blushing before they even stepped through the carved mahogany doors.
The exclusive Diagon Alley boutique called Silk & Spellbound had dim candlelighting, and mannequins wearing things Hermione didn’t think were physically legal in several countries.
Pansy clasped their arms together and announced far too loudly, “Alright, Granger. Show your lads what London’s finest looks like.”
Hermione hissed, “Pansy. Don’t draw attention.”
Pansy arched a brow, “Oh relax. You’re going to Vienna to get railed, not read books. Though knowing you… probably both.”
Hermione swatted her, “I am not here for rail discussions.”
“You literally are.”
Hermione groaned into her hands.
Pansy clapped gleefully and started pulling things from racks; black lace, emerald-green satin, a tiny silver mesh thing Hermione refused to acknowledge existed.
“Pansy, that barely covers a thimble.”
Pansy held it up between two fingers, “Oh this? It’s decorative. Draco will spontaneously combust.”
Hermione turned as red as a tomato.
Pansy shoved an armful of items into a fitting room with her.
“Try them on, darling. We need to know if your bits require resizing.”
“My bits are perfectly—”, Pansy put a finger to her lips.
“Hush. No one wants to hear about your bits until Vienna. That’s for your husbands. In you go.”
Hermione was shuffled into the fitting room, mortified, and started changing.
Halfway through untangling herself from a ribboned contraption that might’ve been a torture device, she heard the door jingle.
And Pansy whisper-yelled, “Oh for—Hermione, you’re not ready for this, hide your modesty, Luna just walked in.”
Hermione panicked, “What do you mean Luna is—”
She yanked a silk robe around herself and stepped out of the fitting room, just in time to see Luna serenely holding up a pair of crotchless, star-thread panties.
Pansy was frozen mid-judgement, mouth hanging open.
Hermione squeaked.
Luna beamed dreamily, “Oh, hello Hermione. These are for Neville’s surprise.”
Pansy slapped a hand over her mouth, shoulders trembling with suppressed laughter.
Hermione wanted the floor to swallow her alive.
Luna tilted her head, examining the lingerie draped over Pansy’s arm, “Ooooh… choosing something for the getaway, are we?”
Hermione sputtered, “HOW did you—only Pansy even—”
Luna blinked serenely, “Because, Hermione. You’ve had an aura of adventure around your hips for weeks.”
“HIPS?” Hermione shrieked.
“Oh yes,” Luna said matter-of-factly, “The burning desire-spike is very obvious.”
Pansy wheezed, tears starting in the corners of her eyes.
“I beg your pardon?” Hermione croaked.
Luna explained cheerfully, “Your energy field shifts when you’re planning an intimate undertaking with someone you love. Yours has two distinct signatures—one sharp like a ranging wild for Draco, and one warm and low like candle fire for Theo.”
Pansy had to lean against a mannequin to stay upright she was snickering so much.
Hermione covered her burning face, “Oh Merlin.”
Luna wandered over to a display, humming lightly, then plucked two lingerie sets without even looking.
She placed them gently into Hermione’s hands, one deep sapphire silk with delicate silver-thread accents and a wine-red lace number that Hermione instinctively knew was trouble.
Luna smiled sweetly, “The blue is for Theo. He’ll nearly faint, but try not to let him fall backwards. And the red is for Draco. He’ll make very unwise decisions if you wear it.”
Hermione stared at the pieces, heart pounding, “Luna, how do you know any of this?”
Luna shrugged, “I’ve already seen it.”
Pansy was full-on cackling now.
Hermione gave Luna a weak, mortified whisper, “Seen… what exactly?”
Luna narrowed her eyes in that dreamy, terrifying way of hers.
“You. Enjoying yourself with them both.”
Hermione made a strangled noise, and turned even redder.
Luna patted her cheek. “Have fun away, Hermione. Remember, pleasure is a form of magic too.”
Hermione was now certain she needed both therapy and wine.
Luna collected her own lingerie and floated toward the register, “Goodbye, Pansy. Enjoy your donuts and foot massage with Blaise.”
Pansy blinked, “…How did you—”
But Luna was already gone.
Silence.
Then Pansy collapsed onto a fainting couch with tears in her eyes from laughing.
“Oh… my… GOD… Hermione… the hips aura.”
Hermione dropped her face into both hands and groaned, “This is the most humiliating day of my life.”
“No,” Pansy wheezed, wiping her eyes. “This is AMAZING. I’m buying you that blue set. Consider it a present.”
Hermione glared weakly.
Pansy drawled, “Someone needs to enjoy themselves and it’s not going to be me.”
Hermione threw a hanger at her.
Pansy snorted, “Oh come on, darling. Think about their faces when they see you in these.”
Hermione rolled her eyes… but also blushed dramatically.
“Vienna won’t know what hit it,” Pansy smirked.
Hermione groaned again, “I cannot believe Luna—”
“Oh please, Luna knows all,” Pansy snorted. “And the worst part? She’s never wrong.”
Hermione clutched the lingerie sets Luna gave her, her heart fluttering in a mixture of terror and excitement as they checked out.
Pansy looped their arms together, “Come on, lucky girl. We need stockings and a garter belt.”
Hermione squeaked, “Pansy!”
“Oh hush,” Pansy said smugly.
“You’re living your best life. Might as well dress for it.”
Notes:
Any requests for the Vienna trip with either of them? leave a comment
Chapter 277: Toward Healing
Chapter Text
Hermione arrived bundled in her winter cloak, and tucked neatly between Draco and Theo as they stepped through the Center’s front doors.
It was bustling today children running all over the lobby and recreation areas, and tired muggle parents sipping much-needed tea in the waiting corner.
Hermione smiled brightly, the way she always did when she walked in.
Theo peeled off them toward the Healer’s alcove. Today he was doing free check-ups and helping parents understand magical development. Draco stayed with Hermione, hovering in that soft, protective way he had grown into after her kidnapping, close enough to touch her back, but never intervening in her efforts without being asked.
A woman with two toddlers tugging at her coat approached Hermione awkwardly.
“Ms. Granger? I—I hope it’s okay I came without an appointment. My daughter keeps sparking… things… at home.”
Hermione knelt to greet the daughter, a sweet girl with wild curls and a spark of accidental magic dancing around bouncing between her hands.
“Holly, that’s wonderful magic,” Hermione said warmly. “Do you like making sparks?”
Holly giggled and nodded.
Draco crouched beside Hermione, surprisingly gentle.
“Well done, little witch,” he praised. “That means your magic is strong.”
The mother sagged with relief.
Hermione explained gently how accidental magic worked, what signs to look for, how to calm the magic when it seemed to be causing problems, and promised Hogwarts would be a safe and wonderful place for her in time.
By the end, the mother was teary-eyed with appreciation.
“You two… you make this much less frightening.”
Draco straightened with a proud smile.
Hermione squeezed his hand when the mother walked away.
“See?” she whispered. “You’re good at this too.”
Draco muttered it was all her, but his cheeks went faintly pink.
Theo emerged from the alcove a little while later, rubbing glitter off his sleeve from an accidental magic incident. Draco gave him a dry look.
“New uniform again, Nott?”
Theo deadpanned, “I’m calling it healer-chic.”
Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes at them both.
They spent the next hour speaking with more families, answering questions, and soothing anxieties. It felt natural. Easy. Right.
When her pocket watch chimed, she sighed.
“I’ve got to meet your mother for tea.”
Theo rolled his eyes. “Yes, well. Good luck.”
Draco gave Hermione a soft kiss at the temple, “Send word if you need rescuing.”
She swatted him away affectionately.
Narcissa Malfoy had chosen one of London’s most elegant wizarding tearooms once again. The space had moonlight-blue walls, and enchanted snowfall drifting lazily above the tables.
Hermione arrived in a warm knit jumper and Malfoy crested scarf, feeling only marginally out of place in such a refined location.
Narcissa waved her over with a warm, genuine smile, the kind she now saved exclusively for Hermione.
“My dear,” she said, standing to kiss Hermione’s cheek, “you look lovely.”
Hermione flushed, sitting across from her, “So do you. Thank you for meeting me.”
“Of course. Draco mentioned you wanted guidance on… pure-blood customs?” Narcissa’s eyes danced with restrained amusement.
Hermione sighed dramatically, “Yes. Specifically for Pansy’s baby shower. She wants a partly traditional one. I know exactly zero about pure-blood baby celebrations unless it happened at Astoria’s.
Narcissa chuckled softly, gloved hand touching her heart.
“Oh, my dear girl. Nothing dark. Strange? Occasionally. Outdated? Often. Terrifying? Only if Lucius planned it.”
Hermione snorted into her tea.
“In ancient pure-blood circles,” Narcissa began, “it was customary for the mother-to-be to be surrounded by supportive women who cast gentle silencing charms around her belly.”
Hermione blinked. “Silencing?”
“Symbolic,” Narcissa said smoothly. “It represents quieting the world so the child may grow peacefully.”
“Oh,” Hermione said softly. “That’s actually… lovely.”
Narcissa smiled. “Some traditions are.”
“Every woman invited offers a token with a potential name inscribed,” Narcissa explained, pulling a silver charm from her purse. “Something small—a charm, a stone, a ribbon. But, Pansy already has a name picked out I hear, so maybe not that one.”
Hermione’s eyes widened, “That’s so sweet.”
Narcissa lowered her voice conspiratorially.
“This one is optional, but powerful. The mother stands in a small circle of runes drawn by her closest friends and family. It symbolizes protection for the child.”
Hermione’s eyes softened, “Yes. I want that for her.”
Narcissa reached across the table and squeezed Hermione’s hand.
“You’re a good friend.”
Hermione swallowed tightly.
“I just… want this to be perfect for her, she’s been quite miserable the last few months.”
“It will be,” Narcissa assured. “Now. What colors?”
“Pansy said she wants green and gold.”
Narcissa sniffed lightly, “Of course she did.”
They spent the next hour discussing menus, rituals, decorations, gifting etiquette, with Hermione scribbling notes, and Narcissa gently translating each arcane tradition into something modern and meaningful.
Eventually, the conversation turned personal.
Narcissa set her teacup down with a soft click.
“And how are you, Hermione?”
Hermione looked up, startled, “I—fine. Better every day I’d say.”
Narcissa’s gaze softened with maternal warmth.
“I know you’ve been remembering most things, but Draco says a few minor details can get fuzzy sometimes. If you ever need help filling those gaps… I was there for a great deal of your last year.”
Hermione’s throat tightened.
“I remember the Orphans’ Gala in detail. Getting ready with you.”
Narcissa smiled gently.
“That was the day I realized you were truly my daughter I think.”
Hermione’s breath hitched.
Narcissa leaned forward, voice velvet-soft, “I care deeply for you, Hermione. And I will help you with anything you need, you should know that.”
Hermione blinked away sudden tears and whispered, “Thank you. For being here. For… everything.”
“Always dear girl.”
Hermione stepped through the floo into Nott Manor a half hour later, dusting off a bit of soot, her cheeks red from the winter wind and her bag full of notes from Narcissa about baby-shower traditions.
She expected to hear Draco pacing in the study or Theo in the kitchen making soup he’d claim was “for her recovery.”
Instead, she heard a very familiar muffled groan, followed by another familiar voice cursing.
Hermione smirked and , rounded the corner into the sitting room, and stopped, half amused, half flustered at the sight before her.
Theo was straddling Draco on the couch, hands tangled in his shirt, kissing him like the world was ending. Draco’s fingers were locked tight in Theo’s hair, pulling, guiding, both of them flushed and lost in each other. They were clothed fully, but hips were grinding in the passion of the kiss.
Hermione stood silently for a second, her heart squeezing with affection and a spark of hot need was pulsing the bond.
“Hello, boys,” she said lightly.
She grinned cheekily, “enjoying ourselves, are we?”
They both froze mid-kiss in surprise.
Theo whipped around first, flushed and breathless. Draco turned next, equally flushed, equally breathless, looking like he’d been dragged out of a very good moment.
“Oh—Merlin—Hermione,” Draco blurted, sitting up straight like he wasn’t completely disheveled.
Theo cleared his throat, straightening his shirt, “We, uh—we didn’t hear you come in.”
Hermione laughed quietly, “Please don’t stop on my account. Honestly. Keep going. I’m just going to make dinner.”
Theo’s ears went pink. Draco’s eyes darkened—equal parts arousal and gratitude that she was encouraging them to continue.
“You don’t mind not joining?” Draco asked quietly. He always asked, now, since the kidnapping. It made her chest ache knowing they’d been going through a rough patch physically between themselves from the time she was kidnapped till recently.
Hermione stepped forward and pressed a quick kiss to each of their cheeks.
“Of course not,” she whispered, “You two deserve time with each other too. Plus, Vienna is coming up. Enjoy yourselves.”
The bond swelled instantly with heat, and pulsing desire.
She shuddered with arousal.
“Go on,” she teased. “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready, better make it quick.”
Draco’s gaze turned back to Theo rather predatorily.
Theo’s smiled back weakly and leaned in.
And as she walked toward the kitchen, she could feel them fall back into each other.
In the kitchen, she tied her apron on, shoved up her sleeves, and started on making pizza dough, humming softly.
The bond pulsed through her: sharp, heated, low in her stomach.
Theo’s pleasure.
Draco’s insatiable hunger.
Affection. Need. Desire.
It just felt…right.
Hermione smiled to herself as she chopped basil.
“Good,” she thought. “They really needed this.”
Hermione had just taken the pizzas out of the oven, one Margherita, and one with roasted garlic and sausage, when she felt the bond shift again.
Pleasure.
Contentment.
Sated warmth.
A hum of something raw and intimate.
She smiled to herself, and started cutting the pie into slices.
She turned toward the doorway about to call them to eat, just as Theo and Draco entered the kitchen.
They looked delightfully wrecked. Theo’s short curls were a disaster, falling everywhere in soft spirals. Draco’s shirt was misbuttoned, collar askew, neck flushed and marked. Both had that lazy satisfied glow that only came from really good moments between them all.
Hermione grinned mischievously, “Have fun? It felt … like a good time.”
Theo coughed and blushed, flustered.
Draco muttered, “Shut up,” but there was no bite to it at all, only affection.
She kissed each of them softly before handing out plates.
“Sit. Eat. Please.”
They obeyed, sinking into their chairs, still catching their breath.
They ate quietly for a few minutes, cheerful domestic silence weaving between them. Eventually Hermione set her slice down, and cleared her throat.
“So,” she began lightly, “I wanted to talk to both of you about something.”
Theo paused mid-bite.
Draco leaned in, attentive, and instantly wary.
“I’ve been thinking,” Hermione said softly, “about everything that’s happened. The war. Our childhoods. The kidnapping. The bond instability. The stress. The recovery. And… everything coming up.”
Both boys were listening intently now.
“And…” she continued gently, “as we promised each other—this is the new year. So, I booked something for us.”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “Oh God. What did you book?”
Hermione took a breath, looking between them both.
“Mind healer appointments,” she said calmly. “For all three of us, together and indivually. For the week after Vienna.”
Theo froze with his fork halfway to his mouth, grimacing.
Draco let out a groan, throwing his head back, “Oh Hermione—”
“No,” she said firmly. “Hear me out.”
Draco closed his eyes, pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose.
Theo set his fork down gently, “It’s not that we’re against it,” he said softly. “It’s just… a lot.”
“I know,” Hermione replied. “I’m not saying we’re broken. I’m not saying anything is wrong. But after everything? It would be good to talk through some of it. All of us. Together. It can’t hurt.”
Theo’s shoulders relaxed first. He nodded slowly.
“You’re right,” he admitted quietly. “It couldn’t hurt. And maybe it’ll help us all be… stronger.”
Draco sighed heavily, staring down at his plate like it had offended him.
Hermione reached out, touching his hand gently over the knuckles.
“Draco… You don’t have to like it. Just try it. One session. See how it goes. Please?”
He raised his eyes to hers.
“…Fine,” he whispered. “If it’s what you want. If it’s what you think we all need.”
Hermione squeezed his hand.
Theo placed his hand over both of theirs.
The bond surged softly around them, warm, steady, approving.
Hermione smiled.
“Good. Then it’s settled.”
Draco muttered, “I can’t believe my wife tricked me into therapy with good pizza,” which made Theo grin and Hermione laugh.
Notes:
I have a busy RL weekend, so I'm not sure how much if any, updates there will be this weekend.
But, I'd love to come back to comments from readers to engage with!
Chapter 278: Reconnecting With Theo
Chapter Text
Steam was rising off Hermione’s earl grey tea as she sat between her boys.
Theo still looked half-asleep, his eyes half closed, jumper slightly crooked, spoon lazily swirling honey into his oatmeal. He had gotten in late from his shift the night before, and turned into bed straight away, but still got a few hours less sleep than Hermione and Draco.
Draco, on the other hand, looked too awake in sleek black robes, hair immaculate, his jaw tight from nerves he was pretending not to have.
Hermione bit back a small smile.
He always looked like this when trying not to fret over them these days.
“I’ve spoken to security,” Draco said briskly, sliding a parchment toward them. “They’ll be shadowing you in Vienna from the moment your portkey lands. And I’ve vetted the team myself.”
Theo frowned at the parchment. “How discreet are they?”
“Very,” Draco replied. “Ex–Ministry, ex–Hitwizard, bonded by wand oath. They’ll stay invisible and out of your way in public unless needed and guard the building entrance while your there. But after… everything… well, I’m not taking any chances. Not with either of you.”
Hermione reached across the table and squeezed his wrist.
“We appreciate it. Truly.”
Theo nodded solemnly, “I do feel better knowing someone’s watching the perimeter. Especially with… whatever the network is planning next.”
Draco exhaled, some tension unwinding.
In their room, everyone was packing. Theo was throwing his things haphazardly into a duffle bag, while Draco folded his into a suitcase with precision.
“Draco,” Hermione said gently as he shoved three vials of bruise paste into his case, “Theo already packed an entire healer’s cabinet.”
“Yes,” Draco muttered, “but his versions don’t smell as nice as the ones I brew personally.”
Theo laughed into Hermione’s shoulder, “You’re impossible.”
“Safe,” Draco corrected. “I’m being safe, like you asked us to be.”
Hermione kissed his cheek.
Theo kissed the other one.
Draco flushed pink, “But also…” Hermione added mischievously, “your overpacking is kind of adorable.”
He glared half-heartedly between them, “Both of you are insufferable.”
Draco’s portkey to Berlin glowed began to vibrate on the entry table.
Hermione and Theo’s Vienna portkey glowed gold beside it.
Draco pulled Hermione into his arms first, sliding one hand into her curls, pressing a slow kiss to her mouth.
“Be safe,” he whispered. “Listen to Theo. And write me, I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“I will.”
He kissed her again, deeper this time, before releasing her only so he could cup Theo’s jaw and pull him in too.
Theo melted into the kiss with ease, hands gripping Draco’s robes.
When they parted, foreheads touching, Draco exhaled softly.
“I’ll meet you both tomorrow night. Don’t… don’t do anything stupid without me. Remember to not draw attention in public.”
Theo smirked, “We’re literally doing the emotional half of the trip first. You’re the one coming in for the chaos after that.”
Hermione whispered, “We love you.”
Draco swallowed, “I love you both.”
Their portkeys began vibrating harder.
Theo grabbed Hermione’s hand.
Draco grabbed hers and pressed one last kiss to her fingertips before the magic took hold.
Blue light swallowed him.
Gold light swallowed them.
And the manor dissolved.
They landed gently on a polished marble floor.
The townhouse was just as she remembered, elegant, softly lit, with high ceilings, ornate crown molding, and an expansive window overlooking a snow-coated courtyard below.
Hermione inhaled sharply.
“Oh,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful in the winter too.”
Theo squeezed her waist, smiling softly, “It’s perfect for us. For… everything we’re all here to explore.”
Her pulse fluttered.
Outside, snow drifted past the windows in idle corkscrews.
Theo slid his fingers between hers.
“Ready to start our 24 hour romance?” he murmured.
Hermione nodded slowly, her breath catching as desire and anticipation curled through the bond.
“Ready.”
Theo had barely set their bags down before he took Hermione’s hand with a quiet, purposeful kind of confidence she hadn’t seen from him with her in months.
“Come with me,” he murmured.
Hermione felt heat pool low in her stomach at his tone, always gentle, but unmistakably sure.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he helped her into her cloak.
“To an early dinner,” Theo said softly. “A real authentic one. Just the two of us. No bond pressure, no potions talk, no ministry interruptions. Just… the two of us.”
Her chest tightened with affection.
“And Draco?” she asked gently.
Theo gave a warm, small smile.
“We promised him we’d enjoy tonight. And we will.”
He kissed her temple before offering his arm, and she slid her hand through, letting him lead her out into the crisp, snowy Vienna street.
The panoramic elevator took them up the side of a tall building, glass walls revealing the entire glittering city beneath them below.
Vienna in the dusk was breathtaking, golden lights tracing the winding streets, countless cathedral spires glowing, the river reflecting the moon above.
Theo watched her more than the outside view.
“You’re staring,” she whispered, cheeks pink.
“Well,” Theo murmured, leaning closer, “I did bring the loveliest thing in the city with me tonight.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but her blush deepened.
The restaurant Theo had chosen for them was candlelit and very intimate, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking all of Vienna.
Their curved booth wrapped them close together.
Theo ordered for them both, expensive wine, and chef’s specials.
Dinner came out of the kitchen slowly; marinated olives, fresh ricotta drizzled in honey, hand-rolled pasta with fresh truffle, warm twists of bread, and endless mulled wine.
They talked about lighter things like her charms work, his healing apprenticeship, Luna’s constant baby updates. Theo teased Hermione gently about how she kept muttering charms theory under her breath at night when she slept.
“I like seeing your mind busy,” he whispered to her. “It’s one of the first things I ever fell for.”
Hermione froze, breath caught.
Theo didn’t backtrack.
He simply squeezed her hand.
“And I’m grateful,” he said softly, “that I get to fall for you again and again every day.”
Hermione leaned into his side, heart thrumming, littering his neck with quick kisses.
When they left, they felt sated, physically, and a bit more emotionally too.
When they got home, Hermione went to the kitchen for a cool glass of water and Theo headed to the bedroom.
Hermione’s heart hammered when she stepped into the bedroom and saw Theo waiting for her by the fire, his shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his forearms, and curls slightly mussed. She took in a deep breath.
“You look nervous,” he said softly.
“I’m… not nervous actually,” Hermione replied honestly. “Just… excited. And maybe a bit shy.”
Theo’s eyes warmed with curiosity, “You don’t have to be shy with me ever.”
She didn’t answer, she just slipped into the bathroom with the small velvet bag of what Luna had picked for her at the boutique.
The sapphire set.
Barely-there silk, delicate lace, little glimmering beads that would watch the firelight and sparkle.
Hermione fastened the last clasp with trembling fingers.
When she stepped out, Theo turned towards her and froze.
His lips parted slightly, a soft exhale escaping him, almost disbelieving.
“Hermione… Merlin”.
He stepped toward her slowly, as if afraid she might vanish.
“You’re…” His voice dropped low, “You’re absolutely stunning.”
She smiled and spun in a circle for him, letting him breath her in.
He cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb along her skin, “May I touch you now?”
Hermione nodded, breath unsteady.
Theo kissed her at first with tenderness that melted her bones.
His hands slid to her waist, then lower, exploring the curve of her hips with aching care and light touches. Hermione buried her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, needing the connection the bond was buzzing for.
He lifted her gently, and carried her to the bed.
Every touch was patient, intimate, worshipful.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered against her skin. “I’ve missed this. Missed you trusting me with your body… with your heart while your memories were gone. Miss spending enough time with you while I’m working so much.”
“You have them both,” she breathed. “You always have.”
Theo kissed her like he’d been waiting months for this moment, gentle, then deeper, heat blooming between them. His hands roamed with her, following the lines of her lingerie, tracing each ribbon and lace detail like she was sacred.
When he finally slid the straps from her shoulders, Hermione arched into him with a soft sigh desperate for the feel of his skin on her.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “Every inch of you. And I’m going to show you that, slowly, until you feel it everywhere.”
The lovemaking was long, passionate, yet controlled.
Not frantic.
Not rushed.
A slow, burning reconnection between their bodies.
Theo kissed all her scars.
Licked her from throat to knee.
Massaged her hips, tracing the curve of her thighs and butt.
He parted her folds with care, and desire.
Edged her entrance till she was begging and sopping wet.
Took her through an orgasm before lining up and thrusting home.
Ate her pleasured moans, as he kissed her through it all.
He whispered her name like a prayer with every deep, long thrust.
And when she came undone beneath him, Theo followed immediately after with a soft groan, burying his face in her neck as he trembled through it.
Hermione tugged him down beside her, curling into his chest.
“Was that okay?” Theo whispered into her hair, vulnerability laced through his tone.
Hermione lifted her head and kissed him gently.
“It was perfect,” she whispered. “You’re perfect.”
Theo let out a breath and pulled her even closer.
“Nothing is every perfect enough for how much I love you.”
The fire crackled softly.
Snow fell outside.
Their bond glowed pleased and steady between them.
Tomorrow, Draco would join them.
But tonight?
Tonight belonged to Theo and Hermione, in a quiet, candlelit townhouse hidden in the heart of Vienna. They dozed in and out of sleep through the night, waking each other with kisses, caresses, and leisurely love making. Sating their need to physically and emotionally reconnect.
Notes:
Short, but sweet. Hope you enjoyed! Things are hectic this weekend, so not sure how much more I'll have up in the next day or two, but I'll try.
Chapter 279: Theo's Morning and Afternoon
Chapter Text
Hermione woke that morning feeling warm, boneless, a nd comfortably heavy, like her body had finally remembered how to rest after months of tension.
The first thing she felt was Theo.
His chest pressed to her back.
His arm looped securely around her waist.
His nose tucked against her hair.
One leg tangled with hers.
And the bond, gently humming, like an affectionate purr.
Hermione smiled into the pillow.
Theo stirred, nuzzling her shoulder with a sleepy yawn.
“Morning,” he whispered, voice still rough with sleep.
“Good morning,” she whispered back, scooting just a little closer.
Theo chuckled softly. “Careful. I might take that as an invitation.”
“It wasn’t not an invitation,” she murmured.
Theo’s breath caught, “Maybe you should show me how inviting you are then.”
Then he kissed the back of her shoulder, slow and lingering, like he was trying to memorize the moment. She rolled gently onto him, straddling his waist, thighs bracketed on either side.
She leaned down, her breasts pressed tightly against his chest, as their mouths linked, nipping a lip in playful excitement. As their tongues battled, their hips ground together, and they both emitted soft whimpers.
It didn’t take long for Theo’s shaft to fully inflate and press persistently against her stomach. Breaking apart breathless from the kiss, Hermione raised herself to her knees, slipping his head a few times through her folds to wet him, before sinking her body slowly down his thick shaft, both of them watching the joining with wide eyes in wonder, her channel stretched tight around him , slowly taking him in inch by inch, till she was thoroughly skewered, and settled heavily against his base.
She sat like that a few moments, just allowing them to feel each other, then their gaze met, and keeping eye contact, she began to ride him at a loose, slow pace. He guided her hips, never breaking eye contact, as their pleasures built. Her pace steadily increased, hips rocketing in a quick pace, pulling cries from both their mouths.
Then finally, eyes still locked together, they broke apart together, the waves of ecstasy washing over them in time to one another, till Hermione slumped a crossed his chest grinning, and he kissed her forehead.
A hour later after cuddles and showers, they made breakfast together in the little townhouse kitchen, both of them barefoot and still rumpled from sleep.
Theo insisted on making eggs and toast because, “Draco would lecture me for weeks if he finds out I let you live off just pastries.”
Hermione stuck her tongue out at him while she buttered croissants.
He laughed, a real, warm laugh that she hadn’t heard often enough at all during the tense past months.
While they ate at the tiny table by the window, Hermione gently nudged him under the table with her foot.
“You were… a little loud last night,” she teased.
Theo coughed, eyes widening.
“I— I was not—”
Hermione raised an eyebrow, “Oh, you were. Very.”
His cheeks flushed.
“Well,” Theo muttered, “someone else wasn’t exactly silent either.”
Hermione hid her face in her hands, laughing.
They fell into easy conversation after that, stats for his healer rotations, her charms readings, plans for future legislation.
Eventually, Theo checked his watch.
“We should head out if we want time at the museum before lunch.”
Hermione stood and kissed him softly, and grabbed her wand.
Just as they pulled on their coats, an owl swooped through the window and landed dramatically on the table, stamping its feet until Theo removed the letter.
Hermione recognized the elegant handwriting instantly.
Draco.
Theo unfolded it, smirking before he even started reading.
“What?” Hermione asked.
“Nothing,” Theo said, but his eyes were gleaming. “He’s just… Draco.”
“Let me see.”
Theo handed her the letter.
>>>>>>>>>>>>
My loves,
Berlin is dreadfully boring without either of you.
The meetings are a nightmare.
The hotel tea is offensively weak.
And the stupid conference chair had the audacity to call me Mr. Malfoy.
I nearly hexed him.
I hope Vienna is treating you better.
Hermione — I hope your dreams were sweet.
Theo — if you kept her up half the night, I expect a detailed explanation when I arrive, and you giving her a pepper up before I get there.
Be safe.
And please do not explore anything that could be dangerous.
I should arrive on time tonight as planned, everything has been following the lecture schedules.
— D
P.S. Hermione, if Theo’s breakfast wasn’t more than pastries, you best eat something else.
<<<<<<<<<<<
Hermione snorted, “Merlin, he’s jealous.”
Theo shook his head, amused, “He’s… Draco. Of course he is.”
She tucked the letter into her cloak.
“Let’s go before he writes again and asks for details.”
Theo laughed and offered her his arm.
They walked through the snowy streets toward the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna’s great art museum, the cold air biting just enough to make Hermione burrow closer to Theo even with a warming charm.
He wrapped his scarf around both of them and she sighed.
Inside the grand marble halls, everything felt timeless.
They wandered through rooms of golden frames and oil paintings, lingering at the ones Hermione loved the most; Renaissance portraits, mythic scenes heavy with symbolism, delicate sketches behind glass.
Theo kept leaning in to murmur little observations in her ear:
“That looks like Luna’s great-grandfather.”
“Pretty sure that cherub is judging us.”
“Draco would say this entire gallery desperately needs better lighting.”
Hermione laughed so much her ribs ached.
She threaded her fingers through his.
They didn’t let go the entire morning.
The museum café overlooked a courtyard dusted in snow. They sat by the window, sharing apple strudel and a pot of rich Viennese hot chocolate.
Their knees brushed under the table.
Theo glanced at her lips more than once.
“You seem so happy,” he said softly.
“I am,” Hermione answered honestly. “Today feels… serene.”
Theo reached across the table, brushing a crumb from her cheek with the gentlest touch.
“I’m glad.”
She took his hand, holding it warm between both of hers.
“And tonight,” she added, voice warm with promise, “we’ll see Draco.”
Theo’s eyes darkened just a little, as he nodded.
They spent the rest of the afternoon examining delicate painted Asian dynasty scrolls, and strolling the New Age gallery, and Greek sculpture section hand in hand, smiling brightly.
Notes:
RL is really shitty right now, so happy to see comments from you all.
Chapter 280: Draco's First Night in Vienna
Chapter Text
The townhouse felt different the moment Draco’s magic pressed into the wards that evening, warm, sharp, impatient, hungry.
Hermione was sitting on the sofa wrapped in a blanket, flipping through a museum pamphlet when the wards whispered his arrival.
Theo looked up from where he was reading beside her, voice low, “Well, he’s… excited.”
He barely finished speaking before the front door opened and shut quickly.
Draco stopped dead when he saw her.
Hair slightly wind-tousled.
Black coat half unbuttoned.
Eyes burning like he hadn’t breathed since leaving them.
“Hermione”, her heart leapt and the bond pulsed with nerves.
He crossed the room in three long strides, and then he wasn’t even walking, he was just holding her, arms around her waist, face buried against her neck as he inhaled like he needed her scent to breathe.
“Merlin,” Draco whispered against her skin, “I missed you guys last night.”
She wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders and held on.
Theo closed his book quietly, smiling softly at the sight, giving them their moment.
Draco finally pulled back enough to cup Hermione’s cheeks in both hands, eyes drinking her in like he had been wandering the desert.
“Are you alright?” he asked, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone.
“Did you sleep well? Eat? Did anything feel off at the museum?”
“Draco,” she said gently, placing her hand over his, “We’re fine. Truly.”
Theo stood and joined them. Draco let Hermione go just enough so he could pull Theo into his other arm. The kiss they shared was deep and relieved, Draco’s hand fisting lightly in the back of Theo’s shirt.
When they broke apart, all three of them just… breathed together sharing glances.
The bond pulsed warm and steady.
“We missed you too,” Hermione said softly.
Draco swallowed hard, “I missed you both more than I can say. Berlin was awful without you both.”
They ordered dinner in; homemade pasta, wine, warm bread with honey butter — and ate curled together around the small kitchen table, shoulders brushing with every forkful.
Draco kept reaching for Hermione without thinking — touching her wrist, brushing his fingers down her spine — then reaching for Theo, too, pulling him in every time he drifted a centimeter too far.
Theo watched him with that fond, patience he always had for his dramatics.
Hermione felt the bond humming through the three of them: relieved, content, steady, and growing more lustful by the moment.
When dinner finished and they lingered over the last of the wine, and Theo glanced reluctantly at the clock.
“I should head home now,” he murmured.
Draco immediately frowned, “You can stay if you want, we’re not kicking you out.”
“We have two bedrooms here,” Hermione reminded gently.
“You wouldn’t be in the way even if you chose not to participate.”
Theo gave them both a soft smile, affectionate and full of empathy.
“You two have Vienna together,” he said quietly.
“And I promised myself I’d give you this time. You need both it. And it would drive me crazy to be too close to you both, feelings… all that in the bond. I need it dulled by distance to allow this to happen and not be upset. Truly I’ll be ok. Blaise said he’d be over tomorrow night for company, and I picked up some shifts of the pediatric ward too.”
Hermione’s chest squeezed tight.
Draco reached for Theo’s hand, gripping it with quiet intensity.
“Be safe, don’t overwork yourself.”
“I will.”
Theo leaned in and kissed Draco, slow, lingering, thumb brushing Draco’s jaw like he was memorizing the feel of him.
Then he cupped Hermione’s cheek and kissed her, too, tenderly.
“I love you,” he murmured against her lips.
Hermione touched his chest lightly, “We love you too.”
“And owl me if anything feels off,” Theo added, piercing Draco with a stern a healer’s concern gaze.
“I mean it. Even a twinge. Be careful, have fun, but please let me know if anyone gets hurt.”
Draco rolled his eyes, softening, “We promise. We’re going to be safe.”
Theo nodded, stepped back, and with one last look behind at them, he slipped out the door.
Hermione exhaled.
“He hates leaving us,” Draco murmured.
“I know,” she said softly.
“And we’ll make sure that trust is well placed.”
He was already walking toward her.
Slowly.
Purposefully.
A little dangerous.
The air shifted, leaving something sharper, hungrier, older than the last chaotic months had allowed.
“Hermione,” Draco murmured, and his voice had dropped a register, low enough to vibrate deep inside her chest.
She swallowed, “Draco…”
He didn’t touch her.
Not yet.
He simply circled her, glancing over her bare arms, her lips, the bare calf her dress revealed.
“You’ve wanted this,” he said quietly.
She swallowed and nodded.
“Ever since you brought it up again before Christmas”, he continued.
Hermione felt a shiver run through her, “Not… not exactly like this.”
Draco stopped behind her, close enough for the heat of him to lick up her spine, but not touching.
“You came to me, love,” he murmured a reminder.
“You said you wanted to know where your lines were.”
Another shiver. She couldn’t tell if it was from anticipation or nerves. Maybe both.
Draco’s breath brushed the back of her neck, “Tell me your absolute stop everything safeword again.”
Her pulse hammered, “‘Red lantern,’” she whispered.
“And the other normal colors for communication too.”
“Green, yellow, red.”
“Good girl.”
Draco finally touched her, one hand sliding around her waist, tugging her back against him. His other hand came up, slowly, tracing the line of her throat with his knuckle.
Not choking.
Not restraining.
Just claiming.
Just reminding her how much she trusted him.
“You look nervous,” he murmured against her ear.
Hermione breathed out shakily, “I am.”
“Good,” he whispered.
“It’s supposed to feel like standing too close to fire.”
He turned her then, gently but decisively, and kissed her, not soft, not sweet.
Deep.
Possessive.
Dominating.
A kiss that made every inch of her come alive at once.
Her hands fisted in his shirt.
His fingers dug into her waist a bit harder.
When they broke apart, she was breathless, and his eyes were blown wide.
“Tell me what you want,” Draco said, voice rough now.
“I…” Hermione swallowed. “I want it… rougher.”
“How rough?”
“Not— excruciating,” she breathed. “Just… pushed to the limit. A little hurt to dull out the noise.”
Draco’s eyes darkened, “Oh, sweetheart. I can do that.”
He walked her backward toward the bedroom, slow, deliberate steps, kissing her every few feet: her jaw, her throat, sucking the hollow of her clavicle.
By the time they reached the bed she was shaking and breathing heavy already.
Draco lifted her chin gently with two fingers.
“Last chance,” he murmured. “If you want slow and tender, we can do that instead.”
Hermione held his gaze, “I want you,” she whispered.
“Me like what?”, he countered.
“The way we talked about. Pushing further, exploring what we discussed.”
The room cracked with rising sexual tension.
“Then let go of the control for me, let me have it,” he whispered.
Hermione’s heart thundered and she nodded, “Ok”.
Without a word, he grabbed her wrists, slamming them above her head against the mattress as he shoved her down onto the bed. The impact jarred her, but his body followed immediately.
His solid, unmovable weight pinning her from chest to thighs. His hips ground against hers, his cock already hard through his trousers, trapping her legs apart with his own. She gasped, twisting slightly to test him; his grip tightened, fingers like iron bands, the pressure sending a forbidden thrill through her veins.
The bond pulsed with his dominance, a heady rush that made her core clench, but underneath it, a flicker of her nerves echoed back to him, fluttery, uncertain, nervous.
"Draco," she breathed, voice shaky. "You're... you're really not holding back tonight."
His free hand trailed up her side, possessive, fingers digging into her ribcage just hard enough to leave faint marks.
"That's the point, Granger. You said you wanted to explore this. Color?"
"Green," she managed, even as her heart stuttered. The bond hummed with her consent, but he could feel the undercurrent, her nervousness like a live wire, sparking with vulnerability at the unknown edge of it all.
Draco's mouth crashed down on hers, rough and claiming, teeth nipping her lower lip until it stung. He broke away only to attack her clothes: his hand fisted the neckline of her dress, yanking hard—the fabric tore with a sharp rip, exposing her lace bra and the curve of her breasts.
He didn't stop, shredding the dress down the front in aggressive pulls, buttons scattering on the floor. Her bra followed; he snapped the clasp with one hand, peeling it away and tossing it aside, leaving her upper body bare.
His teeth found her nipples immediately; grazing, then biting down with calculated pressure, the sharp pain blooming into a deep, throbbing ache as he sucked hard, his tongue laving the mark to soothe it just enough to keep her on that razor edge.
Hermione arched against him, a whimper escaping her, "Ah—Draco, that hurts—"
"But it feels good too, doesn't it?" he murmured against her skin, switching to the other breast: another bite, harder this time, the sting radiating down to her core. His free hand roamed lower, shoving the remnants of her dress up her thighs, fingers bruising her hips as he gripped and spread her wider.
He pinched the soft flesh of her inner thigh, sharp, deliberate, drawing a yelp that melted into a moan as he massaged the spot, turning pain into pulsing heat. The foreplay was relentless: pinches to her thighs, nails raking down her sides, each touch prepping her body, blurring the lines until every sting made her wetter, and more desperate.
He hooked his fingers into her knickers finally, ripping them off with a wet tear, the cool air hitting her slick folds. Hermione bucked, but his body kept her pinned, helpless.
From the nightstand, he grabbed a small silver clit clamp, holding it up in the low light for her to see. It glinted menacingly, delicate prongs with velvet lining, adjustable for pressure.
Her eyes widened, the bond flaring with her sudden spike of nerves, her heart racing at the unfamiliarity, the vulnerability of letting something so intimate and pinching touch her there.
"Draco... what is that? I—I'm nervous about it."
He paused, thumb stroking her cheek, his dominance softening just a fraction. "It's a clamp for your clit. Pinches just enough to make everything more intense—throbby, aching, like it's begging for every touch. It'll hurt at first, but it'll turn into something incredible. We can stop if you say red. But trust me, love—it'll make you come harder than you ever have before."
The bond echoed her nervousness: jittery pulses, a whisper of apprehension at the new sensation, but underneath, trust and arousal. She bit her lip, nodding slowly. "Okay... green."
Draco spread her folds gently with two fingers, exposing her swollen clit. He positioned the clamp, letting the prongs close with agonizing slowness—the pinch started mild, then sharpened into a deep, insistent bite.
Hermione gasped, hips jerking, the sensation bordering on too much, a constant throb that amplified every nerve.
"Oh gods—it's—tight—hurts but... but good?"
He flicked it lightly, sending a jolt through her, and she moaned, the pain-pleasure line blurring further.
"Perfect. Now, this." He grabbed the vial of blue potion, downing it swiftly.
"Stamina elixir. Keeps me hard, no matter how many times I make you shatter. You'll feel me through every orgasm, no respite."
Hermione's breath hitched, the bond flooding with her arousal, the idea of it turning her nervousness into heat. "That's... fuck, that's hot. Do it."
Draco stripped himself bare, his cock thick, long, and ready. Keeping her wrists pinned in one hand, he thrust into her hard, filling her completely. The clamp made every inch excruciatingly intense, her walls stretching around him as he set a brutal pace. His hips slammed forward, grinding against the clamp with each stroke.
The first orgasm built slowly at first: a coiling tension in her belly, the clamp throbbing in time with his thrusts, each grind sending sparks of pain-pleasure up her spine.
It started as a warm flutter in her core, building with every deep plunge, her breaths quickening, muscles tensing until it snapped. The waves crashing through her, her body convulsing, screaming his name as she clenched around him in rhythmic pulses that left her gasping for breath.
He didn't slow, pounding her cunt through it, the potion keeping him rigid. The second built much faster: oversensitivity from the first making every thrust sharper, the clamp aching deliciously as it amplified the friction, pressure mounting in her core like a spring winding tighter and tighter.
Her hips rolled involuntarily, chasing it despite the growing throb, until it exploded again—hotter, harder, a full-body shudder that made her toes curl and her vision spot with stars as she screamed out his name.
By the third orgasm buildup, tenderness had now set in. Her cunt was growing raw from the friction, the clamp bordering on overwhelming. The build-up was torturous: a slow burn despite his relentless pace, her body fighting the overstimulation, nerves firing chaotically as the clamp turned every grind into a stinging spark.
It coiled low and insistent, her sobs growing louder.
"Draco—I can't—too much—please—"
"Color?" he demanded, slowing just a fraction.
"Green," she sobbed, even as soreness bloomed, her nervousness in the bond spiking again at the edge she was teetering on.
"You can," he growled, resuming his savage rhythm. "You will, Granger. Give me more."
The third orgasm hit her like a curse.
Draco’s hips slammed forward, grinding the clamp against her raw clit, and Hermione’s back arched so violently the headboard hit against the wall. Her scream cracked in half, turning into a half sob as her cunt spasmed around him in brutal, clenching waves. Tears spilled instantly, hot and unstoppable, streaking down her temples into her hair.
“Draco—” It came out broken, wet. “I can’t—it’s too much—please—”
He slowed but didn’t stop, rolling his hips in a slow circle that dragged his cock over every oversensitive inch inside her. The clamp throbbed like a second heartbeat. “Color, Hermione?,” he demanded, voice rough with effort, sweat dripping from his jaw onto her chest.
She was crying openly now, shoulders shaking, but her legs stayed open for him, thighs trembling. “G-green,” she hiccupped, the word barely audible through the tears.
“I’m green, I just—fuck—it hurts so good, I don’t know how to—”
Draco leaned down, still pinning both her wrists in one iron grip above her head, and licked a tear from her cheek.
“You’re doing so fucking well,” he rasped against her skin. “Look at you—crying on my cock and still begging for more with that greedy tight little cunt. You feel how swollen you are? How you’re fluttering every time I move?”
Hermione whimpered, nodding frantically, tears still falling, “I’m scared I’ll break.”
“You won’t break,” he promised, dark and certain. “You’ll just come again. And again. Until there’s nothing left but me inside you.”
She whimpered but nodded.
He shifted his angle, driving deeper, the head of his cock battering that spot that made her see stars. The clamp bit harder with every thrust.
“Tell me what you need, love.”
She sobbed harder, hips jerking helplessly. “Need you to wreck me—need you more—please—”.
A growl tore from his throat. He released her wrists only long enough to hook her knees over his elbows, folding her nearly in half, and started fucking her in earnest, hard, punishing snaps that jolted her up the bed. The clamp turned every impact into white-hot fire on her clit.
The fourth orgasm built like a tornado she couldn’t outrun.
It started low in her belly, a sick, aching pull that felt almost like nausea, then twisted into something vicious.
“No—no—wait—” she gasped, fresh tears spilling. “It’s too soon, I’m too tender—”
Draco didn’t slow. He pressed his thumb over the clamp and vibrated it, short, brutal pulses that made her scream again. “Breathe through it,” he ordered. “Let it hurt. Let it feel huge. I’ve got you. It’s ok.”
The wave crested slowly, painfully, every thrust dragging it out of her like he was pulling her soul through her cunt. When it finally broke, it was agony and ecstasy braided together in delicious torture.
Her whole body seized, a ragged wail tearing from her throat as she came so hard her vision tunneled, tears streaming down.
Draco kissed them away, still moving, still hard, still merciless.
“One more, Hemrione,” he whispered against her wet cheek.
“One more for me. I know you’re raw, I know it burns, but you’re going to give it to me anyway.”
Hermione was openly sobbing now, nodding, incoherent, “Yours—yours—please—”
He dramatically changed his rhythm to long, grinding strokes that rubbed the clamp in slow circles while his cock filled her over and over.
The fifth built like a slow, terrifying tide. Every nerve was shredded; each thrust felt like fire and pleasure.
“It hurts,” she cried, voice cracking. “It hurts so much, but good, and I still want—”
“I know,” he soothed, ruthless and loving all at once. “Cry for me, love. And come.”
The climax detonated from somewhere deeper than her clit, somewhere behind her navel, rolling through her in violent, cramping waves that left her shaking and gasping.
She squirted around him, a shocking gush that soaked his stomach and the sheets, the embarrassment of it only making her sob harder even as her body kept pulsing.
Only then did Draco let himself go completely.
He slammed in till the hilt and came with a loud guttural roar, flooding her in thick, endless pulses of cum, the stamina potion wringing every drop from him. He stayed buried deep, grinding through his own aftershocks, until they were both trembling uncontrollably.
When he finally pulled out, Hermione was limp, tears still leaking silently. Draco’s breathing was still ragged when he finally lowered her trembling legs and shifted down the bed.
Hermione lay limp, tears drying in salty tracks on her cheeks, chest heaving, the clamp still biting down on her swollen clit.
He brushed damp curls from her forehead first, then pressed a soft kiss to her inner thigh. “Almost done, love. Just breathe for me.”
His fingers were gentle now, completely at odds with the savage husband who’d just wrung five screaming orgasms from her. He cupped her mound protectively, shielding the oversensitive flesh, then used his other hand to ease the prongs apart.
The moment the pressure released, blood rushed back in.
Hermione’s whole body jerked with a sharp, broken cry. It was a lightning-strike of sensation: burning, prickling, almost too intense to bear.
Her clit throbbed violently, swollen twice its normal size, every heartbeat a fresh pulse of fiery burn.
“Shh, shh, I’ve got you, it’ll be over in a moment,” Draco murmured instantly, voice gentle now.
He didn’t pull his hand away; he kept it cupped warmly over her, letting the heat of his palm soothe the sudden rush. With the other he whispered a soft numbing charm and then a warming one, gentle waves of comfort that made her sob in relief.
“Fuck—fuck—it’s—” she whimpered, hips twitching involuntarily.
“I know, Hermione, I know. It’ll be ok in a moment.”
He lowered his head and pressed the softest, most reverent kiss directly to the aching nub. He kept kissing it until the burning ebbed into a deep, pulsing throb that felt almost good again.
He conjured a warm, damp cloth and cleaned her carefully, every stroke feather-light, murmuring praise the whole time.
“Look how gorgeous you are,” he whispered, parting her carefully to blow a cool breath over the tender flesh. Hermione shivered, but it was pleasure now, not pain.
“So swollen and red from taking me. You were perfect. My perfect, brave firecracker wife.”
He slid up the bed, gathering her into his arms, cradling her against his chest.
One hand stroked her hair, the other settled low on her belly, palm radiating gentle warmth into the sore muscles.
Hermione buried her face in his neck, still trembling with aftershocks.
“It still tingles,” she mumbled, voice hoarse from screaming.
Draco kissed her temple, her damp cheeks, the corner of her mouth.
“Let it tingle. Let it remind you who you belong to.” His fingers traced lazy circles over her skin. “I’ve got you. Sleep if you want. Cry if you need. I’m not moving.”
The bond tattoo on her finger glowed a soft, steady gold, and she let herself sink into him, safe and utterly claimed.
Hours later, when they finally woke from a much needed nap, Draco smoothed her hair back gently.
“You did so well,” he murmured.
Hermione curled against him, boneless and warm, brushing her fingers over his chest.
“So did you,” she whispered.
Draco huffed a soft, breathless laugh.
“Oh, trust me, it was no hardship on my side. You took that so beautifully. I couldn’t believe you let me wring that last one out of you… thought you may end up tapping out.”
Hermione laughed into his skin, dizzy with heat and relief and something deeper, steadier:
She wasn’t afraid at all anymore.
She wanted this.
She wanted them.
She wanted everything.
And Draco kissed the top of her head like he felt the same truth echoing through his bones.
Eventually, in the dead of night, they took quick showers to remove the dried spend, and sweat, drinking water to rehydrate, and having a quick snack before falling back into bed for more deep sleep.
Notes:
Lots more of Vienna between them still to come... but what did you think of the start?
Chapter 281: Vienna in the Daylight
Chapter Text
Hermione woke first.
The room was still dim, the heavy curtains holding back all but a thin blade of mid-morning light. Everything hurt in the most delicious, impossible way.
Her thighs trembled the moment she tried to move them. Between her legs was a deep, swollen ache, her clit still throbbing like it had its own angry pulse. When she shifted experimentally, a sharp sting flared and she bit back a whimper, freezing in place.
Draco was sprawled on his stomach beside her, one arm flung possessively across her waist, face half-buried in the pillow, breathing slow and even. The bond tattoo on his finger glowed a deep gold.
She watched him for a long minute, enjoying the way his lips were parted just enough to look unfairly beautiful even asleep. Then she tried, very carefully, to slide out from under his arm.
The movement tugged at sore muscles and she couldn’t stop the tiny wimper form escaping.
Draco’s eyes snapped open instantly.
“Easy,” he rasped, voice gravel-rough with sleep. He was already moving, sliding the arm around her waist into a gentle cradle instead of a cage.
“Don’t you dare try to get up alone.”
Hermione huffed, “I was going to be brave.”
“You were going to fall on your arse,” he corrected, pressing a kiss to her temple.
He sat up slowly, taking her with him so she didn’t have to use any sore muscles. “How bad?”
“Like I was fucked by a freight train,” she mumbled into his neck. “In the best way, and enjoyed every second of it.”
Draco’s chuckle vibrated against her skin. He reached for the over stuffed healer bag Theo had left them, pulling out a potion vial for small aches and pains, a jar of soothing salve, and conjured a glass of water.
“Drink,” he ordered softly, tipping the minty potion to her lips. She swallowed obediently, sighing as the warmth spread through her aching pelvis.
Then he laid her back against the pillows and warmed the salve between his palms. When his fingers finally slipped between her thighs she hissed, thighs twitching.
“Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmured, touch feather-light as he spread the cool cream over swollen, tender flesh. Every gentle circle drew a shaky breath from her, the sting melting into relief.
“Still with me?” he asked, eyes searching hers.
Hermione managed a tired, lopsided smile. “Always. It’s really not that bad, just alittle soreness.”
He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, soft and slow. “Good. Bath’s next.”
He got up, to run one for her adding in healing salts, and muscle relaxant bubbles. When the temperature and water level was right, he pulled her into his arms and carried her into the bathroom as she protested that she was perfectly capable of walking. He placed her naked body gently into the water, climbing in behind her.
After the hair washing and relaxation, the bathwater had gone lukewarm, and Draco’s fingers still idly combing through Hermione’s wet curls.
“I’ve got to say it,” she murmured, eyes half-closed, “I was genuinely scared of that clamp when you took it out. My brain went straight to ‘this is going to suck.’ Then you closed it and… and thirty seconds later I was thinking, ‘oh my god, why does this feel so good?’ I was shocked at myself. Like, properly shocked.”
Draco huffed a quiet laugh against her shoulder. “I felt that shock ripple through the bond. One second it was nerves, next second it was this rush of pleasure like ‘wait, no, keep it there.’”
“Yeah,” she said, softer. “It hurt exactly the way I didn’t know I wanted. Constant, sharp, impossible to ignore. And every time you moved it turned into this deep throb that made me wetter. I kept waiting to hate it, and I just… didn’t.”
He was quiet a moment, rinsing the last suds from her hair.
“I kept waiting for you to tap out,” he admitted. “You were crying so hard, and every time I checked in you just looked at me like I was the only safe thing in the world. That hit me harder than anything else. Knowing you were hurting and still felt safe with me.”
Hermione leaned back against his chest, letting her head rest on his shoulder.
“I did feel safe. That’s why I could let it hurt that much. Because it was you.”
Draco’s arms tightened around her middle, simple and steady.
“I liked giving you that,” he said, voice low, honest. “Liked being the one who could push you that far and still be the person you clung to after. Didn’t feel like power-trip stuff. Felt like… trust. Real trust.”
Hermione smiled, small and tired and utterly content.
“Thanks for not treating me like I’m breakable.”
“Thanks for letting me see you when you are,” he answered.
They stayed in the quiet a little longer, enjoying the Zen together, the bond happy and pulsing.
After a while, they wrapped themselves in fluffy robes, and tag-teamed making a light breakfast of yogurt topped with granola, topical cut fruit, and fresh chocolate croissants accompanying a pot of hot tea.
They mostly ate in comfortable silence, admiring the snow covered courtyard below.
Hermione kept sneaking glances at his fit form peaking out from the robe, and slowly the bond was filling not just with contentment, but also need.
After a few pulses of it running through, he swung his eyes from the window back to her, surprise in them.
“Is that you… already? How do you feel?”
She nods, “Good. Happy. Trusting. Not sore.”
Her breath stutters, “And… I feel it again. That pull of desire.”
His brow tightens with restrained emotion, “Hermione… we don’t have to— we can rest or go out for a bit, before…”
“I want to,” she interrupts, voice quiet but firm, “I want to explore again right now. With you. If the boundaries are the same.”
His eyes close briefly — overwhelmed relief, longing, restraint, gratitude — before he slides closer, forehead against hers.
“We go slow,” he murmurs. “We check in. We stop instantly if your magic so much as twitches wrong. You set the pace of how often and how much we do while we’re here.”
She takes a shaky breath, “I trust you, this is why we’re here after all,” she whispers.
Draco kisses her then, not hungry yet, but reverent. A grounding kiss. A claiming kiss.
His hand settles on her waist, warm and steady, and when she shivers, it’s in anticipation.
“Hermione,” he breathes, “tell me what you need.”
She looks up at him and she whispers a confession, “I need you to lead again. I want you in control more.”
Draco inhales sharply.
His voice lowers to her ear, “Tell me if you want to stop.”
“I won’t,” she whispers.
His lips curve into a sinful smirk, “We’ll see about that, Hermione.”
He grabbed her wrist, pulling her up and then down the corridor with that quiet, dangerous calm that always made her stomach flip with anticipation.
She stumbled after him, pulse already racing, the thick plush of her winter robe brushing her bare legs beneath.
He shut the bedroom door behind them with a soft, and final click in the quiet room.
Draco backed her against the nearest bedpost, hands sliding under the tie of her robe. One sharp tug and the knot gave; the heavy fabric slid from her shoulders and pooled at her feet, leaving her completely naked.
The air was chilly. Gooseflesh exploded across her skin and her nipples tightened instantly.
“Hands,” he said, voice low.
She lifted them without thinking. He had summoned four long emerald silk scarves already waiting, draped over the footboard l. The first went around her left wrist, looped twice, then stretched high to the carved post at the headboard. The second bound her right the same way, pulling her arms taut above her head until her back arched slightly off the mattress. The third and fourth secured her ankles, spreading her wide, feet tied to the opposite posts so she was completely open, helpless, silk biting softly every time she breathed.
Draco stepped back to look at her: candlelight and winter sunlight painting silver across her shivering skin.
Only then did he lift his wand.
A whispered Glacius and a perfect sphere of ice appeared above his palm, dripping in a slow, hypnotic rhythm to the floor. The temperature in the room plummeted another few degrees.
Hermione’s breath clouded in front of her.
He started with a single drop.
It fell from the sphere and struck the hollow of her throat like cold fire. She jerked against the scarves, a sharp cry tearing free as the freezing bead rolled downward, carving a line of pure cold fire between her breasts.
Draco followed it with the sphere itself, never quite touching, just close enough that the cold radiated in cruel waves. He circled each nipple until they ached, then let the ice graze them twice, each contact sparking chills down her skin, and heat in the bond.
He moved lower.
He painted her body in freezing trails; ribs, waist, the soft crease where thigh meets groin. Every time she squirmed, the scarves tightened, holding her back.
When he finally hovered the sphere over her clit, she was already shaking so hard the bed creaked softly.
The first direct touch was merciless.
Hermione screamed, hips snapping upward, wrists yanking against the scarves as the ice pressed flat against her swollen clit. Draco held it there, watching her face, watching her thighs tremble uncontrollably.
“Color?”
“Green!”, she hissed out, tension mounting.
Then he reshaped the sphere with a murmured spell and it shrank, elongated, became a smooth, slender icicle etched with glowing runes. He pressed the tip to her entrance and gently pushed.
The stretch was shocking; colder than any toy, smoother than glass, enchanted to stay solid longer than normal ice.
Her inner walls clenched around the freezing intrusion, trying to warm it, failing for the most part. A thin stream of glowing meltwater leaked out immediately from her.
Draco took a second, smaller icicle and laid it flat against her clit, holding it with a gentle Levitation charm so it never lost contact.
“Draco…. Ugh… help… so cold”, she yelled.
Draco’s cock was flushed dark, slick at the tip, and he held her gaze as he lined up. The icicle inside her is still mostly solid, thick as two fingers, curved, and bitterly cold. A thin stream of meltwater keeps leaking out around it, and her whimpers never ended.
He presses the head of his cock against her entrance, right beside the ice, and pauses.
“Look at me,” he says, voice rough.
Hermione’s eyes are glassy, lips parted, chest heaving. “It’s going to be so much,” she whispers. “I’m already shaking.”
“I know. Tell me if it’s too much immediately and Ill pull out. It’s going to be quite a stretch.”
She nods, swallowing her nerves, “Green.”
He pushes in swiftly halfway.
The stretch is immediate and shocking; hot flesh forcing its way in alongside freezing glass.
Hermione’s breath catches on a sharp cry, thighs jerking hard against the emerald scarves that hold her ankles wide.
Her wrists yank violently upward, silk sliding and tightening with a soft hiss as she instinctively fights the restraints.
“Fuck—cold—so cold—”
Draco groans low, eyes fixed where they join. “I can feel it against my cock. Merlin, cold. Jesus, you’re so fucking tight.”
He slides in another inch; the icicle shifts, scraping along his shaft and her walls at the same time. A fresh rush of icy water spills out of her channel around him.
Hermione’s whole body arches, wrists twisting frantically in the scarves, shoulders straining as she tries to reach for him, to push him away, to pull him closer; she doesn’t even know any more what she needs. The silk bites into her skin, holding her open and helpless to his advances.
“It’s moving—every time you move it rubs—”
“Yeah?” He pulls back slightly, then eases forward again, slow and deliberate. “Right there?”
“Right—oh god—right there—”, Her voice cracks as the ice drags over her g-spot. She thrashes again, scarves holding strong, headboard rattling softly.
He sets a careful rhythm at first, letting her feel everything: the heat of him, the cold of the ice, the water squelching with every thrust.
“Talk to me,” he says, voice strained with trying not to give into the feeling himself yet.
“It’s intense,” she pants, wrists jerking again, silk sliding against silk.
“Like I’m burning and freezing at the same time. I can feel it cracking a little—tiny pops—fuck, Draco—let me touch you—”
“No,” he growls, leaning over her, forearm braced beside her head. “You stay tied. I want you fighting those scarves while I fuck you full of winter magic.”
Hermione whimpers, hips twitching, another desperate tug against the restraints that only makes the silk tighten deliciously.
He speeds up just a fraction, hips rolling, “You’re soaking,” he mutters. “Every thrust pushes more cold water out. Look at the sheets.”
Hermione glances down through tear-blurred eyes; the black silk is dark and shining where the shiny meltwater has spread.
“It’s dripping everywhere,” she laughs breathlessly, then moans as he angles deeper, wrists straining again, scarves whispering as she pulls.
“I’m so full—Draco, please—”
“Still green?”
“Green,” she gasps, yanking hard enough that the headboard creaks again. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop—”
He leans over her, the hand not holding the levitated icicle to her clit sliding up to grip one of the scarves above her wrist, anchoring himself as he drives deeper.
“Feel that?” he growls against her ear. “Ice on your clit, ice inside you, my cock burning you alive. You’re going to come so hard you forget your own name, and you’re going to do it fighting those pretty little scarves.”
Hermione’s back arches, wrists twisting frantically in the silk, another sharp cry as the levitated icicle vibrates against her clit.
“I’m close—Draco, I’m—”
“I know,” he says, voice ragged. “I feel you fluttering. Let it happen, let go.”
He thrusts harder, faster, the wet slap of skin and water filling the room. The icicle inside starts to fracture audibly with tiny, sharp cracks with every hard stroke inward.
“It’s breaking—” she cries, panic and pleasure mixing, wrists jerking so hard the scarves bite red lines into her skin.
“Good,” he snarls. “Let it shatter when you come.”
One more deep thrust and the climax hits her like a wave.
Her cunt clamps down so hard the icicle explodes then full melts.
The sudden rush of freezing particles floods around his cock inside her; Hermione screams, body convulsing, forcing out icy water in strong pulses that soak his stomach and the sheets. Her wrists yank violently against the scarves one last time, shoulders shaking with the force of it.
The shock drags Draco over instantly.
“Fuck—Hermione—”, He slams in to the hilt and comes with a guttural groan, hips jerking as he spills in thick, hot pulses that feel scalding against the sudden cold inside her.
They stay locked together, panting, water still leaking slowly from where they’re joined.
Hermione laughs shakily through her tears, wrists finally going slack in the scarves. “I can’t feel my legs.”
Draco kisses her damp forehead, voice hoarse, “Good. Means I did it right.”
He gently untied her and settled her in his arms.
Hermione lay against Draco’s chest, boneless, flushed, and completely undone in the best possible way. Draco is stroking her back lazily, his touch uncharacteristically tender after it all.
“Your magic feels… very settled,” he murmurs, sounding almost surprised.
“So does yours.”
He kisses the top of her head, lingering. They take ten minutes to catch their breath and bask in the afterglow.
“We should owl Theo,” Hermione eventually whispers.
Draco exhales. “Merlin, yes. Before he thinks we’ve gotten ourselves killed performing some kind of satanic sex ritual.”
Hermione giggles softly and Draco smiles into her hair like it’s the best sound in the entire world.
He summons parchment with a flick of his fingers and hands her the quill.
She writes in looping, still-shaky script:
**Theo, love —
Everything is good. Truly.
Vienna is beautiful. We’re safe.
We love you.
—H & D**
Draco adds:
She’s glowing. Don’t worry, she’s unscathed I swear.
—D
Hermione swats him, laughing; he kisses her wrist in apology.
The owl takes off into the crisp morning light.
Hermione settles back into Draco’s arms, magic finally quiet, body finally content, and feeling very safe.
Vienna in late morning is brisk and crisp, winter sunlight bouncing off slate roofs and cream-colored facades.
Hermione and Draco walk arm-in-arm through cobblestone streets, bundled in scarves and wool hats, each feeling a strange lightness neither had expected after such a night and morning.
They don’t rush.
They don’t talk much at first either.
They just… breathe together, taking in the scenery.
Hermione watches Draco out of the corner of her eye as he walks, his hands tucked in pockets, shoulders finally not tight for once, a tiny upward tilt to his mouth that she hasn't seen consistently since the fall before everything went sideways. She grins.
They turn a corner into a quieter street and slip into a small café with fogged windows and the warm smell of cinnamon and roasted espresso beans.
Draco chooses a secluded booth in the corner.
Hermione casts a quick Muffliato, and the charm hums softly around them like a protective cocoon.
Their espressos arrive fast, tiny cups, dark and fragrant. Draco wraps his fingers around his, staring at it for a long moment before blowing out a low breath.
“You look… oddly calm for someone who just did what we’ve bene doing,” Hermione says quietly.
He huffs a soft laugh. “I don’t know if calm is the word. I feel…”
He searches for something, “…aligned with you… and with the triad bond. For the first time in months.”
Hermione swallows. “Me too.”
Draco watches her with that searing, careful intensity unique to him — the one that sees everything, even the things she tries to hide.
“You’re not nervous at all?” he asks after a moment.
She hesitates, “Not exactly,” she murmurs. “Just… thoughtful.”
Draco sets his espresso down, leaning slightly closer.
“Hermione, you can tell me anything.”
She looks down at her gloved fingers.
“I trust you,” she says softly. “Last night wasn’t scary. It felt right. Really right. And this morning…” She trails off, cheeks warming. “Well, I feel safe with you. We both have to acknowledge our chemistry has always been… very present, even before our feelings developed we were very compatible sexually.”
Something in Draco’s eyes goes molten, but he reins it in, nodding slowly.
“And you want to push boundaries some more today,” he says quietly, making it a statement instead of a question. “But only if we talk about them first.”
Hermione nods, “I know the line between something… intense and something unsafe can be thin.”
She forces herself to meet his gaze. “I want to explore who I am with you… even more fully. I just don’t want either of us losing control completely.”
Draco inhales, steady and deep.
“Hermione,” he says gently, “I will never let you go anywhere near a moment where your magic feels wrong or we’re going to cause serious or lasting damage. You know that, don’t you?”
“I do,” she whispers.
He reaches across the table, brushing her knuckles with the back of his fingers, “You have full command. Your pace. Your calls. Your safeword. You stop us whenever you want, for any reason. Even if it’s just ‘I need a minute right now.’”
Hermione nods.
“And,” Draco continues, “we check in after each thing. No pushing through too much discomfort. No being brave for the hell of it.”
He lowers his voice, “Not with this. Be honest before anything else.”
Her throat tightens with emotion.
“I’m tired of being brave,” she admits. “I just want to feel connected again. Real again. I want to want you — in so many ways people may not understand — without guilt.”
Draco’s expression softens in a way that makes her stomach flip.
“You don’t owe me or Theo or anyone else guilt,” he says. “ Or performance. I just want you. However you come. Whether you want more of … this type of thing, or decide it’s not for you and never want it again.”
She blushes.
He grins faintly, pleased, but reserved.
Hermione swallows hard, “Okay… so… boundaries for later today?”
Draco straightens, suddenly all quiet consideration and sincerity.
“You’re still just starting out in this stuff,” he begins. “Emotionally and magically. And we have to think of Theo too. So, nothing that leaves marks we can’t easily heal. Nothing that could spook your core magic. More intensity than last night, yes — but not too much too quickly. And no more restraints today.”
Hermione nods, “Agreed. I don’t want to be tied again today. I’m not ready for that, my wrists aren’t ready for that...”
Draco’s thumb strokes her bruised wrists in understanding.
“No blindfolds today either,” she murmurs. “I don’t want to lose sense of where you are. Another time maybe, but today… I want to watch everything happening.”
“Of course.”
His voice is soft, solemn, “Then we focus on control, channeling feelings, not helplessness later today.”
She exhales shakily, both nervous and excited.
“What about…” She trails off, cheeks going scarlet. “…commanding?”
Draco’s breath leaves him in one hard exhale.
He looks almost undone for a second, then composes himself with visible effort.
“If you want that,” he whispers, “then yes. With care. With pauses. With you able to stop everything with one word.”
“I do want it,” she breathes.
Draco swallows hard.
“And roughness?” he asks quietly. “Controlled only today? Or—”
“No, I want unhinged a bit too” she confirms. “And both being in the moment, channeling our hardest feelings.”
He nods, the bond feels respectful, relieved, warm.
“And,” she adds, “I want to be able to stop whenever my head gets overwhelmed. Even if my body is saying something else.”
“That is exactly how we do this,” Draco tells her firmly. “I’m proud of you for saying so. Always a safeword away from stopping.”
She blushes deeper.
Draco leans closer, their knees brushing beneath the table.
“Thank you for trusting me this much,” he murmurs.
She meets his eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispers, “for making me feel safe enough to try, to discover what I like.”
They sit in that pocket of warmth and honesty for a long moment, their espresso cooling, hearts beating in sync, the muffling charm pulsing softly around their booth.
Finally, Hermione fully exhales.
“Let’s go back,” she says quietly.
Draco stands and offers her his hand.
When she takes it, the bond warms with anticipation, hungry in a way that hopefully honors every boundary they just set.
They step back into the winter sunlight
hand in hand and head toward the direction of the townhouse.
The walk back is quiet, the kind of quiet that’s full instead of empty — full of nerves, warmth, trust, anticipation.
A thin layer of frost glitters on the passing rooftops, and the faint smell of roasted chestnuts drifts from a vendor they pass.
They don’t rush.
They don’t touch much.
But the bond hums like a low ember, warm and charged… ready.
When they reach the townhouse steps, Hermione feels Draco’s pulse quicken through their joined hands. Hers mirrors it — not from fear, but from the shared awareness of what they’d agreed to try.
Inside, the warmth hits immediately soft lamplight, the faint scent of amber and pine from the old townhouse, and the muffled hush of magically padded walls.
She slips off her coat; Draco hangs both of theirs on the rack with a reverence that makes her flush. He doesn’t touch her yet, she can feel he’s holding himself carefully, letting her choose the pace.
Hermione takes two steady breaths.
Then she walks toward him and touches his collar.
“Draco,” she says, looking up through her lashes.
His breath catches, “Yes?”
“I’m ready. For more”
He closes his eyes once — like the words hit him straight in the chest — then steps close enough that she feels his warmth against her front, but not touching her.
“Last chance to change anything,” he murmurs. “Or set a new boundary.”
Hermione shakes her head, cheeks warming, heart thudding.
“No changes.”
There’s a beat of silence, charged and careful.
Then Draco reaches up, cups her jaw with lithe fingers, and kisses her — slow, claiming, but patient.
His other hand settles on her hip, just enough pressure to guide her backward toward the bedroom, step by deliberate step.
They don’t rush.
Every movement feels intentional, checked-in, affirmed — exactly what they agreed to.
When they reach the bedroom threshold, Draco pauses.
“Hermione,” he whispers, “look at me.”
She does.
“Say stop whenever you want. For any reason.”
She nods, “I know.”
“And one more thing,” he says softly. “You were brave to admit you wanted this, when you didn’t have to be. I’m proud of you.”
Her breath stutters.
The bond flickers warm and soothing.
She slides her hands up his chest.
“Draco,” she murmurs, “kiss me again.”
His control snaps just a little, and he does, before pulling away.
Draco stood at the foot of the bed, fully dressed in crisp black shirt and trousers, sleeves rolled to the elbow.
Draco didn’t raise his voice. He just commanded.
“Take my clothes off,” he said, calm and absolute. “Slowly.”
Hermione’s breath caught, but she stepped forward without hesitation. Her fingers went to the top button of his shirt, trembling slightly as she slipped it free. One by one, the buttons gave way, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone, the pale plane of his chest, the faint silver scars she knew by heart.
When the shirt hung open she pushed it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
“Take me out.”
She dropped to her knees immediately to unbuckle his belt, eyes flicking up to meet his every few seconds. The leather whispered through the loops.
She unfastened his trousers, eased the zip down tooth by tooth, then hooked her fingers into waistband and briefs together and drew them down his hips. His cock sprang free, already hard, flushed, a bead of pre-come pearling at the tip.
Draco’s hand settled lightly in her hair, a quiet reminder of who was in charge.
“Now yours,” he said.
Hermione rose just long enough to grip the hem of the white shirt and pull it over her head in one smooth motion. It joined his clothes on the floor. She pulled down her jeans and underwear in one go. She was naked underneath.
Draco’s gaze raked over her, possessive and approving.
“On your knees again.”
She sank back down, the rug soft under her knees. His cock was inches from her lips.
“Open.”
She parted her lips instantly. He didn’t move. Just looked down at her, waiting.
Hermione leaned forward and took him in. When the head bumped the back of her throat she paused, breathed through her nose, then took him deeper, swallowing around him until her lips met the base, trying hard not to gag.
Draco exhaled sharply, fingers tightening in her curls.
“Good girl. Now show me how much you want to please me.”
She pulled back almost all the way, tongue tracing the thick vein underneath, then sank down again, setting a slow, worshipful rhythm. Her hands stayed on his thighs, cheeks hollowed, eyes watering slightly as she took him to the root over and over.
Draco’s voice was rough velvet, “Hands behind your back.”
She obeyed instantly, clasping her wrists at the small of her back. The position forced her chest forward, breasts swaying with each bob of her head.
“Look at me while you suck me.”
She lifted her eyes. They were already glassy, lips stretched around him, saliva shining on her chin. The bond flared hot between them.
“Faster.”
She picked up the pace, the wet sounds of her mouth filling the quiet room. Draco’s hips rocked forward in tiny, controlled thrusts, fucking her mouth in shallow strokes.
“Swallow,” he ordered on a groan.
She did, throat working around him as he held himself deep. The first pulse of his release spilled straight down her throat; she took every drop, eyes locked on his, until he eased back with a shuddering breath.
Draco cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her wet lower lip.
“Up,” he said softly. “On the bed. On your back. Legs open.”
Hermione rose on shaky knees and obeyed, the taste of him still thick on her tongue, the bond singing pride with the knowledge that she had pleased him exactly as he asked.
Draco's gaze was dark, unyielding, as he positioned himself between her thighs, his cock heavy and straining against her inner thigh. He didn't thrust in yet; instead, he dragged the blunt head through her slick folds, teasing her entrance, coating himself in her arousal.
"Look at me," he commanded, voice low and edged with steel. "Don't close your eyes. I want to see every second of you taking me. Hold the headboard."
Hermione's breath hitched, her fingers white-knuckled on the headboard, but she obeyed, locking her gaze with his. The bond tattoo pulsed hot between them, a silent echo of her submission.
"Beg," he said, circling her clit with the tip of his cock, just enough pressure to make her hips buck.
"Please," she whispered, voice trembling. "Please fuck me, Draco. I need you inside me—need you to fill me—"
"Louder," he snarled, slapping his cock lightly against her clit.
"Please fuck me!" she cried out, thighs quivering. "Hard—deep—I need it, please—"
Draco's jaw tightened, satisfaction flashing in his eyes. He notched himself at her entrance and thrust forward in one unrelenting stroke, burying himself to the hilt.
The stretch was immediate and overwhelming—his length splitting her open, the veins along his shaft dragging against her sensitive walls, bottoming out so deep she could have sworn she felt him in her throat.
Hermione screamed, her back bowing off the bed, fingers clawing at the headboard as her body adjusted to the invasion. He was so hot, so hard, filling every inch of her with a pressure that bordered on pain.
"Legs around my waist," he ordered through gritted teeth, holding still inside her, letting her feel the throb of his cock against her clenching walls.
"Lock your ankles. Now."
She obeyed instantly, wrapping her legs around him, heels digging into the small of his back. The position tilted her hips, letting him sink even deeper, and she gasped at the new angle.
Draco pulled back slowly—agonizingly slowly—letting her feel every ridge, every inch sliding out, her walls fluttering desperately to keep him in. Then he slammed back in, the impact jolting her up the mattress, her breasts bouncing.
"Harder," he commanded, voice a growl. "Squeeze me tighter. Milk my cock like you need it to survive."
Hermione purposively clenched around him on the next thrust, her inner muscles gripping him like a vice, and Draco groaned, his control fraying already. He set a punishing rhythm: hips snapping forward with harsh force, the bedframe slamming against the wall in time with her cries.
"Touch your clit," he ordered suddenly, his free hand pinning her hip to the mattress. "Two fingers. Rub it fast. I want to feel you come on my cock."
Hermione's hand flew between them, fingers finding her swollen clit and circling frantically. The added stimulation made her walls flutter wildly, and Draco hissed, thrusting harder, faster, the lewd squelch of her wetness echoing with every plunge.
"That's it," he praised, voice rough. "You're so fucking wet for me. Dripping down my balls. Come, Hermione. Come hard—squeeze me until I can't pull out."
She shattered with a raw scream, her cunt clamping down in intense, pulsing beats, milking him so hard his rhythm stuttered momentarily.
Draco didn't stop. He fucked her through it, drawing out every aftershock until she was shaking, oversensitive, tears pricking her eyes.
"Again," he demanded, shifting to hook one knee over his shoulder, opening her wider. The new angle let him hit deeper, his cock dragging over that sensitive spot inside her with every brutal thrust.
"You're not done. Your going to give me another."
Draco’s hips slowed to a deliberate, almost lazy roll, the broad head of his cock settling with exquisite gentleness right against the mouth of her cervix. He stayed there, perfectly still for a long moment, letting her feel the heat, the throb, the impossible depth. He held her gaze with intensity and purpose.
Hermione’s breath came in soft, trembling puffs. “Draco…”
“Shh,” he murmured. “Feel me. Right here. Don’t move. Just feel.”
He tilted her hips a fraction higher with the hand under her lower back, deepening the pressure without force, just a steady insistence. The sensation bloomed slow and huge: a warm, stretching ache that radiated through her pelvis and curled her toes.
“Tell me where I am,” he commanded, voice low and rough.
She swallowed, “Against my cervix… so deep I can feel your heartbeat inside me.”
“Good girl,” he praised, rewarding her with another tiny, rolling grind. “Stay open for me. Don’t close your legs. Let this happen. Let me love you right here.”
Hermione’s thighs shook around his waist, fingers white on the headboard.
“Breathe in,” he ordered softly. She inhaled. “Now out, slow.”
As she exhaled he pressed forward a fraction more, the gentlest nudge that made her gasp and her eyes flutter shut.
“Eyes on me, keep them open,” he snapped.
They flew open again.
“That’s it,” he said, voice velvet and steel. “Watch me while I bring apart form being right here. You’re going to take every drop exactly where it belongs.”
He began a rhythm of slow, very shallow thrusts or barely an inch in and out, but each one ended with that same tender pressure against her cervix, like a slow, deliberate kiss from the inside.
“Tell me how it feels,” he demanded.
“Like… like you’re pressing on something secret,” she whispered, voice shaking. “Warm and heavy and intense… and I can’t think when you do that.”
Draco’s eyes darkened, “You don’t need to think. You just need to feel me claiming this part of you. In a few weeks Theo and I are going to take turns doing exactly this until you’re swollen with our baby. Every time you move you’ll remember how your husbands put it there.”
Hermione’s walls fluttered helplessly around him, a soft cry spilling out.
“Legs higher,” he commanded. “Hook them over my shoulders. Don’t move them”
She obeyed instantly, the new angle letting him sink that last fraction deeper. The pressure intensified, still gentle, but overwhelming. She whimpered.
“Perfect,” he growled. “Stay just like that. Don’t you dare move.”
He kept the slow grind, the head of his cock kissing her cervix on every stroke, until her whole body was trembling on the edge again.
“Come for me,” he ordered, voice rough with reverence. “Come with me right here, gentle and deep, exactly where our baby’s going to start.”
The climax rolled through her slow and devastating, a deep, pulsing wave that started at her cervix and spread outward in warm currents. Her walls clenched rhythmically around him, milking him with clenching pulls.
Draco groaned, hips stuttering, “That’s it… fuck, take it—”
He pressed in one last time and came with a low, shattered sound, cock pulsing gently but insistently against her cervix. Thick, warm ropes of cum spilled directly against that tender ring, each pulse a soft, deliberate claim that flooded her deepest place.
He stayed there, buried to the hilt, letting her feel every throb, every drop.
“Feel me,” he whispered against her lips, voice ragged. “Feel me marking you right here. Soon it’ll be both of us. Until you’re round and glowing and making our heirs.”
Hermione’s answer was a giant smile.
The room was quiet again, the fire burned low, and the sheets were a tangled wreck. Draco had pulled the heavy duvet over them both, Hermione curled on her side, his chest to her back, one of his arms locked possessively around her waist. Their breathing had finally slowed.
For a long time neither spoke.
Then Hermione’s voice, soft and a little hoarse: “I didn’t know I could feel that… owned. And still feel so safe.”
Draco’s lips brushed the hair on the nape of her neck. “I was watching you every second,” he murmured. “The moment you needed out, I would’ve stopped. You know that, right?”
“I do,” she said instantly, turning in his arms so they were face-to-face. “That’s why I could let go. Because it was you giving the orders.”
He searched her eyes in the dim light. “Was it too much? The commanding?”
She shook her head against the pillow, “It was exactly enough. I loved hearing you tell me what to do, what to feel, when to come. It made everything sharper. Like the whole world narrowed to your voice.”
Draco exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “I’ve never let myself go that far with the orders before with anyone. I kept waiting for you to hesitate, to look scared instead of… hungry.”
“I was hungry,” she admitted, cheeks warming. “Starving, actually. And the cervical pressure…” She bit her lip. “I didn’t expect it to feel so… intimate. Not painful, just… overwhelming. Like you were touching a part of me too intimate for people to see.”
He brushed a curl from her forehead, voice softer. “It’s the deepest place I can reach. When I felt you there, when you let me stay pressed against it… I’ve never felt closer to anyone.”
Hermione’s hand settled over his heart. “I want it again. The commands. The pressure. All of it. I trust you to take me there and bring me back.”
Draco’s eyes darkened with something tender and fierce. “Then we’ll keep it in our rotation,” he said. “Some nights I’ll worship you slow and soft. Some nights I’ll order you to your knees and make you earn every breath. And when you need to feel me in your bones, I’ll press right there until you’re shaking and crying and begging me to fill you. Theo won’t object to what we just did, he likes these things too. He’ll join in.”
She smiled, small and sleepy and utterly content. “Deal. Just keep talking to me after. Like this. Checking in.”
“Always,” he promised, pulling her tighter against him.
Hours later when they woke up, the last bit of the day’s winter sunlight filtered through the curtains, warming the sheets tangled around them
Hermione’s cheeks are still flushed.
Draco’s hair is rumpled beyond repair.
Their bond is a molten, steady pulse — aligned, humming, almost smug.
Draco lies on his side facing her, lightly tracing the outline of her hip beneath the blanket with the softest, gentlest touch, reverent after the intensity of earlier.
“Are you okay?” he murmurs, voice scratchy and low.
Hermione blushes and nods, smiling a little.
“More than okay.”
He exhales slowly, relieved. “Good. That’s good.” A beat.
“If anything bothered you, tell me now. Or later. Or tomorrow. Or whenever. But tell me.”
She brushes her thumb along his jaw.
“Nothing bothered me.”
Draco swallows, visibly emotional.
“Really?”
“Really.”
He rests his forehead against hers. They breathe together. His hand drifts beneath the blanket to hold her waist gently, not with heat this time but with emotion.
“You did so beautifully,” he murmurs.
Hermione bites her lip shyly. “You’re proud of me?”
He lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh.
“Proud is an understatement. You were…” He shakes his head, searching. “…bloody brilliant.”
She flushes again and hides her face against his chest. He smiles into her hair.
A few minutes pass like that, intimate but quiet.
Then Hermione stirs and glances at the clock. Five thirty PM already.
“We should… owl Theo,” she says softly.
Draco huffs an amused breath. “If we don’t, he’ll panic and apparate straight into the bed.”
Hermione snorts, “He would.”
“He absolutely would.”
Draco sits up a little, reaches for parchment and a quill from the nightstand drawer. “Alright. What do we tell him?”
She tucks the blanket around herself and thinks.
“Just… the truth. That we’re safe. That it went well. That we’re resting.”
Draco’s smile curves warm and intimate.
“And that I’m spoiling you absolutely rotten with pleasure right now?”
Hermione rolls her eyes, “Yes, fine, include that if you must.”
He scribbles an elegantly worded letter — respectful, concise, reassuring. Hermione leans over his shoulder to read it, her cheek brushing his, which makes him freeze quite obviously for a moment before continuing.
When it’s done, she kisses his temple, “Send it.”
Draco taps the parchment; it folds into a neat origami eagle and he summons an owl to send it off.
Then he turns back to her… slow, deliberate… eyes soft but dark.
“And now,” he murmurs, sliding back under the blankets, “I intend to keep holding you until you fall asleep on my chest again and maybe we set an alarm for another few hours of rest before dinner.”
Hermione’s heart swells, full and warm, “That sounds perfect.”
Draco wraps his arms around her, pulling her close.
She fits against him easily.
Within minutes her breathing steadies, warm against his throat. Draco holds her with one hand in her hair and one over her waist, protective even in rest.
The townhouse is quiet.
Vienna hums outside like a lullaby.
The bond glows.
And Hermione drifts peacefully to sleep in Draco’s arms.
Notes:
Still more of Vienna left to.... explore =P
Let me know how it's going!
Chapter 282: Vienna Wraps-Up
Notes:
This is the last of their Vienna escapades. Hope you enjoyed it!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione wakes slowly, drifting up from a warm, heavy sleep. The lamplight in the townhouse bedroom is dim, amber-soft. Draco’s arm is wrapped around her waist, his face buried in her hair, breath warm against her neck.
For a minute she just lies there, feeling… steady.
Aligned.
Strangely new and beautifully familiar at the same time.
A soft flutter taps the glass.
Draco stirs. “Mm? What—”
The tapping comes again.
Hermione twists just enough to see a hospital snowy owl perched on the open balcony railing, parchment tied neatly to its leg.
Theo’s owl.
Draco sighs, still half-asleep. “He lasted two hours. I’m impressed.”
Hermione smiles, brushing a kiss against his cheek before slipping out of bed to let the owl in. It holds out its leg immediately, and she unties the note with gentle fingers.
Theo’s handwriting is neat but rushed.
I hope you two are safe and well.
Tell me you’re alright. Both of you.
And tell me if she’s overdoing it — or if you are.
Eat something. Drink water. Get real sleep.
Owl me again in the morning.
I miss you both.
—Theo
Draco reads over her shoulder.
A soft, affectionate smile tugs at his lips, “He’s fussing.”
Hermione folds the note carefully, “He always fusses when he’s nervous.”
They glance at each other — and something in the bond pulls tight, warm, alive. The earlier intensity hasn’t dissipated; it’s changed shape, sharpened, focused. Draco touches her waist again, thumb sweeping slow over her skin.
“We should write back,” he murmurs, voice low.
So, she sits on the edge of the bed with Draco behind her, his chest pressed to her back, his chin resting at her shoulder.
Together, they compose the message:
We’re safe. And good. Really good.
We’re resting, eating, being responsible.
And we’ll owl you again later..
We miss you too.
—H & D
The parchment folds itself and the waiting owl darts out into the night.
Hermione exhales.
Draco’s hands slide slowly up her arms.
The air shifts again.
Not rushed.
Not thoughtless.
Charged.
Deliberate.
Inviting.
“Are you hungry?” Draco murmurs against her shoulder.
“Starving,” she answers — and she isn’t talking about food.
He smiles — that slow, wicked, controlled smile she remembered earlier than anything else about him.
“Good,” he says softly. “But let’s feed you properly first. Check for healing needs, before anything else.”
Twenty minutes later, they’re curled up on the sofa wrapped in heavy blankets, eating warm bowls of Viennese chicken stew delivered from a restaurant down the street. Hermione’s hair is still mussed from sleep; Draco’s shirt hangs open, useless, his skin flushed from the warmth of the fire.
They don’t talk much.
They don’t need to.
The bond hums low and steady, still craving, restless.
Hermione finishes first and sets her bowl aside, curling her legs beneath her. Draco does the same, then turns toward her, studying her like he needs to memorize the shape of her want.
“Still alright?” he asks quietly.
She nods, “More than alright.”
He exhales — relief, desire, restraint knotted all together.
“We promised Theo no marks and we’d do proper healing. We should both just take something low level restorative I think as a precaution for him, and we do need to get some bruise paste on your wrists and ankles from earlier.”
He summons the items, and they both kick back a weirdly sunshine tasting light yellow thick potion. He gently applied a thick layer of the bruise paste to her appendages, rubbing it in soothingly, watching satisfied as the purple marks began fading immediately.
“Anything else hurt at all… even a little?”, he questioned her.
“No, no pain I swear.”
“Then tell me,” he whispers, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, “Tell me where the line is tonight.”
Hermione swallows.
“We explore,” she says. “We push more. But we stay safe. And I want…”
She blushes fiercely, “…I want it rough… out of full control…more like the day that brought us here.”
Draco closes his eyes for one beat, undone by how much that means.
“Hermione.”, Her name slips out like a prayer.
“You have no idea what that does to me.”
She blushes even harder, “Then show me.”
They stand inches apart.
Draco lifts his hand, cupping her face.
“I’m not sure quite how to bring that out of you again like last time… it was more organic feelings spurring us to be like that.” He pondered.
She nodded, “For me it started with unchecked rage, helplessness, frustration… then morphed into some type of release when we started going at it.”
He looked thoughtful, “Well I certainly have enough shit in my life to draw on to be mad about… but I’m not quite sure just a random memory will get you there.”
“Yes, sounds crazy but it’s more of a heat of the moment and adrenaline thing I think for me.”, she clarified.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, and delicately said, “I know you say you completely forgive me for being an ass as a kid… but do you fully?”
“Of course”, she was quick to answer.
“Your not at all… angry about any of it at all? The names? The suppority complex? The pranks? The comments? None of it makes you at all pissed off any more….? There was always a lot of self righteous rage before…”
Hermione frowned, “Wait… you still think I was being self-righteous back then to not want to be treated like that?”
Draco’s eyes went wide, “No… that’s not what I meant, not really…. It came out different than I thought it.”
The bond pulsed with need, but also now a bit with annoyance.
Her eyes narrowed, “Why yes… Draco, I do believe I might be a bit irritated about that, now that you mention it.”
He looked unsure, “Do you think that would work to trigger what happened last time… or…?”
She was quick to respond, “No, I don’t want to ever use our histories against each other like that for sex.”
He nodded solemnly, “Ok, we won’t. Then, maybe when the feelings aren’t already raging, it needs to start just from intense passion. Come here.”
She moved directly in front of him. They stared at each other, undressing each other with their eyes for a few moments. The bond was pulsing molten already in them, full of expectation.
Draco reached out first, slow, deliberate, brushing a loose curl behind Hermione’s ear. His fingertips lingered at her temple, tracing the line of her cheekbone.
Hermione’s breath caught; she tilted her face up, and their lips met.
It started gentle. A soft press, a shared exhale, the kind of kiss that felt like coming home after years away. His mouth moved over hers with aching patience, tasting, asking. taking.
She answered by parting her lips, just barely, and the moment his tongue slid against hers the gentleness cracked.
The kiss turned hungry in a heartbeat.
Draco’s hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her curls, pulling just enough to tilt her head back more so he could deepen it.
Hermione made a low, desperate sound and pressed closer, hands fisting in his shirt, dragging him down into her. The slow burn flared into wildfire.
Tongues tangled, teeth scraped, breath came faster. Draco backed her up one step, two, three, until her spine met the wall. The kiss turned ravenous; he devoured her mouth like he’d been starving for years, and she gave it back just as fiercely, her nails scraping up his neck into his hair, tugging hard.
That was when the roughness really ignited.
Draco growled into her mouth, hands dropping to her hips and yanking her flush against him, grinding his already-hard cock against her belly. Hermione bit his lower lip harder than before, tasting a hint of blood, and he hissed, slamming her harder against the wall.
A painting frame teetered on its nail next to them and crashed to the floor in a spray of glass and splintered wood, the sound sharp and satisfying in the charged air. Neither noticed.
Draco's hands roamed up her sides, fingers digging into her ribs with bruising force, then higher, tearing at the collar of her blouse. Buttons popped one by one as he yanked it open, exposing the lace of her bra and the flushed skin beneath.
Hermione shoved him back, her palms flat against his chest, pushing him with enough force to send him stumbling into the antique side table. A crystal vase on it wobbled and toppled, shattering on the hardwood in a cascade of shards.
Draco caught himself on the arm of the sofa, eyes wild and blazing, fully consumed now in the moment, and lunged back at her. He grabbed her by the waist, lifting her off her feet and slamming her down onto the wide leather sofa, sofa legs scraping across the floor with a harsh screech.
She dragged him down with her, nails clutching for purchase and carving burning lines down his back through his shirt, fabric tearing under the pressure. Draco broke the kiss to bite down on her collarbone, teeth sinking in until she arched and cried out, her hands fisting in his hair, yanking viciously.
He hissed against her skin, the tiny pain fueling him, and retaliated by ripping her bra open at the front clasp with one hand, the lace giving way with a snap. His mouth descended on her breast, sucking hard on her nipple, teeth grazing and biting just enough to send shocks of pain-pleasure racing through her.
Hermione's legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, urging him closer as she ground against him, feeling the rigid heat of his cock through his trousers.
They rolled, bodies twisting in a frenzy of limbs and heat, crashing off the sofa onto the thick Persian rug below. The impact jarred Hermione, knocking the breath from her lungs, but she didn't stop—she flipped him beneath her with a surge of strength, straddling his hips and grinding down viciously with a dark grin. Both their eyes were wild with arousal.
The side table they'd knocked earlier fully collapsed now, spilling books and a silver inkwell that rolled away, ink pooling like liquid steel on the rug in a stain. Draco's hands clamped on her thighs, fingers digging in deep enough to leave crescent-shaped bruises, and he bucked up beneath her, grinding his cock against her, and throwing her off balance.
They rolled again, this time slamming into the coffee table, a porcelain teacup falling from it, shattering on the floor.
Draco pinned her beneath him amid the debris, glass crunching under his knees as he forced her thighs apart wider, his weight crushing her into the rug. "You drive me fucking mad woman," he growled, passion turning his voice to gravel, before tearing open his trousers with one hand and yanking up her skirt.
“Color?”, he demanded.
“Green, fuck, so green”, she got out in a heavy breath.
Hermione's nails found his abdomen, raking down in jagged lines, tiny beads of blood welling instantly and smearing sticky between them. He hissed, the pain only heightening the fire in his eyes, and suddenly he pushed her thighs wider and thrust into her without warning—deep, filling her entirely in one forceful stroke.
Hermione's scream was unfilitered, her back arching off the rug, nails shredding deeper into his sides as she clawed at him.
Draco didn't pause; he pounded into her with relentless force, hips slamming against hers with wet, obscene slaps that echoed through the room. The rug burned her back with every thrust, friction turning to raw heat, but she met him move for move, legs locking around his waist, heels pressing into his arse to force him deeper.
"Harder, need more," she gasped, voice hoarse, her hands moving to his back, nails carving long, tearing shallow furrows that made him arch and roar.
Draco's passion was unbridled now; he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand, the other sliding under her arse to lift her hips, changing the angle so each thrust hit deeper, harder, jarring her bones.
Hermione's free leg kicked out, knocking over a magical floor lamp; it toppled with a crash, plunging the room into deeper shadow, the fire's glow now the only light, casting their writhing forms in darkness.
They rolled again, bodies slick with sweat, crashing into the base of the sofa. Draco came up on top, forcing her thighs even wider, pounding into her with a rhythm that bordered on punishment—every stroke a declaration, every gasp from her lips fuel to his fire.
Hermione's nails found his thighs, digging in deep enough to puncture skin, forcing a guttural groan from him as she pulled him closer, deeper. He grabbed them again, pinning them above her head.
"Don't stop… need more… please," she panted, passion making her words fractured, her body clenching around him in desperate waves.
Draco released her wrists to grip her hips with both hands, fingers bruising her flesh as he lifted her slightly off the rug, slamming into her with renewed ferocity. Hermione's hands roamed free now, one tangling in his hair to yank his head down for a biting kiss, the other raking across his chest, nails leaving bloody trails that mingled with sweat.
He broke the kiss to bite her shoulder, teeth sinking in until she cried out, the pain sending fresh waves of heat pooling in her core.
They flipped once more, Hermione on top, riding him with wild abandon, hips grinding down in circles that made him curse and buck beneath her. The rug bunched, fibers ripping as they shifted.
Draco sat up abruptly, wrapping his arms around her waist in a crushing hold, thrusting up into her from below with more force, their bodies slapping together in a rhythm that shook the room. A nearby bookshelf wobbled, a heavy tome tumbling down and thudding beside them, pages fluttering.
Passion consumed them fully now—every thrust, every bite, every scratch a testament to the fire that burned hot between them. Draco's hands moved to her breasts, fingers pinching her nipples with twisting force, drawing sharp cries from her as pain shot straight to her core, amplifying the building pressure.
Hermione's nails embedded in his shoulders, drawing more blood as she leaned down to bite his earlobe, whispering filthy demands between gasps, "Deeper—fuck me like you mean it—"
He obliged, flipping her onto her back one final time amid the chaos, glass crunching beneath them as he drove into her with everything he had—deep, punishing strokes that jarred her entire body, the rug burning her skin with friction. Hermione's legs locked around him, heels pressing into his back, urging him on as her climax built, violent and inevitable.
She finally came with a shattered scream, body seizing, walls spasming so tight around him it bordered on agony. The clench dragged Draco over the edge; he buried himself deep with a rasping yell, spilling hot and endless inside her, hips grinding through every pulse until they were both trembling, spent.
They collapsed in the ruin of the living room—shattered glass glittering, furniture askew, blood and sweat cooling on their skin—chests heaving, still tangled.
Hermione’s laugh was breathless, reverent.
Draco pressed his forehead to hers, voice hoarse with wonder and exhaustion.
“I love you,” he whispered, the words fierce and trembling. “Even when you unhinge me completely.”
She kissed him slow and deep, tasting sweat and fire.
“Especially then.”, she replied. They separated and lay flat on their backs next to each other, gathering their breath before heading to the bathroom.
An hour later, the bathwater had gone tepid, but Hermione and Draco lingered in the deep claw-foot tub, limbs tangled in a loose, exhausted embrace.
Bruises bloomed across her skin like dark flowers, purple fingerprints on her hips where he'd gripped her during the frenzy, a mottled red welt on her shoulder from the bite that had drawn blood, faint rug burns on her back that stung faintly under the water.
Scratches crisscrossed her thighs, shallow but raw, from when he'd forced them apart during their roll across the floor. Her lower lip was a tiny bit split and swollen from one of their biting kisses, and her wrists bore faint silk-burns from earlier restraints, though those were from a different night.
Draco fared no better, with long, jagged cuts down his back from her nails, still weeping tiny beads of blood that turned the water pink around them; a deep bite mark on his collarbone, ringed in teeth imprints and already purpling; scratches across his chest and abdomen that crisscrossed like a map of their passion. His lower lip matched hers—split and tasting faintly of copper—and his shoulders bore crescent-shaped gouges from where she'd clung to him during her climax.
Hermione traced one of the deeper cuts on his chest with a fingertip, her touch feather-light, almost apologetic. "We look like we survived a duel," she murmured, voice hoarse from screaming.
A flush crept up her neck, "I... I can't believe I did that to you. Or that I liked it so much. It's embarrassing, how much I want it like that. The roughness, the pain... what does that say about me?"
Draco's hand covered hers, pressing it flat against his chest, right over the scratches.
"Nothing bad," he said firmly, his voice low and steady, eyes locking on hers with that intense silver gaze.
"It says you're human. Passionate. Alive. There's no shame in wanting release like that, Hermione—not when we both consent, not when it's both of us together wanting it. You think I don't feel the same? Every time you scratched me open, every time you bit down and made me bleed, I felt more connected to you than ever. It's not about hurting, it's about trusting each other enough to let go completely. About the trust, about the release. People like us… who are normally in control of every situation, so professional, so buttoned up all the time… sometimes we crave to fully let ourselves go."
She bit her lip, wincing as it stung the split there, her cheeks burning hotter.
"But I feel... dirty for craving it. Like I should be satisfied with gentle and loving, but gods, when you pinned me and forced those orgasms out of me, when it hurt so good I couldn't think... I loved it. I want you to push me even further next time, to make me beg and cry and still take more. Merlin… It's humiliating to admit that out loud."
Draco shifted, pulling her closer so she straddled his lap in the water, their bruised bodies pressing together with a tender ache. He cupped her face gently, thumbs brushing away the embarrassed tears welling in her eyes.
"Hey, listen to me. There's no humiliation here. No shame. If we both want it—if we're safe and consenting—then it's just us. Our release. Our way of loving each other so hard it leaves marks. I want it too, love. I want to wreck you until you're sobbing my name and then hold you after, kiss every bruise I left. That's not dirty. It’s not deprived. There’s nothing wrong with us wanting that. That's just real."
Hermione leaned her forehead against his, a small, relieved laugh escaping her, "You make it sound almost romantic."
"It is," he whispered, kissing the split on her lip softly, tasting the faint copper. "The bruises, the bites, the cuts—they're proof of how much we trust each other. How deeply we feel. And if you want more, we'll have more of it. No judgment form anyone matters. Just us. And just Theo allowing it."
She nodded, the embarrassment easing into something warmer, more accepting, as she nestled against him, their marked bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. The bond tattoo glowed softly between them, a quiet affirmation of their shared, unashamed passion.
Hours later, after a night of sleep, Hermione lies against Draco’s chest, their breaths syncing as the bond pulses bright and steady.
She thinks, faintly:
Theo will absolutely feel the afterglow in the bond when we get home and hex both of them for teasing him.
Draco seems to read the thought.
He laughs softly.
“We’re definitely owling Theo this morning.”
Morning light spills through the heavy curtains in thin golden lines.
Everything is warm.
And sore.
And deliciously heavy.
She shifts carefully.
A faint ache along her thighs.
Tender bruises blooming like dark constellations across her hips.
Draco’s mouth-shaped marks fading along her collarbone.
The soft sting at her wrists from where he held her — never too tight, but firm enough that her body remembers every moment of it.
She inhales.
It doesn’t hurt, not exactly.
It feels… earned.
Wanted.
Consensual and known.
A kind of grounding.
Next to her, Draco groans into the pillow and rolls onto his stomach. The sheet slips low on his hips, revealing the long, sharp rake of her nails carved down his back.
She winces, “Oh—Draco, I’m so sorry—”
He turns his face just enough to smirk lazily, “Granger… if you apologize for that, I’m going to be personally offended.”
She throws a pillow at him.
He catches it without looking.
A beat of silence settles over them, warm, full, deeply connected.
Draco reaches for her hand under the sheets, lacing their fingers together.
“Are you actually alright?” he asks quietly.
“Anything feel too much now in the morning light?”
Hermione shakes her head. “No. Nothing was too much. Just… new, raw, real. And I feel good. Better than good.”
His shoulders relax, some tension melting.
“Good,” he whispers.
But the tenderness of the moment doesn’t erase the reality: they are both covered in signs of last night.
And Theo had specifically asked them to come home healed so he wouldn’t have to see it and get distressed.
Hermione sighs, “We should probably…”
She gestures toward the bedside table stacked with the potions Theo sent, all St. Mungo’s grade.
“Reapply the bruise paste?” Draco finishes. “Before healers around the world magically sense Theo going into cardiac arrest when we go home?”
Hermione snorts and swats him.
The townhouse bathroom warms with enchanted steam, the mirror fogging. Hermione sits on the counter in her thin camisole while Draco stands between her knees with a jar of bruise balm paste.
He opens it and wrinkles his nose.
“I can brew one better than this,” he mutters. “This smells like high tide seaweed.”
She’s laughing before she can stop herself, “Draco, Theo picked it to take care of us in his own way. Be polite.”
“I will not,” Draco hisses, dabbing the paste onto her thigh with ridiculous delicacy. “This is an insult to all reputable potioneers.”
Hermione shivers, not from the paste, but from the way he’s touching her.
Gentle.
Focused.
Reverent.
“Hold still,” he murmurs, thumb brushing the edge of a tender bruise. “The charm in this needs even pressure.”
“You were not this careful last night,” she teases softly.
He freezes.
Then smirks, wicked and pink-cheeked.
“Yes, well. Last night I distinctly remember you begged me not to be careful.”
She turns crimson instantly, “Draco!”
He kisses her knee to stop her from hiding her face.
The marks fade one by one beneath his touch, as he coats layer after layer of the paste on gently rubbing it in for better absorption.
When he finishes, she takes the jar from him, “Your turn.”
He tenses instinctively, not because he’s embarrassed, but because letting someone tend to his wounds always touches something deep and vulnerable in him.
“Hey,” Hermione says softly. “You took care of me. Let me take care of you.”
Slowly, he nods.
She traces the long nail marks with small healing charms, knitting the flesh back together, whispering an apology each time he flinches — not in pain, but from the intimacy of being touched with tenderness instead of heat.
They heal almost completely under her fingers.
A few bruises she leaves faded but not completely gone on his thigh.
She likes remembering.
He does too.
At the small kitchen table, still half-dressed and eating almond pastries and saugauge sandwitches from a bakery down the street, they write Theo’s morning update.
Hermione chews her pen, thinking.
“We shouldn’t lie,” she says.
“But we also shouldn’t… worry him.”
Draco agrees.
So together they write:
We’re good. Really good.
A few lingering aches, but nothing bad at all — everything healed with the salves.
We had breakfast, and we’re going to spend the day walking the city before heading home late tonight.
No danger. No strange magic. Everything feels safe here.
—H & D
Draco adds:
And yes, we ate. Stop fussing.
—D
Hermione flicks his ear.
He kisses her hair in retaliation.
They send the owl off through the cold Vienna morning.
Hermione leans her head on Draco’s shoulder as the owl disappears into the sky.
He wraps an arm around her instinctively, pulling her closer.
No fire.
No edge.
Just warmth.
“You’re very happy,” Draco murmurs into her hair. “I can feel it.”
“I am,” she whispers.
“Good,” he says, voice low and sincere. “You always deserve to be.”
She turns her face into his shoulder and breathes him in.
He tilts her chin and kisses her — soft, slow, nothing like last night, but just as intense in a quieter way.
“Let’s stay like this a little longer,” he murmurs.
She nods, and they curl on the sofa together, warming by the fire, breathing in the moment.
The mid-day snow in Vienna came down like sifted sugar, soft and glittering. Hermione and Draco walked close together through the winter market, sharing a paper cone of roasted chestnuts. The bond hadn’t calmed since the left the townhouse — if anything it had grown tighter, hotter, humming just under their skin.
Every time their shoulders brushed, the magic between them sparked.
Every time she looked at him, his breath hitched.
Every time he touched her elbow to guide her through a crowd, she felt heat pool low in her stomach.
And Draco felt everything in the bond.
The desire.
The ache.
The anticipation.
The bond was coming to a boil.
His pupils were blown wide, even while pretending to admire glass ornaments and sugared pastries. Hermione pretended too, but both of them knew they were counting minutes before they lost their patience entirely.
“Draco,” Hermione murmured under her breath as they stopped beside a stand selling hand-carved wand holders.
His eyes swept her face, questioning.
“We need to go back.”, she blushed.
He swallowed hard, “Because of the bond?” he asked, even though he already knew.
“Because of everything, bond, feelings, time crunch. I need you more,” she whispered, fingers sliding down his wrist.
He inhaled sharply, desire rolling off him so intensely she felt it in her ribs.
“Let’s go,” he said immediately, voice low and strained.
They apparated onto the living room rug, breathless from holding themselves together the entire walk around the market.
The moment the wards settled around them, Draco’s restraint snapped.
Hermione was against the wall again before she fully registered moving, his mouth crashing onto hers, her fingers threading into his hair, the bond between them flaring with need so bright it almost hurt.
This was urgent.
Burning.
Inevitable.
He pulled back just enough to check her eyes, “You still good?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Merlin, yes.”
“Green?”, he asked for consent.
“The brightest green”, she confirmed.
His eyes arrowed in thought, “How much do you need?”
“Everything, and then some. Don’t hold back at all. Hard, Rough, I need it all. Force it, push me more.”
His eyes were dark was lust, and blown wide hearing her confirmation.
“Ok, I’m going to break you open if that’s what you want… remember your words if it’s too much. I’ll stop no matter what.”
She nodded.
Draco didn’t ask again. He simply stalked across the room, bent, and threw Hermione over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.
She yelped, hands flying to his back for balance, but the sound turned into a breathless laugh as he carried her straight to the bed and tossed her down onto the mattress.
“Strip,” he ordered, voice rough velvet, already tearing his own shirt over his head.
Hermione scrambled to obey, kicking off her skirt and knickers while he shoved his trousers down. Naked in seconds, he crawled over her, eyes dark and predatory.
He took the heavy silver Malfoy signet ring from his right hand and pressed it against her lips.
“Open.”
She did, tongue flicking out to taste the cool metal. Draco slid the ring over her lips, whispered a low Vibratus, and the silver began to hum with a deep, relentless vibration.
He pushed her thighs apart with bruising hands and pressed the vibrating ring straight against her clit.
Hermione’s back bowed off the bed on impact with a sharp cry. The vibration was intense, almost too much, buzzing straight through her swollen nerves. Draco held it there mercilessly, circling slowly, watching with pride as her face twisted with overwhelmed pleasure.
“Draco—fuck—it’s—”
“Take it,” he growled, sliding the ring lower and pushing it inside her in one smooth motion. The cold, vibrating metal stretched her, seated deep, the crest pressing hard against her front wall. Hermione screamed, hips jerking, hands clawing at the sheets as the relentless buzz filled her from the inside.
He didn’t give her time to adjust.
Mouth and hands descended: teeth on her nipples, biting until she sobbed, fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave immediate bruises, nails scraping red lines down her ribs. Every rough touch made the ring shift, the vibration intensifying against her g-spot until she was thrashing, tears already leaking form her eyes.
“Come,” he commanded against her throat, biting down lightly again. “Come with my ring inside you.”
The orgasm hit at the demand. Hermione’s body seized, walls clamping down on the vibrating metal, a raw scream tearing from her throat as she came hard. Draco kept the ring pressed deep until the last spasm passed, then slowly drew it out, the sudden emptiness making her whimper.
“Spread your legs,” he growled, voice raw.
Hermione obeyed instantly, thighs falling wide, chest heaving. Draco shoved his trousers down just enough to free his cock, thick, flushed dark, already dripping, and notched her. Sinking in while watching her eyes get wider and winder with he stretch.
She screamed, back bowing off the mattress, nails raking down his arms hard enough to draw blood.
“Too deep, fuck, Draco!”
“You’ll take it,” he growled, hips snapping forward again, harder, forcing her body to open for him. “You begged for this. Take every inch.”
He started pounding, no build-up, no mercy, hips pistoning with violent force. The headboard slammed the wall in a steady, deafening rhythm.
“Harder,” she sobbed, tears already streaming. “Break me—please—”
Draco’s hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back until her throat was exposed. “Wild little thing,” he rasped, teeth sinking into her neck hard enough to bruise again. “You want to be ruined? I’ll fucking ruin you.”
He shifted, hooking both her legs over his shoulders, folding her nearly in half, and drove in so deep she practically felt him in her spine.
Hermione’s scream cracked, “Draco—gods—it hurts— green.”
“Good,” he grumbled, thumb dropping to her clit and rubbing vicious circles. “Feel me splitting you open. Feel how deep I am.”
Every thrust slammed her hips into the mattress, skin burning, bruises blooming instantly where his fingers dug in. She clawed at his back, nails carving bloody furrows. He hissed, slammed harder, the wet slap of their bodies obscene and relentless.
“Again,” he demanded, voice shredded. “Come again. I want to feel you milk me.”
“I can’t—can’t—” she sobbed, body shaking, tears soaking the pillow.
“You fucking will,” he growled, shifting to pin both her wrists above her head with one hand, the other sliding under her arse to lift her, forcing an even deeper angle.
“I’m going to force it out of you. Color?”
“Green,” she wailed, voice breaking. “Green—don’t stop—harder—”
He gave her harder.
The bed rocked like it was trying to escape them. Draco railed her with everything he had: hips snapping, cock battering her walls insanely, thumb grinding her clit in ruthless, slippery circles.
Sweat dripped from his jaw onto her breasts, scalding and salty.
Hermione’s second orgasm detonated like an atomic blast.
She screamed until her voice gave out, body seizing, walls clamping down so hard Draco groaned like he was in pain. A fresh gush of wetness soaked them both, dripping down her thighs, the sheets, his balls.
He still didn’t stop.
He rolled her onto her stomach, yanked her hips up, and slammed back in from behind, deeper than before. The new angle forced a raw, broken sound from her throat with every thrust.
“Again,” he snarled, hand fisting her hair, pulling until her back arched painfully. “I want one more. I want you destroyed.”
“Draco—I can’t—please—” she sobbed, tears flowing freely, body trembling.
“You can,” he growled, reaching around to rub her clit again, vicious and unrelenting. “I’m going to rip another one out of you. Beg me.”
“Please,” she wailed, pushing back despite herself. “Please make me come again—force it—fuck—”
He did.
Shifted them again for a deeper angle, and started slamming into her with short, punishing strokes that hit her g-spot on every single thrust. The bed mattress was half off the frame now, legs scraping grooves in the floor.
Hermione’s third orgasm tore through her like a raging wild fire.
She silent screamed, voice completely gone, body convulsing so hard her vision whited out. A faint, sharp sting bloomed deep inside, but the pain only sharpened the pleasure until it was unbearable, exquisite.
Draco followed with a gruff howl, smashing in to the balls and spilling deep and long, hips pounding through every wave until they were both shaking, and totally spent.
When he finally pulled out, his cock was streaked with their releases and a thin ribbon of blood.
He froze, eyes wide with horror.
Hermione reached for him blindly, still trembling. “I’m okay,” she rasped, voice wrecked. “I wanted it. I asked for it. I knew that was happening. And I loved it. So fucking good…”
Draco collapsed beside her, pulling her into his arms, pressing kisses to her tear-streaked face.
“Salazar, wife, you’re going to kill me. You’re insane,” he whispered, voice cracking with awe.
She flushed and laughed a bit.
“And you’re completely perfect.”, he concluded.
Reality returned slowly, the soreness, the sweat, the bruises already forming again.
Theo’s voice echoed in both their minds as a promise:
“Before you come home, be totally healed.”
Hermione sighed, “He’s going to do a full scan the moment we walk in, isn’t he even if the evidence is gone?”
Draco groaned, “He is absolutely going to do a full scan the moment we walk in.”
So they gathered the potions Theo packed:
- bruise balm
- superficial cut salve
- skin mending cream
- muscle relaxant
- strengthening tonic
- hydration draught
They healed each other quietly, gently, and completely, Draco brushing balm across her hips with a soft kiss each time a bruise faded.
Hermione mended the new bite mark on his shoulder with a flick of her wand, smirking when he glared at her for erasing it.
“Don’t pout,” she teased. “Theo would faint if you showed up like that.”
Draco rolled his eyes, “He would,” he admitted.
They put on fresh clothes, muttering cleaning and healing spells in abundance.
Once they looked normal, flushed maybe, but completely uninjured, Hermione tied her hair back and straightened her coat.
“Ready?”
Draco took her hand, squeezing once, “More than ready to see Theo.”
Draco pressed a silver thimble into her palm — the Portkey he’d prepared before they arrived in Vienna.
She wrapped her fingers around it.
He wrapped his around hers.
“One…”
“Two…”
“Three.”
The tug behind their navels was sharp, cold, and twisting.
And in a rush of wind and magic, Vienna vanished.
Nott Manor’s entry hall rose up around them.
Warm.
Safe.
Home.
And the second their boots hit the floor, Hermione knew;
Theo felt them arrive.
Felt the newly balanced heat in the bond.
Felt that they were safe.
Felt everything remaining in the bond.
Notes:
How do you all think Theo is going to react?
Chapter 283: Debriefing Vienna
Chapter Text
The world stopped spinning the moment Draco and Hermione’s Portkey released them into the entrance hall of Nott Manor.
Before either of them could catch their breath, the thundering sound of footsteps echoed from the upper landing.
Theo.
He flew down the stairs so fast he nearly tripped on the last three steps. He didn’t bother with words. Didn’t bother pretending to be calm. He reached Hermione first, grabbing her face with shaking hands and pulling her into his chest.
Hermione let out a shaky exhale and curled into him.
Draco stepped in right behind them, resting a firm, grounding hand between their shoulders.
Theo’s voice was low, rough, half-broken, “You’re home… you’re really home in one piece.”
Hermione felt it, his relief flooding the bond like warm honey.
Draco felt it too. The room hummed with it.
Theo didn’t let go.
Not for a full minute.
Not until his breath stopped hitching.
Only then did he pull back, eyes shining, cheeks flushed.
“Let me—just—scan you both,” he murmured, already lifting his wand.
Hermione held out her arms obediently.
Draco gave a crooked smirk, “We healed before coming back like we promised.”
“I don’t care,” Theo muttered. “I still need to see it.”
Blue and gold light shimmered over Hermione’s skin first.
Then Draco’s.
Theo’s shoulders slowly unwound with every clean reading, every pulse of stable magic, every confirmation that their bodies were completely fine.
When he finally lowered his wand, he let out a breath so deep it shook him, “Good,” he murmured, voice thick. “Good. You’re both basically okay.”
“Tell me, what was the worst injury either of you got?”
Draco looked a tad guilty, “Well, I guess, Hermione…”.
“No, it wasn’t even bad at all, and the healing potion and cream fixed it instantly.”, Hermione cut him off.
Theo looked uncertain, turning to Draco, “Well, what was it?”
Draco looked down, “She tore a bit… inside, but she said it was fine and didn’t really hurt. We took care of it immediately.”
Theo looked a bit murderous, “Draco, what the hell? That’s not being safe. It takes some effort to tear her there.”
Hermione put her finger to his lips, shushing him, “No, it wasn’t Draco’s fault. It just happened, we were both being exuberant and enthusiastic. I asked for more, for the intensity to rise. It barely hurt at all when it happened, and it hardly stung after either. We took care of it, and I’m good as new. It was tiny, barely there at all. It really wasn’t a big deal at all.”
Theo looked reluctant to believe her, eyeballing Draco still, who was nodding with her words.
“I promise it was truly nothing.”, she emphasized.
“Fine. But be mindful in the future.”
Draco curtly nodded, and Hermione confirmed, “Ok.”
Draco stepped closer and pressed their foreheads together—Theo in the middle, Hermione on one side, Draco on the other.
This.
This was the part of the bond Theo felt best with—when they surrounded him, held him, let him be the center without asking for anything back.
Hermione felt his spine soften under her palms.
Draco felt him exhale deeply..
“Hey,” Hermione whispered. “We’re here. We’re safe. And we missed you too.”
Theo swallowed hard, “I missed you both so much my chest hurt. I was so nervous it would go sideways somehow. I know you both needed it, and I don’t regret giving it to you, but Merlin, I was anxious.”
That confession made Hermione’s heart clench.
Draco blinked rapidly, pretending it was dust.
Finally, Theo stepped back, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand.
“Come upstairs,” he said. “We need to… talk about it.”
They didn’t argue.
They followed him up the staircase and into the main sitting room in their chambers. The fire was going, the lamps low, three blankets thrown across the couch in nervous preparation.
Theo sat first.
Draco sat beside him.
Hermione took the cushion in front of them and sat cross-legged on the carpet so she could look up at both of them.
Their triangle.
Complete again.
Theo’s jaw tensed for a moment before he finally said, “Tell me everything.”
Hermione took a slow breath.
“Okay. We will. But… before Vienna—before we left—I want you to know that we talked about you the entire time.”
Theo blinked, “What?”
“We talked about your needs,” Draco said softly. “Your comfort. Your boundaries. That we wouldn’t go too far. That you came first in all of this. That if you didn’t ok it, we wouldn’t do it. That we respect your boundaries. We love you so much more than any type of sex.”
Theo’s eyes went soft.
Draco spoke softly, “We also want you to know how thankful we are that you’ve been so understanding, and allowed us this. I know it’s hard for you to understand why we like this, why we crave it, and that makes it even more meaningful that you still gave us this even though you had reservations.”
Then Hermione told him everything.
Every detail of Vienna.
Walking through the winter markets.
Talking openly about boundaries.
What she wanted to explore and why.
How every decision they made was mutual.
What happened, how they each felt after every encounter.
What they liked, what they didn’t.
How they healed after each round so Theo wouldn’t have to see anything that might hurt him.
How present he was in their minds.
“I thought about you the whole time,” Hermione said softly. “Even when things got intense. Especially then. Because I knew you’d worry.”
Theo’s eyes filled.
Draco reached over and took Theo’s hand.
“We didn’t lose ourselves,” Draco said quietly. “No matter how rough it got. We stayed in control. And it brought Hermione clarity, not confusion. That was the whole point.”
Theo’s breath caught.
“You’re sure,” he whispered. “You’re both sure it was the right thing to do?”
Hermione nodded immediately.
“Yes, Theo. I needed it. Not to distance from you, but to understand myself. To heal parts of myself. To face parts of myself. And—”
She reached out, taking both of their hands.
“—everything I discovered in Vienna makes me feel closer to you both. Not further.”
Theo let out a trembling exhale.
His shoulders shook, “I was so scared,” he admitted, voice cracking. “I trust you both more than anything, but I’ve never been good at—at not being there. At not protecting you.”
Draco cupped Theo’s jaw gently.
“You protect us every damn day,” he said. “By being who you are. By being steady. By being the one who sees what we need before we do. By being the one who holds us together with sheer willpower.”
A few tears leaked, “I was really scared you’d like this so much you’d never want the type of things I can offer you any more.”
Draco shook his head, “No, of course not, there’s a time and place… the right moment for what we were doing, but it’s not an all the time thing. Your always all the time of course.”
Hermione added softly, “You’re our heart, Theo.”
Theo’s breath stuttered.
“And you both are my whole world,” he whispered.
Hermione crawled up onto the couch and knelt between them, pulling both their hands to her chest.
“There was some things I realized I like… that Draco thinks you would too. It wasn’t all rough the whole time.”
Theo’s eyes widened and darkened, “Like what?”
Draco chuckled, “Mate, she discovered she likes to be commanded.”
Theo’s eyebrows rose, and his voice lowered, “Oh really… how much?”
Hermione blushed, and draco explained, “She likes to be told what to do... to yourself and to herself. It really gets her going to hand over complete control.”
Theo grinned at her, “Oh love, we’re going to test that out some more sometime.”
Draco wasn’t done embarrassing her yet, “And you know already she likes the scarf restraints… and you’re the master of that, so I’m sure you’ll find many more ways to keep surprising her with that.”
Theo nodded, “Anything else I should specifically know about your revelations?”
Hermione and Draco’s eyes met, and she flushed even more, hiding herself in the crook of Theo’s arm.
Theo laughed, “Oh something real good then it seems…?”
“She’s been holding back on us.”, Draco admitted with a smirk.
“What do you mean?”
Draco continued with pride, “She can handle multiple orgasms… and I don’t mean the two or three we’ve occasionally gotten together from her… she can keep going, you just have to really coax them out of her. She likes it, how wrung out she feels after. I got five from her in one sessions, and honestly, if I’d been more pushy, she probably could have given another.”
Theo’s jaw dropped, and he pushed her out of his arm to lock eyes with her, “Is that true love? Do you like to keep going even after all the intensity of it?”
She was bright red, “Yes, apparently sometimes I need that.”
Theo and Draco were exchanging conspiratorial glances.
“No more fear," she told him. “No more worrying that Vienna was a wedge between us and you. It wasn’t. It was a step. One we needed. One that makes us stronger. One that helps us move toward what comes next.”
Draco murmured, “And what comes next is all three of us raising a family, mastering our triad magic, eliminating psychos from society, and being stupidly in love for the rest of our lives.”
Theo let out a laugh.
Then he finally leaned forward and rested his forehead against Hermione’s.
“I love you,” he whispered.
She smiled, eyes warm and soft. “I love you too.”
Theo turned and pressed his forehead to Draco’s.
“And you. I love you more than I know how to say. Thank you for keeping her happy and safe.”
Draco’s voice broke, “I love you, Theo. And I love you, Hermione. Always.”
They sank into a three-way embrace on the couch, arms around shoulders and waists, breath mingling, magic weaving around them like warm silk.
The bond pulsed—steady, complete, glowing.
For the first time in months, it felt absolutely right.
Theo exhaled against both their necks, utterly at peace.
“Just… don’t ever leave me out. I know you’ll do these things again, and I want you to if that’s what you need, just share with me after. Don’t lock me out.,” he whispered.
Hermione kissed his cheek.
Draco kissed his temple.
“Never,” they said together.
And they meant it.
For a long moment after their embrace, the three of them simply stayed wrapped around each other on the couch, breathing each other in. No urgency. No tension. Just warmth and quiet and relief.
Hermione was the first to shift—but only to curl sideways across Theo’s lap, stretching her legs out so they draped across Draco’s thighs. The boys followed the movement naturally, one hand on her leg, one hand on her back, like they had done this a thousand times.
Theo brushed her curls back from her face with gentle fingers.
“You look more like yourself again, like before you were taken,” he murmured.
“Because I feel more like myself again now,” she whispered.
Draco’s thumb traced circles on her knee, the contact grounding and warm.
The fire crackled softly. The lamps were low and golden. Outside, the wind rattled faintly against the windows, but in here… it felt like the world had stopped.
Hermione turned slightly and reached for Draco’s hand first, threading their fingers together. He exhaled, visibly undone by how natural the gesture felt.
Then she reached for Theo’s shirt, tugging him closer until he leaned forward, nose brushing her hairline before kissing her forehead. It lingered longer than usual—slow, reverent, full of everything he hadn’t been able to say.
The bond hummed.
Warm.
Steady.
Hungry, but not frantic.
Craving closeness, not chaos.
Hermione gently cupped Theo’s jaw and pulled him into a soft kiss, barely a brush of lips. Tender. Slow. Nothing like Vienna’s intensity. Just the two of them remembering how to breathe together.
Theo let out a quiet whimper.
He hadn’t realized how badly he needed that kind of touch today until he had it.
Then she turned toward Draco.
He was already watching her, eyes stormy and soft all at once. When she leaned in, his breath hitched, he’d been careful, restrained, reverent since coming home for Theo.
Hermione solved that by sliding her hand behind his neck and pulling him into a kiss that made her toes curl.
Draco inhaled sharply against her mouth.
Theo’s hand flexed on her hip.
The bond pulsed, bright, warm, steady.
No one rushed.
No one pushed.
It was slow. Savoring. Healing.
Theo leaned his forehead against the back of her shoulder, breathing her in while Draco kissed her again, deeper this time, his hand brushing her cheek like she was the most delicate, precious thing he had ever touched.
Hermione whispered, “I love you both,” between kisses, voice a little breathless, a little shaky.
Draco’s breath stuttered. “Merlin, I love you.”
Theo kissed her shoulder. “More than I know how to say. Love you both so much.”
They stayed like that for a long time—touching, kissing, stroking gentle hands along familiar skin. The room warm, the fire low, magic humming around them like a blanket.
And slowly, slowly, the heat eased into something softer than desire—something bone-deep and quiet. A peaceful kind of intimacy that had nothing to do with sex at all.
Hermione’s head eventually lolled back onto Draco’s thigh.
Theo nuzzled against her shoulder like a sleepy cat.
Draco ran his fingers through both their hair, stroking slowly, lovingly, the firelight flickering across all three of them.
Finally Hermione murmured, her voice soft and drowsy, “Should we go to bed before you fall asleep here?”
Theo and Draco answered at the same time, both whispering, “Yes.”
They didn’t bother with lights, Draco murmured a soft Lumos diminuendo to create just enough glow to walk upstairs without stubbing toes.
Hermione held both their hands as they climbed the steps, the three of them moving like a single unit.
In the suite, the room was warm from the fireplace, the bed huge and inviting.
Theo pulled the covers back.
Draco dimmed the lights to a soft orange.
Hermione slipped in first, settling into the center without hesitation.
Theo climbed in behind her, spooning up to her back, an arm around her waist.
Draco climbed in front of her, pressing his forehead to hers, one hand on her hip, the other stroking her fingers.
Their legs tangled.
Their breathing synced.
The bond sighed with relief.
Hermione whispered into the quiet, “Stay close tonight?”
“As if we’d be anywhere else,” Draco murmured.
“I’m not letting go of either of you,” Theo added, voice already thick with impending sleep.
Hermione smiled sleepily.
Theo nuzzled into her shoulder.
Draco kissed the corner of her mouth.
The bond flared once—warm and bright—before settling into a steady glow that felt like home.
Within minutes, Theo fell asleep first, breath even against her back.
Draco followed soon after, his hand still loosely holding hers even in sleep.
Hermione drifted last, surrounded by warmth and breath and love, held firmly between the two people who had crossed countries, oceans, and boundaries of magic to find her.
She slept without fear.
Without nightmares.
Without instability in the bond.
Just peace.
Just them.
Just home.
Notes:
Favorite part of Vienna and this conversation? Let me know in the comments.
Chapter 284: Domestic Simplicity
Notes:
Ginny being a prying friend, and everyone settling back into home.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione thinks she wakes first.
The early winter sun filters pale gold across the bedroom, dust motes floating lazily through the quiet. She’s warm everywhere, pressed between the two bodies she loves most.
Theo is behind her, arm draped over her waist, face buried in her hair. His breath is gentle, steady, warm on her neck.
Draco is pressed to her front, one leg tangled over hers, one hand splayed protectively across her hip. His thumb is moving absentmindedly in tiny circles.
He’s awake.
Not moving.
Just watching her.
Hermione’s eyes flutter open to find him gazing at her like she’s something holy.
He whispers, voice rough from sleep,
“Good morning, darling.”
Her chest tightens with affection.
She cups his cheek. “Hi.”
She rolled a bit away to look at them.
Theo slept deeply, one arm flung above his head, the other curled loosely over his stomach, chest rising and falling in slow, even rhythm. The sheet had slipped low on his hips, revealing the sharp cut of his hipbones and the dark trail of hair disappearing beneath.
Hermione had now been awake for twenty minutes, lying on her side, just watching him.
Watching the way his throat moved when he swallowed in his sleep. Watching the faint flutter of pulse beneath the thin skin of his neck. Watching the way his cock twitched occasionally under the sheet, half-hard already from whatever dream he was lost in.
Her own body was thrumming, low and insistent, the bond tattoo on her finger pulsing like a second heartbeat. She glanced at Draco now propped against the headboard, book forgotten, eyes already on her, silver and predatory in the dim light, sensing her plan.
He didn’t speak. He just lifted one brow, slow and deliberate, and gave the tiniest nod.
Permission. Encouragement. A dare.
Hermione’s breath caught. She moved slowly, sliding down the bed on her belly, the silk sheets cool against her bare breasts. Every inch was deliberate, silent, predatory. She settled between Theo’s thighs, nudging them apart with her shoulders until he shifted in his sleep, instinctively opening for her.
The sheet was the only barrier left. She hooked a single finger under it and drew it down, inch by torturous inch, until his cock lay fully exposed, thick, flushed, curving up against his stomach, already leaking at the pierced tip.
Hermione let the anticipation stretch with Draco’s gaze on them.
She didn’t touch him yet. Just hovered, breath ghosting over the sensitive head, watching it twitch, watching a fresh bead of pre-come well and spill over. Theo’s hips gave the tiniest jerk; a low, unconscious sound rumbled in his chest.
Draco’s voice came from the headboard.
“Tease him awake, love. Make him beg before he even opens his eyes.”
Hermione smiled against Theo’s skin, then dragged the flat of her tongue up the underside of his cock in one slow, wet stripe from base to tip, swirling around the head and barbells like she had all the time in the world.
Theo’s breath stuttered. His eyes stayed closed, but his fingers flexed against the pillow.
She did it again. Again. Again. Each lick slower than the last, until his cock was slick and shining, until his thighs tensed and his hips started rolling in tiny, helpless thrusts.
Only then did she take him in.
One smooth, deliberate glide, lips stretching around him, cheeks hollowing as she sank down until her nose pressed into the warm skin of his groin. She swallowed once, hard, throat fluttering around the head.
Theo’s eyes snapped open on a sharp, shocked inhale.
“Fuck—Hermione—what?”
His hand flew to her hair, fingers tangling, hips bucking involuntarily. She pulled off just enough to speak, lips brushing the tip with every word.
“Good morning.”
Then she took him again, deeper, faster, setting a ruthless rhythm, head bobbing, tongue pressing against the underside on every upstroke. Theo’s groans turned ragged, his free hand clawing at the sheets.
Draco’s voice cut through the wet sounds of her mouth, “Look at him, darling. Look how fast you’ve got him wrecked.”
Theo’s glazed eyes flicked to Draco, then back down to Hermione, pupils blown wide.
“You absolute menace,” he rasped, voice still thick with sleep and lust. “Don’t you dare stop... please.”
Hermione hummed around him, the vibration ripping another groan from his chest, and took him to the base again, swallowing, holding, letting him feel her throat work.
Draco’s hand was moving beneath the sheet now, slow and deliberate on himself.
“Make him come down your throat,” he ordered, voice dark. “I want to watch you swallow every drop.
Hermione’s pace turned fast, sloppy, and insistent, saliva dripping down Theo’s shaft, pooling at the base. Theo’s hips snapped up, fucking her mouth in shallow, desperate thrusts.
“Close—fuck—Hermione—”, he groaned.
She took him deeper, swallowed once more, and he shattered.
Theo came with a shout, hips jerking, fingers tightening almost painfully in her hair as he spilled in thick jets down her throat. Hermione took it all, swallowing around him until he was shaking, oversensitive, begging in broken whispers.
Only then did she pull off with a soft, wet pop, licking her swollen lips, eyes locked on his dazed face.
Draco’s voice was pure gravel, “You two are so sexy.”
He was already moving, sheet flung aside, cock hard and heavy in his fist, and he came with just a few more pumps.
Theo laughed, breathless and wrecked, dragging Hermione up for a filthy kiss, tasting himself on her tongue.
Hermione laughs after, the sound soft and warm. She traces her fingers lightly over Draco’s jaw, marveling at how peaceful he looks in the morning light. He leans into her touch like a man starved for softness.
The bond hums—steady, golden, content.
Theo stretching behind her before rolling onto his back. He looks over at the two of them, smiling still sleepily.
“You two look disgustingly in love right now.”
“We are, with you” Hermione says simply, and both boys freeze for a heartbeat.
Then Theo beams.
Draco swallows hard.
And Hermione feels the bond flare with warmth, gratitude, awe.
Theo reaches for her hand, pulling her up and into a tight, sleepy, morning cuddle pile. The three of them lie tangled for several minutes, touching lazily, soaking in the quiet peace that has been missing for so long.
Eventually, Hermione murmurs, “I should get up. Ginny’s expecting me.”
Theo groans like he’s being tortured.
Draco rolls his eyes affectionately.
“Fine,” Theo says, kissing Hermione’s shoulder. “But breakfast first.”
“Breakfast sounds perfect.”
Fifteen minutes later, Hermione is wrapped in Theo’s oversized jumper and the boys are still in sweatpants as they move around the kitchen.
Theo is shirtless, hair a mess, humming quietly as he slices fruit and flips cinnamon pancakes. Hermione sits on the counter, watching him with an expression of love in her eyes.
Draco is making tea, moving slowly, lazily, still not fully awake. He pauses halfway through the teapot enchantment because he’s looking at Hermione again, like he can’t stop.
“You’re staring,” she teases.
He shrugs, “Very aware.”
Theo snorts, “He’s been like this since we woke up.”
Draco throws a tea towel at him. Theo catches it easily and swats Draco with it.
Hermione laughs, loudly, freely.
Breakfast is warm, sweet, soft. Pancakes and berries and her favorite tea. Theo keeps brushing his fingers across her thigh. Draco keeps leaning over to whisper small things in her ear, little compliments, little reassurances, little “I love you”s he probably doesn’t even realize he’s saying aloud.
When she gets up to put her plate in the sink, Draco stops her with a gentle hand on her wrist.
“Stay still a moment,” he murmurs.
She does.
He fixes the collar of Theo’s jumper on her shoulders, fingers warm against her collarbone. Then he kisses her forehead, tender and slow.
Theo comes behind her and presses a kiss to the back of her neck, “You look happy,” he murmurs.
“I truly am.”
The bond glows.
Around eleven, Theo stands by the floo in his healer robes, hair now neatly combed back, expression soft but reluctant.
“I’ll be home before dinner,” he promises.
Hermione hugs him tightly. He rests his forehead on hers.
“Be safe,” she whispers.
“You too.”
Theo presses a lingering kiss to her mouth, then another to Draco’s jaw.
Then he’s gone in a swirl of green flame.
Hermione grabs her cloak and heads out too.
Ginny meets her outside the Holyhead Harpies training facility, bundled in a thick brown coat, hair braided back, cheeks flushed from the cold.
“There she is!” Ginny beams, pulling Hermione into a hug. “You look radiant. Triad life suits you well.”
Hermione blushes, “Shut up.”
“I will not.” Ginny loops her arm through Hermione’s. “Come on. I need your opinion before the team commits to monstrosities.”
Inside the fitting rooms, Ginny is already stripping down to her sports bra and leggings.
“They’re going for ‘modern, aerodynamic, semi-armored,’” Ginny says, rolling her eyes. “But I think I look like a fashionable beetle.”
Hermione laughs so loudly the seamstress flinches.
Ginny emerges in the first uniform, a sleek green-and-gold leather hybrid with reinforced shoulder guards.
Hermione’s eyes widen, “Oh. Oh wow. Ginny. That’s… actually very cool.”
“I look like a sexy battle mantis.”
“You look like you could destroy nations.”
Ginny grins, twisting in the mirror, “Will Harry combust?”
“Almost certainly.”
“Excellent.”
The next hour is a blur of Ginny modeling different designs; tight-fitting trousers, armored boots, enchanted grip gloves, aerodynamic capes that look like dragon wings.
Hermione gives detailed notes about practicality and aesthetics.
Ginny gives dramatic poses.
They both cackle endlessly.
“There,” Hermione says finally, pointing to the fourth outfit, dark emerald with black reinforced strips and gold charcoal accents. “That’s the one.”
Ginny grins. “It is, isn’t it?”
“You’ll terrify the entire league.”
“Music to my ears.”
After the last uniform fitting, they bundle back into their coats and step out into the bright, cold early January afternoon.
Snow dusts the pavement, melting lightly on Ginny’s hair. She links her arm through Hermione’s again.
“Hot chocolate?” Ginny asks.
“That’s not even a question.”
They duck into a small wizarding café off the main training square—a cozy little place with frosted windows and the smell of cinnamon hanging in the air. A fireplace crackles quietly an dlowin the corner.
Hermione orders her usual, simple dark hot chocolate with a cinnamon stick.
Ginny orders something aggressively Weasley, hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, whipped cream, graham cracker crumbs, and a drizzle of butterscotch.
Hermione stares.
Ginny smirks, “Don’t judge me, it’s bulking season.”
They settle into a booth by the window.
For a few breaths, nothing but peaceful sipping.
Then Ginny leans her chin on her hand, eyes warm and perceptive, “So. You look… different.”
Hermione blinks. “Different how?”
Ginny grins mischievously, “Like someone who just had a very Good Time in Vienna.”
Hermione chokes on her drink.
Ginny cackles, “I knew it.”
Hermione groans, face buried in her hands, “Oh Merlin, please don’t start—”
“I’m not judging! I’m celebrating you! You’ve been through hell, Hermione. You deserve joy. And Draco deserves to be shaken to his core every once in a while.”
Hermione goes pink from the neckline up, “I’m not going to tell you…”.
Ginny interrupted, leaning forward on her elbows, eyes gleaming. “Come on, ‘Mione. I’ve seen the way he looks at you—like he wants to eat you alive and then apologize with his tongue. I need details. Full details.”
Hermione groaned, hiding her face in her hands again, but the blush was creeping down her neck.
Ginny poked her arm, “Bruises? Scratching? Did he actually throw you around?”
Hermione peeked through her fingers, “Maybe.”
Ginny’s grin turned positively feral, “Scale of one to ten, how destroyed are you right now after a few days of him?”
Hermione bit her lip, voice dropping to a mortified whisper, “…Eleven.”
Ginny let out a triumphant whoop that made the mugs rattle, “I knew it! Tell me everything. Does he bite? Is he growly? Does he—”
“He’s… intense,” Hermione managed, face on fire. “Like, ‘break-the-bedframe-and-leave-me-limping’ intense. There was… a lot of pinning. And scratching. And… he might have ripped my knickers off with his teeth at one point.”
Ginny’s eyes went comically wide,“Teeth? Merlin’s pants, Granger.”
“And he—well—he likes to make me come until I’m crying and begging him to stop but also begging him not to, and I didn’t know I liked that until—”
Ginny held up both hands,“Stop. Stop right there or I’m going to need a cold shower. I just—bloody hell, Hermione. I’m proud and jealous in equal measure.”
Hermione laughed, still scarlet, but the embarrassment was starting to feel like giddy pride, “He’s… careful after. It’s ridiculous how safe I feel when he’s just wrecked me.”
Ginny reached across the table and squeezed her hand, suddenly softer. “That’s the bit that matters most, yeah? The wrecking and the repairing.”
Hermione nodded, eyes suspiciously bright. “Yeah. It really is.”
Ginny grinned again, wicked. “Good. Now, one more question and then I’ll stop being apest. On average, how many orgasms are we talking before you tap out with him?”
Hermione buried her face in her arms on the table and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “two, three… sometimes five.”
Ginny’s delighted cackle could probably be heard acrossed the café.
“Draco sodding Malfoy, you absolute madlad,” she crowed. “I’m sending him a thank-you card on your behalf.”
Hermione shook her head no.
Ginny softens, nudging her foot under the table, “Seriously… how are you feeling? About everything?”
Hermione exhales slowly, fingers tracing the rim of her cup.
“I feel… whole again. Like things finally make sense.”
A pause.
“And like I want them. Both of them. All the time. It’s ridiculous.”
Ginny grins wide, “There she is.”
Hermione smiles shyly, “The bond feels strong. Stable. It’s almost glowing constantly lately.”
Ginny’s voice gentles, “That’s how it’s supposed to be. I’m really happy for you, you know.”
“Thank you.”
They chat for nearly an hour about Quidditch gossip, the ministry, Theo’s healer apprenticeship chaos, Draco’s latest political sparring match with a ministry bureaucrat.
Eventually Hermione glances at the clock.
“I should get home. The boys wanted to have a quiet evening together.”
Ginny raises her cup in a toast.
“To love. To stability. And to you having the best damn Winter ever.”
Hermione blushes so violently the barista looks concerned.
By the time Hermione arrives back at Nott Manor, snow has started falling again.
She steps through the warded doors into the warmth of the entrance hall.
She can feel them immediately.
Theo, warm, tired, tender. His magic is weary but content.
Draco, focused, tense in that familiar way he gets when he’s trying not to hover, not to worry, not to pace.
They’re in the library an elf tells her.
She shrugs off her coat and walks softly toward the archway. Inside, Theo is asleep on the sofa, curled sideways, one arm thrown over his eyes, exhaustion radiating from every inch of him.
Draco sits beside him, back against the sofa armrest, one hand absently stroking through Theo’s hair while reading a ledger.
Hermione stands in the doorway for a long moment, heart squeezing at the sight.
Draco looks up.
And instantly his whole face softens.
His shoulders relax.
His magic hums warm and relieved.
“You’re home,” he says quietly.
Theo stirs at the sound of Draco’s voice, blinking groggily, “Hermione?”
She crosses the room, kneels beside the sofa, and presses a gentle kiss to Theo’s cheek.
“I’m here.”
Theo exhales, melting into her touch.
Draco sets aside his book and reaches out to brush a bit of snow from her hair.
“How was Ginny?”
“Fiery, and apparently basically a model now” Hermione smiles. “She sends her love. And her threats.”
Draco sniffs, “Of course she does.”
She crawls up between them on the sofa, curling under Draco’s arm while Theo shifts enough to tuck his face into her shoulder.
They sit there quietly for several minutes.
Three heartbeats blending.
Three magic signatures humming in sync.
Hermione traces light circles on Theo’s wrist, then looks up at Draco with a soft expression.
“How were your afternoons?”
Draco brushes his thumb along her shoulder, “Exhausting, but tolerable. I missed you.”
Theo, sleep-muffled: “Same.”
Hermione kisses the top of Theo’s head.
“I missed you both too.”
The bond ripples warm and golden.
Theo looks up then—eyes soft, warm, vulnerable.
“Dinner out? Order in? Or do you two want to try cooking together again? Because the last time that happened, Draco scorched an entire pot of rice so badly when we distrcted him that it fused to the pan.”
Draco splutters. “It was one time a long time—”
“It was last week,” Theo deadpans.
Hermione laughs, leaning her head on Draco’s shoulder.
“Let’s cook together. Something cozy.”
Draco grumbles under his breath but stands anyway, pulling them both to their feet.
The snow falls heavier outside.
Inside, the three of them move quietly toward the kitchen. Dinner ends up being something simple and warm, pumpkin ravioli with sage butter sauce, garlic bread, and a raspebery vinaigrette tossed salad.
Not because any of them planned it well.
But because Theo keeps nodding off standing up, Draco keeps trying to micromanage the stove, and Hermione keeps laughing gently and nudging them both out of the way.
Theo keeps drifting into her space, leaning into the small of her back like gravity itself is conspiring to bring him close.
Draco, for all his dramatics, keeps brushing her hair back from her face every time he passes behind her.
The magic between them all is soft, warm, and gently humming.
At one point, Draco is slicing bread and muttering under his breath about “improper blade charms some idiot at the Ministry tried to teach him once,” and Hermione slips her hand into the back of his shirt, fingertips brushing lightly up his spine.
He freezes.
Theo, drowsy but watching, smiles into his teacup.
Hermione withdraws her hand quickly. “Sorry—”
But Draco turns around, takes her by the waist, and kisses her deeply.
Slow.
Warm.
Reverent.
Theo watches them, eyes soft, chest rising and falling in a tired rhythm.
When Draco finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against hers.
“You never have to apologize for touching me,” he murmurs.
Theo joins them, wrapping his arms around Hermione from behind, chin resting on her shoulder.
“We’re all still figuring this triad magic aspect out,” he says quietly. “But you can touch us anytime for sure.”
Hermione places a hand over his, “I know.”
The three of them stand there for a long moment, Draco in front, Theo behind, Hermione centered between them, all three wrapped in a warm cocoon of magic and breath and soft domestic intimacy.
Eventually, the ravioli is cooked, the bread is toasted, and they drift to the dining table.
Theo sits close beside Hermione, thigh pressed to thigh.
Draco sits across from them, but keeps reaching across the table just to touch their fingers.
They talk about nothing heavy.
Nothing dark.
They talk about Ginny’s new Quidditch uniform.
Theo’s last shift.
Hermione’s future charms plans for the spring.
Luna’s increasingly odd nursery décor.
At one point, Hermione starts laughing so hard she snorts.
The boys freeze.
The bond glows.
Draco sets down his fork. “Do that again.”
“Do what?”
“The snort. It’s adorable.”
Hermione turns bright red. “Absolutely not.”
Theo grins, leaning in to kiss her temple.
“You don’t even know how much we missed hearing it while you were gone.”
The rest of dinner is slow and warm and full of touches, knees nudging, fingers brushing, and small smiles.
By dessert—warm apple tart served with melting ice cream—they’re all leaning toward one another across the table, caught in the steady hum of the bond.
Theo stifles a yawn.
Hermione reaches over and squeezes his hand.
Draco stands abruptly, gathering dishes with a flick of his wand.
“Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s get you two into the sitting room. You’re both half-asleep.”
Theo doesn’t argue.
Hermione pulls him up by the hand.
The bond hums gold.
They settle in the sitting room with a fire crackling low, pine-scented candles lit around the space giving it a rustic vibe.
Theo curls onto the sofa first, stretched out under a blanket.
Hermione joins him, leaning into his side.
Draco sits on the other side of her, pressing a soft kiss just below her ear as he settles.
Hermione lets her fingers drift through Theo’s hair.
He hums, eyes half-closed, clearly fighting sleep.
Draco watches her with a softened, vulnerable expression.
“You’re so good with him,” Draco says quietly.
Hermione turns her head. “With Theo?”
“With both of us.”
Draco’s thumb brushes her knee. “We’re… we’re lucky to have you.”
Theo shifts, half-asleep.
“She’s the glue,” he mumbles.
Hermione laughs softly, brushing a curl off his forehead.
Then the room goes quiet.
Not awkward.
Not tense.
Just… peaceful.
Hermione sighs, leaning fully between them until her head rests on Theo’s shoulder and her feet are tucked under Draco’s thigh.
It feels right.
Theo’s fingers drift lazily up and down her arm.
Draco massages small circles over her ankle.
“This feels…” Hermione starts, searching for the word.
“Safe?” Theo offers.
“Whole?” Draco guesses.
She smiles. “Both.”
Draco shifts closer, pressing a slow kiss to her hair, “You scared us, you know. We worried we’d never see you again.”
Theo nods weakly. “Half my magic was tied in knots when you were gone. I thought—”
Hermione places two fingers over his lips.
“I know. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry that happened.”
Draco’s voice drops, almost a whisper, “We’re never letting anything happen to you again.”
Hermione threads her fingers through his.
The fire pops softly.
Theo breathes against her collarbone.
Draco rests his forehead to her shoulder.
Eventually, Theo falls asleep completely, snoring softly into her hair.
Draco watches her over Theo’s sleeping form.
“You’re everything to us,” he whispers.
Hermione reaches across Theo to cup Draco’s cheek.
“So are you.”
His eyes soften—bright silver, emotional, exposed.
He leans in and kisses her.
A slow, soft, tender kiss.
One that asks nothing except to exist.
When they pull back, Hermione shifts down slowly, letting Theo curl into her more comfortably, one hand resting over his heart.
Draco drapes another blanket over the three of them, dimming the lights with a flick of his wand.
Hermione’s last thought before drifting off is;
This is home.
This is healing.
This is love.
Notes:
Pansy's baby shower is coming up... any ideas for it?
Chapter 285: Theo's First Mind Healer Session
Chapter Text
The mind healer was a tall, silver-haired older witch named Healer Marwen.
She arrives just after breakfast, her robes soft blue and her smile gentle but sharp-eyed in the way of someone who sees straight through people to their soul.
Theo’s stomach twists.
He’s never liked mind healers.
Too many years of keeping his feelings hidden from his father.
Too many years of learning that vulnerability was dangerous.
But Hermione insisted they try one session.
Draco agreed.
And Theo… well, he’d do far more than this for the two people he loves most.
So, he squares his shoulders and leads Marwen into his study, bravely going first.
It smells like himself in here, old books, medicinal herbs, peppermint salve, and the faintest trace of healing potions that seem to seep into the walls.
She shuts the door softly behind them.
“Mr. Nott,” she says as she sits, crossing one leg neatly over the other. “Thank you for agreeing to begin first.”
Theo nods, seating himself across from her.
He folds his hands to hide the way they tremble.
“Let’s get right to it,” she says gently. “Tell me what you think I need to know.”
Theo swallows.
There are about forty answers to that.
He picks the one that seems most recent.
“Well… I suppose the most pressing thing is that Hermione was kidnapped. I know you know that, but—”
“Yes.” She nods. “And you were unable to feel her through the bond while she was gone.”
That hits him harder than he expects.
Theo nods again, jaw tight.
“I thought she was dead maybe,” he says, voice low. “For days. I—Draco and I—we kept… feeling this emptiness. Not silence. Emptiness. Like trying to reach a room that doesn’t exist.”
Marwen tilts her head. “And how did that affect you?”
Theo laughs once, short and humorless, “How do you think?”
“You tell me,” she says softly.
And that does it.
Theo drops his gaze as his composure cracks, not dramatically, not explosively.
Just enough for his shoulders to sag and his breath to shake.
“I stopped sleeping,” he admits. “Barely ate. Went to work every shift they’d let me. I thought if I stayed moving I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t feel it. Harassed the Ministry and Harry to do something. Draco and I lost our connection mostly.”
“Due to fear?”
He shakes his head, “Not fear. Helplessness.”
A long silence passes.
Marwen lets it sit—not uncomfortable, just… real.
Theo forces himself to breathe.
“And now?” she asks. “She’s home. Safe. Alive. How are you?”
The question hits him harder than anything else.
“I’m…” He pauses. “Trying.”
“Trying what, Theo?”
“To keep up.”
“With?”
He swallows thickly.
“With them.”
It feels like a confession.
“With the bond. With their emotions. With the expectations I put on myself. With the expectations I think they have, even though they don’t actually say them.”
Marwen raises a brow. “What expectations?”
Theo rubs at his face.
“That I should be the calm one. The healer. The steady hands. The mediator. The one who keeps the three of us balanced.”
“And who told you that’s your job?”
“No one.”
He sighs, “That’s the problem.”
She nods knowingly.
“The bond doesn’t ask for perfection, Theo. But you do.”
He stares down at his knuckles, they’re white from clenching the armrests.
“I felt like I failed her,” he says quietly. “When she was taken. I wasn’t with her. I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t—”
“Superhuman?” she offers.
Theo flinches, “Yes.”
“She doesn’t expect that of you. And neither does Draco.”
“I know,” he whispers. “But telling myself that doesn’t stop the feeling.”
Marwen leans forward slightly.
“You love them both very, very deeply.”
Theo lets out a trembling breath, “It’s… everything. They’re everything.”
“And you’re scared you won’t be enough for them.”
His throat closes.
He nods once.
Marwen’s voice softens further.
“Theo… from where I sit? You are a man carrying three people’s worth of emotional pressure… and doing it alone. That’s not noble. That’s not strong. That’s self-destruction dressed up as duty.”
Theo’s eyes sting.
He runs a hand through his hair, “I don’t know how to let myself need them or ask thme for what I need more of,” he admits quietly. “Not properly. Not out loud.”
“Do you want to?”
He nods before he even thinks about it.
“Then that’s what we’ll work on.”
Theo looks up at her, surprised.
“You don’t think the bond is fractured?”
“On the contrary,” Marwen says with a small, warm smile. “I think your bond is stronger than most would be given how you all came together less than a year ago. But strong magic requires emotionally stable foundations. And you—”
She gestures softly to him.
“—you’ve built yours on a lifetime of silencing yourself.”
Theo swallows hard.
“And we’ll undo that,” she says gently. “Piece by piece. Not to fix you—there is nothing broken—but to lighten what was never yours to carry alone.”
Theo lets out a shaking breath, relief and fear mixing in his chest.
“Good,” she says. “That’s enough honesty for one session I think to start.”
Theo stands on slightly shaky legs.
Marwen touches his arm, not invasive, not forceful, just grounding.
“You’re not failing them,” she says softly. “You’re just human. And being human is allowed.”
Theo nods, jaw tight with emotion he can’t begin to voice.
He heads out of the study.
Hermione and Draco are waiting for him in the hall. Draco pretending not to be watching, Hermione very much watching.
Theo gives them both a small, tired smile.
“I’m okay,” he says quietly.
Hermione steps forward, touching his cheek.
Draco touches his shoulder.
The bond flares warm.
And Theo lets himself lean into both of them, just for a moment, just enough to let them hold him up.
Notes:
Draco will go next...
Chapter 286: Draco's First Mind Healer Session
Chapter Text
Hermione and Theo wait in the hall together silently, while Draco steps into Theo’s study.
He pretends he isn’t nervous.
His posture is perfect.
His jaw is set.
He gives Healer Marwen the cool, collected Malfoy nod he’s perfected since childhood.
But inside, his pulse is thundering.
He’s already stripped down emotionally watching Theo’s session end with his red eyes and trembling hands.
The thought of being next makes his stomach knot.
Healer Marwen gestures toward the chair.
“Mr. Malfoy. Please.”
He sits, legs crossed, posture too stiff, hands folded like he’s before the Wizengamot for a vote.
“Would you prefer tea?” she asks.
“No,” he says immediately. Then: “…Thank you.”
She nods calmly.
“Then let’s begin.”
A beat of silence.
“What do you think I need to understand first?” she asks.
Draco’s jaw ticks.
“My father,” he says simply.
Marwen nods, “Tell me.”
He inhales slowly through his nose.
“He was not… physically cruel. Not often.”
He stares hard at his hands.
“But emotionally? He was a master at making me feel like a disappointment. And he was very good at teaching me that fear is the highest and most efficient form of loyalty.”
“That’s a powerful lesson for a child.”
Draco gives a humorless huff of laughter.
“I was groomed for the Dark Lord’s service from the cradle. Every book. Every conversation. Every dinner guest. Every expectation.”
Marwen watches him quietly.
Draco continues, voice lower.
“My entire life was built on the idea that power came from cruelty and being the best. That my worth was tied to who I could intimidate, or who I could control or beat out. That compassion was weakness. That mercy was failure. That fear made you safe.”
“And do you still believe any of that?” she asks.
Draco swallows noisly.
“No,” he says softly. “But those lessons don’t vanish just because you outgrow them. They linger. They… warp things. Relationships. Self-worth. The ability to apologize. The ability to trust you aren’t being judged.”
“Do Hermione and Theo judge you?”
“No,” Draco whispers. “That’s the problem. They… forgive me too easily. They look at me like I’m good. Like I deserve them and this crazy bond. And I… I don’t always see myself that way.”
Marwen tilts her head. “And that belief affects the magic?”
Draco nods stiffly.
“Especially recently,” he admits. “The bond gets—heated. Overreactive. I flare too easily. Their emotions hit me too hard. Mine hit them too hard. I know it’s because I’m not… settled. Not steady all the time.”
“Tell me about the war,” she says gently.
Draco’s breath catches.
“I was a coward,” he says. Instantly. Automatically. “I never threw the Unforgivable. I never fought with conviction. I never—”
“You saved lives,” Marwen interrupts.
Draco goes still.
“You saved Ginevra Weasley from the Carrows. You helped Potter in the Room of Requirement. You deliberately misidentified them at the Manor at great personal risk. You fought against your father even when he pushed you toward brutality.”
Draco’s throat is dry.
He looks away.
“You were a child,” she says softly. “Forced into horrors. Punished for hesitating. Punished for thinking. Punished for mercy.”
Draco’s eyes sting sharply.
“My father,” he whispers, "told me compassion was a disease. He said it would kill me one day. That it made me weak.”
“And do Hermione and Theo think compassion is weakness?”
He lets out a broken laugh.
“No,” he manages. “Hermione calls it my greatest strength. Theo says it’s why the children adore me at the Granger Center.”
“And what do you say?”
Draco hesitates.
He searches for an answer.
“…I want to believe them.”
Healer Marwen nods with a softness that disarms him entirely.
“Tell me about your father’s death.”
Draco goes rigid.
He wasn’t expecting that.
But he forces the words out.
“He died in Azkaban very recently. I haven’t talked about it at all. I’m not sure Theo and Hermione even know he’s passed unless my mother told them.” Draco says quietly. “Refusing to take visitors. Refusing to write me. Refusing to give me anything at the end that wasn’t guilt.”
“That must have been devastating.”
“It was—complicated. A relief, but not exactly closure.”
He rubs a hand over his face.
“I hated him. And I loved him. And I hated that I loved him. And I hated that he chose Voldemort over me, over my mother. And yet some sick part of me still wanted him to say he was proud. Even at the end.”
Marwen lets him breathe for a moment.
“And now you’re afraid,” she says, “of becoming him.”
His head jerks up.
Her eyes are kind, not condemning.
“When you get angry,” she continues gently. “When your magic flares. When you feel jealousy. When you worry you’re controlling. When you want Hermione and Theo close because you’re scared of losing them.”
Draco swallows painfully.
“Yes,” he says. “I’m terrified of that. That I’m protecting in the wrong ways.”
“Draco,” she says, voice warm and grounding, “you are nothing like your father.”
His breath catches.
“You protect instead of punish. You apologize. You listen. You fight your impulses instead of indulging them when they’re truly dark. You love fiercely and openly. And your partners are not afraid of you. They trust you.”
Draco shuts his eyes.
A tear escapes before he can stop it.
“Your father left scars,” she says softly. “But you’re building a life—and a family with people who are lgiht and love you—that guarantees you’ll never become him.”
Draco’s shoulders slump, tension draining.
“And the war?” she asks.
He opens his eyes.
“You have spent years trying to atone for a childhood stolen from you. But you are not defined by crimes you never chose. You are defined by love. Loyalty. Growth. Courage. Child soldiers are not the ones who should bare the burden of what ifs from a war they didn’t start, but tried to end.”
He laughs shakily. “I don’t feel courageous.”
“Then you’re in good company. True heroes rarely do.”
Draco huffs a quiet, teary breath.
Marwen lets the room fall silent.
Finally, she says, “What do you want for your future, Draco Malfoy?”
He swallows hard.
“I want to be a good husband for them both,” he whispers. “A good father someday. A good man. Someone they’re proud to be bonded to.”
Marwen smiles.
“And you already are on that path.”
Draco presses his knuckles to his mouth, emotion choking him.
He nods once.
The session ends gently.
He stands shakily, wiping at his face before stepping outside.
Hermione and Theo are waiting.
The moment Hermione sees his red-rimmed eyes, she reaches for him.
Theo steps to his other side.
Draco doesn’t pretend not to lean on both of them.
For the first time in years, the weight in his chest feels lighter.
Notes:
Hermione is next.
Thoughts on Draco's session anyone?
Chapter 287: Hermione's First Mind Healer Session
Chapter Text
Hermione waits in the hall, twisting her fingers, pulse drumming behind her ribs.
She’s not afraid of honesty.
She’s never been afraid of hard conversations.
But this?
Talking about herself, not a problem to solve, not a crisis to fix, not someone else she needs to save?
This feels impossibly vulnerable.
Draco emerges from the room with red eyes and a steadier posture than he walked in with. Hermione squeezes his hand as they pass each other, just a small grounding touch, before she quietly steps into the room and closes the door.
Healer Marwen smiles gently.
“Hermione. Please sit.”
Hermione does, tucking her feet beneath the chair, suddenly feeling very small.
Marwen watches her thoughtfully.
“You’ve spent the entire past few years solving crises,” the healer says softly. “This time…the focus is you. What part of yourself do you want me to understand first?”
Hermione stares at her hands.
“My upbringing,” she whispers. “Because it defines more of me than I like to admit.”
Marwen nods. “Tell me.”
Hermione exhales shakily, then begins.
“I had a happy childhood,” she says slowly. “Loving parents. Lots of comforts. Family stability. But I was always—different. Too clever. Too intense. Too curious. My parents tried their best but… there were no other magical children in their lives. No one like me. They didn’t always know how to handle it.”
She swallows back a sob.
“I loved them. But they didn’t understand me. Not truly.”
“And when you entered the wizarding world?” Marwen asks.
Hermione laughs softly and bitterly.
“I didn’t fit there, either.”
“Because you were Muggleborn?”
“Yes,” Hermione whispers. “At home I was too magical. At Hogwarts I was too Muggle. Too bookish. Too assertive. Too opinionated. Too emotional. Too… everything.”
She fiddles with a strand of hair.
“I spent years trying to earn belonging in either world. Prove myself. Work twice as hard to be seen half as much.”
“And now?” Marwen asks. “Do you still feel that way?”
Hermione hesitates, “…sometimes.”
There is something painfully honest in that word.
“I still feel like I have to be extraordinary to justify being here,” she murmurs. “Like if I stop being brilliant, or capable, or strong or fixing the world—everything falls apart. That I’ll no longer belong here.”
“Because you believe people only value you for what you can do. Not who you are.”
Hermione blinks hard, “Yes, maybe that.”
“Does Theo feel that way about you? Does Draco?”
“No,” she says quickly.
Then softer, “But I… feel that way about myself.”
Marwen nods.
“Let’s talk about your parents now.”
Hermione doesn’t answer.
Her breath catches instead.
Marwen waits.
Hermione’s voice breaks, “ There is no now with them and I. I obliviated them.”
She presses a hand over her mouth, tears spilling instantly, “I wiped myself from their lives. To save them. But I—” Her voice shatters. “I stole myself from them.”
Marwen leans forward. Not touching, but steady.
“That decision saved their lives.”
“It ruined our relationship and future together.”
“Did it?”
Hermione’s shoulders tremble.
“They don’t remember me. And I—”
She sobs once, quietly and painfully.
“I miss them. But I’m afraid to go back. Afraid to mess any more with their minds. The magic is complicated, no simple reversal, tampering nay more could easily leave them brain dead. And I’m afraid they’re happier without me.”
Marwen speaks gently.
“You were a child soldier in a war. You made a choice no one your age should have ever needed to make. And you made it out of love.”
Hermione wipes her cheeks roughly, “But it hurt them. And it hurt me.”
“Yes,” Marwen agrees. “But pain does not erase love, Hermione. Time does not erase love. They may never remember the child they had—but the woman you are now can choose what comes next.”
Hermione sniffles.
“I don’t know how to forgive myself.”
“Then we will work on that.”
Hermione dried her tears and nodded.
“Now… talk to me about the triad.”
Hermione takes a deep breath, “It’s overwhelming.”
“In what way?”
“I am…” She hesitates. “The only woman in it. And sometimes that feels… heavy.”
Marwen waits.
“In wizarding culture,” Hermione says softly, “triads are still rare, and usually two men bonded is already controversial. But a woman bonded to two men? It feels like the entire world is watching me. Judging me. Waiting for me to screw it up.”
“Do Theo and Draco make you feel pressured?” Marwen asks.
“No,” Hermione says immediately. “They’re…wonderful. Supportive. Gentle. Loving. They treat me like an equal. They treat each other like equals too.”
She pauses, “And that might be the problem.”
“How so?”
Hermione’s eyes fill again.
“They are both stronger than me in some ways,” she whispers. “Magically in some forms. Physically. Emotionally, sometimes. The bond is powerful. Intense. They’re attuned to each other in ways I’m still learning because of their shared heritages that I don’t have. And I feel like—”
She swallows, “Like I have to be perfect for them. Or they’ll see I don’t belong.”
Marwen tilts her head. “Do you believe they would ever leave you?”
Hermione shakes her head fiercely. “No. Never. But part of me… part of me wonders if I bring enough to the triad to balance them. If I’m doing my fair share in holding us together.”
“And why is that?” Marwen asks gently.
Hermione hesitates, then whispers, “Because I love them with everything I have. But loving two people that intensely is… terrifying.”
Marwen nods, “You’re afraid of not being enough.”
“Yes.”
“You’re afraid of disappointing them.”
“Yes.”
“You’re afraid of losing them.”
Hermione’s eyes fill again.
“Yes,” she breathes.
“And yet,” Marwen says, softer, “they would burn worlds for you. They already have to find you.”
Hermione lets out a strangled, quiet laugh.
“Yes,” she whispers. “I know.”
“Then you are not the weak link in the triad, Hermione,” Marwen says firmly. “You are its nucleus.”
Hermione stares at her, stunned.
“You hold them together. You stabilize them when their magic flares, especially Draco’s. You help ground the bond. Your strength is not in overpowering. Or power accumulation in politics. Or physical force. It’s in compassion. Logic. Emotional intelligence. And the willingness to confront what others won’t. To think outside boxes.”
Hermione’s breath trembles.
“You are not the third tiny piece,” Marwen continues. “You are a full third of the whole.”
Hermione wipes her eyes again, but this time it looks like something in her spine straightens.
A settling.
A reclaiming.
A knowing.
“What is it you want most?”
Hermione looks down.
Then up.
Her voice is small but steady.
“I want to feel like I belong,” she says. “Fully. To myself. To them. To a family. To a world that isn’t just… chaos. And guilt. And expectations.”
Marwen smiles softly, “We’ll work on that too.”
Hermione nods, tears falling silently.
But she isn’t trembling anymore.
She stands, wiping her cheeks, and when she opens the study door—
Theo and Draco are waiting.
Both stand instantly.
Both look worried, and hold her hands.
Notes:
Next is the group session... what are you expecting to come up? Let me know in the comments!
Chapter 288: The First Group Mind Healing Session
Chapter Text
The evening light fades through the frosted windows of Theo’s study, now transformed into a quiet group therapy space with a low fire, and three armchairs arranged in a loose circle around hers.
Healer Marwen sits calmly with a notebook in her lap as the three of them settle in.
Hermione instinctively sits between Theo and Draco; their knees press against hers, anchoring her in place. The bond hums warmly but tightly, anticipatory with nerves.
Marwen looks them over with a soft smile.
“Tonight is for all of you to be authentic with one another together,” she begins. “Speak freely. Listen honestly. Be brave.”
Hermione exhales shakily.
Theo runs a hand through his hair.
Draco looks like he’s preparing for an interview with Voldemort himself having gone even paler than normal.
“Let’s begin with how this triad started.”
Marwen doesn’t hesitate, “You were thrown together by a law. You had histories. Fears. Attachments. Tell me how that really felt.”
Theo stares at the fire, “Like the world was ending.”
Draco gives a hollow laugh. “Like I was an intruder.”
Hermione’s fingers tighten around his.
“That’s not how it worked out,” she murmurs.
“No,” Draco agrees softly, “but it’s how it really started.”
Marwen nods. “Let’s talk about that beginning. Draco—how did it feel to receive the triad match letter?”
He closes his eyes briefly.
Then quietly, “Like I was being added onto something already whole.”
Theo tenses beside him, guilt flickering in the bond.
Draco squeezes his hand before he can speak.
“No,” Draco says softly. “Theo and I had our history. We’d…been something. Years ago. But we weren’t together at all when the letters arrived.” He exhales sharply. “But it didn’t matter. I knew these two had feelings. Deep ones. And I thought Hermione would resent me for complicating what they had. They were already perfect together, just the two of them, really good for each other, I’d seen it all summer.”
Hermione leans closer.
“I didn’t feel perfect,” she whispers. “I was just scared too.”
Marwen turns to her, “How did you feel?”
Hermione’s throat tightens.
“Outnumbered,” she admits. “Once I actually knew how strong Draco and Theo’s past connection was. I felt like the outsider. The one who had to earn my place.”
Theo breathes out, face twisted in pain.
“Sweetheart…” he murmurs.
“No, it’s okay,” Hermione says softly. “We’re talking about honesty. I worried I’d be the third wheel. That I’d always be…extra because they already had this deep long history together.”
Draco’s voice cracks.
“But you weren’t.”
“You never were.”
“You were the center of it.”
Hermione blushes and blinks back tears.
“That’s how it feels now, yea” she whispers. “Like we’re one unit. One bond. One life.”
Marwen smiles gently, “You’ve all come a very long way.”
Marwen asks the next question plainly, “How is your intimacy factor? Are all of you satisfied?”
All three of them turn a deep shade of pink.
Theo coughs and looks anywhere but at them.
Draco stares at the fireplace like he can maybe escape into it.
Hermione bites her lip, amused and embarrassed.
“We’re very satisfied,” she says carefully.
Draco covers his face with one hand, blushing.
Theo mutters, “Gods.”
Marwen laughs softly, “Good. Healthy intimacy is vital to stabilizing triad magic. And communication is even more important. I understand you three traveled recently?”
Hermione clears her throat delicately.
“Yes. To Vienna.”
“And the purpose of the trip?”
Draco chokes on air, and has a coughing fit.
Theo looks like he wants the floor to swallow him up right that moment.
Hermione—because she is the Gryffindor with bravery—answers plainly, “To explore… rougher dynamics safely, with clear communication and consent between Draco and I… with Theo’s consent.”
Marwen beams, “Excellent. That kind of honesty and boundary-setting is precisely what stabilizes magical bonds. Keep exporing what feels right and stay honest about what you each feel. That will help the bind remain stable and even keep deepening.”
Hermione hears Draco and Theo both exhale in relief.
“Now,” Marwen says softly, “let’s talk about February. Your deadline is approaching and I assume you have a plan.”
All three straighten.
All three hold their breath.
“Are you prepared,” she asks, “emotionally, magically, practically—for conceiving?”
Hermione nods first.
“I want to do this. I’m nervous, but I’m excited. I want it… outside of the deadline… with them.”
Draco places a hand over hers, “I’m ready. Gods, I’m ready.”
Theo smiles weakly, “I am too. Very much.”
Marwen studies them.
“What about whose child comes first? Have you discussed that?”
They freeze.
The bond tightens.
Hermione glances between the men.
Draco, “No… we haven’t been that specific actually. I just assumed it would be up to chance.”
Theo swallows hard.
“I think we should talk about it now,” he says quietly. “Before February.”
Her heart stutters with concern.
Draco’s jaw clenches, bracing himself.
Marwen nods, “Go on, Theodore.”
Theo’s voice is quiet, vulnerable in a way Hermione rarely sees him be.
“I want the first child to be Draco’s,” the confession tumbles out as a shocking statement.
The room goes completely silent.
Hermione blinks in surprise.
Draco’s breath catches audibly.
Marwen watches him gently, “Why?”
Theo exhales shakily.
“I want children. Very much. My own blood. Not, that any between all three of us I wouldn’t consider mine anyway even if they’re Draco’s technically. But Draco—” His voice cracks.
“Draco has wanted to be a father since we were boys. Before the war. Before anything. It’s been one of the only dreams he never let go of all these years. I only recently started considering it being a possibility really. I haven’t pinned for it the way he has.”
Draco’s eyes instantly shine with unshed tears.
“And,” Theo adds softly, “he still has a parent. I don’t. My parents won’t ever meet our kids n mater when it happens. But Narcissa will. And I want her to have the chance to meet her son’s child—her grandchild—while she’s still young and healthy. You enver know what will happen, but she’s here now to spend time with a grandchild.”
Hermione’s chest aches horribly, her hand going over her heart.
Draco looks like someone just split him open and is watching him bleed out.
Theo wipes his eyes, frustrated, “And there’s another thing too.”
Hermione scoots forward, “Tell us.”
“I’ve been thinking… Merlin don’t be mad please,” Theo says carefully. “After my apprenticeship finishes in early autumn…I might want to do a specialization. That’s nine more months of training past the normal graduation.”
Hermione gasps, “Theo!”
Draco sits forward sharply. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because my schedule would be insane,” Theo says hoarsely. “Worse than now maybe even. Less sleep. More shifts and classes. More stress I bet. And when Hermione is pregnant with my blood child…I want to be present. I want to be home. I want to be steady. I want to be there. Not that I won’t try to be there as much for Draco’s, but well… you know what I mean? I would feel so terrible if I knocked her up and then I wasn’t even able to be as present as I want to be during the pregnancy. Draco will be most around regardless of if it’s mine or his, so it makes sense for that time they’re sharing during it to be actually his.”
Hermione’s heart is breaking in so many ways.
Draco is openly crying now, quiet, overwhelmed, undone.
Theo continues, voice raw, “So it makes sense. For Draco to have the first baby. He’ll be home more. He wants it more. His mum deserves it. And I’ll love that baby as much as if it were my own anyway. The next one can be mine, when the timing is better for all of us, and really for me to be more present.”
Hermione places a shaking hand over Theo’s.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For trusting us with that. For thinking so deeply. For wanting what’s best for all of us.”
Draco wipes his face, voice cracking badly, “Theo… I don’t even know what to say. I—thank you. I want this. More than anything. I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want to seem selfish.”
Theo squeezes his hand hard.
“You’re not selfish,” he says fiercely. “You’re going to be an amazing father. And I want you to have this first. I can be dad too with you.”
Hermione nods, eyes glassy, “I agree. Not just logically—emotionally. I want it too. If this is what you really want for sure… then Draco makes sense.”
Draco sobs, silently, but Hermione and Theo both reach for him instantly, pulling him into their space, holding him between them as he breathes and breaks and heals.
The bond pulses warm, emotional, and steady like a heartbeat.
Marwen concludes gently, “I am proud of the three of you. The maturity, the love, the intention behind everything you’ve discussed tonight…many triads never reach this point. It’s why these types of bonds can be so detrimental.”
She closes her notebook and stands to leave, “You are ready. For parenthood. For your future. For whatever comes next. Just keep leaning into one another, not apart.”
Theo wipes his face, blowing his nose on a conjured cloth.
Hermione squeezes both their hands tightly.
Draco breathes out a trembling, “I love you. Both of you.”
Notes:
here may have been a few surprises revealed in this for some of you....
Would love to hear your reactions ot this scene please!
Chapter 289: The Intimate Debrief
Notes:
Lots of hard and heavy truths to be shared in bed a tonight between them.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Dinner after that had been quiet, roast chicken, mashed potatoes, mulled wine, but none of them really tasted it. They were too full of the healer’s questions. Of honesty. Of confessions that couldn’t be shoved back into the boxes they’d lived in for so long.
By the time they climbed into bed, Hermione in the middle, Draco on her right, Theo on her left, the whole room seemed to exhale with them.
They lay in the dim glow of the embers in the hearth, the blankets pulled high, their legs tangled without thinking.
Hermione was the first to speak.
Her voice is soft, hesitant, “Theo… what you said earlier in the session—about the baby being Draco’s first. I don’t think I realized how much thought you’d put into it. I certainly hadn’t.”
Theo’s breath leaves him in a slow, fragile exhale.
“I’ve been thinking about it for months,” he murmurs. “Since before you were kidnapped. Since the first time you mentioned February.”
Draco shifts, lifting his head to look over Hermione at him, “You should’ve told us.”
Theo shakes his head, “I didn’t know how. I didn’t want you two to think I was trying to push myself out of something—or pressure you into something. I wanted to be sure I understood my own feelings before I said them. I needed time to be sure.”
Hermione reaches for his hand under the blanket, “You weren’t pushing yourself out. You were letting us in.”
Theo swallows, visibly moved by that.
Draco clears his throat, voice thick, “I genuinely didn’t think you’d ever want that—me being the first. I thought you might want the firs tone since you two were together first… or best case we’d just leave it up to fate that night, and it would be whoever it was meant to be.”
Theo huffs softly. “Draco. You’ve wanted children since you were nine.”
Draco opens his mouth, then closes it, realizing it’s true.
Hermione smiles faintly, “And you want Narcissa to meet her grandson or granddaughter while she’s still young enough to dote on him or her properly.”
Theo nods, “That too.”
Draco pauses looking at Hermione, “Him.”
“Sorry, what?”, Hermione doesn’t follow.
“Oh…”, Theo’s eyes glint with understanding.
Draco explains, “If it’s mine… it will be a boy… a him. First born in the Malfoy line are always male heirs, it’s very old blood family magic.”
Hermione looks stunned, like she’s trying to process that, “Oh, um.. him then I guess.”
Draco brushes a thumb over Hermione’s hip, grounding himself.
“But Theo… that doesn’t change the fact that you deserve this just as much if not more than me.”
Theo’s voice turns a little sad, “I know I do. And I will have that chance. Just… not first. You both know my schedule is unpredictable. I’m barely sleeping. I’m stretched thin emotionally most days as it is. Specialty training is going to be just as intense if not more. It would be so wrong of me to do that to Hermione of you selfishly, then not even be around for the repercussions.”
Hermione squeezes his hand tighter, and he continued, “It’s not that I won’t see a blood child of Draco as mine anyway. I swear, I’ll treat all our children the same regardless of who fathered them, but I do think I’d feel rather guilty to take on a specialty and miss so much of the pregnancy and first months knowing I put you in that position and then can’t even be there as much as you deserve through it.”
“I hate that for you,” she says softly. “But I’m proud of you.”
Theo’s eyes glisten even in the dim.
“And I want to be better by the time my child comes,” he whispers. “I want to be home. I want to be steady. I want to be rested. Present. I want to be ready.”
Hermione shifts closer, pressing her forehead to his shoulder.
“You deserve that. And our baby deserves that. And we’re not going anywhere. We’ll wait for you to be ready for the next one.”
Draco nods fiercely. “Exactly that. I won’t pull rank on you either, I want you to know you’ll be just as much his dad as me.”
Theo closes his eyes, breathing them in.
Hermione speaks next, “And your specialty?”
Theo jolts slightly, caught.
“You said today you were considering an extra nine months of training. Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”
He sighs, pressing the heel of his hand to his eyes. “Because I felt guilty.”
Hermione pulls his hand away. “Why guilty?”
“Because it means even less time with you. It means more nights away most likely, or at least longer shifts. More exhaustion. More stress. And I’ve already missed so much of the past year already. I know we were all looking forward to me being done soon and moving to a more normal schedule…. And this prolongs all the crazy hours for you both too.”
Draco leans over Hermione, cups Theo’s jaw gently.
“Theo, look at me.”
Theo does.
Draco’s voice is soft but absolute.
“You are not abandoning us. You are building your future. Our future.”
Hermione nods immediately.
“And you love healing,” she adds. “That matters.”
Theo’s breath catches, clearly fighting emotion.
“I do love it. But I’ve also watched both of you shoulder the weight at home. You carry the estates. You carry the Center. And I sometimes feel—”
He stops.
Hermione brushes her fingers along his cheek.
“Feel what?”
Theo whispers it.
“Like I’m failing you both by not doing enough here.”
Draco makes a low, wounded sound.
“You could never fail us just by bettering yourself and helping people.”
Hermione shifts so she’s half on her side, face turned toward Theo.
“Theo, you save lives,” she says quietly. “A dozen times over while you work. You worked long shifts and searched for me. You tracked down information. You stabilized my core. You helped healed me.”
Draco adds softly, “You hold us both together.”
Theo closes his eyes tightly, tears slipping out despite him.
“I just…want to be enough,” he whispers.
“You already are,” Hermione breathes. “More than enough.”
Draco presses his forehead to Theo’s for a long, grounding moment.
Hermione continues gently, “If you want to specialize, you should. You should always grow. You should always pursue the things that make you feel like you.”
Theo lets out a shuddering breath.
“But I don’t want to lose time with you both, miss so much important time.”
Hermione shakes her head.
“You won’t. We’re not going anywhere. And you’ll still have evenings. And mornings. And days off. It may not be as much as we all like, but if we make the time you do have quality time, then that’s what matters. This isn’t a permanent thing… even if you add another nine months, there’s still an end to it, it’s temporary.”
Draco grins crookedly.
“And when you’re done specializing? You’ll be an even better healer. One who gets to choose his hours because he’s in high demand. One who can be home more hopefully.”
Theo nods slowly as the idea settles into his bones.
Draco adds quietly, “And our children will look up to you. They’ll be proud their father heals people. You’re giving them something beautiful.”
Theo’s eyes fill again—grateful, overwhelmed, loved.
“What are you thinking about specializing in?”, Hermione questions.
“I’m not completely sure yet, I still have a few more months to decide before I make a final lock-in decision… but, I’m considering between three really.” He looked a bit nervous.
Draco pushed, “And those are…?”
Theo blushed, “I know it’s odd because they’re all so different from one another but I like them for different reasons. I’m really not sure which I’m favoring right now. The first one is because I enjoy the challenge… the puzzle of figuring it out… Curse Breaker Healing. Things like family blood curses, dark artifacts that leave residual effects, antient ruin curses with no known counters, mystery illness no one can diagnosis, that type of stuff. It’s basically half research, and half healing.”
Hermione smiled, “Yes, I can see that being really interesting for you, you’ve always been as studious as me. Figuring out the solutions to highly complex curses could be really rewarding for you. What else were you thinking about?”
Theo continued, “Well also, a Trauma or Emergency Healer. It’s always bene a rush when I get a training rotation in the ER. You have to think quickly on your feet, and have good instincts because time is of the essence. There’s never a dul moment on your shift, it’s very fast paced.”
“I can see that keeping you on your toes and never getting boring because every day is a new set of cases”, Draco agreed.
“And well, the last one I’m considering is actually pediatrics.” He admitted.
Draco and Hermione both gave him a surprised look.
He explained, “Well actually, I realized I kind of enjoyed that when I started doing the check-ups at the Center, and then when I finally got the pediatric ward rotation, I realized it wasn’t a fluke of the Center’s environment. There’s something very special about treating the next generation. Something very pure about healing children who are never really to blame for being sick or hurt in the first place. There’s an innocence worth protecting in it. And honestly, kids say the best things, they really surprise you all the time, and that’s refreshing in this line of work. The real drawback is really I’m honestly not sure how well I could take losing pediatric patients. I think the burnout emotionally of that would be brutal. I’m not sure I can handle it.”
Hermione is gentle, “I can understand that too. It’s a really noble calling, but I could see it being a burden and haunting for you too.”
Draco nodded, “These all sound like solid choices, I’m sure as you keep thinking on it, you’ll pick the right one for you. We support whatever you decide.”
“And what about you? Enough about me already.” he whispers to Draco. “You’re going to be a father first.”
Draco breathes out, shaky, like he’s barely holding himself together.
“I want it,” he admits, voice breaking. “Gods, I want it so much I’m terrified. I want it in my bones. I want it in ways I can’t even name.”
Theo smiles tenderly, “I know. That’s why you should have the first.”
Hermione runs a thumb over Draco’s wrist.
“I want it too. All of it. With both of you.”
Draco hides his face in the crook of Hermione’s neck for a long moment.
Theo rests his forehead against her shoulder.
Draco finally looks up at them both, “There’s something else, I should have said awhile ago, but well… I didn’t.”
The bond is full of fear, anxiety, and restlessness.
Hermione’s face looks concerned, and Theo looks perplexed.
“Go on, Mate”, Theo encourages.
Draco takes adeep breath and presses on, “It’s about my father…”.
Theo meets his eye with a knowing look, “I was wondering if you’d ever bring this up. I didn’t want to push you if you weren’t ready to knowledge it.”
“Theo, how did –“
“Draco, our families have run in the same circles for centuries, people know. Of course, I heard it…”
Hermione was feeling a bit left out now, “What is it, Draco?”
“My father isn’t in Azkaban anymore.”
Hermione’s fear and confusion pulsed through the bond, “But… I didn’t hear anything about him escaping or being paroled, Harry would have warned me…”.
“Because he never left. He’s dead. My mother asked Kingsley for a favor, to keep it out of the press so we wouldn’t be harassed about it.”, Draco muttered, not meeting her eyes.
Hermione sucked in a breath, “Oh, Draco, I… I didn’t know… I would have… um I’m sorry, I’m not even sure what to say.”
Theo patted him on the back, “I wish you had told us when it happened, we would have been there for you… I know your relationship… was complicated with him at best, but still, we would have liked to help you process it. I kept waiting for you to bring it up, I wasn’t sure if you were in denial, didn’t want us to know, thought we did know and just didn’t want to talk about it…”
Hermione was reading between the lines, “Wait, when did this happen?”
Theo and draco looked at each other, and he gave a little shrug letting Theo answer.
“I heard about it right after we got married, but I think he passed a few months before that?”
Draco nodded, “Yes, the first week of December that year.”
Hermione’s mind was whirling, “Over year ago? Merlin, I was forcing Christmas cheer on you… and you were internally holding onto this? Draco, I feel like such a fool. Oh Salazar, and your mother too. Here she was planning our wedding because I asked, and her husband had just died? She must have been so put out I’d ask that of her during such a difficult time.”
Draco locked eyes with her, “No, Hermione stop. She loved planning our wedding, it was a great escape for her. I asked her not to say anything, that I would tell you both when I was ready. It was a really complicated time for us. I was starting to have feelings deepen for you, and also wrestling with this weight too at the same time. Christmas that year getting to know you better was the highlight of my days then.”
Theo prodded him, “And how do you feel about it… him being gone?”
Draco stuttered, “It’s complicated. I was really angry at first. That there was no closure. He wouldn’t see me or write back. I never really got to hash out with him how much he failed me. But, at first I was also mad at myself for caring at all too, for even being the smallest bit sad he’d died. I know what he was, what he did, how many people he hurt, me and mother included. But, Godric, when you hear your father has died for the first time, a part of you does hurt even just a little bit. I was mad with myself for even feeling that though. The truth now is though that he was dead to me long before he ever passed. Azkaban or dead, it’s really the same difference in my life, honestly, maybe this is even better because there’s no lingering threats or what ifs anymore. There’s just what it was and what it is now.”
Hermione kissed his check, and they all sat in a chilled silence together for awhile, everyone lost in the night’s revelations.
Finally Hermione spoke again, “Thank you both. For trusting me with your hopes. For trusting me with your fears. For trusting each other with things so hard and dear to our hearts.”
Theo kisses the inside of her wrist.
Draco kisses her shoulder.
She feels it everywhere.
And then—in the dim quiet—Theo whispers, “So… Draco’s first?”
Hermione smiles.
Draco huffs a watery laugh.
“Yes,” she says gently. “Draco’s first if your both sure. We can have a Malfoy son.”
Draco’s breath shudders out of him, relieved and emotional all at once.
Theo nods into her shoulder.
“And then mine.”
“And then yours,” Hermione agrees softly. “When you’re ready. When you feel steady. When your schedule isn’t punishing you.”
Draco threads his fingers through Theo’s under the blankets.
“We’ll build this family together,” he says. “One child at a time.”
Theo finally smiles.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Together.”
Hermione sighs in relief, sinking between them, wrapped in warmth and certainty.
The bond pulses once—bright, warm, aligned.
And the three of them fall asleep tangled in each other, feeling more like a united triad than they ever have.
Notes:
Let me know your thoughts about this talk...
I'm particularly interested in what specialty readers think Theo will go with and why! Comment!
Chapter 290: Mary Poppins
Notes:
Bit of a light hearted scene to make up for the heavy ones lately.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The house wakes slowly the next day.
Hermione is the first to stir with a exaggerated yawn, Draco’s arm tightening around her waist, Theo’s face still buried in the pillow beside her. The morning light is cold and pale through the manor windows, falling over the thick winter wool duvet.
She brushes her hair back and sits up, only to hear a sharp tap-tap-tap at the window.
An owl.
Draco groans into his pillow.
Theo mutters something that sounds like “why does healing require mornings” before flipping onto his back, arm a crossed his eyes.
Hermione throws on her plaid plush robe and lets the owl inside. It drops the parchment neatly into her hand and helps itself to a treat from the bedside table before sweeping right back out again.
She climbs back into bed between them as they sit up, still sleepy and warm.
“What’s it say?” Draco asks, scratching at his back.
Hermione unfolds it.
She reads aloud for them both.
Dear Theo, Draco, and Hemrione,
I hope you rested well after yesterday’s extensive sessions.
Based on the emotional dynamics and progress observed, I believe periodic follow-up sessions would be beneficial—not because your triad is unstable, but because all three of you carry significant personal histories that would do well with structured space and time to process. Both personal and group sessions going forward I think are advisable.
If desired, I am available for mid-February date bookings in roughly a month.
Warm regards,
Healer Marwen
Theo exhales, rubbing his eyes.
“She wants us back already.”
Draco falls back against the pillows with a dramatic groan.
“Merlin’s balls. Therapy homework.”
Hermione snorts, “Draco.”
“What? I’m emotionally raw still, darling. She skinned me alive.”
Theo nudges him with his foot under the covers, “You needed it.”
Draco gives him a half-hearted glare, “So did you.”
Theo sighs, nodding. “Yeah. I did.”
Hermione slides between them again, pulling the blankets up.
“So,” she says gently, “how do you both feel about it?”
Theo thinks for a moment, then says, “I actually… think it might be good. Not weekly. Not even always monthly. But… once in a while? I think it would help.”
Hermione nods. “Me too.”
Both sets of brilliant eyes swing to Draco.
He looks offended at the pressure.
“Oh, don’t look at me like you’re waiting for me to be the problem.”
Hermione grimaces, “Are you the problem?”
He opens his mouth, closes it, then sighs.
“…Fine. Yes. I benefited. There. I said it. Happy?”
Theo laughs lowly, “We’re not grading you, Draco.”
Draco grumbles but pulls Hermione onto his chest and lets Theo tuck against her side.
After a long minute, Draco murmurs:
“Mid-February works.”
Hermione smiles against his chest, “Then I’ll write her back today.”
By the time they make it to the kitchen, Draco’s hair is tamed, Theo smells freshly showered and healer-crisp, and Hermione is wrapped in one of Draco’s oversized cardigans, still supporting fuzzy socks.
The elves have left a spread on the table for them, warm cranberry scones, hot porridge with cinnamon sugar, strawberry preserves made on property in the summer, soft-boiled eggs, and a steaming pot of chai tea.
Hermione writes the letter back on crisp parchment while Theo spreads preserves on his scone.
We’d like to book another full day of private and group sessions for mid-February. Please advise on dates.
With thanks,
Hermione, Draco, Theo
She folds it and hands it to the owl waiting on the perch by the main window.
Theo watches it fly off, then reaches for his mug.
“I’m glad we’re doing it,” he says softly. “All of it is… heavy. But worth sorting out. Probably will make us better parents if we can get rid of some of the baggage.”
Draco nods quietly, “And the timing’s right. Before—well.” He glances at Hermione’s stomach. “Before February becomes a reality in the flesh.”
Her cheeks warm, but she doesn’t look away.
Theo kisses her temple before grabbing his healer bag.
“I should go. And you both”—he points at Hermione and Draco—“should have a quiet day. No magical strain for her. Don’t let her talk you into anything stupid, Draco. She should rest before her term starts up. It’ll be a hectic spring as it is.”
Draco looks offended again, “When have I ever—”
Theo raises an eyebrow.
“The kidnapping rescue, your ‘let’s cast spells together when her core was at 65 percent,’ the Vienna bruising—”
“All right, all right,” Draco mutters. “We get it.”
Theo kisses Hermione goodbye on the temple then kisses Draco briefly on the lips before heading out.
After a leisurely morning, Draco wraps a wool scarf around Hermione’s neck even though she rolls her eyes.
“It’s cold,” he insists.
“It’s barely snowing.”
“Yes, but still cold.”
They apparate straight into Diagon Alley, where the lamps glow with warmth and there’s a post-holiday hush over the cobblestones.
Draco stays close, glancing around constantly for danger, his hand hovering behind her back as they walk.
Hermione glances at him, amused.
“You’re hovering.”
“You were kidnapped from your secure school, Hermione,” he deadpans. “Forgive me for being unwilling to lose you again especially in public.”
She blushes and tucks her hand into his.
He softens immediately.
They head into Spindlewick’s Spellcraft Supplies.
Hermione begins putting many school supplies into her basket, new enchanted quills, a fresh set of blank notebooks, extra charm-calibration beads, a wand-alignment polish kit, and an impulsive purchase of a new teacup that boils water on command (nifty for tea in the school library).
Draco carries everything without complaint, though he mutters:
“This place is a death trap for budgets with you. The only place your worse in might by a bookshop.”
“You’re rich. And so is Theo. And I’m married to you both. Consider it penance for putting up with you both daily.”
He stops, “…Well. Yes. Fair point. Carry on.”
Hermione laughs and kisses his cheek, which turns him into a smug, preening man for the next five minutes.
They wander through Flourish & Blotts next, Hermione finding the updated editions of the charm textbooks she missed while recovering.
Draco keeps glancing at he, softly, thoughtfully.
“You look at ease,” he finally says.
“I am,” she admits. “It feels good to be moving forward again. And to be… normal. With you. With Theo.”
Draco’s voice lowers, “I missed this more than I can say.”
She laces their fingers again, “I know.”
And they continue walking through the cobbled streets, shoulders brushing, periodically stopping for odds and ends.
By the time they got home, an owl was waiting with a letter from Theo saying there was an all hands on deck emergency on his ward, and he wouldn’t be back till midnight, and to not wait up for his return.
The house felt empty without him that evening, but Draco and Hermione had grown used to these type of evening just themselves. They ate dinner fireside, just light fare of chicken Cesar salads followed by figgy pudding. They spoke about what her spring classes would look like, and what Draco had planned at the Ministry.
Finally, they took Theo’s advice and headed up to bed early, getting comfy amongst the pillows and blankets, snuggling with each other to watch Mary Poppins.
Draco squinted. “Hermione… remind me why we’re watching a Muggle children’s film about a flying nanny?”
Hermione grinned, not looking away from the screen, too entranced. “Because it’s brilliant, and you secretly love anything with impeccable manners and subtle chaos.”
Draco snorted, “Subtle chaos? That woman just jumped into a chalk drawing. That’s not subtle; that’s an international Portkey violation.”
On screen, Mary Poppins floated down with her umbrella.
Draco sat up slightly, seemingly genuinely offended. “She’s using an umbrella as a broom substitute? That’s just lazy. A proper witch would have a real broom. Or Apparition. Or, I don’t know, some decent standards.”
Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing. “It’s symbolic, Draco.”
“Symbolic of what? Terrible aerodynamics?”
Soon Bert started singing “Chim Chim Cher-ee.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, “Is this man employed? He’s covered in soot and singing on rooftops. I’ve seen cleaner house-elves.”
Hermione lost it, burying her face in his shoulder to muffle her giggles.
Then came “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.”
Draco stared, deadpan. “I refuse to believe that’s a real word. Get out the dictionary, I don’t believe it’s real. That’s just someone having a stroke mid-spell and deciding to commit.”
Hermione was wheezing now. “You try saying it backwards.”
“Absolutely not. I have pride to uphold.”
The tea party on the ceiling happened, and Draco actually paused the film.
“Right. Pause. Explain. They’re having tea on the ceiling. Uncle Albertil used to do that. He was committed to the Janus Thickey Ward for three months. This is not whimsical; this is a serious cry for help.”
Hermione was crying with laughter, clutching her stomach. “It’s muggle magic, you prat!”
“Clearly unregulated magic. Where’s the Ministry when you actually need them?”
When Mary Poppins left with the wind at the end, Draco looked genuinely forlorn.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Did you… did you get attached to the flying nanny?”
Draco scoffed, but his voice was suspiciously thick. “She had excellent posture. And the children learned responsibility. And… shut up, Granger.”
Hermione kissed his cheek, still giggling, “Admit it. You loved it.”
He pulled her on top of him, the film forgotten, nipping at her ear. “Fine. It was… practically perfect in every way. But if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”
She smirked. “Too late. I’m telling Theo you cried at the end.”
Draco groaned dramatically into her neck. “Cruel woman. Marry me anyway?”
“Already did,” she whispered, tapping the golden triad ring on his finger.
He grinned against her skin. “Good. Now turn it off before that bloody penguin shows up again. I have my limits.”
Notes:
What other movies should Draco be introduced to?
Chapter 291: Draco's Kink
Notes:
I've been unsure about adding this, but it serves some purposes later on besides bonding in this moment, so here it is.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The Nott Manor library was bathed in soft winter sunlight, the tall windows letting in pale, golden beams that fell across the thousands of leather-bound books lining the walls.
A fire crackled quietly in the dark marble hearth, filling the room with gentle warmth and the faint scent of cedar and old parchment. Hermione sat curled in an oversized armchair by a window, a thick tome on advanced runic translations open in her lap.
She was the picture of cozy serenity—bare feet tucked beneath her, wearing one of Theo’s soft grey jumpers that hung to mid-thigh on her smaller frame.
The door opened with a soft creak, and Draco and Theo stepped in together, closing it behind them with a quiet click. They exchanged a quick, nervous glance before approaching. Theo’s hand rested lightly on the small of Draco’s back, rather reassuring, and grounding.
Hermione looked up, her brown eyes warm and curious. “Everything all right, loves?”
Theo cleared his throat gently, giving Draco a small, encouraging nod. “We were hoping you had a few minutes to talk? It’s… nothing bad, just something important to us.”
Hermione immediately closed the book after marking her page, and set it aside, shifting to sit upproperly, giving them her full attention.
“Of course. Always. Come sit.”
They moved to the sofa opposite her—Theo first, then Draco more tentatively, who sat close enough that their thighs pressed together. Draco’s hands fidgeted in his lap, fingers twisting the Malfoy signet ring he still wore on his right hand. He seemed unnaturally tense and unsure.
Theo spoke first, voice calm and steady, the practiced tone of a healer who knew how to deliver sensitive information.
“So… let’s just get right to it. Draco has a sexual interest—a kink you could say—he’s been curious about for a very long time. Back when we were at Hogwarts, it came up once or twice in passing, but we were kids, and it felt far too risky to even consider. There wasn’t proper equipment, no real knowledge of safety protocols, and honestly, none of us were in a place to explore something like that responsibly. But, he never stopped really thinking about trying it, and we’ve discussed it a few times in the last year. It’s not as much of a leap any more… especially with my current training. But, he’s a bit nervous you’ll be weirded out by him wanting to try it I think.”
Hermione’s expression stayed openly neural and attentive, no judgment, just quiet encouragement. “Go on.”
Draco took a slow breath, cheeks pink but eyes steady on hers. “It’s… urethral sounding,” he said, the words coming out softer than he probably intended. “Inserting smooth, sterile metal rods into the… into the male urethra. I know it sounds intense—and it is—but I’ve read a lot about it over the years, and I’ve always been curious about how it might feel. The stretch, the pressure, the way it can stimulate the prostate from the inside…” he faltered, trying to read her face for any sign of her thoughts.
Theo picked up seamlessly, his hand finding Draco’s knee and squeezing gently. “Having ample Healer training now, I feel qualified to give him this experience. I’ve studied the anatomy and safety protocols extensively. With proper sterilization, lubrication, gradual sizing, and constant communication, it can be done very safely. I’d never suggest going forward with it if I wasn’t completely confident I could keep him safe and comfortable.”
Hermione nodded slowly, absorbing every word, her gaze easy-going. “And you’ve been talking about this together?”
Draco gave a small, shy smile. “For months, really. At first I thought I’d only feel okay doing it privately—just me and Theo … maybe on a trip alone somewhere, no audience. But… the more we talked, the more I realized I’d actually really like you there, the first time at least. For moral support. To hold my hand, maybe. Or just… be part of it. Only if you’re comfortable, though. I’d never want you to feel pressured.”
Theo added quietly, “We both want you included if it feels right to you. This is about trust—between all three of us.”
Hermione’s eyes shone with affection as she leaned forward, reaching out to take one of each of their hands. “Draco… thank you for trusting me enough to tell me this. I’m not shocked, and I’m certainly not judging. If this is something you’ve wanted for a long time, and Theo feels confident he can do it safely, then of course I’ll be there if you want me. I’d be honored to support you both. To watch, to hold your hand, to tell you how loved and brave you are the whole time— or whatever you need me to be.”
Draco’s shoulders sagged with visible relief, his eyes glassy. “Really? You’re sure?”
Hermione smiled, soft and steady. “Completely sure. I love every part of you—curious parts included. And I trust Theo with my life; I know he’ll take exquisite care of you.”
She squeezed their hands. “We’ll talk through boundaries, safe words, aftercare—everything. This is about all three of us feeling safe and close, making sure you have the very best experience we can give you.”
Theo’s voice was thick with gratitude. “We love you so much, Hermione. Thank you for not being weird.”
Draco leaned across the small space to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, then turned to do the same to Theo. “Thank you,” he whispered against Theo’s mouth. “Both of you. I’ve wanted this for years… but only with you two.”
Hermione pulled them both into a warm embrace, the three of them tangled together on the sofa, hearts beating in quiet unison.
“Merry late Christmas indeed,” she murmured, smiling into Draco’s hair. “We’ve got all day to prepare, talk, and make sure everyone feels safe and excited. And tonight… we’ll make it beautiful for you, Draco.”
Draco’s voice was still a little shy. “I… I know the basics, but I’d feel better hearing it from you, Theo. Exactly what’s going to happen, clinically. So I’m not just imagining wild things in my head.”
Theo nodded, shifting to face them both, his healer’s voice calm, clear, and reassuring—no condescension, just loving precision and facts.
“Of course, love. I’ll walk you through every step so there are no surprises. You can both know exactly what to expect.”
He took a slow breath, keeping his tone calm and factual.
“The urethra runs from the bladder, through the prostate, and out the tip of the penis. In an adult male it’s about 18–20 cm long and naturally curved. The sounds we’ll use are curved surgical-steel rods specifically designed to follow that exact path. They’re completely smooth, rounded at the tip, and we’ll warm them to body temperature so there’s no shock.’
Hermione’s eyes widen a bit, but she remained silent.
“We’ll start with the absolute smallest size—4 mm in diameter, about the thickness of a thin drinking straw. That’s tiny compared to the natural stretch the urethra can handle. I’ll use a sterile, water-based surgical lubricant and insert the tip extremely slowly, literally millimetre by millimetre. The first sensation for you is usually a cool pressure at the meatus, then a gentle stretch as it slides in. Because the rod is curved, it naturally follows the urethra’s path downward toward the prostate.”
Draco nods.
“Once the tip reaches the prostate, usually around 12–15 cm in, that’s where the real intensity begins. The curve presses directly against the prostate from the inside, which is completely different from external stimulation you may have felt before. It can create a deep, full pressure that feels like the gland is being gently squeezed or massaged. Many men experience a slow, steady release of prostatic fluid… that’s the clear fluid you sometimes see during prolonged arousal, and an intense, rolling build-up that can lead to orgasm without any external stroking at all.”
Hemrione questioned, “And that’s perfectly safe?”
Theo nodded, “The key safety points are that I go at your pace. One breath, one millimetre. I’ll check in constantly: pressure, comfort, and… any sharp pain which will immediately stop the exploration. The rods are single-use sterile or autoclaved; everything is surgical grade. I already got a few sets from the hospital. We’ll have a safe word, red, so Draco can end it at any point he wants. Aftercare is warm cloths, cuddling, good hydration, and monitoring for a day or two for any signs of infection… it’s very low risk if done properly, but I’ll still watch you like a hawk anyway Draco.”
Hermione takes it in, nodding along with Theo’s explanation.
“And because I know you’ll ask, yes, orgasm is absolutely possible, actually extremely likely, often multiple even, and very intense—because the prostate is being stimulated from both the inside and, if we want, externally at the same time.”
Draco’s cheeks were flushed, but his eyes were brighter, the anxiety in them easing into excitement.
Hermione squeezed his hand. “That actually sounds… beautiful. And safe with you in charge, Theo.”
Draco exhaled shakily, leaning his head against Theo’s shoulder. “Okay. I trust you. I definitely want this. With both of you there.”
Theo kissed his temple, then Hermione’s. “Then we’ll make it perfect for you, love. Slow, safe, and full of love. Nothing else matters but your comfort.”
They spent the rest of the afternoon leisurely, together and apart. Theo prepping his kit, reading through instruction manuals one more time for extra reassurance, Hermione and Draco playing chess by the warm fire. Her reading muggle poetry aloud to them both.
They had a light lunch of lemon glazed salmon over jasmine rice, and Theo kept pushing liquids at Draco all day to make sure he was extra hydrated.
By the time mid-afternoon rolled around, there was calm anticipation mounting in the bond, and Theo encouraged them to come into his study to commence making Draco’s dream a reality.
Hermione knelt between Draco’s thighs first, her silk robe brushing his skin as she wrapped her warm hand around his half-hard cock.
“Draco, love,” she whispered, stroking him with slow, tender pulls. Her thumb was circling the flushed head, coaxing blood into the thick shaft until it rose heavy and rigid in her grip, veins bulging, slit glistening.
“Let me get you ready. Just breathe. We’ve got you.” Draco’s silver eyes fluttered, a shaky exhale escaping as he hardened fully under her touch.
“Hermione… fuck… feels good already.” She kissed the tip once, then stood and moved back to armchair, close enough for a good view, but far enough to let Theo have space to work, her thighs pressing together as she settled to watch.
“I’m right here. You’re safe. If you want me closer, or my hand you can let me know. If not, I’m right here to encourage you.”
Draco lay naked on the chaise, scarred chest rising and falling too quickly, his now fully erect cock curving upward, away from his groin, head flushed a dark rose color, a bead of pre-cum trembling at the slit.
Theo knelt slowly beside him, his gloved hand gentle running upward from the base to the tip, the two warmed, sterilized rods sat nearby ready to use, a 4 mm and 6 mm, as they’de discussed earlier.
Theo’s voice was low and soothing. “We’ll start with just the very tip of the smallest one, love. If it’s too much, we stop. No shame, no pressure. Hermione and I just want you to feel good. If you decide the idea of this was better than the reality and want to stop, we won’t judge you at all.”
Draco nodded, voice small. “Okay… I’m scared it’ll hurt, but I want to try.”
Theo drizzled lube over the slender 4 mm rod and Draco’s slit. He held the head between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing lightly to open the slit the smallest bit.
“Breathe for me, Draco.”
On his exhale, he pressed only the rounded tip just barely into the slit. Draco’s breath hitched sharply, cock twitching in Theo’s hand.
“Theo—fuck—it’s… inside the tip… burning a little… weird pressure… but… good?”
Theo held perfectly still, “That’s it. Just the very end is in. How does it feel? Are you ok to continue?”
Draco exhaled shakily, “Intense… but not bad. Keep going. Please.”
Theo eased the rod deeper with clinical patience and gravity, the steel vanished centimeter by centimeter, the urethra stretching around it just barely wider than normal.
Draco’s breath was coming fast and heavy, with little whimpers.
Theo paused the movement forward, staring into Draco’s eyes, “How is it?”
Draco’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he could manage words, “It’s different, very intense. Keep going.”
Theo slowly let the rod sink deeper, the curve finally kissing the prostate from the inside as it met resistance, which sparked a low moan from Draco.
“Ok Draco?”
He nodded, unable to speak over the overwhelming feelings bubbling up. The bond was full of his anticipation, and a hint of pleasure.
Clear fluid began to drip steadily from the slit. Theo began the slowest possible milking strokes, torturous, deliberate in-and-out rises, twisting the rod so the curve dragged across the gland in long, light passes, pausing occasionally to pulse the rod deep, flicking it to get a soft vibration to travel down the steel, drawing out every sensation.
Minutes of the treatment built, with Draco’s low moans turning louder and more drawn out. Prostatic fluid poured in a constant stream from the tip. Draco’s hips jerked helplessly.
“Theo… it’s building… fuck… I’m gonna—”
Theo whispered, “Let it happened, love. I’ve got you.”
The first orgasm came quickly and forcefully. Draco’s entire body seized, thighs trembling violently, cock pulsing around the tiny rod in fierce spasms. Thick ropes of cum exploded past the steel in powerful, arcing jets, splattering his chest and Theo’s gloved hand, prostatic fluid gushing in a continuous torrent at the same time.
His cry was raw, guttural, tears now streaming down his cheeks as wave after wave ripped through him for thirty full seconds.
“THEO—FUCK—I’M COMING APART—DON’T STOP!”
When it finally ebbed, Draco collapsed backward spent, and shaking, gasping, utterly wrecked.
Theo eased the rod out with extreme care, kissing away the remaining tears.
Draco’s voice was barely a whisper, shy and stunned, “That… that was insane. Theo… can we… can we try the 6 mm? It felt so good I… I want to feel a little more stretch. Please?”
Hermione’s own low moan was ragged. “Gods, Draco… yes, I want to see that.” Both boys’ eyes went to her and she blushed.
“Draco, watching you fall apart is amazingly sexy.”
Theo warmed the thicker 6 mm rod between his palms, coating it generously with lube.
“Breathe, darling. This one will feel like more pressure than the last, tighter stretch, a little stronger on the prostate. We’ll go even slower. Tell me the second it’s too much.”
Draco nodded, still trembling from the first climax, eyes glassy with want.
The slightly thicker tip pressed against Draco’s slit. The stretch was more immediate and devastating. The 6 mm forced his urethra open a tiny bit wider than the last rod, deeper, the curve pressing hard against his already hypersensitive prostate when it finally reached that low in his shaft.
Draco’s back bowed off the chaise, tears instantly welling in his eyes again.
“Fuck—bigger—stretching me—right there—it’s so much—!”
Theo prolonged the stimulaiton, twisting the rod fractionally as it advanced up and down, , the urethra stretching more noticeably, the rod filling the channel with considerable pressure, brushing the prostate with slow, deliberate scrapes.
Tears spilled down Draco’s cheeks, not from pain but from overwhelming intensity.
“Theo—it’s pressing harder—milking me… dripping—intense, good—check,” Draco moaned, his voice shaking.
Theo paused, “Scale of 1 to 10? Comfortable?”
Draco exhaled, “*6—good intense, keep going—I love you.”
Theo prolonged the milking for fifteen agonizing minutes, varying the strokes, shallow teases that barely moved, deep plunges that pressed the prostate hard, twisting the rod in slow circles to massage the gland from every angle, pausing to hold it deep and pulse it gently, Draco’s hips twitching uncontrollably, his cock leaking prostatic fluid constantly.
His breathing was ragged, his body trembling on the edge for long minutes, tears streaming freely.
“Theo—fuck—it’s building so slow—I’m aching—don’t stop,” Draco moaned, his voice desperate.
Theo whispered, “You’re safe, love—let it build, feel every second.”
The second climax finally hit like a supernova after the lengthy buildup. Draco’s entire body convulsed, legs kicking out, hips bucking wildly off the chaise as his prostate exploded around the rod. Cum rocketed out in violent, high-pressure jets, splattering the chase, his own face, Theo’s chest, the sheer force of it making the rod vibrate inside him. Prostatic fluid gushed in a continuous flood, soaking everything under him in a warm, endless stream.
His cry was hoarse, guttural, almost a scream, tears streaming as the orgasm tore through him for nearly forty-five seconds, his cock spasming so hard the rod nearly slipped from Theo’s fingers.
“THEO—FUCK—I’M DYING—CUMMING—CAN’T STOP—LOVE YOU—!”
When it finally ebbed, Draco collapsed limp, chest heaving, body twitching with aftershocks, cum and fluid dripping from his cock in slow, final pulses.
Theo withdrew the rod with trembling care, cradling Draco’s face, kissing away tears and cum.
Draco’s voice was wrecked, shy, awed. “I’ve never… nothing has ever felt like that. Thank you. Both of you.”
Hermione crossed the room on shaky legs, wrapping them both in her arms, pressing tearful kisses to their temples.
“My brave, beautiful boys. I’ve never been more in love with you than watching you care for each other so deeply.”
Draco was boneless, utterly spent, curled on his side in the middle of the wide chaise, his long limbs trembling with the last aftershocks.
His cock lay soft now against his thigh, flushed and sensitive, a final bead of cum glistening at the tip. Tears still clung to his lashes, silver-blond hair damp at the temples, his scarred chest rising and falling in slow, shaky breaths.
Theo joined first, sliding in behind him, chest to Draco’s back, one strong arm slipping beneath Draco’s neck, the other wrapping low around his waist, palm splayed protectively over Draco’s lower belly. He pressed a lingering kiss to the nape of Draco’s neck, then another just below his ear.
“You were perfect,” Theo whispered, voice rough with emotion. “So brave, so beautiful. I’ve got you, love. Always.”
Hermione slipped in from the front, robe completely discarded now, her warm, barely clad body molding to Draco’s chest. She tucked her head beneath his chin, one leg sliding between his, her hand finding Theo’s across Draco’s ribs so the three of them formed a single, tangled knot of limbs and heartbeats.
Draco made a small, broken sound—half sob, half sigh—and buried his face in Hermione’s curls, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo and skin.
“I’m… I’m okay,” he managed, voice hoarse and oddly small. “Just… a lot. Felt like I came apart and you both put me back together.”
Hermione kissed the hollow of his throat, then the corner of his mouth, tasting salt from his tears. “We’re right here, Draco. You don’t have to hold anything together right now. Just let us hold you.”
She reached up to brush the damp hair from his forehead, fingertips tracing his nose and pressed her lips there in silent benediction.
Theo’s hand moved in slow, soothing circles over Draco’s belly, occasionally dipping lower to cup his balls gently, not sexual now, just grounding, reminding him he was safe and cared for.
“You did so well trusting me with that,” Theo murmured against Draco’s shoulder. “I’m so proud of you. So in love with you.”
Draco’s breath hitched again, and he turned his face into Theo’s neck, hiding fresh tears. “I was scared it would hurt… but it didn’t. It was… overwhelming. Like you were inside my soul, not just my body.”
Hermione’s fingers threaded through Draco’s, squeezing tight. “We felt it too—the bond was singing the whole time. Every tremor, every tear… we were right there with you.”
She shifted just enough to press her forehead to his. “You never have to be brave alone, Draco Malfoy. Not with us.”
Draco let out a watery laugh, the sound muffled against Theo’s skin. “I’m a mess right now.”
“You’re our mess,” Theo said firmly, kissing the shell of his ear. “And we love every inch of this mess.”
They stayed like that for a long, quiet stretch—legs tangled, arms wrapped, heartbeats slowly syncing. Theo’s hand never stopped its slow, comforting circles; Hermione’s lips brushed idle, feather-light kisses across Draco’s collarbone, his jaw, the corner of his mouth.
Eventually Draco’s breathing evened out, the last tremors fading. He lifted his head just enough to find Hermione’s lips, then turned to claim Theo’s—slow, reverent kisses that tasted of salt and gratitude and home.
They stayed wrapped together long after the fire burned low, three bodies, one heartbeat, cocooned in the quiet certainty that they were exactly where they belonged.
Notes:
<3 Probably not for everyone, but seemed like a Draco thing to want.
Chapter 292: Suspicious Starts
Chapter Text
The next morning dawned bright with snow drifting down lazily outside the manor windows.
Hermione woke first, tucked between Draco and Theo as usual. Draco was sprawled like a starfish, Theo curled toward her with protectiveness even while asleep.
She eased out of bed, got washed and dressed, and by the time she made it downstairs, Draco was already in the library, coffee in one hand, the soft crackle of the enchanted fireplace reflecting in his grey eyes.
He looked more relaxed today than he had since returning form Vienna. Yesterday’s release seemingly having done wonders for his constant tension.
Theo wandered in soon after her, shirt half-buttoned, hair rumpled, yawning.
Draco smirked, “Good morning, sunshine.”
Theo pointed at him. “If you keep talking before I’ve had ample coffee, I’ll put nettle-leaf tincture in your aftershave.”
Hermione snorted into her own mug.
By midmorning, they had taken over the ballroom together, its high ceilings perfect for magical diffusion, with ward stones placed in a triangle around them.
Hermione stood between her husbands as Draco straightened his crisp cuffs and Theo adjusted the wand holster on his forearm.
“All right,” Theo said, taking a steadying breath. “Same exercise as last week, the bonding synchrony shield.”
Draco lifted his chin. “We’re significantly more aligned now. This should be far easier than before.”
Hermione rolled her eyes fondly, “You always say that, then one of ends up flat on our arse.”
Theo grinned, “Usually he’s wrong.”
But today, Draco wasn’t.
They linked hands, and Hermione felt it immediately, a warm coil of energy, the three of them drawing from one magical center instead of three separate wells.
Theo murmured, “One… two… three.”
Their wands lifted in unison.
“Concordia Aegis!”
A shimmering sphere rippled into existence around them; silver, with pale emerald and smoky gold, the colors of each of their magical signatures. It wavered, then stabilized, then strengthened.
Hermione gasped softly.
Draco’s fingers squeezed hers.
Theo’s shock could be felt in the bond.
The shield held strong.
Not flickering.
Not cracking, just perfectly stable.
Theo exhaled shakily. “Holy hell… that’s the strongest it’s ever been.”
Draco practically glowed, “Of course it is. We’re more aligned and relaxed now.”
Hermione stepped forward, the shield dissolving into gentle sparkles.
“It felt almost… effortless that time.”
“It will start to feel like that more often with practice,” Draco said softly.
After lunch, Draco summoned both of them to the sitting room like he was about to deliver a lecture.
He dropped the thick, heavily annotated ancient triad-study tome on the table.
“I finished it.”
Theo was amazed, “Already?”
“You were only halfway through it like two days ago,” Hermione added.
Draco gave a modest shrug, “I read quickly.”
“And obsessively,” Theo muttered.
Draco ignored him.
“I wanted to share the most important things I learned,” he said, settling beside Hermione on the couch while Theo pulled an armchair close.
His voice softened as he began, “There were only twenty documented magical triads in the last thousand years by the time this book was written. Most were unstable. Some lived peacefully. Two were extraordinarily powerful, far beyond what any bonded magical group should have been capable of.”
Hermione listened intently, “What made those two extra special?”
Draco tapped the book, “Three things really; Full emotional transparency, even when it was uncomfortable. No secrets. No withholding. Also, regular magical synchronization.
Not just intimacy—though intimacy helped tremendously—but deliberate magic practice together. And also, a defining purpose. A shared… mission. Something that bound them beyond love.”
Theo absorbed that quietly.
Hermione felt a shiver.
“What kind of missions?” she asked.
Draco hesitated then, scanning notes.
“One was dedicated to healing magic in a remote region of the world that had no magical infrastructure. The all had different healing specialties, and worked together to treat the sick, and established the first all-encompassing health center in the country. The started a legacy of training healers in that region, and ended up creating most of the infrastructure that’s there today. It was a life long mission for them. The other triad had a mission that held less longevity… they hunted down a dark artifact that had been poisoning entire villages in Bulgaria. They were the only triad who could dismantle it safely apparently.”
Hermione’s chest tightened.
Magic siphoning.
Theo’s jaw clenched.
“So, we’re on track with number three whether we like it or not if we bring down the siphoning ring,” he murmured.
Draco nodded grimly, “Seems the universe chose for us.”
Hermione reached for their hands, grounding them before Theo headed out to work.
They ate dinner that night slowly after that, talking about smaller things; the weather, how much snow was predicted by January’s end, whether they should plant winter aconite or something else in the enclosed garden when spring came.
Then Draco cleared his throat and pulled out his planner.
“We should talk about the rest of January,” he said, softer than usual. “The month’s going to move quickly. We’ve got: Hermione’s new semester starting in a few days, my ministry meetings, our trip, Pansy party, Theo’s rotations… and, well—”
He looked at Hermione meaningfully, “February coming quickly.”
Hermione’s stomach fluttered. “I haven’t forgotten,” she said, cheeks warming. “We’re still on track for trying the first week.”
Theo’s hand slid over hers under the table, squeezing gently. “Only if you feel ready when we get there,” he reminded.
“I will be,” she murmured.
Theo smiled at her, and Draco let out a breath.
They talked through the basic logistics, nothing heavy, nothing overwhelming. Just planning like the soft prelude to a future they were all finally comfortable imagining.
After dinner, the three of them curled up together before the big window overlooking the snowy orchard. Draco read little notes from the old triad book aloud, Theo played absently with Hermione’s hair, and Hermione began drafting her charms notes for the term.
It all felt right.
Quiet.
Safe.
Two mornings later, Hermione woke early, dressed in warm wool layers, and stood before the mirror adjusting her cloak.
Behind her, Theo buttoned his healer trainee robes for the day. Draco sat on the edge of the bed, still shirtless, watching her with that protective look he didn’t bother hiding anymore.
“You’ll owl us if anything feels off?” Draco asked.
“Yes,” Hermione said, amused. “You two know the Auror escort is there to make sure nothing feels off.”
Theo frowned. “I still don’t like you going anywhere without one. Even with one you still went missing.”
Hermione moved to kiss his cheek. “I know. But Kingsley cleared all the instructors, and the Institute wards have been doubled since—before. I’ll be fine.”
Draco stood and pulled her into his arms, “Still don’t like it.”
“Noted,” she whispered.
At the base of the grand staircase, the Auror assigned to her, a middle aged woman with brunette hair waited with a polite nod.
“Morning, Lady Nott-Malfoy.”
Hermione winced, “Just Hermione.”
She smiled. “Hermione, then. Shall we?”
Theo fussed over her scarf. Draco shoved a small phial of emergency Pepper-Up into her hand. They both watched her leave as though she was walking off to battle.
She sent them a warm reassurance through the bond as she stepped into the floo.
When she arrived at the Charms Institute, snow dusted her boots as she crossed the courtyard where it had happened. Students huddled in cloaks, breath misting in the winter air. Her presence drew whispers, some startled, some relieved, some wide-eyed with curiosity.
Auror Marlowe walked a half step behind her, unobtrusive but vigilant.
Inside her advanced symposium classroom, the murmurs rose immediately.
“Is it true she was in Russia—?”
“—heard she fought her way out—”
“No, she was unconscious!”
“—does she still have her magic?—”
Hermione breathed in, shoulders squared back, but not defensive. She took her seat, pulling out parchment and quill. Marlowe stood by the back wall, arms folded, gaze scanning the room.
Professor Leclair entered, clapping her hands.
“Welcome back, advanced theorists. Today we begin your specialty-track term—”
Then her eyes landed on Hermione.
“Ah. Miss Granger. We’re grateful to see you safely returned.”
Hermione flushed, murmuring a thank you.
Leclair gave a stern look to the class, “And I expect you all to show her the courtesy and normalcy she deserves.”
Class began. It was normal.
Refreshingly normal.
Hermione scribbled notes furiously, thrilled to be back among equations of magical resonance and harmonic convergence curves. She kept her magic to simple wand movements, nothing taxing. Marlowe never left her post.
By midday, Hermione felt almost intellectually whole again.
When class ended, she stepped onto the outdoor terrace for a breath of fresh winter air. Students chatted in small groups, parchment fluttering in the breeze.
Marlowe moved only far enough to give her space, but still within reach.
Hermione gazed at the snow-covered courtyard below, and for the first time since her imprisonment, she felt a flicker of appreciation for life.
She was here.
She was alive.
She was studying what she loved.
She was bonded to two men who loved her.
She was safe.
And tomorrow, she’d come back again.
Theo arrived home late, later than he meant to, the winter wind still in his hair when he stepped through the front door. His healer robes smelled faintly peppermint tonic tonight.
Hermione and Draco were already seated at the dining table, candles flickering low, steam curling from bowls of tomato basil soup and warm cheese infused bread that the elves kept hot for him.
“Long day?” Hermione asked, rising just enough to kiss his cheek, her fingers brushing his jaw like she was checking for tension.
Theo practically melted into his seat. “Brutal day. But I have updates.”
Draco straightened, suddenly sharp with attention. “Tokyo?”
Theo nodded, rubbing both hands over his face before pushing his hair back. “Two Flint descendants tracked. Squibs, both of them. Confirmed.”
Hermione’s stomach dipped. “And?”
“And—” Theo exhaled. “Neither of them seem magically involved. They both have Muggle occupations. One’s a florist. The other repairs electronics. Neither has international travel history that would connect them to the siphoning network.”
Draco frowned, “So they’re not our people.”
Theo shook his head. “Probably not. It narrows the list. But there are dozens of blanks still missing in the family tree. If the boss is a Flint, they’re either deep-cover or off-record entirely. Marcus knows I’m betting.”
Hermione let out a breath, “It’s something. Not much, but something.”
Theo gave a tired little smile and reached toward his soup. “Harry said there might be another intercepted letter coming in the next few days. Kingsley is keeping it quiet until the linguistics team finishes parsing it. They’re also looking into he guy Marcus had with him the other day.”
Draco muttered a sharp curse under his breath, but Hermione nudged his leg gently under the table and he softened.
They talked through it for a while, what the findings meant, what the dead ends meant, the strange patterns of squibbed branches in sacred families. It was grim, but the kind of grim they’d been breathing for months.
Eventually, dinner tapered into lighter chatter. They moved to dessert, a warm apple crumble with clotted cream, and Theo seemed to relax visibly with every bite.
By the time they padded upstairs for the night, all three were exhausted.
Snow tapped quietly at the windowpanes as Hermione slid between the sheets, Draco slipping in on her left, Theo on her right. The bond hummed steady and warm.
Hermione rested her head on Draco’s shoulder, fingertips drawing lazy patterns on his sternum.
“So,” she said lightly, “Tokyo squibs aside… I hear my husbands are abandoning me next weekend.”
Theo groaned softly. Draco nudged her hip with a smirk.
“It is not abandoning,” Draco said.
Hermione arched an eyebrow. “You’re literally leaving the country without me.”
Theo brushed a hand over her thigh. “We’re going to the Grand Canary Islands. Sand, sun, sleep. Zero stress.”
“And zero wives,” Hermione teased, poking Draco’s chest.
“Zero wives because you told us to go,” Draco laughed.
“That is true,” she conceded.
Theo buried his face briefly in her shoulder with a little groan. “It’ll be good. I think Draco and I need the time to keep rebuilding our connection… and you’re hosting Pansy’s baby shower anyway.”
Hermione beamed, “Exactly. I will be buried in pureblood pregnancy rituals, enchanted bassinets, and Pansy demanding twelve different flavors of petit fours.”
Theo shuddered, “Honestly, that sounds scarier than any dark wizard.”
Hermione giggled. Draco kissed the corner of her mouth.
“But you’ll enjoy it,” Draco murmured. “You always take care of your friends.”
“And you two,” she murmured back, kissing each of them in turn, “are going to have your little romantic getaway. Matching sunburns after probably arguing over sunscreen application.”
Theo snorted, “You think Draco lets himself burn?”
Draco huffed, deeply offended. “My skin tone is medically perfect. I do not burn.”
Hermione rolled her eyes affectionately, “You burned in Croatia.”
“That was one time.”
“And you whined,” Theo added, smirking.
“I did not whine,” Draco insisted, which only made both of them snicker harder until he conceded, grumbling, “Fine. A little.”
Hermione slid closer, resting her hand against Draco’s cheek. “I want you two to enjoy it. Really. You haven’t had proper time alone in months. It’ll be good for you both.”
Theo’s breath went soft at her ear. “We want you with us too always,” he murmured. “But we’ll bring the sun back for you.”
“And souvenirs,” Draco added smugly. “Something scandalous I think.”
Hermione blushed instantly, swatting him lightly on the shoulder. “Draco Malfoy—”
Theo looped an arm around her waist, pulling all three of them flush together. “He’s not wrong. You deserve scandalous things… that we get to see you in.”
Draco brushed a kiss to her temple. “You’ll be busy with Pansy anyway.”
Hermione nodded. “Yes… and it’s good we all have our own weekends alone sometimes. Then when we’re together again…”
Theo whispered, voice low, “It’ll be even better.”
Hermione felt her heart expand in her chest.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Exactly.”
They drifted to sleep like that, content, and tangled together.
Notes:
So many things to cover in January still!
Chapter 293: Preparing for a Party
Notes:
Short scene, the boys are away, Pansy's party is planned.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione spent the next few days in a strange rhythm that reminded her of her early mastery months before everything had spiraled. Theo was working grueling double shifts at St. Mungo’s so he could secure the whole weekend off for their Grand Canary trip. Draco, meanwhile, had buried himself in the library, stacks of genealogy charts and parchment scrolls swallowing half of his office as he hunted for more Flint lineage gaps.
And Hermione had chakra classes.
The Charms Institute had added an optional seminar on magical energy alignment, and even though she’d only just recovered from her magical depletion, she found herself craving the structure, the focus, the sense of reclaiming her magic on her own terms.
Her Auror escort—Tink today—walked her through the frosty courtyard to the low stone building used for magical flow lessons.
“Last class of the year for you lot, yeah?” Tink chirped, boots crunching in the snow.
Hermione nodded. “I think I’m ready for a quiet January.”
Tonks snorted, “With your life? Not a chance.”
Hermione smiled weakly.
Inside the chakra room, warm lamplight glowed along the polished floor. The instructor, Healer Paramus, guided them through slow breathwork, aura exercises, and wandless focus drills. Hermione found herself sinking into the rhythm, her magic humming steadily under her skin, stronger than it had felt since the kidnapping.
But a few times throughout the lesson, her bond tugged faintly. Not painfully, just present and persistent.
Theo; exhausted but determined, his energy thready with healer fatigue and concentration.
Draco; sharp and focused, irritation curling around him like static as he likely hit dead ends in his research.
Hermione inhaled, steadying her core.
she needed this steadiness before February came and everything in their lives changed again.
When class ended, she lingered in the hallway while Tink fetched her coat.
She checked her watch—past six. No messages from Draco. No owl from Theo. Which wasn’t surprising.
As she stepped outside, snow began to fall, not the frantic sharp-edged kind, but soft, fat flakes that drifted lazily.
She let one land on her glove.
“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “We’re fine. They’re fine. Everything is normal. Normal for us.”
Her bond pulsed gently, like a distant heart beating.
She smiled and headed home.
Nott Manor felt too large without the boys there, who were both still out.
There was a half-eaten bowl of fruit left on the counter, likely Theo’s doing as he raced out the door. A pile of genealogy charts on the dining table was Draco’s.
Pudding padded after her, yowling loudly, offended that Hermione had dared to leave for hours.
Hermione sat at the table and opened Draco’s neat stack of Flint files. He had a lot of notes scribbled in the margins. Several names crossed out violently. A few arrows pointing to nothing but blank spaces.
“Lost records,” she murmured, brushing her hand over the parchment. “Missing children… erased marriages… abandoned squibs…”
Her chest tightened.
Someone had gone through a great deal of trouble to erase Flint history.
For dinner, she ate alone, simple potato soup, and an herb crusted roll, her mind swirling with half-formed thoughts.
When Theo sent a fox patronus late that night, it’s glow flickered bleakly with exhaustion.
“Shift was horrible. Heading to bed in the apprentice dorms to grab an hour or two before the next shift starts. Love you both. See you tomorrow night.”
Draco sent an owl thirty minutes later.
Still researching at the Manor. Don't wait up. Don’t worry either. Going to find something. — D
Hermione crawled into bed, the sheets cold and wide without them.
She wrapped herself in Draco’s favorite blanket and tried not to notice how lonely it all felt. Sleep took a long time to come without them. By the time she woke the next morning, Draco had already left again, a note by a steaming cup of tea said;
Checking on a hunch at the Ministry Archives, be back soon. - D
Tink escorted her again that morning, and Hermione spent hours working on wandless charms meant to channel energy through different magical “gates” of the body.
Her magic sputtered twice, then steadied.
Healer Paramus smiled at her. “You’re healing beautifully for someone who just had near depletion, Miss Granger.”
That reassurance warmed her more than she expected.
During lunch break in the courtyard, the snow was falling thicker now, Hermione opened her notebook and practiced delicate sigils for aura alignment.
Maybe for her mastery project…
Maybe something bond-related…
Maybe something to support magical core stability…
Draco’s voice echoed faintly in her mind from a past conversation:
“You’re going to change the world, Granger.”
She hoped she still could.
Hermione returned to the manor at dusk, cheeks flushed. The moment she stepped inside, she felt it, Theo had come home early.
The bond tugged warm, relief washing through it.
She found him in the sitting room, half asleep with a blanket over him.
“Theo?” she asked gently.
He looked up with a sleepy smile. “You’re home.”
Hermione knelt beside him. “Long shift?”
“Longest,” he murmured. “But you’re here now.”
She cupped his cheek. “I missed you.”
His eyes softened. “Missed you too.”
Before she could respond, she felt Draco’s presence flare just outside, full of adrenaline—as he strode through the front door.
“Hermione.” His voice cracked with a kind of relief he rarely let anyone hear. “I was just about to owl—”
He stopped when he saw her kneeling beside Theo.
Then he exhaled.
Then he very carefully sank to the floor beside both of them.
Hermione placed one hand on each of their knees.
“Hi,” she whispered.
Theo snorted. Draco rolled his eyes. But they both leaned into her touch.
Draco kissed her knuckles.
Theo pressed his forehead to her shoulder.
And the bond settled warm and steady.
“Tomorrow Theo,” Draco said softly, “we stop being responsible adults and fly off to the sun.”
Theo grinned weakly. “Thank Merlin.”
Hermione smiled. “And when you get back, we’ll be together again for a while.”
The next morning, Hermione stretched in bed and immediately felt the bond pulsing.
Draco was awake.
Theo too.
Both of them humming with that particular mix of excitement and nerves that only came before a trip.
She sat up just as someone knocked lightly on the bedroom doorframe.
“Love?” Draco’s voice was soft. “We’re heading out soon.”
Hermione padded to the doorway, still wrapped in one of Theo’s oversized sleep shirts, curls a little wild.
Theo looked unfairly handsome in his travel jumper, hair damp from the shower, carrying a bag that was clearly too heavy for a single weekend away. She watched him stuff a few silk scarves into the front pocket, and his sounding kit. She exchanged a conspiratorial smirk with him without Draco noticing.
Hermione stepped into him first. He wrapped his long arms around her back and squeezed.
“You’ll owl?” she murmured into his chest.
“Every morning,” he promised. “And every night before bed. And if anything goes sideways—”
“You’ll patronus me. I know.” She smiled against him. “Please also sleep while you’re there. I know you two.”
Theo kissed her forehead. “I’ll sleep. Mostly because Draco will drag me to bed and keep me locked there I fear.”
“That I will,” Draco muttered darkly from behind them.
Hermione turned to Draco next and he immediately slid his hands around her waist, pulling her close. He didn’t kiss her immediately—he just looked at her, eyes traveling over her face with that soft, almost aching longing he tried so hard to hide.
“You sure you’ll be alright here alone?” he asked quietly.
“Your mother is coming to help me,” Hermione said with a fond sigh. “Nothing on Earth is stronger than Narcissa Malfoy on a mission. I’ll be safe. And busy.”
Draco huffed a laugh, brushing his thumb along her jaw. “Still feels wrong leaving you.”
Hermione rose onto her toes and kissed him—slow, tender, almost grounding. “Go. Both of you. Have a good time together. You need this. We need this.”
Theo touched her back lightly, “We love you.”
Her chest fluttered. “I love you both. Now go before I decide to put myself in your luggage.”
Draco rolled his eyes dramatically,“Merlin forbid.”
A few more kisses.
A few more tight squeezes.
One last shared moment where the bond glowed warm and steady between the three of them.
Then—crack—they Portkeyed away, leaving a faint ripple of magic and a pair of still-warm ghost handprints on Hermione’s hips.
She exhaled. The manor felt too quiet once again.
Hermione had barely finished her tea when the floo whooshed softly and Narcissa stepped through in a tailored winter cloak, hair flawless, and expression determined enough to quell a small rebellion.
“Hermione, darling.” Narcissa kissed both her cheeks with surprising warmth. “We have much to do.”
Hermione blinked, “Good morning to you too.”
“I brought lists,” Narcissa announced, producing a long roll of parchment. “And samples.”
“…samples of what?”
“Everything.”
And oh, she wasn’t exaggerating.
Within twenty minutes, the dining room table was covered in swatches of blush pink and soft blue fabrics, miniature enchanted floating flowers for centerpieces, prototypes of baby shower favors shaped like golden snitches with pacifiers for wings, seven types of tea to serve, and a catalog of pureblood-appropriate baby gifts divided by trimester, lineage, and humor level.
Hermione stared.
“Narcissa… this is Pansy. She’ll hex us if this thing looks to much like the party he rparents would have expected.”
Narcissa lifted her chin in defiance, “Pansy Parkinson may hex us, but she will not be able to deny the aesthetic excellence I am about to create.”
Hermione laughed, which made Narcissa’s eyes soften in that quiet, fond way she’d been showing more and more lately with her.
“Let’s mix your style and mine,” Hermione suggested. “Warm, cozy, lovely—but still elegant.”
Narcissa nodded thoughtfully. “Compromise. Good. I approve.”
They spent the entire afternoon figuring out what they could both live with, and would make Pnasy happy too. At one point, Narcissa glanced up from a charm she was weaving and said quietly, “You’re blending beautifully into our old world, you know.”
Hermione flushed. “Am I?”
“Oh, yes. Birds of a feather don’t flock by accident.” Narcissa smirked. “The boys adore you. You anchor them.”
Hermione looked down at the ribbon she was tying, her throat warm.
“And we are very lucky to have you here with us,” she murmured.
Narcissa’s hand settled briefly on hers, “We all are.”
By the time Narcissa left at sunset, the manor was glowing with decorations, the tea samples had all been tasted, and Hermione’s heart felt unexpectedly full.
She curled up on the couch afterward with a blanket and a mug of cocoa, missing the boys but comforted by the sense of forward motion.
Notes:
The shower will be in the next scene. what are you expecting it to be like?
Chapter 294: Pansy's Baby Shower
Chapter Text
The ballroom at Nott Manor looked like a mother’s dream.
Hermione had spent the early morning finishing the last charms, letting floating lanterns drift in gentle spirals along the ceiling, and layering the protection-circle runes Narcissa had taught her weeks ago—old pure-blood rites meant for blessing pregnancies and warding any room where a pregnant witch gathered with friends.
Narcissa had insisted on doing the spellwork with her.
“It’s tradition,” Narcissa murmured as she traced glowing silver runes in the air. “We honor the mother by safeguarding the space.”
Hermione repeated the movements, slow, elegant, looping sigils. The runes sank into the floor with soft pulses of gold.
“I still can’t believe this is a thing,” Hermione whispered. “A protection circle specifically for gatherings of women?”
Narcissa smirked faintly. “My dear, pure-blood families have been inventing dramatic rituals for centuries. Most of them are useless or ridiculous. This one, however…”
Her eyes softened, “…this one matters.”
Hermione felt the hum of the circle settle into her bones—a warm, safe vibration. She let herself imagine, briefly, what it might feel like for her to have one of her own soon.
Then the floo whooshed and the chaos began. Ginny arrived first, already nibbling on a tea cookie she apparently brought form home. Cho followed, perfectly put together and carrying a large silver gift bag. Luna drifted in next with baby Celine in a sling, three balloons tied to her wrist for no apparent reason. Molly Weasley swooped in holding an armful of blue and yellow crocheted blankets. Blaise’s mother arrived, elegant, intimidating, and wearing enough perfume to stun a troll, causing Hemione to cough. Narcissa returned having changed upstairs, in full formal hostess mode now, looking regal and glowing.
And finally, Daphne Greengrass glided in, chin high, dress flawless, and expression cool enough to frost glass. Her gaze flicked over Hermione and Narcissa.
“Oh. Hello,” Daphne said. “Lovely decorations. I suppose.”
Hermione suppressed a sigh. Narcissa’s expression did not shift even a millimeter.
“Daphne,” Narcissa said pleasantly. “Thank you for coming.”
“Hm,” Daphne replied, drifting past them as if floating on disdain.
Ginny leaned in to Hermione’s ear. “Merlin’s beard, she’s worse than at Pansy’s wedding almost.”
Then, Pansy herself arrived, round-bellied and glamourous even a month out from he rdue date. Blaise escorted her in with a hand under her elbow, steading her.
The room cheered.
Pansy threw up both hands, “I WANT FOOD. And a chair."
The elves brought out platters of tiny smoked-salmon sandwiches, charmed fruit skewers that shimmered with gold edible glitter, pumpkin scones, sugared tea donuts (Pansy's recent obsession), and three kinds of pregnancy-safe mocktails, along with multiple pots of teas.
Pansy devoured two plates of donuts before taking her throne-like armchair.
Hermione clapped her hands. “Okay, first game! Guess-the-Pregnancy-Potion.”
Five vials appeared on the table. Some harmless. Some… interesting looking.
Ginny picked up a vial and sniffed, “This one smells like burnt hair.”
“Because it is burnt hair,” Hermione said. “Sleekeazy’s sample before it’s refined, the only safe version a pregnant witch can use after the fifth month!”
Cho’s face twisted, “I’m sudenly feeling very muggle today.”
Luna held a glittery vial to the light. “This one whispers to me. Is it a tonic to help the baby be peaceful?”
“It’s a Pregnancy Pepper-Up,” Hermione said.
“Ah yes,” Luna nodded. “It says it misses its brewer.”
Molly nearly choked on her scone.
As it turned out, no one got any potions right at all, before they moved onto the next game, guessing the baby food flavor based on smell.
Pansy heaved herself up to sniff each jar.
“Oh gods, THIS one is vile,” she gagged.
Ginny laughed. “That’s mashed peas.” She got a point.
“Burn it,” Pansy said flatly.
Luna guessed a sweet smelling one to be strawberry, which was correct, but Cho got the next one (radish) wrong by calling it beets.
Molly won the game by managing to correctly guess five in a row (carrots, chicken, potatoes, banana, and pumpkin), earning her cheers from the other ladies.
Between sips of tea, Luna made her usual quiet, unnervingly accurate pronouncements.
While speaking to Pansy, “I think your delivery won’t go quite how you imagine,” Luna said conversationally. “It will be messier. Louder. With more fire.”
Pansy froze, “Why fire?!”
“Oh, not literal flames,” Luna added. “Probably.”
Molly dropped her fork.
And then Luna turned dreamy eyes to Hermione.
“You won’t be a mother quite when you expect,” she said serenely. “But you’ll be exactly on time.”
Hermione blinked. “What does that mean, Luna?”
“It means,” Luna said, “what it means.”
Daphne snorted, “Cryptic nonsense.”
Luna turned to her, unbothered. “Oh, you’ll be very surprised soon too. Check the bottom of your husband’s sock drawer.”
Daphne went pale. Ginny mouthed terrifying at Hermione.
Before gifts, Narcissa announced, “Next we honor mother and child in an old ritual.”
She guided Pansy gently to the center of the glowing sigils Hermione had cast.
Hermione stepped in beside her representing the host role—heart thudding—and the other women formed a larger circle around them.
Narcissa’s voice was low, melodic. The other’s repeated after her.
“We weave safety, strength, and lineage. We bless the womb, the future, and the path of the child.”
Warm magic rippled out like a soft wave.
Pansy’s eyes shone.
Luna hummed lightly.
Hermione felt her own core warm, like a promise.
When it finished, Pansy wiped tears. “Okay. Someone feed me again.”
As she ate again, she opened gifts. The first gifts ranged from heartfelt to hilarious;
Molly’s gifts: five knitted blankets, each made with love.
Ginny’s gifts: a Gryffindor baby onesie with “Try Me.”, and a stuffed giraffe.
Cho’s gifts: children’s books in Mandarin, French, and English.
Narcissa’s gift: a silver dipped baby rattle etched with Slytherin serpents.
Hermione’s gift: an enchanted baby monitor that alerted parents to magical flares as well as normal sounds.
Daphne’s gift drew quite a reaction.
She handed over the box stiffly.
Inside was a delicate swaddling wrap woven with traditional ancient Greengrass protection wards.
“It’s lovely,” Pansy whispered, genuinely moved. She wiped away a tear, “My family had one like this too, passed down for generations.”
Daphne nodded curtly but said nothing about the generosity.
Then Luna handed over her present with a flourish. A bag containing a stuffie shaped like a dirigible plum and enchanted star stickers for the ceiling of the nursery.
“For granting intuition and wishes,” Luna said seriously.
Everybody clapped because that was the safest reaction.
The final hour of the shower was full of dessert and ridiculous laughter, Hermione dropping a levitating cupcake on Cho’s head accidentally, Ginny helping Narcissa charm the leftovers to pack up, and Daphne pretending to be floo calling someone important while watching everyone from the corner likely to ge tout of helping with the cleanup.
Pansy waddled over and hugged Hermione hard.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “For all of this. For loving me enough to give me a proper pure-blood trimmed shower instead of a Weasley-style food fight.”
Hermione snorted, “I’d do anything for you.”
Pansy squeezed tighter. “You really will be next, you know. I believe that.”
Hermione froze.
“Next to what?”
Pansy smirked. “Next to get a swollen belly and complain about swollen ankles.”
Hermione rolled her eyes but her stomach fluttered.
Luna drifted by and whispered, “Oh yes. Very soon. Though perhaps not in the order one expects.”
Hermione groaned, “LUNA.”
Luna smiled serenely and wandered off to pet a floating lantern.
The baby shower ended in a swirl of floo powder and glitter, and eventually even Pansy—waddling, exhausted, and stuffed with tea doughnuts, was bundled home by Blaise.
Hermione stood at the doorway of the manor as the last guests disappeared, her body pleasantly tired, heart full.
Ginny slung an arm around her shoulders.
“Alright,” Ginny said, “now that we’ve celebrated Pregnant Princess Parkinson, it’s time to discuss the important matter—keeping you company while the boys are off in the Canary Islands being domestic and romantic without you.”
Hermione snorted. “Theo insisted I have you over. I’d be fine alone.”
“Sure,” Ginny said. “And I’m the Queen of France.”
They laughed as they headed upstairs.
Hermione changed into soft pajama shorts and one of Theo’s oversized healer shirts. Ginny wore flannel Quidditch pajama bottoms and a Holyhead Harpies tee.
They settled into Hermione and the boys’ massive bed, surrounded by, a tray of hot cocoa mugs, a bowl of charmed popcorn set to keep refilling, a bundle of chocolate frogs, cucumber slices Hermione insisted were “hydrating”, and a stack of gossip magazines Ginny brought purely to make fun of the advice the gave.
Hermione sank back against the pillows. “It’s nice… you staying, thanks.”
Ginny nudged her. “I was a bit worried. Not because I think the siphoners are coming for you again in here—the wards on this place could stop a dragon—but because emotionally? You’ve been through hell lately. You deserve company, not a lonely house.”
Hermione didn’t argue. Ginny was annoyingly right.
“So,” Ginny said, flipping open a magazine, “let’s talk about the Vienna trip.”
Hermione groaned into her cocoa, “Ginny.”
“No, because you gave me only the barest summary so far and I need the extended edition director’s cut.”
Hermione covered her face.
Ginny cackled.
“Fine,” Hermione muttered. “We… learned things.”
“Were you spanked?” Ginny guessed boldly.
Hermione choked on a kernel, “GINNY, what, no.”
Ginny howled with laughter.
“But we communicated amazingly,” Hermione added, cheeks flushed. She wanted to defend her lovers, defend herself. “I don’t want to feel ashamed of exploring myself.”
Ginny’s teasing softened instantly, “Hey. I’m proud of you. It takes guts to explore your desires with honesty.”
Hermione smiled shyly. “Thank you.”
Ginny bumped her shoulder. “So. Next topic. When are you getting pregnant?”
Hermione absolutely deflated. “Why is everyone asking that?”
“Because you’ve got a triad, Hermione. It’s like… the hottest strategic family-building puzzle in wizarding culture today. And we all know the deadline is your wedding anniversary thanks to the law.”
Hermione threw popcorn at her as an answer.
Hours later, after more gossip about Ginny’s teammates and giggling and making fun of a Witch Weekly article about “10 Spells to Make Your Husband Obsessed with You,” the mood settled into something softer.
The lanterns dimmed.
The manor felt quiet.
They turned the lights off.
Ginny suddenly whispered, “Hermione… were you scared? In Russia?”
Hermione hesitated.
Then she whispered back, “Yes.”
Ginny reached for her hand. “But you came home. And now you’re thriving.”
“I… still have moments where it feels unreal,” Hermione admitted. “Moments where I wake up and don’t know which month it is. But the bond anchoring again helps. Theo and Draco help.”
Ginny squeezed her hand.
“You’re one of the strongest witches I know. But that doesn’t mean you have to go through everything alone.”
Hermione swallowed past the knot in her throat, “And… I know this sounds ridiculous,” she whispered, “but I miss them tonight.”
Ginny smiled gently.
“It doesn’t sound ridiculous at all. You’re magically bound, emotionally attached, and wildly in love. Missing them is normal.”
Hermione blinked tears away. “I’m glad you’re here though.”
“I’m glad you let me be,” Ginny said.
They fell asleep with the curtains drawn and the lanterns dimmed low.
Hermione woke to a thump and Ginny mumbling, “Bloody hell,” because she’d rolled off the enchanted mattress, which was extremely springy due to Draco’s picky mattress tastes.
“Morning,” Hermione said, laughing.
Ginny lifted her head from the carpet.
“Remind me why rich Slytherins insist on beds that fight back?”
They got dressed, Hermione in soft winter robes, Ginny in leggings and a sweater that looked suspiciously stolen from Harry.
Downstairs in the breakfast solarium, Pansy sat with a large mug of tea, hair a mess, wearing Blaise’s old Quidditch jersey, having impatentity let herself back in thru the floo. Her ankles were swollen and she did not care.
“I’m dying,” Pansy announced.
“You’re just pregnant,” Hermione said, kissing her cheek. “You’re merely dramatic.”
“I’m both,” Pansy retorted.
Luna arrived with baby Celine, who was wearing a hat shaped like a snowflake.
“I brought lemon scones,” Luna said. “They told me they wanted to be here.”
Ginny whispered, “I still don’t know if she means the scones or the baby.”
Hermione shrugged. “With Luna, it’s best not to differentiate.”
The elves laid out a lovely spread before them of blueberry pancakes, fresh made whipped cream, sausages, fruit compote in three flavors, honey-baked scones, and pitchers of cider and tea.
The moment the food hit the table, Pansy was already eating for two—maybe three or four.
Luna fed Celine mashed fruit with a tiny silver spoon.
“So,” Luna said dreamily, “did you sleep well here Ginny?”
Ginny snorted, “Hermione was pouting about missing her men.”
Hermione slapped her arm, “I was not.”
“Yes you were, I bet,” Pansy said through a mouthful of scone.
Hermione glared at all of them.
Luna patted her hand. “It’s okay. The bond gets itchy when a triad sleeps apart. Especially when the alignment is fresh and strong. You’re simply experiencing magical longing.”
Ginny, “What—like being horny?”
Luna, “No. Well… also yes.”
Hermione put her head on the table and groaned.
Pansy shifted in her seat, rubbing her belly.
“I swear, this baby is doing calisthenics.”
Luna touched her stomach. “He’s preparing.”
Pansy froze, “For what?”
“Entrance,” Luna said calmly. “A turbulent one.”
Ginny wheezed, “We’re back to the fire thing—”
Hermione just took a long sip of tea.
Then Luna turned to Hermione.
“You’ll feel the pull soon,” she said serenely.
“What pull?” Hermione frowned.
“The one toward motherhood,” Luna said. “Not in the way you expect it. And not just toward one man.”
Hermione blinked. “Luna, I swear if you start a divination—”
“I’m not starting it,” Luna said. “It already began.”
Ginny choked on her tea.
Pansy dropped her napkin.
Hermione stared.
But Luna only smiled softly at Celine, as if she had said nothing unusual.
By the end of brunch, Hermione felt warm from the inside out.
As she walked Ginny and Luna to the floo, Pansy hugged Hermione gently.
“Thank you again,” she murmured. “For yesterday. For today. For everything.”
Hermione squeezed her back. “Of course.”
She smiled softly.
She wasn’t alone at all even when the boys were away.
Notes:
What do you think the boys are up to?
Chapter 295: A Weasley Weekend
Chapter Text
It felt like forever since Hermione had spent a full day at the Burrow. Stepping through the front door felt like stepping into a memory that wrapped itself around her like a warm quilt.
The kitchen was warm, the air thick with spices, and Molly was already bustling between the stove and the long wooden table when Hermione arrived.
“Oh good, you’re here, dear!” Molly said, immediately pulling her into one of those rib-cracking, familiar hugs.
“Apron. Arms up.”
Hermione laughed as Molly tied a floral apron around her waist.
“I’ve only been here thirty seconds.”
“Yes,” Molly said, “and the treacle tart recipe waits for no one.”
Hermione felt a beautiful ache in her chest, the ache of familiarity.
They fell into an easy rhythm that Hermione hadn’t realized she’d missed so much. Molly rolled out pie dough with practiced ease. Hermione peeled apples and sprinkled cinnamon until her hands were prunny from the juices.
They worked together like they always used to before the war and before adulthood had swept them all into different corners of their lives.
Molly glanced at Hermione as they worked.
“You look happier, sweetheart. Rather… settled.”
Hermione flushed, smiling softly, “I… am.”
Molly gave her a knowing look — the kind only a mother of seven could manage — and left it at that.
Fleur swept into the kitchen in a bungle of silk and fur.
“’Ermione!” she exclaimed, kissing both her cheeks, then turning to Molly.
“Zere is too much flour in ze air — I can smell it from outside.”
“That means it’s being done properly,” Molly said, sniffing.
Fleur rolled her eyes with affectionate exasperation and hung her cloak.
“No Bill today?” Hermione asked.
“He is in Romania visiting Charlie. Zey are hunting for some rare dragon egg that only hatches in ze snow.” Fleur shrugged, then sat gracefully at the table. “I do not pretend to understand ze dragon men.”
Hermione smiled politely.
A soft knock at the back door, and Cho stepped in, cheeks pink from the cold.
“Hi—sorry—I hope I’m not interrupting, Molly said to drop by if I wasn’t working today…” she said, brushing snow from her hair.
“Oh nonsense, dear, come in,” Molly insisted, pulling out a chair.
“Hermione, pour her some cider.”
Cho settled between Fleur and Molly, sipping from a warm mug, and Hermione felt her heart swell at the idea that maybe her and Cho could forge some type of tentative friendship.
It didn’t take long before the conversation drifted exactly where Molly liked it best.
“So,” Molly said brightly, “Cho, how far along are you now?”
Cho’s face flushed, “Almost twelve weeks.”
Fleur clapped her hands. “Ah, ze first trimester! It is terrible and glorious. Tell us everything.”
Cho buried her face in her hands and groaned. “Everything makes me nauseous except… ginger biscuits. It’s been rather awful really. Ron doesn’t exactly hold back from eating constantly, and every normal smell sets me off lately.”
Molly nodded, “We’ll pack you a tin before you go.”
“And zat pain in your lower back?” Fleur added delicately. “Totally normal.”
Cho looked at her in horror, “Is… everything annoying normal?”
“Yes,” Molly and Fleur said in perfect harmony.
Hermione handed her a plate of shortbread. “You’re doing wonderfully.”
Cho looked like she might cry with relief.
“And what about you, Hermione?” Fleur asked, eyes sparkling mischievously. “Any thoughts about—”
Hermione nearly dropped the pie plate.
Molly’s eyebrows shot up.
Cho snickered behind her mug.
Hermione spluttered, “No comment.”
They all burst into laughter.
While Fleur and Cho compared magical prenatal potions, the treacle tart filling started bubbling… violently.
“Molly?” Hermione said.
“Oh heavens—George jinxed that pot years ago, don’t stand too clo—”
POP!
Treacle shot ten feet in the air, narrowly missing Hermione’s hair and coating the stove in sticky brown goo.
Cho shrieked. Fleur shield-charmed her silk blouse. Molly just sighed.
“Fred and George,” she muttered darkly, “always giving me a heart attack their whole lives...”
But Hermione noticed no anger, just fondness softening Molly’s entire face and a hint of grief.
Once the pies were cooling and Fleur had charmed the kitchen immaculately clean, they all settled in the sitting room with hot tea and a plate of custard creams.
The fire crackled, the old Weasley clock ticked, and Hermione felt peaceful in a way she rarely did outside of Nott Manor these days.
Molly squeezed her hand lightly, as if reading her mind, “You’re part of this family, dear. Always will be. Doesn’t matter if your last name is different now.”
Hermione blinked hard against unexpected tears, “Thank you, Molly.”
Cho leaned her head on Hermione’s shoulder. Fleur curled her legs elegantly beneath herself.
And for a moment, Hermione forgot kidnappings and dark networks and triad politics.
She was just Hermione.
Surrounded by supportive women who loved her and would help her in a heartbeat if she asked.
As evening set in, Arthur came home smelling like gasoline and magic, kissed Molly fondly, then made Hermione a mug of his special cocoa recipe.
They all gathered around the kitchen table for dinner for a warm roast, too many sides, and Arthur trying to tell a joke involving a Muggle washing machine that made no sense. Hermione played along of course.
Later, Molly put Hermione in Ginny’s old room for the night, the same floral quilt, the same crooked poster of the Weird Sisters that she had stared at so many long nights over summer breaks as a child. It felt nostalgic.
Hermione lay in bed, listening to the quiet creaks of the Burrow settling, feeling safe and cherished and wrapped in all the Weasley warmth she’d known since she was eleven.
She whispered goodnight into the cozy darkness.
Hermione woke to the unmistakable smell of Molly Weasley’s cooking; warm cinnamon scones, frying bacon, and strong blackcurrant tea. The Burrow creaked softly in the winter breeze with frost glittering outside the windowpane.
She padded downstairs in her fluffy socks, hair still sleep-ruffled, and found Molly humming over the stove while Arthur sat at the table tinkering with what looked suspiciously like a toaster taken apart with magic.
“Hermione, dear!” Molly said, beaming. “Sit, sit — eat before everything gets cold.”
Arthur looked up over his spectacles. “Morning, Hermione! You look well-rested. Sleep all right?”
“Like a rock,” she laughed, sliding into her chair. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”
“You never need to ask, sweetheart,” Molly said, setting a plate in front of her so heavy with food she was worried is may buckle the table.
Tea was poured, toast charmed warm, and for several minutes the only sound was forks and content chewing.
Finally, Hermione set down her mug gently and cleared her throat.
“Molly,” she said softly. “Arthur. Can I ask you something a little… odd?”
Arthur smiled warmly. “Given the things you’ve asked me over the years about magic, Hermione, I doubt you could surprise us now.”
Molly nodded in agreement. “Go on, dear.”
Hermione breathed in slowly, “It’s about pure-blood lines. Specifically… the Flints. And squibs.”
Molly and Arthur exchanged a look — the kind parents share when they’re concerned, but not yet alarmed.
Arthur set down his screwdriver. “What exactly do you want to know?”
Hermione folded her hands carefully on the table. “Anything you remember. History, gossip, family stories. Even things from your childhood.”
Arthur leaned back, thinking, “Well… the Flints were always one of the harsher pure-blood families. Very rigid. Very status-conscious. Even compared to other Sacred Twenty-Eight.”
Molly nodded grimly, “They weren’t… kind people.”
“Yes,” Arthur agreed. “I remember when I was a boy — maybe eight or nine — there was a rumor going around Hogwarts that old Damian Flint had a squib daughter. A little girl. Supposedly she didn’t show signs of magic by age four.”
Hermione froze, heart pounding. “I’ve never seen records of that.”
“You wouldn’t,” Molly said gently. “In those days, it was… well, brutally common for families to erase squibs. Pretend they never existed. Sometimes they’d say the child died. Sometimes they’d say the mother miscarried.”
Arthur sighed, polishing his glasses. “Some even sent squibs away to Muggle orphanages and paid a small fortune to keep it quiet. It wasn’t uncommon to simply… kill a prueblood squib that long ago either. Nasty business these families trying to keep their lines spotless.”
Hermione’s stomach sank.
Arthur continued softly, “I remember hearing that the Flint girl vanished suddenly one winter. Kids whispered about it in the corridors. But no adult ever confirmed anything. Pure-blood families kept their secrets. Enough money in the right hands and frankly most people including the Ministry would look the other way at signs of foul play.”
Molly gave Hermione a sympathetic look, “You investigating something related?”
“Possibly,” Hermione said. “We think there may be missing Flint descendants — maybe squibs — who were kicked out of the family. And now… may be involved in something dangerous.”
Arthur’s face shifted — thoughtful, troubled.
Molly ladled more eggs onto Hermione’s plate before speaking, “Well, dear, something you might not find written specifically because it’s just common knowledge in magic society, in the older pure-blood families, squibs were… perhaps even are still considered a shame. A stain on the bloodline. Some families hid them. Some locked them away. Some pretended they’d never been born. Some made them disappear forever.”
Her voice softened, “My great-aunt Belvina — she told me once that she had a squib cousin. The family refused to acknowledge him. When he got older, he ran away to the Muggle world. No one ever saw him again. The rumor was that he married a muggle girl and their kids were non magical.”
Arthur nodded sadly. “We tried to do better with our kids. Tried to teach all our children that blood doesn’t matter, but… old traditions linger in some other families longer than you’d think.”
Hermione swallowed, fingers curling around her mug.
“Were the Flints always particularly extreme?” she asked.
“Oh yes,” Molly said immediately. “Very much so. Everything was about strength, appearance, and magical power. They wouldn’t tolerate weakness of any kind. They had pretty exacting standards for the heirs as well, seemed quite intense.”
Arthur added quietly, “If a child was born without magic in that family… they’d find a way to hide it, I’m sure. Erase it. Sometimes the child grew up believing they were unwanted. Sometimes they didn’t grow up at all.”
Hermione’s brain was spiraling.
This all matched too closely with what they were uncovering.
Arthur frowned suddenly, “You know,” he said slowly, “there was one boy — I’d forgotten this — when I was a teen, working odd jobs in Diagon Alley. A guy about my age came into Flourish and Blotts, looking stunned, like he’d never been in a magical shop before.”
Hermione leaned forward. “And?”
“He said he’d been born into a pure-blood family but raised in the Muggle world. Said his family didn’t want him. Said he just wanted to see where he should have grownup at least once inn his life. I always wondered if he’d been Flint, but… he wouldn’t tell me his surname.”
Molly squeezed Hermione’s shoulder, “I’m sorry we can’t give you more helpful info, dear.”
“No,” Hermione whispered, heart tight. “This is… incredibly helpful. You’ve given me more than you know.”
Arthur reached across the table, covering her hand with his.
“Be careful with this digging, Hermione. Dark family secrets in those circles rarely stay buried because they were harmless.”
Hermione nodded, a chill sliding down her spine.
She knew.
Merlin, she knew.
Notes:
We often forget the Weasleys are an old pureblood family too... they know alot too about history.
Chapter 296: The Return, Note, and Wand
Notes:
A lot going on here to advance the story :) Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione apparated home to Nott Manor just after sunset, the sun just setting beyound the orchard. The moment she stepped through the front doors, Pudding came barreling at her, chirping in indignation about her absence.
“I wasn’t even gone barely a full day,” she protested fondly.
But the real warmth hit her a few seconds later, heavy footsteps descending the grand staircase, followed by the unmistakable sound of two men practically racing each other down the last steps.
“Theo,” she breathed, just as his arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her off the ground.
He spun her once, face buried against her shoulder, “You’re home.”
Before she could respond, Draco’s hands slid into her hair and he leaned down to kiss her gently, and then not so gently. His mouth was warm and familiar, tasting faintly of sun and island rum.
“Merlin, I missed you,” he murmured against her lips.
She kissed him back, soft but lingering, her heart doing that stupid warm flutter it always did with him.
Theo pressed a kiss to her temple, breath a little uneven, “We had a fabulous time, but I didn’t like waking up without you.”
“Oh, please,” Hermione teased, tugging him closer by the collar. “You two were probably too busy ravishing each other silly to notice I wasn’t there.”
Draco looked away. Theo’s cheeks flushed.
“So you DID?” she said, eyes dancing with the teasing.
Theo threw his hands up. “It was the Grand Canary Islands! There was moonlight! And rum! And Draco wouldn’t stop staring at me—”
“You were shirtless on the balcony,” Draco said defensively.
“You told me to be shirtless!”
Hermione laughed, feeling radiant and warm in their house again. She stroked the collar of Theo’s shirt affectionately.
“I’m glad you two had fun together,” she said sincerely. “You deserved it.”
Theo kissed her cheek again.
“How was Pansy’s shower?”
Hermione brightened immediately. “It was wonderful! Daphne Greengrass was awful, of course—”
“Standard,” Draco muttered.
“—but everything else was perfect. She cried twice, but in a good way, and Luna predicted her son would be born during ‘a bout of loud weather.’ Whatever that means.”
Theo snorted, “Hilarious.”
“And Blaise’s mum brought about six gifts, all of them wildly inappropriate for a baby but beautifully wrapped.”
“That tracks,” Draco said dryly.
Hermione curled between them, tucking herself into the warmth of their chests, “I missed you both.”
Theo nuzzled into her hair.
“Good,” he said. “Because we were going a bit crazy without you by the end as well.”
Draco kissed her again, the time slow, deep, lingering just long enough to leave her breathless.
“Welcome home, husbands.”
She felt the bond tighten and glow softly, humming in contentment.
They were all smiling when they walked toward the sitting room.
And that’s when the Manor’s wards flared.
A sharp crackle of blue light flashed against the exterior windows, a burst of magic brushing the outer perimeter.
The three of them froze.
Theo’s entire posture shifted — healer soft no more, now sharp, alert, wand already half-drawn.
Draco’s eyes darkened dangerously.
“Something just crossed the first ward line.”
Hermione swallowed. “A person?”
“Or a delivery from an unknown source,” Theo muttered.
A single owl swooped into the entrance corridor thru an ajar window, dropping a letter directly at Hermione’s feet before twisting midair and flying off so fast there was no chance to set a tracker on it.
No return address.
No wax seal.
Just her name — written in jagged, slanted handwriting she didn’t recognize.
Draco grabbed her arm, pulling her behind him without thinking, “Don’t touch it.”
Theo circled his wand slowly over it murdering spells.
“No hex signature.”
“No poison charm.”
“No explosive rune.”
Draco scowled but nodded.
“Open it with magic only.”
Hermione flicked her wand, unrolling the parchment.
The handwriting was sharp. Violent. Impatient.
She read aloud, throat tightening.
**“You should have stayed missing.
Do not interfere again.
Our work continues.
The boss wants what belongs to us —
and next time, we will not fail.
Consider this your final warning, Hermione Granger.”**
The paper burned itself to ash the instant she finished reading it.
A cold silence swallowed the room.
Theo’s breath went ragged.
Draco’s magic spiked so hard the candles flickered violently.
Theo grabbed Hermione’s face in both hands, eyes wild.
“You’re not leaving the Manor alone. Not for anything.”
Draco’s jaw clenched, “This isn’t over.”
Hermione felt the bond pulse between them, their fear slamming into her like a heartbeat.
But she lifted her chin.
“I’m not backing down,” she said quietly. “I’m not letting them scare me back into a dungeon.”
Theo dropped his forehead against hers.
“I know,” he whispered, voice shaking. “But I can’t lose you again.”
Draco’s hand slid around her waist, grounding her, “Neither can I.”
Hermione wrapped her arms around both of them, feeling the bond thrum like a shield around the three of them.
“We’ll be extra careful,” she murmured. “I promise.”
The boys closed their eyes, breathing her I, before heading to finish unpacking.
Hermione drifted into the conservatory to read.
The conservatory was warm despite the frost on the windows, the glass walls fogged, the air thick with the scent of orange trees and damp earth. Hermione sat curled in a wicker chair, a forgotten book in her lap, a steaming mug of tea cradled in her hands.
Theo slipped in quietly after a little while, closing the glass door behind him, the soft click the only sound.
He looked… lighter than the week before. Shoulders relaxed, eyes soft, a faint flush still on his cheeks after returning from the weekend away with Draco.
Hermione smiled immediately, “You’re still glowing. Tell me everything.”
Theo exhaled, a small, almost shy laugh as he dropped into the chair opposite her, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.
“It was… exactly what we needed. Just the two of us. No distractions, no ghosts. We talked … like really talked… about the kidnapping, about how he still wakes up some nights thinking he’s back in that tunnel looking for you. About how I still carry guilt for not finding you sooner.”
His voice cracked slightly, “We cried. A lot. And then we just… held each other until it didn’t hurt as much any more.”
Hermione reached out, covering his hand with hers. “I’m so glad. I’ve felt the shift in the bond since you came back. He’s calmer. You both are.”
Theo’s smile turned softer, almost giddy, “The sex helped. A lot.”
He met her eyes, no embarrassment, just honesty. “We reconnected in a way we haven’t since… everything happened. It didn’t feel so forced, or required. It was really good. Slow, deliberate, filthy in the best way. And the sounding—”
He paused, voice dropping to something hushed and wondering. “I took him to 8 mm this weekend. And Hermione… when that rod slides in, when his body opens and he just lets go—the way he cries, the way he trusts me with the most private part of himself… it’s like I’m holding his soul in my hands. I’ve never felt closer to anyone.”
Hermione’s eyes shone, throat tight. “And he let you try the 8 mm?”
Theo’s laugh was soft, a little awed. “He insisted. The way he broke open emotionally during it, well I understood why he needs it. The vulnerability is addictive. It strips everything away until there’s nothing left but truth.”
Hermione squeezed his hand. “It’s becoming his way of letting the walls down, isn’t it? When words fail him, when the old fears creep back in… he hands you that part of himself and says, ‘Here. Hold this. Prove I’m still yours.’”
Theo nodded slowly, “Exactly. The stretch, the burn, the tears; it’s like… emotional bloodletting for him I think. Kind of therapeutic maybe. All the poison comes out with the fluid and the sobs. And when it’s over, he’s always lighter. Like we’ve pulled the darkness out through his cock and replaced it with love and honesty.”
Hermione’s voice was thick with happy tears for them, “I’m so proud of you both. And so grateful. You gave him back something he thought he’d lost forever: the ability to feel safe being completely, utterly vulnerable. I’m so glad you guys are back on track. I was feeling a bit guilty that what happened to me was tearing a hole into your relationship.
Theo leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers, “I needed it too. Needed to know I could be the one to catch him when he falls. And he could catch me right back. It was just so hard when you were taken, we still loved each other of course, but it was like freezing water poured over the physical aspect of our relationship. It’s been weird trying to get back to it being normal between us without feeling forced. This was really good for us. Thank you for understanding and being ok with it.”
They sat in silence for a long moment, hands linked, the bond humming with quiet, fierce joy.
That evening, the bedroom was cozy, the fire crackling low, the three of them already in bed relaxing naked together for awhile. Hermione lay in the middle, curled on her side reading, Theo stretched out on his back beside her, one arm tucked behind his head, the other idly tracing circles on her hip.
Draco was propped against the headboard, silver eyes half-lidded, watching them both with the lazy, predatory stillness of a cat who already knew the game.
He started small. A slow drag of his foot up Hermione’s calf. A soft, deliberate exhale against the back of Theo’s neck. Neither of them noticed at first; until the bond began to thrum, a low, hungry pulse that grew heavier with every passing moemnt.
Draco’s voice finally cut through the quiet, low and demanding, “Hermione.”
She looked up from her book, startled by the sudden command in his tone. “Put the book down. Come here.”
She obeyed instantly, the book falling forgotten to the floor. Draco crooked a finger. “Straddle Theo’s lap. Face me. I want to see every expression on your face when you take him.”
Theo’s breath hitched, cock already stirring against his thigh as Hermione moved, knees bracketing his hips, her slick folds brushing the length of him. Draco’s eyes never left them, hand sliding lazily down his own chest, fingers circling one nipple, then lower, wrapping around his thick, half-hard cock.
“Touch him,” Draco ordered, voice steady but dark with want.
“Stroke him until he’s dripping for you. Slowly.”
Hermione’s hand wrapped around Theo’s shaft, fingers barely closing around the girth, stroking with long, teasing pulls. Theo groaned, hips lifting slightly, pre-cum beading at the slit.
Draco’s own strokes matched her rhythm, lazy and unhurried, eyes locked on where her hand worked Theo.
“Good girl. Now take him inside you. Just the head first. Let me watch you stretch around him.”
She shifted above him, lining up, watching Draco’s face. Hermione sank down slowly, the blunt head of Theo’s cock pressing against her entrance, parting her with a wet, greedy sound.
She paused when just the crown was inside, her breath trembling at the stretch, thighs shaking. Draco drank in the sight before him for a minute.
Draco’s voice dropped to a growl. “Deeper. All of him. I want to see that pretty cunt swallow every inch.”
She sank fully with relief, a broken moan spilling from her lips as Theo filled her completely, her walls fluttering around him. Theo’s hands gripped her hips, knuckles white, a low, desperate sound in his throat at the feeling of her.
Draco’s hand sped up on his own cock, eyes burning. “Ride him, Hermione. Slow. Let me see how much you love being full of him.”
She began to move—long, rolling thrusts, grinding her hips, rising until only the head remained inside, then sinking back down with a wet, filthy sound, her breasts bouncing softly with every motion, Draco’s eyes watching them jiggle.
Theo’s head fell back, mouth open, groans raw. “Fuck—Draco—she’s so tight—”
Draco’s strokes turned harder, faster, his voice a dark command, “Touch your clit, Hermione. Rub it while you fuck him. I want to watch you come all over his cock.”
Hermione’s fingers found her swollen clit, circling frantically, her moans rising in pitch, hips grinding down harder. The bond surged between them all, a white-hot pulse of shared need, of lust, and love.
Draco’s eyes never left them, hand flying fast over his cock now, the slick sound of skin on skin loud in the room.
“That’s it—fuck him harder—let me see you fall apart—”
Hermione shattered form the words—her cunt clamping down on Theo like a vice, a scream tearing from her throat as she came. Theo followed seconds later, hips bucking up wildly against her, a broken shout as he spilled deep inside her, and heavy breathing afterward.
Draco’s climax hit last, his hand a blur, cum erupting in long, white arcs across his chest and stomach, a low, guttural groan of their names as he watched them come undone from his comands.
They collapsed together, Hermione slumping forward onto Theo’s chest, Theo’s arms wrapping around her, Draco sliding down to curl behind Hermione, all three shaking, breathless, the bond singing with satisfaction and love.
Draco pressed a kiss to the back of Hermione’s neck, voice soft now, reverent. “Perfect,” he whispered. “You were both so so perfect.”
Theo’s hand found Draco’s across Hermione’s back, fingers lacing. “Love you,” he murmured, voice hoarse.
Hermione turned her head just enough to kiss them both, “Love you both,” she echoed. “So much.”
Morning broke grey and winter cold over Nott Manor, but none of them had slept particularly well despite the release. The note from the night before still was heavy in their minds.
Hermione was the first one downstairs, wrapped in a soft cream sweater. Draco appeared moments later, already dressed in expensive charcoal robes, hair neat, eyes sharp. Theo followed… less neat… clearly exhausted after lying awake most of the night watching Hermione breathe.
Their breakfast was mostly quiet — except for the bond, which hummed with anxiety they all pretended not to feel.
At ten sharp, Harry and Kingsley arrived at the Manor.
Harry hugged Hermione so tight as soon as he stepped through, she squeaked.
“You’re alright?” he demanded, looking her over like she might fall apart in front of him.
“I’m fine, Harry—”
Theo cut in sharply.
“She’s not fine. Someone delivered the letter onto the Manor grounds with an unregistered owl. They got close. Too close.”
Draco handed Kingsley the from memory parchment they’d made of the ash-colored script and the magical signature around it.
“Compare it to everything you have.”
Kingsley’s expression tightened.
“We’re already on it. And… that’s not the only development.”
Hermione’s stomach dropped.
Harry exhaled harshly.
“A few more low-level network members turned up dead this weekend. Three bodies. All murdered. We think the boss is cleaning house because someone may have talked.”
Draco swore under his breath, jaw tense, “So we’re losing potential leads.”
“Exactly,” Kingsley said. “And our intelligence in Peru seems to think there’s siphoning activity going on there, but their government is either covering it up or totally obvious. I’m not sure what’s worse.”
“Too convenient,” Theo muttered.
Kingsley agreed. “Which means someone in that network is tying hard to keep thinhs under wraps.”
“And Hermione,” Harry added grimly, “they really did want you. You were meant to be the example.”
Theo’s magic flared hard enough that every glass in the room rattled. Draco steadied him with a hand to his back.
Hermione swallowed, lifting her chin, “It doesn’t matter. We keep going. We stay cautious. But we do not stop.”
Both men relaxed slightly as her determination settled warmly in the bond.
Kingsley nodded. “And speaking of going forward, Harry mentioned you had an appointment to get your mastery wand today. Congratulations.”
Hermione blinked, “Oh—yes. My Christmas voucher. I forgot the appointment is today.”
Harry grinned, “We’re all coming with you.”
Draco blinked, “All?”
“Well just me, not the minister. You think I’m letting her walk around Diagon Alley with only two bodyguards?” Harry said dryly. “Please. I’m not an amateur. She needs at least three these days.”
Theo snorted, “We’re the bodyguards? Really?”
“Draco literally killed men in a tunnel for her,” Harry shot back. “Yes, you are both bodyguards.”
Draco preened slightly. Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Fine,” she sighed. “Let’s go choose a wand.”
Diagon Alley was lively but nervous at all of their presence. People whispered as Hermione passed, some in sympathy for the kidnapping, some in curiosity, some just relieved to see her alive.
Ollivanders was as dim and dusty as ever, but the moment they stepped inside, Mr. Ollivander himself nearly combusted with excitement.
“Ahhh… Miss Granger,” he breathed. “Or should I say… Lady Malfoy- Granger- Nott?” His pale eyes sparkled. “I heard you’d be coming today.”
Draco stiffened but said nothing.
Ollivander gestured dramatically, “Your voucher mentioned a charms mastery focus wand. This is no ordinary piece. It must harmonize not only with your magic… but with your bond, and be charms compatible.”
Hermione glanced at Draco and Theo, “It needs to ... like both of them?”
“Of course,” Ollivander said. “Triad magic subtly infuses your magical core. A wand that ignores that will only ever be half-useful. It needs to accept who you truly are fully… which is one third of them.”
Theo murmured, “Makes sense actually.”
Ollivander swept to the first stack of boxes, “Let us begin.”
He handed her a wand.
“Blackthorn, twelve inches, phoenix feather core.”
She simply lifted it, and every lantern in the shop exploded.
Theo ducked. Draco yanked her behind him putting up a shield charm.
Harry just sighed, “Well. Not that one.”
Ollivander chuckled.
“No, no, much too temperamental.”
He pulled out another.
“Rowan, nine inches, unicorn hair. Charm-focused.”
Hermione lifted it, and a warm spark rippled up her arm.
But then the bond buzzed… strange. Off.
Theo winced, and Draco flinched at the odd feeling.
Ollivander clicked his tongue, “No harmony with your… ah… triad echo. Fascinating.”
Draco muttered softly, “Great. Even her wand has to approve of us, this will take forever.”
Hermione nudged him. “Of course it does.”
Another came out of the narrow box.
“Vinewood, dragon heartstring,” Ollivander announced.
Hermione touched it, and a sharp jab shot through her palm. She yelped and dropped it.
Theo hissed, “Absolutely not. Bad wand.”
Ollivander paused before a plain-looking box.
“This one came to me unexpectedly last month in a dream. I’ve never been quite sure why I crafted it.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, “That sounds ominous. Is it dangerous?”
“No, no,” Ollivander said. “Just… interesting.”
He opened the box.
“Elm. Eleven and three-quarters inches. Core: a fragment of veela hair woven with phoenix ash. Exceptionally rare. Exceptionally powerful. It will only be balanced for those with… complex magical compositions.”
Hermione lifted it carefully.
The moment her fingers touched the wood, something deep and warm struck through her chest like breath returning after a long deep watery dive.
A soft glow and rumble rippled through the shop.
Theo inhaled sharply. The bond pulsed with relief and wonder.
Draco actually shivered, “I felt that.”
The bond hummed with perfect alignment between them.
Hermione flicked the wand gently.
And instead of destruction, a swirl of golden light burst into the air, shaping itself into delicate dancing sparks that feel gently around them.
Ollivander clapped his hands, “There she is!”
Hermione smiled, wide and bright, “It feels… right.”
Theo whispered, “It fits you.”
Draco nodded, “It’s beautiful.”
Harry inspected it thoughtfully, “It’s terrifying how strong that wand is going to make you. You know how I feel about wands that are too powerful…”
Ollivander bowed his head, “May I present—your mastery wand.”
Hermione held it close to her heart.
She felt whole.
Theo wrapped an arm around her shoulders, squeezing.
Draco brushed a kiss to her temple.
Harry shoved them lightly, “Alright, lovebirds. Let’s get you home before someone gets bold.”
Hermione laughed softly, gripping her new wand.
Notes:
I'm going to be out for the day, so likely won't get more up today or if I do it'll be awhile yet.
Love to read your comments when I return1 Leave some thoughts!
Chapter 297: Form Good to Bad in a Blink
Chapter Text
Hermione practically floated into the Charms Institute the next morning, scarf wrapped around her neck, new wand tucked against her wrist with the kind of reverence one usually reserved for priceless artifacts.
Her Auror escort for the day, Claire, kept a half step behind her, scanning every hallway as if assassins lived in the potted plants. Hermione tried not to roll her eyes. She understood the necessity… but Merlin, it was exhausting being trailed all the time.
Still, today she felt excited anyway. Light. Strong.
Professor Amara Vostrin — the ancient, sharp-tongued co-head of the Charms Mastery Program this term — raised a thin eyebrow the moment Hermione stepped into the classroom.
“Ah. Returned from your prolonged… adventure.”
Hermione bit her tongue.
Vostrin’s eyes flicked briefly to the new wand, “That is not the wand you entered this mastery with.”
Hermione smiled politely, “I needed a mastery wand. Mr. Ollivander helped me find this one.”
Vostrin sniffed with arrogance, “We shall see if it was worth the fuss.”
The other mastery students murmured as Hermione took her seat. A few avoided her eyes. Some were still scared of the whole kidnapping ordeal and the very public politics surrounding her triad bond.
One girl leaned toward her friend, “Do you think she’s cursed now?”
Another whispered back, “No — but she looks like she’s gone dark. Look at her eyes.”
Hermione ignored them.
Mostly because she was already used to being stared at her whole life.
Also because she had survived far worse.
Professor Vostrin tapped her wand sharply.
“Today we will begin practical evaluations for the January mid-term as planned. We will start with advanced control charms: levitation, multiplication, multi-threaded weaving spells, and harmonic charm extensions. Miss Granger — you will go first.”
Hermione stepped forward.
Vostrin gave her a heavy metal sphere the size of a Quaffle.
“Leviomax,” Vostrin instructed, “but without producing stress fractures this time. You lost ten points last test.”
Hermione nodded and drew her new wand.
The elm wand hummed in her hand, warmth curling around her wrist like it recognized her intent already.
“Leviomax.”
The sphere lifted high above them — not just smoothly, but silently as well, as though weight meant nothing. No strain cracks emerged. No crackle of raw magic untethered with stress. No tremor in her wand hand.
There was a loud gasp behind her.
Vostrin blinked, “Well… that is… unexpectedly stable.”
Another student muttered, “What the hell kind of wand is that?”
Hermione kept the sphere steady with a flick of her fingers. The elm wand responded as if it were part of her body.
Vostrin waved her hand, “Enough. Multiply it.”
Hermione inhaled, “Geminio Maxima.”
Not one.
Not three.
But, Ten identical spheres appeared in the air, perfectly balanced, rotating in a precise orbit she hadn’t even consciously instructed to happen.
The classroom fell back to completely silent.
Vostrin took a shaky step toward the rotating constellation of metal.
“Miss Granger… that spell is past mastery level. And I absolutely did not instruct you to maintain an orbit.”
“I—didn’t try to,” Hermione admitted with a small smile. “The wand has… very strong harmonic responsiveness.”
“Strong?” Vostrin sputtered. “This is absurd.”
Someone whispered fearfully, “She’s going to blow the Institute up.”
Another whispered back, “Or she’s going to run it next year.”
Vostrin, now clearly rattled, thrust a series of charms to try at her, “Shield. Echo-duplication. Reversal. Weave all three at once.”
Hermione didn’t hesitate.
She flicked her wand.
Three concentric charms burst into being around her, a thick clear shield, mirrored echo illusions, and a shimmering reverse-flow thread that made the magic dance like liquid light before everyone.
The entire class staggered back, pushing back form their desks.
Vostrin slowly lowered herself into a chair.
“I have… nothing left to teach you,” she whispered. Then louder, “Class dismissed. Miss Granger — stay.”
Hermione stayed, anxious.
Vostrin stared at her in something between awe and terror.
“Miss Granger, what exactly happened to you in Russia?”
Hermione’s stomach dipped, “I’d rather not discuss it in detail.”
Vostrin nodded, surprisingly gentle now, “Very well. But I must tell you this clearly: you are beyond mastery track now. Your wand, your bond magic — you are on the level of post-master research witches. Do not hide it. Use it. And be careful. Magic that strong attracts trouble.”
Hermione swallowed, “I know.”
Vostrin stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, “You were already brilliant. This… this is something else entirely.”
Hermione blinked back her tears rapidly, “Thank you, Professor.”
“Now go home before someone tries to recruit you into something crazy, think long and hard about the type of mastery final project you want to complete. The world is your oyster for it.”
Theo arrived home first.
Hermione met him in the library, practically buzzing with excitement.
“Watch,” she said, holding up her new wand like a conductor poised for a symphony.
Theo braced himself, “Do I need protective gear?”
“Probably not.”
“Probably not?? Hermione—”
She flicked the wand.
A glowing, multicolored charm-lattice spiraled from her wrist, weaving itself into a floating knot of perfect, shimmering runic symbols.
Theo’s jaw dropped, “…bloody hell.”
Then Draco entered behind him coming from the Ministry, dropping his briefcase on a side table.
“What did she do now—”
She flicked her wrist again, and the entire library softly lit with floating starbursts of burning stars.
Draco stared like he was witnessing a celestial event.
“You are—”
He shook his head, “You’re terrifying. And perfect. Merlin, Hermione.”
Theo kissed her forehead, “I’m so damn proud of you.”
Draco felt it in the bond, “And deeply aroused apparently by this.”
“Theo!” Hermione hissed.
“I didn’t say anything!” Theo protested.
“You felt it,” Hermione relied with a grin.
Theo grinned sheepishly. “Fair.”
The bond hummed, longing, proud, attraction.
And then before they could begin to act on it, a flash of silver light streaked through the wall next to them.
A sleek black panther bounded into the library, tail lashing, pacing anxious circles before opening its mouth and Blaise Zabini’s voice burst out, sharp and panicked:
“THEO—PLEASE COME—PANSY’S IN LABOR—EARLY—THERE ARE COMPLICATIONS—THE HEALERS ARE PREPARED, BUT SHE’S ASKING FOR YOU—PLEASE—HURRY—”
The Patronus vanished.
Theo went white.
Draco steadied him.
Hermione grabbed his hand, “We go now,” she said.
Theo nodded, already shifting into Healer mode, voice shaking.
“St. Mungo’s. Now.”
And the three of them disappeared in a whipcrack of apparition.
The moment the three of them arrived at St. Mungo’s, Theo vanished down the corridor with a speed Hermione had only ever seen when he was actively in emergency mood.
Hermione and Draco were ushered into the Family Waiting Room, a quiet space with soft yellow lamps and cushioned chairs. Blaise’s mother, was already there.
She looked strangely small without her usual opulent robes, hands twisting the gold serpent bracelet around her wrist. Her eyes flashed when she saw Draco and Hermione.“Oh, thank Merlin,” she breathed, rising and taking Hermione’s hands. “He didn’t come out—Theo didn’t say anything when he ran past. I—I didn’t know if my daughter-in-law would— and the baby…” Her voice cracked.
Hermione squeezed her hands, “We’ll know something soon.”
Draco nodded firmly, voice low but steady, “Pansy’s strong. And she’s got the best Healers in the damn hospital looking after her, Theo will make sure she’s in good hands.”
They sat, while Draco paced.
Hermione wrung her fingers.
Blaise’s mother dabbed at her eyes with a silk handkerchief embroidered with tiny green flowers Pansy must have stitched for her years ago.
Minutes bled into nearly an hour.
Every time footsteps echoed down the hall, Hermione sat upright. Every healer in green robes who walked past made Blaise’s mother touch her throat like she might faint.
And then finally, Theo burst into the room, still in his Healer robes, hair disheveled, face pale and slick with sweat.
“Theo?” Hermione whispered, standing immediately. “Tell us—”
He exhaled roughly, bracing his hands on the back of a chair, “Things aren’t good,” he said, voice trembling despite his effort to sound clinical.
Blaise’s mother made a small crying sound.
Theo rushed on quickly. “But she’s alive. And she’s fighting. The baby is currently stable.”
Hermione stepped closer, “What’s happening?”
Theo swallowed hard, “The baby was stuck in a very strange position for ahwile. Turned wrong and lodged in the canal upside down at an angle. Stuck in the pelvis. Pansy’s been in agonizing pain and is completely exhausted, she couldn’t push anymore. There was no way the baby was going to come out naturally. Her vitals were dropping. We’re… we’re performing an emergency C-section now.”
Mrs. Zabini pressed a hand to her chest, “Oh, my darling girl…”
Theo nodded. “There will be some nasty internal injuries no doubt. We’re expecting tearing in the birthing canal… possibly bleeding complications in the uterus… but the procedure is in progress. She’s under full sedation now. She won’t feel anything.”
Hermione reached out, touching Theo’s arm — grounding him.
Theo looked at Draco then, eyes wide and glassy.
“She’s going to be okay,” he said again, firmer this time. “She’s tough. And the baby looks strong. We’re almost there.”
Hermione whispered, “You’re doing everything that can be done I’m sure.”
Theo gave her a tight nod, then shook his head, “I have to get back. I can’t stay.”
And he disappeared again through the double doors, his white and green healer coat flaring behind him.
Hermione sank into the nearest chair. Draco took the one beside her, his thigh pressed against hers.
They waited.
Another thirty minutes.
Then forty passed.
Then, a door swung wide.
Blaise stumbled into the waiting room, hair mussed, shirt half-buttoned, eyes red, hands trembling. In his arms was a tightly swaddled baby wrapped in a pale green blanket.
Hermione’s breath caught.
Draco stood so fast his chair hit the wall as it fell over.
Blaise’s mum let out a sob, “Blaise?”
Blaise gave a shaky, drained smile.
“Everyone… meet Cassian Theodore Zabini.”
Hermione’s heart melted.
Draco’s voice cracked. “He has Pansy’s mouth.”
Hermione whispered, “He’s beautiful.”
Blaise nodded, blinking rapidly. “He’s… he’s perfect. He cried instantly. Strong lungs. The healers said he’s perfectly healthy and already stubborn.”
Hermione laughed with joy, “That sounds about right.”
Mrs. Zabini held out trembling hands, “May I?”
“Of course.” Blaise gently set baby Cassian into her arms. His mother completely crumbled, kissing the baby’s forehead over and over.
Hermione stepped closer to Blaise, resting a hand on his back. “How’s Pansy?”
He exhaled shakily, “She’s okay. She’s stable. She’s going to be ok. Her vitals are good — actually strong considering what happened. But she’s heavily sedated. They said… they said she won’t be awake or taking visitors tonight. There are some… internal injuries they’re still assessing… it’s not good.”
Hermione nodded, throat tight, “Oh, Blaise… I’m so glad she’s going to be ok.”
Blaise swallowed hard, eyes shimmering. “Theo saved her. I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened without him. When he got here he started calling all the best specialists he knew of to get here urgently, and was barking orders.”
He looked between Hermione and Draco, then cleared his throat awkwardly.
“And… ah… Hermione?”
“Yes?”
“You and Theo — Pansy wanted you both to be Cassian’s godparents. She made me promise to tell you as soon as he was born.”
Hermione froze.
Draco sucked in a breath.
“Oh, Blaise,” Hermione whispered, hand flying to her mouth.
He nodded, voice raw. “She trusts you. All three of you. She said… if anything ever happened, she’d want the baby with people she loves.”
Draco blinked fast to keep tears from falling, “It’s an honor, mate. And I’m sure Theo is going to be elated.”
Hermione wrapped Blaise in a tight hug.
Cassian gave a tiny squeak in his grandmother’s arms.
Everyone laughed wetly.
The manor was silent when the three of them finally crawled into bed much later that night.
Theo had showered twice, first at St. Mungo’s to scrub off the blood he had been covered in, and again at home, trying to wash away the panic, the adrenaline, the awful tight ache behind his ribs. He was exhausted but wired, his magic twitchy under his skin.
Draco and Hermione pulled him between them the moment he slid onto the mattress.
Draco’s fingers combed through Theo’s damp hair.
Hermione rested a hand over his heart.
No one spoke for several minutes.
Finally, Hermione whispered into the dark, “Are you… okay? Really? That was intense.”
Theo breathed out slowly. “I will be. Just—give me a sec.”
Draco kissed his temple before murmuring, “Take all the time you need.”
Theo shut his eyes.
“She could have died,” he said quietly. “Pansy. I’ve help deliver so many babies in the ward over the last year and a half but—Merlin—this one was close. Too close.”
Hermione squeezed his hand, “You saved her according to Blaise.”
Theo swallowed hard. “The whole team saved her. I just—did what needed to be done in the moment.”
There was another pause.
Then Hermione turned her body toward Draco, curling a hand around his arm.
“Draco… this couldn’t have been easy for you. After Astoria.”
He stiffened, just for a fraction of a second.
Theo’s eyes flew open in realization, soft and worried as he looked over Draco’s shoulder.
“It’s fine,” Draco muttered.
“It’s not fine,” Hermione said gently. “You watched Pansy rushed into emergency surgery. That could easily stir up everything with—”
Draco cut her off, but his voice wavered, “Look, I’m not… falling apart. But yeah. Yeah, it brought some things up.”
Hermione scooted closer and slid her arms around him from behind.
Theo shifted too, resting a hand on Draco’s waist.
Draco let out a long, trembling breath, “It’s not the blood or the danger,” he finally whispered. “It’s the helplessness. Watching someone you care baout be in that much pain and not being able to do a damn thing. That’s what brings it back.”
Hermione kissed the back of his shoulder.
Theo stroked a thumb along the inside of Draco’s wrist.
Theo sat up a little, voice quiet and careful, “There’s something I should tell you both. Blaise and Pansy said I could talk to you about the details.”
Hermione braced herself. Draco stiffened again.
Theo exhaled deeply, “Her injuries were… pretty extensive.”
He swallowed hard, “The tearing wasn’t just external. Her uterus sustained significant trauma. It’ll turn into pretty bad scar tissue. And the part of the birth canal where he got stuck, was in pretty rough shape afterward. The emergency incision wasn’t as clean-cut as we would have liked because we didn’t have time — it was about saving them both in the moment.”
Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth.
Draco whispered, “Fuck…”
“We won’t know for a while,” Theo added quickly, “but it’s quite possible she might have trouble conceiving again. Or might not be able to at all. We won’t know for a few weeks till all the healing that will happen is done.”
Hermione’s eyes filled instantly, “Oh, Pansy…”
Theo nodded, throat tight. “We’ll know more after she heals. But it’s going to be a long recovery, maybe long term impacts.”
Draco rubbed both hands over his face, “Blaise is going to be beside himself.”
“They already are,” Theo said softly. “He asked me about it the second we got Cassian out safely. He realized what we had to do and how bad it looked.”
Hermione’s voice was a whisper, “Is she going to be okay though otherwise? Long term?”
Theo nodded. “Yes. She’ll live a perfectly normal life. She’ll recover otherwise. It’ll just… take time.”
Hermione curled between the boys then, wrapping herself around both of them, and they all held onto each other for several minutes in silence.
Theo finally broke it with a tired sigh against Hermione’s collarbone.
“I’m so glad you both weren’t alone today,” he whispered. “Both of you sitting there. I kept thinking about you. But, at least you had each other to lean on.”
Draco kissed him softly at that, lingering.
“We’re proud of you,” Hermione murmured. “Pansy and Cassian are alive because of you.”
Theo didn’t respond — only buried his face in her shoulder, gripping both her and Draco tightly, like their touch was the only thing tethering him back to earth.
They fell asleep like that.
Notes:
Poor Pansy :(
How do you think she's going to react to this news?
Chapter 298: Pansy's Awake
Chapter Text
The next morning, they went to St. Mungo’s all together.
Hermione brought an oversized gift bag stuffed with soft enchanted baby blankets, tiny knit booties, and a stuffed kneazle toy that purred when squeezed. Draco carried a bouquet of starlight lilies that glowed gently. Theo brought medical-grade salves and hard to acquire soothing balms he knew Pansy would need in the coming days.
When they stepped into the postpartum ward, Theo directing them to her room with ease, they found Blaise sitting beside Pansy’s bed, Cassian asleep in a bassinet beside them.
Pansy was groggy, pale, hair a mess, and somehow still managed to look faintly annoyed at the world.
“Look who finally crawled out of the manor this morning,” she croaked, smirking weakly.
Hermione rushed to her side, “You scared the hell out of us.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Please. As if I’d die before meeting my own son.”
But when Hermione leaned down to hug her carefully, Pansy clutched her tighter than Hermione expected.
“Hi,” Pansy whispered. “Thank you for coming.”
Theo stepped closer, voice soft, “How are you feeling?”
“Like I was hit by the Knight Bus, dragged down the Alley, and put back together by second-year Hufflepuff students,” she grumbled—but squeezed his hand affectionately. “Thank you. For… everything.”
Theo gave her a tiny smile.
Draco stepped forward next to Hermione, “May we—?”
Blaise grinned and gently lifted Cassian, placing the tiny bundle into Draco’s arms.
Draco’s entire face softened instantly.
Hermione swore her heart twisted at the look on him.
“Oh,” Draco murmured, rocking the baby carefully. “He’s… he’s perfect.”
Pansy groaned. “Don’t let that go to his head. He’ll be unbearable like his father.”
Everyone laughed.
Hermione leaned close, brushing her fingers along Cassian’s tiny hand.
“Hello, little one,” she whispered. “I’m your Aunt Hermione.”
“And one of your godparents,” Blaise added proudly.
Pansy squinted, “Godmother. Gods help him.”
Theo snorted. “He’ll need it. I’ll try to be the fun godparent, heaven knows she’ll have him reading dictionaries by five for fun.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, and motioned to the gifts, “We brought a few things…”
They spent half an hour with Pansy opening presents, Cassian occasionally squeaking or waving a tiny fist.
The mood was tentatively happy.
But underneath it all was the knowledge of what Pansy had survived — and how close they'd all come to losing her.
Hermione gently slipped back into Pansy’s hospital room after Blaise walked baby Cassian down to the newborn check room with Theo and Draco.
Pansy was still awake, propped against pillows, hair messy, makeup long-gone, eyes too bright. No snark this time. Just… Pansy.
Hermione shut the door behind her.
Pansy looked at her for all of three seconds before whispering, “Don’t look at me like I’m fragile. I’ll hex you.”
Hermione sat carefully on the edge of the bed.
“I wasn’t,” she said softly. “I was looking at you like someone who almost died.”
Pansy’s tight control cracked instantly.
Her jaw trembled. Her breath hitched.
And Hermione reached for her hand without thinking.
Pansy stared down at their linked fingers, then whispered, “I knew childbirth was brutal but—Hermione—I didn’t think it would be like that. I didn’t think I’d feel myself slipping.”
Hermione squeezed her hand. “You’re here. You made it. Cassian made it. That’s all that matters now.”
Pansy swallowed. Hard. “I heard Blaise crying. While it was happening. I thought—if this is it—I won’t get to… I won’t get to raise him. Or see him walk. Or hear him say my name. I thought—”
Her voice broke.
Hermione shifted even closer and lifted Pansy’s hand to her chest.
“You’re here,” Hermione repeated, firmer now. “You’re here. And you’re not alone.”
Pansy gently wiped her cheek with the corner of the hospital blanket, muttering, “I’m blaming my body for this. Pregnancy hormones. They make you feel every emotion all at once and it’s humiliating.”
Hermione laughed through her own tears. “Pansy… there’s nothing humiliating about surviving something terrifying.”
Pansy inhaled shakily, “I’m scared.”
“Of what?” Hermione asked softly.
Pansy’s voice lowered to a whisper, barely audible, “That I won’t be able to give Blaise another child. That I’m… permanently damaged.”
Hermione instantly cupped her cheek, “Pansy. No. You saved your own life and your son’s. That isn’t damage. That’s strength. Blaise is just so happy you made it and have your son.”
Pansy blinked hard, looking away.
Hermione continued gently, “And even if—if—your body needs time, or can’t do it again, that doesn’t make you less. And it won’t make Blaise love you any less either.”
Pansy made a wounded, fragile sound she clearly tried to swallow.
“And…” Hermione hesitated, then added, “And Cassian is so loved already. One child surrounded by as much love as he is… that’s a whole world. Whatever is mean tto be will be.”
Pansy let out a breath she’d been holding for hours. “I hate when you’re right,” she muttered.
Hermione smiled and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Pansy’s ear.
“You’re allowed to be scared,” Hermione whispered. “But you’re not doing any of this alone.”
Pansy stared at her for a long moment.
Then she leaned forward slowly, and Hermione caught her in a careful, gentle hug.
For the first time Hermione could remember, Pansy rested her forehead on her shoulder and simply cried.
A raw, quiet moment between best friends.
By the time Draco, Theo, and Hermione made it home, the sky had gone dark with storm clouds. The manor was warm, quiet, and gently lit by the glow of enchanted candles.
No one said much as they changed into soft clothes and drifted into the sitting room, settling together on the couch.
Hermione curled between them, her head on Draco’s shoulder, her feet tucked over Theo’s lap.
For a while, they just breathed together.
Finally Theo whispered, “Seeing her in surgery… I kept imagining you. All the what ifs to come.”
His voice cracked.
Draco’s arm tightened around Hermione almost painfully.
Hermione covered Theo’s hand with her own.
“I’m right here,” she murmured. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Draco spoke next, voice rough and low, “I watched Blaise pacing the hall. The fear on his face… I could feel it in my chest like it was my own. It terrified me.”
Hermione lifted her head to look at him, “Draco—”
He shook his head slightly.
“No. Let me say it. Watching what happened today made me realize… when we do this—when we start trying in February—something could go wrong too, nothing is ever perfectly safe when it comes to these things.”
Theo flinched. Hermione’s breath caught.
Then Draco reached for her hand.
“But it also made me realize I’ve never wanted something so much in my life. Not in spite of the risks. Because of the life we’ll have together.”
He swallowed. “Our child. With you. I want a fmaily with all of us so badly.”
Theo brushed his thumb over Hermione’s ankle.
“I want it too,” he whispered. “More than I’ve ever said out loud. Today just made everything feel… real. Fragile. Precious.”
Hermione looked between them, heart full and aching.
“I thought this would scare me out of wanting a baby honestly,” she admitted softly. “But it didn’t. If anything, it made me want it more. Because of how precious new life is. To someday have a baby who grows up surrounded by the people we love. With both of you. Seeing Blaise hold him… well I can imagine both of you doing ti too, and it restores my soul.”
Draco let out a shaky exhale and kissed her forehead.
Theo leaned in closer, voice warm and honest.
“I can’t stop picturing it,” he confessed. “All of it. A nursery. Little clothes. Teaching them to walk. Their first Christmases. Their first accidental magic.” He laughed quietly. “Draco crying at every milestone.”
Draco gave him an offended glare. “I would not—”
“You absolutely would,” Hermione and Theo said in unison.
Draco huffed… but didn’t deny it.
Hermione reached out, taking Theo’s hand in one and Draco’s in the other.
“And they’ll be so loved,” she whispered. “No matter whose DNA they have. No matter what happens. By us, by their grandmother, by all our friends.”
Theo’s eyes softened in that way they always did when he looked at her like she hung the moon.
Draco leaned in, pressing his temple to hers.
The bond pulsed warm. Gentle. Steady.
For the first time all day, serenity filled the space between them.
Theo spoke the last words of the night, barely above a whisper.
“We’re going to be such good parents together.”
Hermione smiled softly, tears in her eyes.
“We already are good partners,” she said. “To each other.”
Notes:
The triad is getting pretty anxious and ready for their own baby <3
Chapter 299: The End of January
Notes:
Sorry it's been a few days since an update... things in RL are really sucky.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione hit her stride the moment mid- January began and her new wand was in her hand.
Her new wand practically sang in her hand after every use.
In Advanced Binding Charms she executed a double-layered Stabilization Ward so effortlessly the instructor actually paused mid-lecture and stared.
“Miss Granger… that was textbook perfect—no—better than textbook. Are you sure you’re not secretly thirty-five with two masteries?”
Hermione flushed, “Just… well-rested, sir.”
Her classmates stared at her like she had grown dragon wings.
She could hear whispers in every class now.
“She wasn’t like this last term."
"Is that her new wand or her own power?"
"She looks terrifying.”
“What happened to her in Russia?”
Hermione pretended she didn’t hear any of it.
Inside, she glowed with pride though.
After class her Auror escort, hurried after her, “Miss Granger please don’t run ahead, you’re—ah—dangerously energetic with that wand.”
Hermione grinned to herself.
It felt good to be brilliant again.
When she got home that evening, Theo and Draco each made her demonstrate the Stabilization Ward twice.
They didn’t stop grinning with her for the entire dinner, the bind pulsed with pride and admiration.
Pansy’s recovery was slow but steady.
Every few days Hermione floo’d to the estate, arms full of pre-made meals she claimed weren’t “overly mothering,” but Pansy called them “smothering”, though she always seemed grateful to have them and didn’t complain when she ate them.
Cassian was always asleep when Hermione arrived… and somehow always awake by the time Hermione picked him up before leaving.
“You’re going to spoil him,” Pansy grumbled affectionately.
Hermione kissed Cassian’s fuzzy head, “He’s perfect.”
“Let me sleep another hour while you watch him, and you’ll be perfect too.”
Blaise always hovered in the background, glowing.
Positively glowing with fatherhood, always ready to step in at a moments notice is Pansy needed a break.
Theo stopped by when shifts allowed, proclaiming him perfectly healthy in every way.
Draco once tried to help Pansy change him, and Cassian instantly peed on him. Pansy cackled so hard she had to readjust her abdominal bandages.
Hermione kept visiting as often as possible. Sometimes just for tea. Sometimes just to give Pansy a break. Sometimes just to exist in someone else’s space without chaos.
It settled her. And Pansy said — very quietly — that it settled her too to have such a good friend.
The triad’s dinners during the last few weeks of January became a happy ritual.
Warm, golden-lit evenings in the Nott Manor dining room, candles floating lazily overhead. Sometimes they dressed up for no reason. Sometimes Hermione cooked new muggle or exotic items for them to try like curries, and meatloaf. Sometimes Draco did, usually with too much garlic, and something ridiculously French and posh. Sometimes Theo tried too, but it usually ended with ordering takeout, as he was too tired to keep track of things like time in the oven properly.
They talked about everything and nothing every evening, the mundane and the important; Hermione’s mastery project ideas, Theo’s upcoming spring rotations (spell damage, then the memory ward), Draco’s Flint lineage research, their upcoming February plans, Cassian, Vienna, newly published books they wanted to read, and what to add to the garden this year.
Draco always passed the salt and pepper to Hermione without her asking.
Theo always buttered her bread absentmindedly while talking.
Hermione always poured their wine.
Small domestic things that made the bond hum warm.
Every night ended nearly the same, all three curled on the sofa in the sitting room, blankets piled over them, Pudding sprawled on Hermione’s stomach, a book in Theo’s hand, Draco ranting about a Ministry memo, eventually piling into the bedroom and some pairing of lovemaking occurring before they drifted off in a heap.
The Granger Center was overflowing now that the holidays had passed and families were in normal routines again.
Hermione spent hours mentoring young witches in Charms, helping immigrant muggle families settle paperwork to enroll their children in Hogwarts next year, reading to the toddlers’ play group her favorite, and coordinating more volunteers.
When Draco and Theo visited to help her, single mothers flirted with them shamelessly.
Draco pretended he was annoyed.
Theo blushed.
Hermione snorted into her clipboard.
Theo constantly offered magical core check-ins for worried parents, and Draco (though he wouldn’t admit to enjoying it out loud) seemed to always end up in the craft corner with some new project for the kids to try. Normally rather messy much to the children’s glee and Hermione’s annoyance.
The January heir meeting was held at the Potter townhouse.
Hermione arrived wearing a sharp navy dress robe Narcissa had gotten for her, determined to be taken seriously — not just as “Granger” or “the triad wife,” but as a magical scholar in her own right.
Young heirs in attendance this month included, Blaise, Daphne (who kept giving Hermione cold looks she pretended not to notice), Harry, Theo, Draco, Neville, Susan Bones, Percy (who recently was interested in gaining back the Weasley or Pewitt seat) and a smattering of minor Houses.
The topic of the month was magical conservation laws.
Hermione held her ground, articulate and firm, referencing charms theory and Muggle environmental ethics. Even Daphne grudgingly stopped scowling at her for full minutes at a time once Hermione started laying out her research and main arguments.
When someone asked whether Hermione really understood pure-blood legislative protocols, Draco leaned back, draping an arm across his chair with a knowing smirk.
“If Hermione doesn’t understand it,” he drawled, “no one in this room does. She spends more time researching everything than any of us spent in family pureblood lessons as children.”
Theo nodded like it was an absolute fact.
Hermione felt the bond warm with their pride.
The last days of January passed by quickly.
Some afternoons, Hermione wrote charms essays by the fire while Draco sketched warding diagrams and Theo napped with his head in Hermione’s lap if he wans’t on shift.
Some mornings, Theo made actually decent pancakes at 5 a.m. before his shift while Draco kept him company and Hermione slept in.
Some rainy afternoons, Hermione read on the window seat in her old bedroom and Draco refilled her tea before she asked while he looked over the estates ledgers.
Other days Draco and Theo played piano together in the music room, soft, thoughtful melodies drifting through the halls like magic.
On the last day of January, Hermione stood in the mostly dead manor garden under a pale winter sun, breath fogging in the air, thinking about the month to come and all that would change with it.
She wasn’t scared.
Not even after the year they’d had.
Draco came outside, wrapping his coat around both of them to stand with her.
Theo followed, slipping his arm around her waist.
No words were said.
Just warmth and love in the bond between all three.
A quiet promise of the life they were building.
Most of January had been peaceful.
A lull.
A breath before the next chapter.
And Hermione was ready for the next chapter to begin.
Notes:
I have so much just sitting waiting for editing before it goes up, bear with me please.
As always, your comments are the highlight of my days, so I always appreciate them.
Chapter 300: Bianco Flint
Notes:
A ministry run-in...
*yes I know I kinda covered this in a prior chapter, but I didn't like it so, I've edited it and moved where it falls in story* You're not crazy if you think it sounds kinda familiar.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The air buzzed with its usual low roar in the ministry atrium with clerks moving briskly between departments, owls spiraling overhead, the steady churn of official business and visitors pouring out of the floos.
Hermione walked beside Draco with a thin stack of parchment hugged to her chest, the finalized grant paperwork for the Granger Center for the new fiscal year. It had taken three revisions, two funding boar meetings, and an argument with the Budget Correspondence Office, but today it would finally be filed and stamped as approved.
Draco glanced at the clock mounted above the Fountain of Magical Brethren.
“We’re early. Miracles do happen. I thought you were going to make us late having that extra cup of tea.”
Hermione smiled faintly, “Don’t tempt my to stop at the beverage cart now.”
She was just turning toward the Administrative Services corridor when a prickle along her spine started.
Draco felt it too, a creepy tingle in the bond.
They both slowed.
Across the atrium, near the floo hubs, Marcus Flint stood in conversation with a man Hermione had never seen before.
Marcus looked as he always did, tall, broad-shouldered, with that familiar Flint scowl that seemed permanently etched into his face. But it was the man beside him who drew her eye today.
He was slim, dark-haired, dressed in tailored charcoal wizarding robes cut in a fashion that didn’t quite match current British trends, it looked much more continental. His posture was relaxed in a way that felt forced, his movements too controlled to feel natural. He watched the crowd like he was cataloging it.
And then, deliberately, his gaze lifted and locked onto Hermione.
Not curious.
Not surprised.
Assessing.
Draco’s entire body shifted instinctively closer to her.
Marcus noticed the movement and followed the stranger’s gaze. His lip curled faintly as recognition set in, and he walked them closer.
“Well. If it isn’t Britain’s favorite heroine.”
Hermione stiffened but kept her posture steady. Draco turned fully toward them now, shoulders squaring back, gaze piercing.
“Flint, what brings you here?” Draco asked coldly.
Marcus stepped closer, the stranger drifting just behind.
“Business as usual,” Marcus said lightly. “Though I see you’ve upgraded your protection detail.” He gestured toward Hermione.
Draco didn’t glance away from the stranger, “You’ll introduce your companion.”
For a split second, something unreadable flickered across Marcus’s face.
“My cousin,” he said. “Bianco Flint. Just visiting family.”
The name hit Hermione peculiarly, her mind already reeling. She had spent months buried in Flint lineage records, and nothing in any known archive mentioned a Bianco.
The man inclined his head politely, “A pleasure I’m sure.”
His accent was faintly muddled, not quite Italian despite the name, not fully British either.
Draco extended his hand out of reflex.
He ignored it.
Instead, his eyes traveled slowly over Hermione’s face, her posture, the way Draco’s other hand hovered an inch from her elbow.
“So this is her,” Bianco said softly. “The one who keeps surviving every hurdle for the last decade.”
The words were quiet.
But the implication was not.
Draco moved instantly, fully stepping between them, his presence a solid wall of black robes and coiled threat. The bond pulsed with defensiveness and anger.
“You will watch your mouth,” Draco said, voice low and precise. “In public or anywhere else.”
Marcus barked a short laugh, “Touchy.”
Bianco only smiled faintly, unbothered. His eyes slid over Draco now, calculating.
“Protective instincts run strong in triads,” he murmured. “Fascinating subject. triads, really.”
Hermione felt a pit settle in her stomach.
She didn’t miss the way Marcus’s magic subtly shifted as he gripped his wand harder, defensive, ready for whatever his companion may start.
Draco leaned closer to her without taking his eyes off either man.
“We’re finished here,” he said. “You should move along before you accidentally make a mistake you won’t be able to undo. The Ministry has eyes everywhere…. And so do I.”
For a brief moment, the four of them stood locked in a silent standoff amid the rushing Ministry crowds.
Then Marcus shrugged, “Another time, perhaps, we can more fully catch-up.”
Bianco met Hermione’s eyes one last time.
“Careful,” he said lightly. “The world grows small for people who think themselves too important.”
With that, both men turned and disappeared into the gold-rimmed floo nearby.
Draco exhaled slowly, tension still radiating off him in visible waves.
“Are you all right?” he asked immediately, turning to her, hands squeezing hers.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “But that man wasn’t in any of the Flint registries.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “No. I realized that too. He wouldn’t be, if he didn’t exist on paper by design.”
They stood there for a moment longer, the crowd flowing around them as if nothing unsettling had just occurred.
Then Draco reached for her paperwork.
“We’re filing this,” he said firmly. “And I’m increasing our wards again tonight. And we’re informing Harry.”
Hermione nodded, but unease lingered at the back of her thoughts.
The Aurors’ floor was quieter than usual for mid-morning, the constant churn of parchment and boots muted beneath layers of protective wards.
Hermione walked beside Draco, her shoulder almost brushing his sleeve, still feeling the lingering eerie prickle of the encounter. Draco’s jaw had not unclenched since they’d started walking again.
Harry looked up from his desk the moment they entered. One glance at their expressions and he stood.
“All right,” he said quietly. “This looks serious.”
Draco shut the door himself and threw a quick Muffliato over the room before turning back. “We ran into Marcus Flint in the atrium.”
Harry’s face darkened instantly, “Flint. After everything with the siphoning network, hauling him in for repeated questioning—what was he doing here?”
“He was filing trade documents it looked like,” Hermione said evenly. “Or pretending to. But he wasn’t alone. He introduced us to a man he claimed was his cousin. Bianco Flint.”
Harry frowned, “That’s not a known name in the Flint records…right?”
“That’s what I thought,” Draco said sharply. “And I’ve read the family trees back five hundred years in the Notts’ archives a few times over the last few months. No Bianco, I remember.”
Hermione folded her hands angrily, “He was… aggressive. Subtly. He didn’t say anything openly illegal, but his attention was fixed entirely on me. The tone wasn’t casual curiosity. It was calculated, and threatening.”
Draco’s magic stirred with possessive defense, “He stepped too close. Deliberately invaded her space. When I blocked him, he smiled like he’d achieved exactly what he wanted.”
Harry leaned against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, “What did he look like?”
Hermione described him in detail, dark-haired, pale-eyed, dressed too finely for a casual Ministry visit, his demeanor being controlled. As she spoke, Harry’s expression grew more intrigued, as he flipped through Auror records.
“No prior Auror red flags listed under that name,” Harry said at last. But that doesn’t mean much if it’s an alias. The Flint squibs we traced into the Muggle world vanished from wizarding documentation, some even generations ago. If someone rebuilt those lines under false identities—”
“They could move freely through both worlds,” Hermione finished softly.
Draco’s voice dropped, “And if the siphoning network is built on erased bloodlines… Flint would be exactly the sort of family to anchor it behind the scenes.”
Harry exhaled slowly. “Did he say anything specific that we can use to bring him back in?”
“Nothing that could be used as evidence,” Hermione said. “Only implications. Enough to unsettle. Enough to say I know you’re vulnerable without saying it outright.”
Draco’s eyes flashed, “He wanted her frightened.”
Harry’s gaze softened with understanding. “Which means he was looking for a reaction.”
Hermione straightened. “We didn’t give him one that boldly. But I didn’t like the timing. We were filing grant paperwork tied to the Granger Center. It may have been coincidence, but I doubt it. You know most of the old families voted against the Center being established in the first place.”
Harry muttered a curse under his breath. “I’ll put Marcus Flint and this ‘cousin’ under quiet surveillance again. No overt tail yet, we don’t want to tip them, nor have they done enough to get that approved either. But I’ll have records pulled under every variation of that name across Europe, reach out to our friends in other continental departments.”
Draco nodded, “Good.”
Harry’s tone was thankful, “You did the right thing coming straight here.”
Hermione hesitated, then said quietly, “Harry… do you think this means the siphoning network is adapting again? Even with the potion rollout?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” he admitted. “Every time we close one door, they try to find another. The potion really put a kink in their plans for a good while, I’m sure they’re trying to figure out how to circumvent it every day. What worries me is that Flint didn’t approach you through intermediaries. He came himself. That suggests confidence. Or desperation. He’s showing himself in public again.”
Draco’s hand drifted subtly closer to Hermione’s, not quite touching. “Either way, he’s made it personal now.”
Harry met Draco’s eyes steadily. “I won’t let that stand either. You’re not the only one who cares for her safety Draco.”
Hermione released a slow breath, “What should we do in the meantime?”
“Nothing different,” Harry said gently. “Public routines stay public. Keep aware in private with warding. But I want you to keep your Auror escorts in public when your not with Theo or draco. No exceptions. And if you see him—or his ‘cousin’—again, you leave immediately and contact me. No confrontations at all again.”
Draco’s mouth tightened, “That goes against every instinct I have to pulverize him.”
“I know,” Harry said quietly. “But right now, you’re worth more out of prison than being righteous and crossing a line Kingsley and I can’t protect you from.”
For a moment, none of them spoke, the bond was tense.
Then Hermione nodded., “We’ll be careful.”
Harry dispelled the Muffliato and looked at them both with quiet resolve. “You’ve just handed me the first real thread we’ve had in weeks. I’ll pull it carefully—but I will pull it.”
As they turned to leave, Draco paused at the door, “Harry.”
“Yes?”
“If that man is involved—directly or indirectly—there will be consequences. Either you deliver them… or I will.”
Harry’s voice was steady, “There already are. They just haven’t arrived yet.”
Draco opened the door, and Hermione stepped back into the bustle of the Ministry with a growing certainty in her chest that something nefarious was underfoot.
Notes:
So... who is this guy?! Comment.
Chapter 301: The Waiting Game
Chapter Text
On February third, the manor was unusually quiet for all of them being home.
There was a soft green glow of enchanted lamps Draco had lit along the stone walls of the potions chamber. The air was thick with familiar lab scents, mooncalf musk, crushed lacewing, warm iron from the cauldron—layered with something more delicate beneath it all: the sharp, clean bite of starflower petals steeping slowly in melted snow water with a hint of mermaid tears.
Draco stood at the central worktable, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair falling into his eyes as he carefully counted drops from a crystal phial.
“One… two… three…”
On the fourth drop he stopped, breath held, then corked the vial with a precise flick of his wrist. Only then did he release the tension in his shoulders.
Hermione, perched on a high stool beside Theo, let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“That’s the activator,” she murmured. “Once that’s in, there’s no reversing the base anymore.”
Draco nodded without looking up, “Exactly.”
Theo folded his arms loosely across his chest, eyes tracking every movement Draco made. He wasn’t intervening—this wasn’t his specialty—but old habits died hard and he’d always been a good student.
“Core stability still looks good,” he said. “Your magic’s steady tonight. That’s a good sign, less chance of mistakes.”
Draco finally glanced at them both, “You say that like you think it might not have been.”
Theo met his gaze calmly. “Given everything, we have endured in the last year? I’d be worried if I didn’t consider every variable.”
Hermione reached out instinctively, her fingers brushing Theo’s wrist. “We’re here. That’s the variable that matters most.”
Draco’s expression softened at that, and something in his chest loosened just a fraction.
The cauldron began to glow faintly, soft gold where the drops had fallen in, responding to the new ingredient. Draco took the long glass stirring rod and eased it into the potion, moving clockwise, exactly thirteen times.
The liquid thickened, turning more pearlescent with a faint golden shimmer.
Theo’s breath caught slightly. “It’s bonding with the base already.”
“As it should,” Draco said quietly. “This batch is keyed to Hermione’s body, I made a few subtle adjustments for her heritage, since this is generally only brewed for pureblood line betrothals.”
Hermione’s voice was awed, “It still amazes me that something so… life-altering can be brewed in a cauldron.”
Draco snorted softly, “Nearly everything important in our world starts in a cauldron, love. Even many disasters.”
Theo tilted his head., “This won’t be one of those.”
Draco paused in his stirring. “No. It won’t. It will be… perfect.”
The room settled into a gentle rhythm after that—the quiet hiss of the fire beneath the cauldron, the steady movement of Draco’s hands, the soft echo of their breathing. Time stretched in an odd, weightless way for a while as Draco kept concentrated on his work.
Hermione found herself watching Draco’s hands more than the potion itself, the bond fluttering with appreciation.
He was meticulous when he brewed, always controlled, deliberate, reverent even in how he handled the ingredients.
There was no trace of the sharp-tongued boy she’d known at Hogwarts in him now. This was the man who had lost a wife and unborn child. The man who had fought a war. A man who had learned his place in a changing society. And who had learned to love in multiples. The man who was now preparing, willingly and with trembling care, for the possibility of new life again.
She swallowed.
Theo noticed immediately.
“You all right?” he asked gently.
Hermione nodded, then shook her head. “I’m excited,” she admitted. “And terrified. And… I don’t know. Everything all at once.”
Draco stopped stirring.
Very slowly, he set the rod aside and turned to face her fully. “You don’t have to be brave about this for our sake, Hemrione.”
She met his eyes. “I’m not trying to be brave. I’m just… aware. That we’re standing at the edge of something that will change everything for all of us.”
Theo hands rested lightly at her waist. “That doesn’t mean we’re stepping off the edge tonight, we still have a few more days to talk about it if you want, before it’s even ready to use.”
Hermione leaned back into him, “I know. But it feels close. February never felt like a real thing until now, staring at this potion.”
Draco exhaled shakily, “I’ve brewed hundreds of actually dangerous potions in my life. This is the only one that’s ever made my hands shake.”
Hermione stood and crossed the space between them, she didn’t touch the cauldron—just him. Her palm settled against his forearm, feeling the faint vibration of his magic beneath his skin.
“You don’t have to prove anything tonight,” she said quietly.
“I know,” he replied. “But I also know what this means to me, and you, and Theo.”
She searched his face, “Tell me.”
Draco hesitated. Theo waited silently, giving him the space to be vulnerable.
“It means,” Draco said at last, “that I’m choosing to believe I’m allowed to want this again. A child. A future. A life that isn’t shaped entirely by loss or one that’s forced on me without feelings.”
Theo’s smile was smile, but reassuring.
“And it means,” Draco continued, voice rough, “that I trust you both enough to hope again. To even want this at all.”
Hermione’s throat ached. She nodded once, unable to speak immediately.
After a moment, Theo said quietly, “And if it doesn’t happen right away… or at all… if this potion doesn’t work for some reason…”
Draco looked at him sharply.
Theo held his gaze. “Then we work on it together. Not alone. This potion works most of the time, but there’s always that 2% failure rate on it. We can try again if it doesn’t work the first time.”
Draco’s eyes burned. He turned back to the cauldron abruptly, blinking hard. “It needs another fifteen minutes of low flame. Then it cools overnight. Two days to set fully after tonight, then it can be used.”
Hermione and Theo took that as permission to let the moment breathe.
They sat together on the long stone bench near the wall while the potion stabilized. Theo pulled Hermione close, her head resting against his shoulder. Through the bond, his calm steadiness flooded her, the healer’s quiet certainty, the emotional guard he maintained so she didn’t drown in her own racing thoughts.
Draco’s emotions bled through too, whether he meant them to or not.
Hope, fragile and bright.
Fear, deep and worrying.
Love, heavy and unwavering.
Hermione closed her eyes and let all of it wash through her.
“You don’t have to carry this alone, we’re all taking this step together as a unit” she murmured.
Draco didn’t answer aloud, but the warmth in the bond that answered her in return was unmistakable.
When the potion’s glow finally settled into a steady, gentle very pale gold hued icy blue, Draco extinguished the flame beneath the cauldron.
“It’s done for tonight,” he said. “Cooling phase is critical. No disturbances at all. No touching it for two days.”
Theo stood immediately. “I’ll ward it.”
Hermione watched as Theo layered precise healer-wards around the cauldron—containment, stabilization, resonance-lock. The potion hummed softly as the magic settled into place.
Draco exhaled again, longer this time.
For the first time that night, he actually allowed himself to smile, not sharp, not guarded. Just quiet and real.
“We did it,” he said then corrected himself. “Or at least… we began it.”
Hermione stepped into his space without hesitation, laying her forehead against his chest. A second later, Theo joined them, his arms wrapping around them both from behind.
No words, just the shared understanding that whatever came next, they would meet it together.
And for the first time since the brewing began, Draco’s hands fully finally stopped shaking.
Minutes later, Draco added the last stabilizing ingredient—three drops of phoenix-ash tincture. The cauldron glowed faintly gold for a moment, then stilled.
He stepped back at last, shoulders tight with restrained emotion.
“It’ll need another 36 hours to mature,” he said. “Then it’s viable for exactly 48 hours while corked.”
Hermione let out a shaky breath. That made it real.
Theo tilted his head slightly, “Say it out loud, finalize it, so we can all breath, Hermione.”
She frowned gently,“Say what?”
“The thing you’re still dancing around.”
She looked between them. Then nodded, once.
“You’re the one who’ll get me pregnant this time Draco.”
Draco didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Theo squeezed her fingers lightly. “We already talked about this. But, I know you wanted to think it through more before being sure.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to think any more about it. I’ve thought about it every way I know how. I’m sure, you were right, Draco is the right choice for us all right now.”
She turned fully toward Draco. “You didn’t push me. Either of you. But I see how much you want this. And Theo is right—about your mother, about being able to be there for me, about how long you’ve dreamed of being better than the man who raised you.”
Her voice trembled, “And I want your child too. Both of you eventually.”
Draco’s composure cracked, “You don’t owe me this, Theo deserves it.” he whispered.
“I know.” She stepped closer. “But, I’m choosing it.”
Theo exhaled slowly. “Then I’ll say my part again, too. Because it matters that it’s said when we’re all here.”
They both turned to him.
“I want to be a father,” he said quietly. “But I also know my life right now—my schedule, my patients, my specialty-track—will make that first year brutally hard for me to be present in the way a newborn deserves.”
Hermione’s chest tightened.
“And Draco,” Theo continued, looking at him directly, “you’ve wanted this your whole life. Not as a requirement. As a longing.”
Draco’s voice was low, “I want this so badly, yes.”
Theo nodded once. “Which is why I want your child to be first. Not because it matters whose blood comes first—but because it matters whose healing begins first. We will both be his dad no matter what. I won’t view him any different than when the next one comes and is mine. We will all be a family, the parentage won’t matter to me.”
Silence swallowed the room.
Draco crossed the space between them in two steps and pulled Theo into a fierce, breathless embrace. Theo returned it without hesitation, grounding them both.
“Thank you,” Draco murmured into his shoulder.
Theo pressed his forehead briefly against Draco’s. “Don’t worry, we’re going to be great dads together.”
Later, they sat together at dinner, the bond was anxious, worried, and love filled.
Hermione spoke softly, “I’m afraid of losing myself.”
Draco’s hand tightened around hers. “You won’t.”
“I know that logically. But magic changes things. Motherhood changes things. I don’t ever want to be… only a vessel. Lose who I was before completely.”
“You won’t be,” Theo said firmly. “You’ll be you still. Brilliant, unbearable, stubborn Hermione—with a child who learns about the world from watching you fight for it.”
She laughed weakly through tears.
“And you?” she asked Theo. “What are you afraid of?”
He considered honestly.
“That I won’t recognize myself when everything stabilizes. I’ve lived so long in crisis that I don’t know who I am without it. That I won’t be able to fully enjoy the peace and calm of normal family life. That I won’t even know how to act as a normal family.”
Draco gazed at him, “Then we’ll learn that version of you together.”
Breakfast passed the next day in a strange, gentle hush.
Theo left first, healer’s satchel already slung over his shoulder, pressing a lingering kiss to Hermione’s temple and Draco’s cheek before vanishing into the floo. There was something weighted in his goodbye, hopeful, nervous, steady all at once.
Draco flooed with Hermione to the Granger Center landing in the courtyard in the light winter fog. The sky was pale and washed-out, the kind of morning that felt frozen in time between breaths.
The Center was already busy when they arrived.
Two worried parents waited in the reception area with a young boy whose magic had manifested overnight in a burst of floating kitchen utensils. Draco took one look at the parents’ faces—raw panic barely masked by politeness—and stepped in without a hint of typical Malfoy hauteur.
“You’re safe,” he told them calmly. “So is your son. Accidental magic looks terrifying at first. It always settles in time, and is rarely dangerous.”
Hermione watched him work with quiet pride. He hadn’t always known how to be gentle with frightened parents. Now it came naturally with practice.
They spent the morning busy, Hermione walking a muggleborn mother through the reality of Hogwarts, Draco defusing fear with patient logic and pamphlets, both engaging with the youngsters with books and crayons.
At noon they sat together at Hermione’s upstairs office desk, sharing tea and a sandwich in companionable silence.
“You’re quiet,” Draco said softly.
“I’m trying not to be scared,” she admitted. “And also trying not to be hopeful. Failing at both.”
Draco covered her hand with his. “You’re allowed to be both when we’re so close to doing something so meaningful.”
Ginny swept in just after one, wind-chilled cheeks flushed pink, carrying a paper bag that radiated unmistakably Weasley bakery warmth.
“Harry said you’d forget to eat,” she announced briskly, dumping the bag on the desk. “And these smelled good, so I brought you both some.”
Hermione laughed.
They all ate the pastries together in the back office. Draco excused himself halfway through to help a family in reception, leaving Ginny and Hermione alone.
Ginny studied her carefully over the rim of her tea.
“You’re vibrating,” she said.
Hermione frowned. “I am not.”
“You absolutely are. You’ve been vibrating since I got here. Emotional static. I’d recognise it anywhere.”
Hermione hesitated, staring into her friends eyes.
Then, very quietly, “We’re trying tomorrow.”
Ginny froze. Then her face softened entirely.
“Oh, Hermione.”
Hermione’s eyes stung instantly. “I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel fully ready. But I also don’t want to keep running from it. I do want it, it’s just … a lot.”
Ginny reached across the desk and squeezed her hand. “You’re not running toward a deadline because the Ministry only. You’re stepping toward a life because you all want this. That’s different.”
Hermione whispered, “I keep thinking about everything that could go wrong. What happened to Pansy was terrifying.”
Ginny smiled faintly, “So does every woman who’s ever wanted a child. And then they do it anyway.”
Hermione breathed out slowly.
Ginny tilted her head knowingly. “Theo ready too?”
Hermione nodded. “He’s terrified and excited in exactly equal measure.”
“And Draco?”
Hermione smiled through wet lashes. “He’s been pretending not to pace or be nerovus. He’s failing.”
Ginny laughed.
Draco and Hermione worked the rest of the afternoon side by side. Hermione noticed everything more sharply than usual. Like the tiny tremor in her hands when she signed intake forms. The way Draco glanced at her every few minutes as if confirming she was still real and hadn’t run for it. By closing, exhaustion had settled into her bones.
When they arrived in the manor foyer, Draco looked at her seriously.
“Tomorrow doesn’t begin anything without your consent,” he said quietly. “We stop if you want. We wait if you want.”
“I won’t falter,” she whispered. “But thank you for giving me permission to.”
Theo arrived home after dark, shoulders heavy with hospital fatigue but eyes immediately seeking Hermione the moment he stepped inside.
She walked straight into his arms.
“How was the Center?” he asked softly.
“Full, busy,” Hermione answered. “And grounding.”
Theo nodded, then gently asked, “Are you still certain about tomorrow?”
Hermione met his gaze without flinching, “Yes.”
He exhaled slowly, tension loosening from his shoulders. “Then I’m with you both.”
Draco poured wine for all of them. They ate a quiet dinner mostly. They spoke about small light things only like a patient Theo had stabilized, a family Draco had reassured at the Center, and a child Hermione had coaxed into levitating a spoon for the first time.
Ordinary life, tethering them to the present.
Later, in the calm hush of the manor, Hermione stood in the doorway of their shared sitting room.
“Tomorrow feels unreal,” she admitted.
Theo smiled tiredly. “So did the first day of my healer training. Some thresholds only reveal themselves as amazing after you step through them.”
Draco added softly, “Whatever happens next, you are not stepping alone. We’re all going to parent together.”
That night, sleep came slowly to Hermione.
When it did, it was filled with multiple hands steady at her back, with warmth on either side of her, and with the quiet certainty that she did not have to be brave by herself.
Tomorrow would come.
And they would meet it all together.
Notes:
How do you think the conception is going to go?! Leave a comment.
Chapter 302: The Deed is Done
Notes:
The scene you may have been waiting for... using the potion. =P
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They woke tangled together in the early dawn on February 5th.
Grey winter light filtered through the tall curtains of the suite, soft and cold, casting faint shadows across the bed. Hermione was the first to stir, half-dreaming until she registered the steady warmth on either side of her—Theo’s arm loose across her waist, Draco’s shoulder solid against her back.
For a moment she simply lay there, breathing them in, grounding herself in the reality of where she was, enjoying the sound of their breathing.
Theo shifted next, blinking sleep from his eyes. “Morning,” he murmured, voice low with sleep. His thumb traced an absent line along her side, gentle and protective.
Draco stirred, lifting his head slightly, hair falling into his eyes. “You’re both awake,” he said softly.
Hermione turned carefully so she could see both of them. It struck her, not for the first time, how different they were and yet how perfectly they fit together—Theo’s quiet steadiness, Draco’s sharp, contained intensity. And she loved them both together and separately.
“Breakfast?” she asked lightly, though her eyes were still tired.
Draco nodded, “I’ll have the elves bring it.”
They didn’t separate right away. For several long minutes they simply stayed as they were, breathing together while the bond hummed in quiet agreement, steady and warm—no urgency today, only closeness and anticipation.
They ate at a small table near the window in their chambers, wrapped in thick, plush robes, frost glittering across the manor grounds outside. Steam rose from teacups and plates of warm bread, hard boiled eggs, and cut tropical fruit.
Theo watched Hermione absently over the rim of his mug, something thoughtful in his expression.
“You’re nervous,” he said gently.
She didn’t deny it, “Not afraid. Just… cognizant. Everything feels heavier when you’re standing at the edge of something that will change the rest of your life.”
Draco reached across the table and took her hand. His grip was steady, grounding. “We don’t have to rush, no matter what the calendar says.”
“I know,” she replied. “But I still want it, deadline aside.”
Theo smiled faintly, “For awhile I suspect…”
That made Draco exhale tenderly, “Godric’s Hollow. The kidnapping. Vienna. The potion. The Ministry. The Flint business. Pansy. Cassian. Sometimes I forget what life felt like before all of this together. Everything has felt like such a rush, I can hardly remember the before.”
Hermione squeezed his fingers, “Before us all together?”
He hesitated. Then in a quiet voice, “Before this family started.”
Theo’s magic flickered warmly in the bond at that word.
They finished breakfast slowly, unhurried, each of them aware that today was one of those rare calm days before a threshold.
They bundled into winter cloaks and stepped outside together.
The morning was cold and beautiful in the way only deep winter could be—frost thick on every blade of grass, the orchard branches white with glittering crystals. The sun weak but bright.
Hermione walked between them, one hand in each of theirs.
For a while they simply walked in silence, boots crunching gently over the frost. The manor loomed behind them.
Theo was the first to speak, “Do you remember the first few weeks after the letters came?”
Hermione laughed softly. “How could I forget? I thought the Ministry had completely lost its mind.”
Draco huffed, “You slammed six books onto my desk and told me you’d already thought about this from a human rights standpoint and that we should consider seeking refuge with MACUSA.”
“And you said your lawyers had already considered everything, that we needed to figure out how to make it work or just consider ourselves fugitives and get on with it,” she shot back with a grin.
Theo smiled at the memory. “You barely spoke to each other for weeks because you had a hard time trying to learn the new versions of each other. All your interactions felt so awkward. You both used me as a buffer.”
Draco glanced at Hermione. “You wouldn’t let me near you unless I brought tea and academic conversation options.”
“And you kept calling everything ‘statistically suboptimal’ when it came to the match. Very romantic.”
They all laughed.
They walked deeper into the orchard now, bare branches arching above them.
Hermione grew more thoughtful. “I keep thinking about last spring. About how scared I was when the cores started draining. About thinking it might never stop.”
Theo’s grip tightened slightly. “You were terrified. You just didn’t want to share that with us.”
Draco said quietly, “And you still stood in front of the Ministry anyway knowing it would make you’re a target.”
Hermione swallowed. “And you both stood with me.”
Theo looked ahead. “That’s marriage, I think. Everything becomes together.”
They stopped near the old stone bench beneath the largest apple tree.
Draco rubbed his thumb slowly across Hermione’s knuckles. “You nearly died more than once this year.”
“So did you I think.”
“And so did Theo, especially if you consider how rundown you’ve been form all these crazy shifts.”
She looked at them one at a time, voice soft. “That’s why I don’t feel afraid about what’s coming. We’ve already proven over an dover how well we fit together. I feel… resolved.”
Theo studied her face. “Resolved how?”
Hermione took a slow breath, the cold air stinging her lungs. “That if the world is going to keep being dangerous, which it always will, then I want to build something inside it that’s stronger than fear. Something worth living every day for, fighting every day to have.”
Draco closed his eyes briefly at that. Theo’s magic felt warm and reverent through the bond.
They stood there like that for several long moments, cold winter air swirling softly around them, each lost in thought.
They resumed walking, circling back toward the manor.
Draco broke the quiet again. “One year ago today we were still negotiating sleeping arrangements, planning for a wedding in a few days.”
Theo chuckled, “You tried insisting on separate rooms for at least six months.”
Hermione grinned. “You insisted on separate wings when he first moved in.”
Draco looked unrepentant. “I needed space to not feel like an intruder. I’m actually glad we all had separate rooms at first. It made easing into this better.”
“You never were an intruder, just so you know,” Theo said simply.
Draco didn’t answer, but Hermione felt the echo of old worry settle and then ease inside him.
She spoke carefully. “Sometimes I think about how different things could have gone if we’d let those first fears stay in control.”
Theo nodded slowly. “We almost did, it would have been easy for any of us to lock each other out.”
Draco said quietly, “And yet here we are today… about to do this next step together.”
They reached the edge of the lawn where the land dipped down toward the frozen stream far out in a back field.
Hermione turned to face them fully. “No matter what happens next… I want you both to know I chose this. I choose this. Not because of law. Not because of timelines. Because I actually truly crave a family with you both.”
Theo lifted her hand to his lips, “We know.”
Draco’s voice was low, intense. “And I would choose you both again even if the law vanished tomorrow.”
That landed deep inside her, sending love into the bond.
They finished the walk, returning to the manor as the sun climbed higher into the morning sky.
After a light lunch, Hermione wrapped her scarf tighter as she walked up the narrow stone path to Neville and Luna’s charming cottage estate. Frost glittered on every hedge and fencepost, the late-winter sun pale and still clear overhead. The air felt sharp in her nose—like everything was holding its breath.
Inside, the cottage was warm and full of life. Luna answered the door with the baby balanced easily against her shoulder, Celine’s curls sticking up in soft disarray.
“Hermione,” Luna said serenely. “You look like someone standing at the very edge of a very important page.”
Hermione gave a small, nervous laugh as she stepped inside. “That’s… unsettlingly accurate.”
Neville set tea to steep in the kitchen, and the sitting room glowed with quiet warmth with the lived in quality the space held. Hermione settled onto the sofa while Luna eased into a nearby chair, rocking the baby gently. Celine slept through it all, tiny fists tucked beneath her chin like a little cherub.
For a while, they talked about ordinary things.
How Celine was growing and sleeping thru the night.
How Neville’s greenhouses were bursting even in winter, and what he wanted to try to grow next.
How Theo had been handling longer shifts in a new ward rotation.
How Draco kept fussing over Hermione’s scarves and gloves as if she needed a new one every day to match her outfit.
Hermione found herself relaxing despite the undercurrent humming through her chest.
Eventually, Luna poured the tea.
Lavender and something summery and sweet drifted up in the steam.
Luna tilted her head as she handed Hermione a teacup. “You’re walking toward something very big,” she said mildly. “It makes shadows stretch very long behind you.”
Hermione froze slightly. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”
“It isn’t supposed to be anything,” Luna replied. “It simply is what is happening.”
They sipped in silence for a moment.
Hermione stared into her cup, watching the surface ripple faintly. She hadn’t planned to talk about it—but with Luna, things slipped out even without permission.
“I think we’re… close to a big change,” she said quietly.
Luna smiled faintly. “Most people are nervous, right before they realize it. Your not.”
Hermione swallowed. “It’s strange. I’m calm. And terrified. And oddly grateful, all at the same time.”
“That’s how bodies recognize thresholds,” Luna said. “Minds come onboard more fully later.”
Hermione glanced up sharply, “You always talk like you already know what I’m thinking.”
“I don’t,” Luna replied serenely. “I just listen to different parts of people than most do.”
Celine made a tiny sound in her sleep, and Luna adjusted her blanket gently.
“You worry about whether you’re ready,” Luna continued lightly. “But readiness is often a story people tell themselves after they’ve already leapt.”
Hermione hesitated. “Do you ever think… that knowing the end makes the beginning less meaningful?”
Luna considered that. “No. I think knowing the end sometimes makes the middle more luminous. Like a lantern inside fog. I don’t always know the end Hermione, and when I have a glimmer of it, sometimes it’s not about what happens, but rather about the importance in the journey there. I never can change anything by just listening to what is. What’s meant to happen, happens with or without me saying it.”
Hermione smiled faintly at that.
They drifted into softer conversation after that to more mundane things again. Christmas gifts that felt impossibly far away now. How Pansy was recovering as well as could be expected. How odd it was that life could feel so peaceful while danger still lingered at the edges of everything in society.
At last, Hermione rose, checking the time.
“I promised I’d be back by three,” she said. “We all did.”
Luna stood as well. “Then you should go. Thresholds dislike being kept waiting too long.”
Hermione paused at the door. “Thank you… for this. For the tea.”
“For the moment,” Luna corrected gently.
Hermione left with the strange sense of having been both reassured and unsettled in equal measure.
The manor was quiet when Hermione returned. Theo hadn’t come back quit yet. Draco wasn’t there either.
She moved through the rooms slowly, the quiet echoing with expectation. The bond felt… awake. Watchful. Like a held breath.
She was just setting the kettle on the stove when the familiar shift of magical wards rippled through the air.
Theo appeared first in a soft crack, coat still on, fatigue shadowing his eyes—but respite blooming instantly when he saw her.
“You’re back,” he said quietly.
She stepped into his arms, “So are you.”
Moments later, the front doors opened and Draco strode in. Whatever he had gone and retrieved from Malfoy Manor was absent from his hands now, but tension radiated from him all the same.
His eyes found Hermione immediately.
“There you are,” he said, voice rough with restrained relief.
They gathered unconsciously at the center of the room, the three of them closing into a triangle that felt comforting.
Theo checked the time. “It’s just past three.”
Hermione nodded. “We said we’d spend the rest of the day together.”
Draco’s gaze softened, guard down, in a way that made her chest ache. “Then we will.”
They moved toward the hearth, the fire already alive from earlier in the day.
None of them said what hovered unspoken in the room.
But the air between them felt charged with memory, with choice, with the shape of something approaching.
The manor was quiet in that soft, expectant way that only happened when all three of them were waiting for something, when time itself seemed to hold its breath.
Hermione broke the silence first.
“I feel like I can’t sit still any more,” she admitted softly. “My skin feels… too alive.”
Theo gave a small, tired smile. “Same. I checked on the dragon pox patient. He’s stable. I kept thinking I’d hurry, and then every hallway felt longer than the last.”
Draco paced once near the hearth before stopping. “We’re all vibrating,” he said, voice low. “If we don’t find a way to ground ourselves, none of us will relax.”
Hermione hesitated, then looked between them. “Would… would a bath help? Just to be together. To breathe. To be still. Connect before…”
Theo’s grin softened instantly, “That actually sounds perfect,” he said. “Warm water helps regulate nerves. And relax the bond too, when it’s this tightly wound.”
Draco considered it only a moment before nodding, “All right. We’ll do it properly. No rushing. No expectations. Just relaxing together.”
The deep tub filled slowly with steaming water while they undressed. Hermione added only a few drops of Luna’s homemade eucalyptus-and-lavender bath oil, the scent clean and grounding rather than just indulgent. Theo charmed the temperature precisely, hot and soothing. Draco dimmed the lights until the room glowed with just flickering candlelight.
They stepped in one at a time, silent as the warmth worked its way into tense muscles and restless their minds.
The water lapped quietly against the sides of the tub. Hermione’s knees brushed Theo’s. Draco rested one arm along the back edge behind her, not touching, but close enough that she could feel his warmth radiating.
The bond slowly loosened its tight coil of anxiety.
Theo leaned his head back against the side. “The last year has been nothing but preparing for things. Wedding. Attacks. Laws. Potions. Shifts. Research papers. Deadlines. It’s strange to stop right now and just try to be momentarily present in the now.”
Draco watched the faint ripples form their breathing in the water, “I don’t stop well,” he said quietly. “Stillness makes me think too much.”
Hermione shifted closer and, laid her head gently against his shoulder. It wasn’t romantic or charged, just human. Just grounding for them both.
Draco stilled beneath her, surprise flashing briefly across his face before he relaxed and let his head rest lightly against hers.
Theo’s voice softened at the sight. “Whatever comes tomorrow doesn’t feel as frightening when you look like that,” he murmured. “Like this is something we’re stepping into together instead of falling into.”
Hermione closed her eyes. “I’m a bit scared,” she admitted. “Not in a bad way. Just… aware of the weight of it. How much could change. We just found our rhythm together, and now we’re going to alter it.”
Draco’s voice was steady when he answered. “Everything changes whether we act now or not. At least this way, it changes because we chose it.”
Theo nodded. “And because we’ll be there to catch each other if it’s too much, work together when parenting is hard.”
The water worked its quiet magic. Shoulders loosened. Breathing slowed. Even the bond shifted, from tight, buzzing anticipation into something deeper, calmer, steadier.
They spoke then of easer things; What the grounds would look like in spring. What animals they might show a child first. What traditions they would keep, and which they would rewrite as a family.
Nothing was decided. Nothing was demanded. They simply let the future exist in the room with them, warm and possible.
After a while, Theo rubbed tiredly at his face. “We should get out before we all fall asleep and drown in lavender water.”
Draco gave a faint smirk. “That would be a ridiculous way to go.”
They rose slowly, one at a time, wrapping themselves in thick towels and warmth and each other’s quiet presence.
And for the first time all day, Hermione felt truly at peace, finally calm.
Steam still curled faintly through the open door of the bathing chamber, carrying traces of lavender. Hermione’s skin still felt temperate from the water, her muscles loose and relaxed. The tension had not vanished entirely, but it had softened into something gentler. Anticipation replacing any signs of fear.
They gathered in the bedroom afterward, all three of them moving with a careful sort of reverence. No one rushed. No one joked.
Draco took the small crystal vial from where it waited on the dresser. The potion inside shimmered. Hermione watched it with wide, steady eyes. Theo’s hand found hers automatically, their fingers threading together.
“This is the last chance to stop,” Draco said quietly. Not as a challenge. As a promise of safety if she wanted it.
Hermione met his gaze without flinching, “I don’t want to stop.”
Theo searched her face with the fear of a man who loved deeply. “You’re absolutely certain?” he asked softly. “Not because of the law. Not because of the deadline. Because you want this. Tonight.”
“Yes,” she said. No hesitation. “I want this with you. With both of you. And I want Draco to be the biological father.”
Draco’s breath caught and the reaction to hearing the words tore through the bond unchecked. Pride, awe, terror, devotion all flooded outward. He set the vial back down for a moment, as if steadying himself.
Theo reached for Draco’s shoulder. “I’m sure,” he said firmly. “And I meant what I said. This is right. For us.”
The stillness in the room deepened, not uncomfortable, but sacred.
Draco finally picked up the potion again. “Once you take this, the enchantment properties last for roughly three hours,” he explained, his voice steady. “During that window, conception is… almost certain. Nothing harmful. Nothing coercive. It simply ensures viability and enhances your fertility. It may make sensations a bit more intense, but won’t create feelings or longing that doesn’t already exist, it can sometimes enhance them though.”
Hermione listened carefully. “And if I change my mind after I drink it?”
“Then nothing happens,” Theo said immediately. “We stop. Completely.”
Draco nodded, “Exactly.”
They guided her to sit at the edge of the bed. Theo moved behind her first, resting his hands gently on her shoulders. Draco knelt in front of her, careful, deliberate.
“Before,” Theo murmured, “we help you relax a little more. No pressure. No expectations.”
Hermione’s breath trembled as she nodded.
Theo began to massage her shoulders, slow and grounding. Not erotic yet, just comforting. Draco warmed oil in his palms before pressing light, steady hands to her calves and feet, easing the tension she hadn’t realized she still carried even after the bath. The bond pulsed with love, and comfort.
They spoke quietly while they worked, about her beautiful body, her brains, all the traits the admired in her. Theo kissed the crown of her head once, briefly.
Draco stopped moving first.
He held up the vial again, eyes darker now, emotion thick in his throat. “This is the time of decision. Whatever you want is ok.”
Hermione straightened. Theo moved to her side, one hand still holding hers. She nodded to Draco. Draco lifted the vial to her lips, watching her face as if memorizing it.
One intense last look passed between all three of them, silent, binding, irrevocable.
Hermione took the potion.
It was warm when she swallowed it. Not hot in a temperature sense, but in a feeling of being alive. Magic unfurled inside her immediately, slow and potent, spreading through her chest and down her spine. The bond reacted to her surprise, sending uncertainty and awe to the others.
Theo exhaled sharply.
Draco’s magic flared in shock before he forced it back under control.
Hermione pressed a hand to her sternum, breath hitching—not from pain, but from the sheer weight of what she had just done.
“That’s it,” Theo said quietly. “It’s done. We only use it now if you want to.”
Draco set the empty vial down.
No one moved for several seconds, everyone just breathing deeply.
Then Hermione looked up at them both, eyes glassy with nerves and wonder.
“I’m ready,” she whispered.
Draco and Theo flanked her immediately, their touches a blend of reverence and reserved hunger. Draco’s hand rested on her lower belly, fingers splayed possessively, as if he could already feel the life they were about to create.
Theo’s lips brushed her shoulder, his breath hot against her skin, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her thigh.
“We’re going to make you ready for me, love,” Draco murmured, voice low and thick with emotion, his silver eyes locked on hers. “Every inch of you, open and dripping, so you can take everything I give you.”
Theo’s hand joined Draco’s, sliding lower, teasing the edge of her slick folds. “You’re already so wet,” he whispered, voice husky with awe.
Hermione nodded, a soft whimper escaping as Theo’s fingers parted her, spreading her open to the cool air. “It’s… intense,” she breathed, her hips twitching. “I need you both so much. Been thinking about this moment all day.”
Draco leaned down, capturing her mouth in a slow, searing kiss, his tongue sliding against hers with deliberate intent, tasting her, claiming her. Theo’s mouth found her breast, lips closing around her nipple, sucking hard until it ached, his teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp softly into Draco’s kiss.
Their hands worked in tandem with practiced grace. Theo’s fingers dipping inside her first, two thick digits stretching her slowly, curling against her front wall with learned precision. Draco’s followed, adding a third, the combined thickness making her moan loudly, her walls fluttering around them, slick and hot from the potion’s effects combined with he rown thready desire.
“Fuck, you’re always so tight,” Draco groaned against her lips, their fingers scissoring to open her wider. “Feel how you’re stretching for us? We’re getting you ready for my cock, love. Gonna fill you so deep. Make you feel so good.”
Theo’s thumb found her clit, circling with slow, maddening pressure while his fingers thrust inside in time with Draco. “You’re soaking our hands,” he murmured, pulling back to watch his fingers disappear inside her, glistening with her arousal. “So ready to take him. To take his seed. That’s what you want right Hermione? To have his baby?”
Hermione’s back arched, her hands clutching the sheets as the pleasure built, the potion amplifying every touch, burning her up even quicker than normal.
“Yes… Please—more—I need—”
Draco’s mouth moved to her other breast, biting down gently, then harder, until she cried out, the sting shooting straight to her core.
“We’ve got you,” he whispered, his fingers pumping faster, curling to hit that spot that made her sob harder. “Come for us first, darling. Let us feel you fall apart before I have you.”
Theo’s mouth worked her clit, tongue lapping in relentless, wet strokes, sucking hard enough to make her thighs tremble.
The dual assault—Draco’s thick fingers stretching her, Theo’s mouth devouring her clit—pushed her to the edge. “I’m—oh gods—I’m coming—” she gasped, her walls clamping down hard, a gush of wetness flooding their fingers as the orgasm tore through her, her body convulsing, tears spilling down her cheeks from the sheer intensity of this moment together.
They didn’t stop, riding her through it, drawing out every spasm until she was shaking, sobbing, begging. Only then did Draco pull his fingers free, licking them clean with a groan, his eyes dark with lust as then he shared her taste with Theo in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss that made Hermione whimper to watch.
Draco moved between her legs, his cock thick and flushed, veins pulsing, the tip leaking pre-cum that dripped onto her thigh as he positioned himself.
“Ready for me, love?” he asked, voice nervous with anxiousness and need, his hands shaking as he spread her thighs wider.
“Yes,” she moaned, pulling him down for a desperate kiss. “Cum in me—make me yours, make us all a family.”
He entered her slowly, deliberately, letting her feel every inch, the thick head parting her slick folds, stretching her open, the ridges of his cock dragging against her sensitive walls.
The potion made every sensation razor-sharp; she felt the exact moment he bottomed out, the blunt head of his cock pressing lightly against her cervix, a deep, insistent pressure that was both overwhelming and absolutely perfect.
Hermione’s breath hitched, her nails digging into his shoulders with moans, as she adjusted to the fullness.
“Feel me here?” Draco whispered, voice filled with emotion, holding still so she could feel the pressure of his cockhead kissing her cervix. “Right against your womb, love. I’m going to cum so deep, flood your womb, give you our baby.”
Hermione wept, the pressure an exquisite ache that sent sparks through her entire body. “Yes—Draco—I feel you—so deep—right there—”
Theo knelt beside them, his cock hard and leaking against her hip, one hand stroking himself slowly, the other sliding between her legs to rub her clit in slow, firm circles. “You’re taking him so perfectly,” he murmured, voice thick with love. “Feel him pressing so deep? That’s where our baby’s going to start, love.”
Draco began to move with long, deep strokes that gently dragged his cockhead over her cervix on every thrust, the pressure building into a throbbing, almost painful pleasure that made her cry out with every snap of his hips.
The wet slap of his hips against hers filled the room, her arousal and his pre-cum mixing to create a slick, obscene sound that drove him more wild.
“Tell me,” Draco panted, his thrusts growing harder, deeper, each one forcing that intense pressure against her cervix. “Tell me how it feels, love. Tell me you want my cum there.”
“It’s—so deep,” she sobbed, tears streaming freely, her nails carving fresh scratches down his back. “I feel you pressing, Draco, it’s intense, it’s perfect—I want you—want you to fill my womb—give me our baby—”
Theo’s fingers sped up on her clit, his other hand now cupping Draco’s balls, squeezing, and rolling them slightly to heighten the sensation. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Taking him so deep, letting him love you like this. Come for him, sweetheart. Milk him—let him spill right there.”
Draco’s thrusts turned insistent, his hips grinding on every stroke to maximize the pleasure on her walls.
“I’m going to cum so deep,” he groaned, voice breaking with passion. “Right here—soon, every pulse for our baby—”.
The orgasm built faster with his words, the pressure against her cervix amplifying everything into a blinding, almost painful ecstasy. “Draco—I’m—gonna—” she sobbed, body shaking.
“Come,” he commanded, slamming in a bit harder, thumb joining Theo’s on her clit, rubbing eagerly. “Come now—milk me—take my cum—”
She shattered intensely, her walls clamping down in violent spasms, her cervix fluttering under the relentless pressure of his cockhead, a gush of wetness produced, as she screamed his name, tears streaming down her face from the overwhelming intensity.
Draco followed instantly with a throaty growl, thrusting deep one final time, grinding hard against her cervix as he came—thick, scalding pulses spilling directly against her cervix, each spurt a hot flood that she felt deep inside, the potion making every twitch, every wave vivid and visceral.
“Feel it,” he panted, hips grinding to force every drop deeper. “Feel my cum—right there—filling your womb—our baby—”
Theo’s fingers slowed, soothing now on her clit, as Draco’s thrusts eased into gentle rocks, milking the last of his release. When he finally pulled out, a thin trickle of cum leaked free, pearlescent in the dim light.
Theo was there instantly, his fingers gentle but firm as he gathered the escaping seed, pushing it back inside her with two careful digits, massaging it back inside with loving strokes. “Can’t waste any,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “We need every drop deep inside you, love.”
Hermione whimpered, the sensation of his fingers and the lingering aftershocks on her cervix sending shivers through her. Theo tilted her hips higher, stacking pillows beneath her lower back to keep her elevated, his fingers still inside, gently pressing the cum deeper, ensuring it stayed where it belonged.
Draco lay beside her, hand joining Theo’s other hand on her belly, tears in his eyes as he kissed her tear-streaked face. “I love you,” he whispered, voice raw. “I felt it—felt you take me so deep, felt you open your heart for me. Our baby’s going to be here because of tonight I think.”
Theo nodded, tears slipping free as he leaned down to kiss her belly, then her lips. “Our dream,” he murmured. “I can see our little family growing into something beautiful.”
Hermione’s hands covered theirs on her stomach, tears of joy streaming as the bond felt tentative and shifting, as they lay in the quiet room, waiting for their future to begin together.
Notes:
Leave thoughts in the comments... Did it work? What will happen?
Chapter 303: Pansy's Truth
Chapter Text
Morning came tentatively at Nott Manor.
Snow had fallen in the night. It clung to the bare branches outside, weighed down the hedges, softened the estate into something still and fragile.
Hermione woke first.
She lay very still between them, listening to the slow, even rhythm of both their breathing. Draco was on her right, one arm loose around her waist; Theo was on her left, warm and solid at her back. The bond hovered between them full of trepidation. Uncertain. Hopeful. Terrified.
It felt… different.
She shifted carefully, not wanting to wake them yet. But Draco stirred at once, always a light sleeper when it came to her.
“Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
Theo’s arm tightened slightly around her as he woke more slowly. He pressed his forehead briefly to the back of her head, grounding, familiar.
They lay there for several minutes in shared quiet. No one rushed to define anything. No one dared to speculate. The bond pulsed with restrained emotion—Draco’s fierce protectiveness held on a tight leash, Theo’s careful steadiness, Hermione’s mingled wonder and dread.
Eventually, Draco sighed and shifted. “We’re not going to get anything meaningful out of this bed while we’re all pretending not to be losing our minds.”
Hermione smiled faintly and finally extricated herself. By unspoken agreement, they dressed simply, soft knit jumpers, loose trousers, bare feet on cold stone floors. The house felt hushed, as though even the walls were holding their breath.
The kitchen was already awake with quiet magic. The elves moved silently, as if they, too, sensed the weight of the morning. Tea steeped on the counter. A simple breakfast waited, warm for them on the table, eggs, toast, fruit, steaming porridge.
They took their seats without comment. Draco automatically pulled Hermione’s chair closer to the fireplace. Theo handed her tea without being asked.
For a while, they only ate.
It was strange how loud the smallest sounds became. The scrape of cutlery. The crackle of fire. The ticking of the old clock above the archway.
Finally, Hermione spoke, voice gentle, “I didn’t sleep much after you both fell asleep.”
A silence followed, not awkward, but heavy with shared knowing.
Hermione took a slow breath. “I don’t expect… anything yet. I know it could take time. Or it might not work at all. I just—” She hesitated, fingers tightening around her spoon. “I don’t want us to turn every look and every feeling into an omen.”
Theo studied her carefully, healer instincts sharp beneath the calm. “You’re not imagining anything yet, are you?”
She shook her head. “No. Nothing like that. I’m just… very aware of every sensation now.”
Draco exhaled slowly, visibly forcing himself to relax. “We said we wouldn’t spiral. We meant that.”
“I know.” Her gaze softened on him. “But I also know you.”
He didn’t argue.
Theo’s voice grounded them both. “We wait. We live. We don’t interrogate her body every hour like it’s evidence in a trial.”
Draco muttered, “I don’t interrogate.”
“You absolutely interrogate.”
Hermione smiled despite herself. The bond pulsed with uncertainty.
As breakfast went on, they became more openly aware of the bond, not as a source of urgency, but as a quiet current with a tense undertone.
Theo closed his eyes briefly, testing it.
“It feels… tentative,” he said slowly. “Not quiet. Not quite calm either. More like it’s waiting for something.”
Hermione felt it too. Like muted sunlight filtering through clouds.
Draco nodded. “It’s not pulling or burning anymore between us. Feels rather… resigned?”
She swallowed, “Is that good?”
“Maybe,” Theo said immediately.
Draco reached across the table and took her hand.
“I don’t care what happens biologically,” he said quietly. “This, between the three of us is real, and what matters.”
Hermione squeezed his hand back. Theo covered both of their hands with his own, grounding all three of them together.
Eventually, Theo pushed his empty plate away and slipped gently into healer mode.
“I’ll need to head in for a quick check on yesterday’s patient in about an hour,” he said. “But I won’t be long. And I’ll be reachable the entire time.”
Draco nodded. “I was planning to go to Malfoy Manor after breakfast. A few ledger issues, a couple of things for Mother. I’ll be back by mid-afternoon.”
Hermione frowned lightly. “You’re both leaving?”
“For a few hours,” Theo said gently. “Not abandoning you. And you said you wanted to get some essays finished.”
“I am going to work on those, yes,” she admitted.
As they lingered over the last of their tea, Hermione finally voiced what she’d been holding since waking.
“I’m scared.”
They both looked at her instantly.
“Of what?” Theo asked softly.
“Of hoping,” she said honestly. “And of not hoping. Of what it will change if it works. And what it might break if it doesn’t.”
Draco leaned closer, “Whatever happens, it won’t break us. If it didn’t work this time, we will just try again in a few days.”
Theo added quietly, “And it won’t change who you are to us if the potion didn’t work the first time.”
Draco gathered the dishes with quiet magic. Theo pulled on his coat by the door.
At the threshold, Theo pressed a warm kiss to her temple. Draco followed with one to her knuckles.
They didn’t say anything dramatic. There were no grand goodbyes. Just three people carrying the same fragile hope into separate corners of the day.
And as the door closed softly behind them, Hermione stood alone in the quiet kitchen for a moment, hand resting unconsciously on her middle, not in expectation yet, but in hope.
After wrapping up a charms essay, Hermione arrived at the Zabini estate just past mid-morning, the February light fell pale and cold through the paned windows of the sitting room.
The house was unusually quiet for one that now held a newborn. The usual sharp sparkle of Pansy’s presence felt muted, softened by exhaustion and the strange, fragile calm that followed both joy and trauma.
Blaise answered the door with Cassian cradled carefully against his chest, his movements instinctively gentle now in a way they hadn’t been before. He smiled when he saw Hermione, tired but happy.
“He finally settled,” Blaise said quietly. “Pansy’s resting, but she’ll still want to see you.”
Hermione stepped inside and paused to look at the tiny bundle swaddled in blue against Blaise’s dark robes. Cassian’s face was still wrinkled and baby soft.
“He’s beautiful,” she whispered.
Blaise’s mouth curved faintly,“He really is something special.”
After Cassian was settled in his cradle with the gentle help of a house-elf, Pansy appeared at the doorway to the sitting room. She was upright, dressed carefully but clearly still recovering. Her hair was pulled into a loose braid over one shoulder. She looked smaller somehow — not weaker in spirit, but changed.
“I look like hell,” Pansy said dryly.
Hermione smiled with relief and rose to hug her. Pansy stiffened at first, then melted into the embrace with a shaky breath.
“Not protesting was deeply unhelpful, Granger.”
“But accurate,” Hermione murmured.
They moved slowly into the sunlit tea room just off the kitchen. The air smelled faintly of chamomile and something sweet baking. Pansy lowered herself carefully into a cushioned chair, wincing faintly in a way she tried to hide. Hermione still noticed.
They sat together in easy, tired silence at first. The clink of china felt too loud in the quiet space.
Finally, Pansy stared into her cup and said quietly, “The healer came by again yesterday.”
Hermione’s hand still. She did not speak, only waited.
“They’d hoped the damage would be more… reversible,” Pansy continued. Her voice was controlled, but thin. “They were wrong. The scarring is extensive. My uterus survived, but barely. Carrying another child would be… dangerous. Potentially fatal.”
Hermione felt her heart sink into her stomach.
“They’ve advised me not to try again,” Pansy finished.
The words hung between them.
For the first time since Hermione had known her, Pansy did not mask her grief with sarcasm. Her eyes shimmered, but she did not cry at first.
“I wanted more,” Pansy said quietly. “Not just because of the law. I know they’ll grant us a waiver after the complications. But I wanted more children with him. I wanted Cassian to have siblings. I wanted a noisy house and arguments over toys and birthdays and all of it. I wanted… a future that keeps growing. A big happy family neither Blaise or I ever had.”
Tears slipped free then, silent but real.
Hermione moved to her without thinking and held her as Pansy finally broke, shoulders shaking with the kind of quiet sobbing that came from trying too long to be too strong.
For a long time, Hermione said nothing. She simply held her, stroking her hair the way Pansy used to do for her after nightmares in the 8th year dorm.
“I see him with the baby,” Pansy whispered after a while, voice raw. “The way Blaise lights up when Cassian opens his eyes. The way he sings to him when he thinks no one is listening. And it hurts because I gave him this… but I won’t be able to give him more.”
Hermione pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. “You gave him a son. You gave him a family. You gave him a future that didn’t exist before Cassian was born. That still matters.”
“I know,” Pansy said. “Intellectually. But my body feels like it’s failed him.”
“That isn’t failure,” Hermione said firmly. “That is survival. You gave everything to have Cassian. He is enough.”
Pansy let out a cracked laugh. “You always did ruin my self-pity with logic.”
“And you always did survive things that should’ve broken you,” Hermione replied softly.
They sat for a while longer, just breathing sadly together. Pansy’s tears eventually slowed.
“I’m terrified,” Pansy admitted. “Of resenting my own body. Of resenting joy when it should be enough just to have him. Of waking up one day and realizing the grief never actually left, and Cassian doesn’t get the childhood he deserves.”
Hermione squeezed her hand, “Grief doesn’t ever fully leave. It changes shape over time. But it doesn’t mean it will always be heavy.”
“And you?” Pansy asked quietly. “You always carry everyone else’s worries. Do you ever think about what you want?”
Hermione hesitated — only a fraction of a second — and then answered carefully. “Right now, I just want my friends safe. And I want you to heal.”
Pansy studied her with a knowing look but did not press. For once, she let Hermione keep a secret without trying to pry it open.
When Blaise returned later with Cassian bundled against his shoulder, Pansy stood carefully and went to them. Hermione watched as Pansy touched her son’s cheek with a tenderness that was soft, fierce, and aching all at once.
And Hermione understood as she left them, just how precious the gift of life truly was.
She flooed home, to hear voices down a hallway. Hermione hesitated just outside the formal parlor, her hand hovering over the doorframe when she heard her name.
Draco’s voice was low, quiet in the way he only ever was when he was when he felt safe.
“I love them,” he was saying. “Both of them. I don’t think I ever believed I could say that out loud without the world cracking open, but it’s true. I love Theo. I love Hermione. It’s not… complicated anymore. It just is.”
Narcissa’s voice followed, soft, “Then you are already farther than your father ever allowed himself to be. You deserve that happiness, Draco. You always have.”
Hermione’s breath caught. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. She hadn’t even realized she’d stopped moving or that Narcissa was here. The words settled into her chest with quiet weight.
She stepped into the room.
The moment they saw her, both Draco and Narcissa fell silent.
Draco went still, his posture shifting instantly, too careful, too guarded, as if he were afraid of breaking something fragile in the air between them. Hermione offered a polite smile.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said.
Narcissa recovered first, her expression smoothing into gentle composure. “You never interrupt in your own home, dear.”
Hermione moved to sit, folding her hands neatly in her lap. Draco remained standing for a beat too long before finally lowering himself into the chair opposite her. The space between them felt suddenly charged.
They spoke about small, ordinary things. About the weather. About the Granger Center’s latest fundraiser ideas. About a shipment of rare potions ingredients Draco had been tracking for weeks.
But everything felt odd and off.
Draco was too attentive. Too soft with his tone. He adjusted the teacup before Hermione even noticed it was empty. Asked her twice if she was warm enough. Watched her like someone afraid she might disappear if he blinked.
Hermione noticed.
So did Narcissa.
Narcissa said very little, but her eyes were sharp—taking in the careful way Draco leaned slightly toward Hermione without touching her, the faint tremor in his hands when Hermione’s fingers brushed the china, the way Hermione unconsciously mirrored his posture.
Halfway through the conversation, Narcissa’s gaze shifted, subtle, but unmistakable.
Understanding dawned in her eyes.
Hermione felt it the moment it happened. That strange, electric stillness when someone sees straight through a thing you are not ready to say aloud.
Narcissa inhaled slowly. Her lips parted, as if she might speak.
Draco stiffened instantly, “Mother.” His voice was quiet, firm. A warning. “Leave it.”
Their eyes locked.
For just a second, Narcissa looked startled, not by his tone, but by the depth of his protectiveness. Then her expression softened, something foreign and unreadable crossing her face.
“Of course,” she said. “Too soon.”
She turned her gaze back to Hermione, her voice gentler now. “You look well today.”
Hermione managed a small smile, “I feel… well.”
Narcissa studied her for a moment longer, then slowly rose to her feet. “I should be going. I only wanted to check in on my son and tell him I found the other ledger.”
Her eyes flicked briefly to Draco. Then back to Hermione.
“As always,” she added softly, “this house is brighter with you in it dear.”
Hermione swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “Thank you for coming by.”
Narcissa paused at the doorway, turning just enough to glance back at Draco. Her voice was quiet, but carried. “You have both fought very hard for the life you’re building. Don’t let fear steal it from you.”
Then she was gone.
The silence she left behind was loud.
Draco exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. Hermione stood as well, uncertain, nerves humming beneath her skin. Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
“She knows,” Draco finally said, softly.
Hermione nodded. “She does.”
He looked at her then—really looked. There was fear there. And wonder. And a kind of restrained joy he didn’t seem to trust himself to touch yet.
“I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”
“It didn’t,” Hermione said quickly. Then, more honestly, “It just made everything feel… very real.”
Before either of them could say more, the front door opened.
Theo’s familiar presence swept into the house like a change in pressure. The bond stirred immediately—warm, vibrant, full of motion. He stepped into the parlor with an easy grin that faltered the moment he took in their faces.
“You both look like you just survived a Ministry inquest,” he said lightly. Then his gaze flicked to the third teacup. “Your mother was here?”
Draco nodded once.
Theo’s eyes sharpened, understanding passing over his face in a split second. Then—unexpectedly—his mouth curved into a wide, unrestrained smile. He crossed the room in three quick strides and pulled Draco into a brief, fierce hug.
“She knows,” Theo said, voice bright with barely-contained joyful energy.
Draco let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Apparently. Damn woman can sniff out any secret.”
Theo turned to Hermione then, his expression softening immediately. He reached for her hands, “Are you all right?”
Hermione nodded, “She was kind. Didn’t push us to say it.”
Theo hummed thoughtfully. “She usually is. In her own terrifying way.”
Theo squeezed Hermione’s hands gently, his voice dropping. “You sure you’re okay?”
She met his eyes, overwhelming emotion rising unexpectedly. “Yes. I think I am.”
Draco watched the two of them—watched Theo’s easy affection, and Hermione’s softened posture—and for just a heartbeat, the anxiety in him flickered.
Then he stepped forward and joined them.
Notes:
The triad is acting awkward as all heck =P
And poor Pansy....
Leave comments :)
Chapter 304: Spell Check
Chapter Text
The manor felt unusually quiet that evening.
Not the comfortable quiet they had grown used to as a triad, but the strained, taut kind that hummed with nervous energy. The bind still felt odd, like it was pulled tight with tentative unease.
The fire in the parlor crackled softly, casting warm light across the room, but none of them were truly paying attention to it. Dinner had been eaten almost mechanically. No one had much of an appetite.
Hermione sat curled slightly inward at the table, one hand unconsciously resting at her midsection. Draco kept stealing looks at her nervously. Theo sat across from them, calmer on the surface than them both, but just as tense in the bond, she felt his focus like a steady hand on her back, grounding them all as bets he could.
Finally, Theo cleared his throat.
“I can check tonight,” he said quietly. “If you want to know for sure the magical way.”
Draco’s breath hitched. Hermione lifted her eyes.
“Tonight… as in fully certain? I thought the charm can’t be cast for a few more days?” she asked.
Theo nodded. “It’s advanced healer magic. The regular charm most people check with would be another few days. With this one though, it can be done this evening. No guessing. No waiting weeks to confirm. It won’t tell us much beyond conception itself, but we’ll know.”
Silence fell again. The kind that carried everything unspoken in it—fear of disappointment, terror of confirmation, hope so fragile it felt impossible to believe in.
Draco swallowed loudly. “Only if you’re ready, we can wait to do the muggle test if you prefer,” he said softly to Hermione. “We don’t have to—”
“I am,” she said quickly. Then more quietly, and steadier, “I really am. It would put us all at ease just to know one way or another instead of drawing out this anxious tension.”
Draco reached across the table and took her hand, his fingers cool and trembling just slightly.
“Then we’ll do it,” Theo said gently.
They moved to their private bedroom parlor together, the one soft with velvet chaises and low lamplight.
Hermione lay back carefully on the chaise as Theo prepared to cast the spell. Draco hovered helplessly near her head, one hand threading through her hair, the other still gripping her fingers tightly.
Theo rolled up his sleeves, movements precise and calm despite the storm of anxiety raging in the bond.
“This won’t hurt at all,” he assured her. “Just don’t move, so it’ll be accurate.”
Hermione nodded, lifting her shirt just enough for the spell to be cast in full contact of her skin. She felt suddenly very small, very human. Draco’s voice trembled faintly when he spoke, “Look at me.”
She did. His eyes were glassy with emotion.
“I’m here,” he whispered.
Theo raised his wand.
The incantation was soft and flowing, precise, and practiced. The magic settled against her like luke warm water. For a moment, she felt nothing at all but a liquid warmth.
Then her lower abdomen began to glow.
Not bright, not blinding, just a gentle white light, steady and unmistakable.
Theo exhaled slowly and a smile, “She’s pregnant.”
Draco made a sound Hermione had never heard from him before, not quite a sob, not quite a laugh. His knees gave out and he dropped into the chair beside her, still clinging to her hand like it was the only thing holding him upright.
Hermione’s breath stuttered, “I—I really am?”
Theo nodded, his voice thick now too with emotion. “It’s confirmed. Obviously, very very early, but absolutely real nonetheless.”
Draco bowed his head, shoulders shaking.
“I’m going to be a father,” he whispered, almost in disbelief.
Theo stepped closer, placing one careful hand over the faintly glowing place just below her ribs. His touch was reverent.
“We did it,” he said quietly.
Hermione laughed through light tears. “We really did.”
Draco lifted his head, eyes red, face completely undone. “You’re carrying our child.”
“Our baby,” Hermione echoed.
The word shattered what little restraint Draco had left. He pressed his forehead to hers, shaking.
“I swear,” he said hoarsely, “I will spend the rest of my life thanking you for this.”
Theo placed a steadying hand on Draco’s shoulder. “You deserve this, we all do.”
The glow faded slowly from Hermione’s skin, leaving behind only the knowledge of what grew within her.
They stayed like that for a long time. Draco kneeling at her side, gripping her hands. Theo standing at her other side with one palm resting protectively over her belly as though he already sensed life there.
Eventually Theo spoke again, softer.
“It’s far too early to know anything else. Strength, health, multiples, none of that yet. But the magic is reliable. The potion worked perfectly it seems. Excellent brewing Draco.”
Draco looked at her like she had just become the center of the universe. “You’re incredible.”
She managed a small, tearful smile. “You both are.”
They moved to the bed slowly. Draco wrapped her in his arms from one side, Theo from the other. The bond pulsed with an odd simmering nervousness, but an undercurrent of love.
Draco hardly slept.
Hermione knew it the moment she opened her eyes and found him awake beside her, already watching her breathe as if he were afraid she might stop if he blinked too long.
The room was still dim with early winter light, frost tracing silver lines along the tall windows. Theo slept on her other side, one arm curved loosely over her waist, steady and warm.
She shifted slightly and Draco was instantly alert.
“Did I wake you?” she whispered.
“No,” he said too quickly. Then, softer, “You’re all right?”
She smiled, reaching for his hand beneath the covers. “I’m still here, Malfoy. You don’t need to check every five seconds. I’m not going to bolt.”
His mouth quivered despite himself, “I might check anyway.”
Theo stirred then, blinking blearily as he took in their expressions. He didn’t need to ask. The bond was still humming with stunned anxiety, and the undercurrent of something none of them could quite place.
“It’s real this morning still?” he murmured.
“Yes,” Hermione said.
Theo exhaled slowly and leaned in to kiss her temple, lingering there in a way that was almost worshipful. Draco mirrored the gesture on her other side.
Breakfast was subdued in the best way possible, Draco hovering without quite realizing he was doing it, Theo offering clinical reassurance disguised as casual comments about hydration and nutrients, Hermione laughing at both of them while secretly treasuring every nervous, tender glance.
By midmorning, she was dressing for class.
Draco hovered in the doorway of their dressing room, arms folded, watching her button her robe as if she were marching into battle instead of walking into the Charms Institute fpr a lecture.
“You don’t need to come,” she said gently.
“I’m coming anyway.”
She turned and crossed the room, kissing him firmly before he could overthink it. “You’ll worry yourself into a collapse before the baby even has limbs if you don’t breathe and relax.”
His hands slid to her waist instinctively. “I’m allowed to worry now. It’s my official right as the biological contributor.”
Theo, already dressed for work, paused at the door and gave Draco a dry look. “You were always a worrier. Now you just have a clinical justification.”
Hermione left with her Auror escort a few minutes later, Draco watching from the manor steps until she apparated with a frown.
She found herself unconsciously resting a hand at her abdomen during lectures, not from any physical sensation—there was nothing to feel yet—but from instinct alone.
Her Auror never left the corridor outside her classroom.
At lunchtime, Draco appeared at the Institute gates with a charmed wicker basket of food and drinks for them to share.
She stared at it, torn between laughter and annoyance. But, humored him and ate the sandwich, chips, and apple gratefully while he looked appeased. He kissed her softly before leaving so she could get to her next lecture on time.
When she came home in late afternoon, she could feel Draco’s relief through the bond before she even stepped into the same room.
Theo was already there, having finished his shift at a reasonable hour. They ate dinner together in the small parlor instead of the formal dining room, the fire crackling softly.
Theo poured her water himself and watched her drink like he was measuring every gulp.
“Once you reach the four-week mark,” he said delicately, “I’ll schedule you with Maeve. She’s the best reproductive specialist in the country. Discreet. Conservative with intervention. Excellent outcomes.”
Hermione nodded easily, “All right.”
Draco reached for her hand beneath the table.
Then the house-elves brought the owl post in that had aculeated while they were all out.
Among ordinary correspondence lay a single crimson-sealed envelope bearing the Ministry sigil.
The room went quiet.
Draco opened it.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Official Ministry Correspondence
To: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott
Registered Triadic Bond, File #TR-98177
In accordance with the Magical Family Continuity Act, Section VII, this letter serves as formal notice that your statutory conception deadline of February 10th is approaching.
Per your compliance file, the Department requires official documentation of conception OR the scheduling of mandatory fertility examinations no later than two (2) business days prior to the deadline.
Failure to provide proof or attend testing will result in immediate escalation to the Department of Magical Enforcement.
Additionally, you are hereby summoned for your next Triadic Bond Alignment and Magical Stability Evaluation on:
February 13th, 10:00 AM
Level Nine – Department of Unspeakable Affairs
Attendance of all bonded parties is mandatory.
This evaluation will include:
• Bond resonance testing
• Cross-wand compatibility
• Magical synchronization analysis
• Reproductive viability projection
Further instructions will be provided at the appointment.
With formality,
Iphigenia Croft, Senior Compliance Officer
Department of Magical Family Regulation
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Draco’s fingers tightened around the parchment until the edges crumpled.
“They have no idea,” Hermione said quietly. “They sent this after it already happened.”
Theo folded his hands together, visibly grounding himself. “I will provide proof. No testing will be required.”
Draco’s jaw worked tightly. “They don’t get to touch her again. Not for this. Not ever.”
Hermione slid her chair closer to Draco and rested her forehead briefly against his shoulder. “We’re compliant now. On our terms.”
Theo studied the letter once more, then looked between them. “And on February 13th, they’ll see a fully viable early pregnancy, a stabilized triadic bond, and three people not to be bullied.”
Draco barely left her side the rest of the night.
He insisted on walking her between rooms. On adjusting every pillow. On checking twice that she had enough blankets.
Theo watched it all with affectionate tolerance until Hermione finally caught Draco’s hands and stilled them.
“Draco.”
“Yes?”
“I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”
His eyes flickered, soft and terrified all at once. “You’re carrying our child.”
She leaned into his chest. “Exactly. Our child. Which means I’m stronger than I’ve ever been. I’m not sick or an invalid.”
Theo came up behind her, resting his hands on both their shoulders. The three of them stood there in the firelit room, the bond warm between them with still tense undertones.
Notes:
<3
Chapter 305: Narcissa's Reaction
Chapter Text
Nott Manor was unusually quiet a few days later in the evening, the winter light already fading by the time Narcissa Malfoy arrived. Snow clung delicately to the iron gates and bare hedges, softening the severity of the ancient estate. Draco met his mother at the door himself, a silent tension in his shoulders that Hermione noticed immediately.
“Mother,” he said, kissing her cheek.
Narcissa studied him closely before returning the gesture. “You invited me for dinner. That alone tells me something is afoot.”
Theo appeared behind Hermione in the entryway, offering a polite greeting. Narcissa’s sharp gaze flicked between the three of them, perceptive as ever.
Dinner was served in one of the smaller, more intimate dining rooms rather than the formal hall. Candles glowed warmly against dark wood and dishes were hearty. House-elves moved quietly, sensing the fragile mood.
Conversation at first stayed carefully mundane.
Theo spoke lightly about a patient who had finally stabilized after weeks of stubborn complications from a grindalow bite. Hermione described her latest charms practical where she got a perfect score to her classmates astonishment. Narcissa commented on ministry rumors and the state of wizarding trade abroad.
But underneath it all, there was strain in the conversation, and the bond.
Draco hovered. He refilled Hermione’s water before she noticed it was empty. He adjusted her chair when she shifted. When she inhaled too quickly at one point, he immediately asked if she felt unwell.
She finally pressed her knee gently into his beneath the table, a silent request for restraint.
Narcissa noticed everything.
Halfway through the second course, she set her silverware down deliberately.
“You are all behaving,” she said coolly, “as though a dragon egg has just been laid in the center of this table and no one wishes to acknowledge it.”
Silence fell.
Theo stilled. Hermione’s fingers tightened slightly in her napkin. Draco’s jaw clenched.
“Mother,” Draco said carefully, “this is not a subject for interrogation.”
Her gaze never left Hermione. “Then it is a subject worth protecting.”
Hermione lifted her eyes. “We were hoping to wait a bit longer before telling anyone anything at all.”
Narcissa’s breath caught.
“Telling…?” she echoed softly.
Draco shot Hermione a glance, half alarm, half resignation. “That wasn’t— we said we’d wait…”
Hermione continued gently, “We only just confirmed it. It’s very early. We didn’t want expectations, or pressure, or speculation before we’ve had the four-week healer confirmation.”
For one long second, Narcissa simply stared at her.
“You’re with child,” she said.
Hermione nodded.
Narcissa rose so suddenly her chair scraped loudly across the floor. She crossed the room in two steps and pulled Hermione into a fierce, trembling embrace.
“Oh, my dear girl,” she whispered. “Oh—after all this fear, after all this darkness— new life.”
Hermione’s eyes burned.
Draco stood frozen, watching his mother cling to Hermione as though anchoring herself to the moment. Theo’s hand came to rest against Draco’s back without a word.
Narcissa finally released Hermione, wiping at her eyes with a practiced grace that did not fool anyone.
“For your sake,” she said to all three, “I will respect your wish for quiet. I will not speak a word of this to anyone until you say otherwise.”
Draco exhaled slowly. “Thank you.”
She turned back to Hermione, studying her with renewed intensity. “You said you confirmed it.”
Theo nodded. “Advanced healer detection. I’m certain.”
Narcissa’s voice softened, “Then… do you know whose?”
The room froze again.
Draco’s breath hitched. Hermione hesitated for only a moment.
“It’s Draco’s,” she said quietly.
Narcissa’s composure shattered fully this time. She pressed a hand over her mouth, a sound breaking free of her that was half cry, half laugh.
“My son… a father,” she whispered.
Draco looked as though he only barely remained upright.
She stepped toward him slowly. “You knew it would be?”
He nodded. “From the beginning, yes.”
“And you chose this,” she said to Hermione.
“I wanted it,” Hermione answered simply. “We all did. It was a unanimous joint decision.”
Narcissa reached for Draco’s face, cupping his cheek as she hadn’t since he was a boy.
“You will do better than Lucius ever did,” she told him fiercely.
His eyes shimmered. “I intend to.”
Theo spoke gently, steadying the room. “The child will be all of ours. Whatever blood, whatever name, doesn’t matter, it’ll be raised with three parents.”
Narcissa regarded him with new softness. “I know. I have watched the three of you practically bleed for each other. That is family as surely as lineage. Oh course you’ll all be the parents together.”
Dinner continued after that, but everything had changed. Hermione felt watched not with suspicion now, but with awed tenderness.
When Narcissa finally departed, she kissed Hermione’s forehead before leaving.
“Guard her as you would your own life,” she told both men solemnly.
Draco answered honestly for them, “With everything I am.”
The following night, all three of them were home again when the owl arrived.
Theo caught it at the window and froze when he saw the envelope’s seal.
The Ministry yet again.
Draco’s hand tightened instantly in Hermione’s. She felt the familiar protective tension roll through him like thunder.
Theo opened the parchment and read aloud:
<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Department of Magical Bonds & Population Regulation
Official Notice – Final Deadline Reminder
In accordance with the Magical Line Continuation and Stabilization Act, your registered triad is approaching the final conception deadline of February 10.
By that date, you are required to submit:
- Verified proof of conception
or - Immediate fertility compliance testing scheduled by this department
Failure to comply will result in enforced medical intervention.
Additionally, your final Bond Alignment and Triad Stability Evaluation is scheduled for:
February 13
Attendance mandatory
Signed,
Department of Magical Population Control
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Draco’s face darkened. “Enforced medical intervention. Over my dead body.”
Hermione swallowed hard. Theo gently folded the letter.
“They don’t yet know,” Theo said evenly. “But they’re watching closely, I’ll turn in the medical evidence statement soon, so they stop harassing us.”
Draco turned to Hermione instantly, “You don’t have to go to that review either if you don’t want to—”
She squeezed his fingers. “I will. We’ll do it together. It'll be ok.”
Theo nodded. “We provide proof at the appropriate time by the deadline. Until then, no information leaves this house. Unless we all agree”
Draco paced once, then stopped in front of Hermione again, far too close, his hands hovering uncertainly near her waist.
“They will not get to decide anything more for you,” he said fiercely. “Not now. Not ever again.”
She looked up at him softly. “I’m not afraid of them.”
The bond felt constrictive, tense, and untamed that night.
Notes:
What will Narcissa be like as a grandmother you think? Leave a comment.
Chapter 306: One Year
Chapter Text
The morning of February tenth, their one year anniversary came with frost, and a brisk chill in the air. The fireplace had burned low sometime before dawn, leaving the bedroom a bit chilly. Outside, frost clung delicately to the tall windows, tracing pale silver veins through the glass
Hermione woke first.
Her hand drifted unconsciously to her stomach.
Nothing felt different yet physically for her. No sensation at all. And yet… everything had changed.
Draco stirred when he felt the subtle shift of her movement. His eyes opened instantly—sharp even through sleep—but when they focused on her face, the tension melted into something openly vulnerable.
“You’re awake,” he murmured.
Theo followed seconds later, blinking himself into awareness. He took in the two of them, the quiet morning, the way they were both hovering without realizing they were hovering.
“Happy Anniversary,” he said softly. A smile touched his mouth.
Hermione smiled back, warmth swelling painfully in her chest as she looked between them. One year since the night that changed all of their lives. One year since fear and obligation had become commitment, and commitment had become… this.
She leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Theo’s cheek, then to Draco’s. Both of them grinned, kissing her checks.
“Happy anniversary,” she whispered.
Draco’s throat worked visibly. “Happy anniversary,” he echoed.
Theo’s arm slid lazily around her waist. “We made it somehow. And we never even had to knock Draco out!”
Draco gave him a mock glare, “Sometimes your cooking could have killed us Theo. It was a real risk.”
They lay like that for a while longer, quietly letting the moment exist under blankets, snuggling for warmth, no rushing, no planning yet for the day. Just the three of them breathing together in harmony.
Eventually, Draco broke the stillness.
“There’s something we need to do first thing before clebrating.”
Hermione lifted her head. “What is it?”
His silver gaze held hers, steady and serious. “The Ministry.”
Theo straightened slightly. “To owl them today?”
Draco nodded. “Before they push harder if we miss the deadline.” He reached for Hermione’s hand and squeezed gently. “Theo’s healer credentials will carry weight. We don’t need more pressure from them.”
Theo didn’t hesitate, “I’ll write it.”
They rose together less than half an hour later. Draco stayed with Hermione in the sitting room while Theo slipped off to his study to draft the official statement. The manor felt quiet, almost reverent, as if it too were holding its breath.
Theo returned with the letter sealed in official gold wax.
“I swear under magical oath that Hermione Granger is pregnant and under my surpervised professional medical care,” he said calmly. “That should satisfy their requirements for the moment.”
Draco took the parchment from him, stared down at it for a long moment, then nodded, “Good.”
He summoned an owl at once.
When it flew off, the tension in the air loosened visibly, and the bond felt alittle less tense.
Draco insisted on making breakfast himself, although it ended with Theo quietly redirecting two nearly burned eggs and Hermione laughing into her teacup after Draco got caught up in making hollandaise sauce. When they finally ate together in front of the fire, everything felt deliberate.
Draco barely took his eyes off Hermione.
Theo noticed. But, he didn’t tease him this time.
By late morning, they bundled themselves into thick winter cloaks for a sleigh ride. Snow lay pristine across the grounds, pale and glinting beneath the clear winter sky. The horse’s breath steamed as Draco settled Hermione into the seat, arranging blankets with almost absurd care on and around her.
Theo climbed in beside her, taking her hand.
Draco took the reins himself.
The ride wound through the outer orchards and back toward the frozen stream beyond the woods. No one spoke much at first. The sound of hooves on snow and the low creak of leather were the lull of tranquility.
Hermione leaned her head against Theo’s shoulder. Theo rested his cheek in her curls. The bond between them all felt uneasy, but full of love.
After a while, Hermione spoke softly.
“One year ago… I thought my life was possibly over.”
Draco’s shoulders tensed. Theo’s arm tightened around her.
“And now?” Theo asked worried.
She lifted her head and looked at Draco over Theo’s shoulder. Draco met her gaze instantly.
“Now I feel like it’s only just begun.”
Draco swallowed hard.
Their ride circled the property, taking in the vast winter landscape. In a far field they saw deer galloping acrossed the baren frozen landscape, and along the wood line, a hawk sitting in a tree.
They returned to the manor in quiet contentment, cheeks flushed from the cold. It was then that the boys presented three long boxes tied in white silk to Hermione.
Draco and Theo exchanged heated glance.
Draco cleared his throat handing her one box first, “For you from us both.”
Hermione opened it was care.
White roses.
Dozens of them. Perfect, luminous, untouched by winter cold. Their scent flooded the room instantly. She pressed a hand to her mouth, overwhelmed by the beauty of them.
Draco watched her with a smile, “Enchanted to stay blooming the rest of the month.”
Hermione beamed back, pecking Theo and Draco on the lips in thanks.
Theo set the second box in her lap, “Something for my beautiful Lady.”
Inside lay a delicate gold bracelet with antique Nott filigree, lightly enchanted, humming faintly with protective magic. She fingered the metal lightly taking in the intricate detailing with awe.
“And this one,” Draco said quietly, placing the third box on her lap.
Inside, resting against a midnight velvet cushion, was a Malfoy heirloom, a slender silver necklace set with a single pale diamond that caught the light like frozen fire.
Hermione stared.
“These are too much boys,” she whispered.
Draco crouched in front of her instantly. “They’re not enough.”
Theo knelt beside him, taking her free hand. “You deserve more than either of us can ever give you. But we’re trying anyway.”
She laughed softly through sudden tears and leaned forward to kiss them both tenderly, before parting with a smile.
When it was her turn, she drew out two small velvet pouches.
“I didn’t want to give you these yet,” she admitted. “Because the real gift is still being made, but then realized you should be a part of that process anyway.”
Draco frowned faintly confused. Theo’s brows lifted in curiosity as they each opened their pouch.
Inside were vouchers sealed with an artist’s sigil.
Hermione took the liberty to explain, “I’ve commissioned a new family crest. One that represents all three of our houses… together. Once we meet with the artist and design it together, you’ll each receive a new signet ring bearing it. Not to replace your families, but to wear with the old, complimenting them.”
Draco stared in shock.
Theo went utterly still.
Hermione’s voice trembled just slightly. “This is our family now. I wanted something that lasted longer than law or obligation. Something that was a visual reminder of what we’re building together, a new legacy for all of us, a new family.”
Draco stood abruptly and turned away, pressing his palm to his forehead, the bond feeling overwhelmed with his emotions of love, awe, and sappy sentiments. Theo laughed softly and pulled her into his arms.
When Draco finally turned back, his eyes were wet, unashamedly so.
“You have no idea,” he said hoarsely, “what you’ve just given us. This means so much coming from you.”
When both boys had taken in the magnitude of her gift, they turned to each other, each pulling small gift boxes from their pockets. They laughed loudly as they both opened them, realizing they’d had similar thoughts. Each had gotten the other a commemorative tie clip to mark the occasion, an emerald crusted one with a dragon for Draco and a dark black pearl inlaid one for Theo. Both, had engraved their wedding date on the underside.
Hermione shook her head laughing too, “My sentimental husbands.”
By late afternoon, Hermione changed leisurely upstairs, the roses now displayed in a vas eon the dresser, filling the room with a lovely fragrance. She paused once more at the mirror, one hand unconsciously resting at her stomach.
Draco knocked softly on the doorframe, “Ready?”
She nodded.
Theo waited in the hall.
The three of them stood together for a moment before leaving the hot glow of the manor behind thru the floo.
Draco offered his arm, Theo took her other side, the floo having popped them out in a floo shed just down the path from the restaurant. They stepped into the winter evening together, ready for a celebratory dinner.
The cliffs were wrapped in twilight when they arrived.
Wind curled softly off the sea, carrying salt and cold and the distant crash of waves far below that their warming charms all but starved off. The restaurant sat at the very edge of the world it seemed with warm lanternlight glowing through wide enchanted windows that looked straight out over the darkening water.
Draco had reserved the private terrace weeks ago without telling Hermione or Theo where they were going. It was an enchanting surprise. When the host drew back the curtain and revealed the small, candlelit table set just for them, Hermione actually stopped walking.
“Oh,” she breathed. “Draco…”
Theo squeezed her hand. “He’s been smug about this all day, I knew it had to be really good.”
Draco lifted his chin faintly, pretending not to be affected by how her eyes shone. But the bond gave him away completely, warmth, pride, nervous anticipation all fluttering through him.
The meal unfolded slowly, very thoughtfully crafted by the head chef. Five courses that were crafted with obsessive culinary care; delicate starters of magically chilled seafood, rich soups warmed with subtle flame-charms, a main course of spiced lamb and enchanted African root vegetables that shimmered faintly with exotic color. Wine flowed gently, though Hermione barely sipped tonight even with Theo’s instance that a little bit wouldn’t do any harm.
Draco kept watching her with a kind of reverent attention that made her cheeks warm—sliding her chair in for her, checking the temperature of her glass, even asking the waiter to adjust the breeze charm when the wind brushed too sharply against her shoulders.
Theo noticed everything, smiling quietly into his own wine at the tender display.
At one point, Hermione reached for Draco’s hand across the table. “You’re being absurdly gallant tonight.”
“I’m always gallant,” Draco replied lightly.
Theo arched a brow. “You told a waiter you’d duel him earlier if the dessert wasn’t warm enough for her.”
“It was important.”
Despite themselves, they laughed. The tension in the bond seemed to be constant these last few days, but their companionship eased it a bit.
As the last course of dark cholate mouse ended and the candles burned low, they lingered on the terrace wrapped in cloaks, watching the moon climb over the sea. Draco stood behind Hermione with his hands resting carefully at her waist, Theo close enough at her side that she could feel his warmth even through the wool cloaks.
“We did this,” Hermione said softly. “We survived all of our childhoods. And somehow still found this happiness together.”
Theo leaned his head toward hers, “We’re still here with so much left to look forward to together.”
Draco pressed his forehead to the back of her head. “This time next year, everything will be so different.”
The fire was already burning low when they returned to the manor, the house warm and waiting for them. Hermione shed her cloak slowly, fatigue finally catching up to her, and Draco hovered immediately, fetching water, guiding her to the sofa, asking if she was chilled.
“I am fine,” she said gently, tugging his sleeve so that he finally sat beside her. “You don’t need to treat me like glass all the time, it’s just bene a long day.”
Draco exhaled shakily. “I know. I just—”
Theo settled on the other side of her. “He’s allowed to be nervous.”
Hermione nodded, and locked eyes with Theo, “And you’re allowed to remind him I’m still me and a strong person.”
The fire crackled softly. For a moment, they just sat there together, breathing the same quiet air.
Then, hesitantly, Draco spoke, “Theo…” He didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I know this is ridiculous, but I keep thinking—about her being pregnant—and about what’s safe and what’s not. And I don’t want to hurt her by accident.”
Hermione stilled slightly at that, surprised by the amount of vulnerability in his voice.
Theo shifted closer, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
“Draco,” he said calmly, “you’re not going to break her. She’s not actually fragile. And yes—within reason—it’s perfectly safe for her to be intimate while pregnant, especially this early. If anything feels wrong, we stop. If she’s tired, we rest. If the bond surges too hard, we ground it. But there’s no danger in affection. This is going to be a very long nine months for all of us if you don’t relax a bit.”
Hermione’s fingers curled gently into Draco’s sleeve. Draco looked a bit bashful, and began drawing circles with his finger on the top of her hand, not meeting Theo’s gaze.
“And it’s not just about safety,” Theo added more softly. “She still needs closeness. Emotionally. Physically. The bond stabilizes when we don’t pull away from each other. And we all still have … needs, she still does too.”
Draco swallowed, “I just don’t want to do anything wrong.”
Hermione turned toward him fully then, “You won’t,” she said with quiet certainty. “Because you always listen. And because you love me.”
Theo smiled faintly. “And if you ever forget how to listen, I’ll remind you.”
Draco huffed a weak laugh, then leaned forward slowly, pressing his forehead to Hermione’s in a gesture that felt rather intimate. She answered by closing her eyes and breathing him in.
Outside, the wind brushed softly against the manor windows.
After sitting there for awhile in peaceful silence, the anniversary night really began with Hermione grabbed their hands, pulling them up and dragged them both to the bedroom like a woman on a mission.
She shoved Draco against the door the second it closed, kissed him hard enough to taste the champagne on his tongue, then spun to Theo and did the same.
By the time she pushed them toward the bed, her dress was already half-unbuttoned, hanging off one shoulder, and both men were breathing like they’d run a marathon.
“Strip me,” she ordered, voice low and husky.
Draco’s smirk was huge and hungry. Theo’s eyes darkened with the challenge.
They worked together like they’d rehearsed it.
Draco knelt in front of her, kissing down her throat while his fingers traced the neckline of her dress, brushing the tops of her breasts until her nipples ached against the silk. Theo stood behind her, lips on her neck, hands sliding the zip of her dress down one slow tooth at a time, letting the fabric catch on her hips before it finally pooled at her feet.
Cool air kissed her skin, gooseflesh raced up and over her arms. She stood in nothing but black lace knickers and matching bra before them.
Draco’s mouth followed the path his fingers had taken, kissing the swell of each breast through the lace bra, tongue flicking just over the fabric so she felt the heat but not the contact she craved. Theo’s hands skimmed her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, then retreating. Again. Again. Never quite touching her nipples.
Hermione’s breath was already ragged, “You’re both evil. Driving me crazy.”
“Patience, love,” Theo murmured against her ear, teeth grazing the lobe. His palms slid down her stomach, stopping a millimetre from the waistband of her knickers, tracing the lace edge with maddening slowness.
Draco dropped lower, kissing down the centre of her abdomen, tongue dipping into her navel, then lower, breath ghosting over the lace between her legs. He pressed one open-mouthed kiss right over her clit through the fabric, then pulled back, smirking when she whined.
Theo’s fingers hooked into the sides of her knickers and dragged them down. He blew a cool stream of air across her wetness; Hermione’s knees buckled.
Draco caught her hips, steadying her, then traced one finger up her inner thigh, collecting the slickness there and licked it off his finger, Her eyes went huge.
The worked in tandem driving her desire higher. Theo’s tongue tracing the shell of her ear while Draco’s teeth grazed her collarbone. Draco’s thumb circling one nipple through lace while Theo’s fingers drew lazy figure-eights on the inside of her thigh, never higher.
Theo’s palm cupping her through soaked lace, pressing just hard enough to make her feel how swollen she was, then easing off the second her hips jerked. Draco kissing her until she was dizzy, pulling back every time she tried to deepen it more.
By the time Theo finally peeled her bra away, Hermione was shaking, tears of pure frustration gathering at the corners of her eyes, thighs slick with her growing need.
“Please,” she finally sobbed, voice fractured. “I need one of you inside me. I need to come. Please.”
Draco’s hands faltered, the worry flashing again, “I don’t know if—”
Theo stepped in instantly, kissing Draco’s shoulder, voice calm and certain.
“I’ve got her,” he said. “Let me give her what she needs. It’s fine. I want you both too.”
He guided Hermione onto the bed, laying her back, spreading her thighs wide. Draco knelt beside her, eyes dark with passion and lingering nerves.
Theo stripped slowly, letting her watch him reveal his skin and thick cock, then settled between her thighs. His piercing pressed against her clit, causing her to whimper, before he notched the broad head at her channel entrance. He entered her in one slow, deliberate thrust making her moan and arch.
Draco’s hand found hers, lacing their fingers as Theo began a steady, deep rhythm. Theo’s voice was soft against her ear, “Feel me, love. Just like this. Nice and deep, so good. This is what you needed, I know darling.”
Draco watched, transfixed, as Theo moved in slow, loving strokes that made Hermione’s breath hitch. Theo reached gor his hand without looking, guiding Draco behind him.
“Take me please,” Theo whispered. “Be part of this. Make me feel like I’m yours too.”
Draco slicked himself quickly, then pressed into Theo slowly, until he was fully seated. All three of them groaned at the chain of sensation when both men where buried to the hilt.
Theo’s rhythm never faltered with the deep thrusts into Hermione that matched Draco’s slow strokes into him. The bond still held a light undertone of unease, but it was easily overridden by the passion, and intense pleasure.
Draco came first, hips stuttering, with a broken groan as he spilled inside Theo, the echo of his climax rippling through the bond and making Hermione whimper and clench harder.
He eased out gently, still half-hard, and moved to Hermione’s side, eyes wide and entranced as he watched Theo move inside her. The awe in his eyes apparent as he witnessed the slick drag of Theo’s cock disappearing into her again and again.
Draco’s hand slid between them, fingers finding her clit, swollen and already slick. He rubbed in tight, perfect circles, eyes locked on where Theo entered her, on the way her body opened for him, on the love and trust shining in her face for them.
“Come for him,” Draco whispered, voice husky with awe. “Let him feel you. Let me help you fall.”
Theo’s thrusts grew deeper, more deliberate, his voice soft and loving, “That’s it, darling. Let go. We’ve got you.”
Hermione shattered with a soft, broken cry, walls fluttering hard around Theo as the pleasure rolled through her in blissful waves. Theo followed seconds later, grinding deep and spilling inside her with a low moan, their bodies locked together in perfect synchrony.
Draco kept stroking her clit gently through the aftershocks, drawing out every tremor until she was limp and laughing and crying all at once.
“Happy anniversary my loves,” Hermione whispered, voice raw.
Draco kissed her temple, Theo’s shoulder, and then her check again.
“Best one yet,” they answered together with a laugh.
Notes:
Coming up... the ministry triad appointment. Ideas on what might happen there?!
Chapter 307: Feelings Can't Fester
Notes:
Dealing with the Unspeakables... and some unexcepted emotions.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The lift doors slid open with their usual creaky noise, releasing the three of them into the dim crystalline corridor of the Department of Mysteries. The air buzzed faintly with layered enchantments of all types.
Draco’s hand never left Hermione’s back.
Not even for a second.
Theo noticed.
Hermione noticed too, but she let him without a word, given the circumstances.
They were ushered into a circular chamber. The deep pool of silvery magic liquid in the center rippled faintly as if sensing them. Two Unspeakables who had monitored their bond from the beginning waited beside the basin, faces neutral, eyes sharp with professional curiosity.
Before anyone could speak, Draco stepped forward.
“Before this goes any further,” he said, voice clipped and unwavering, “I need to make something explicitly clear. There will be no invasive magical testing performed on Hermione today. Or for the duration of her pregnancy. Maybe ever again at all.”
Theo’s spine straightened instantly. Hermione’s fingers curled into her cloak sleeve.
One of the Unspeakables, an older witch, tilted her head. “Mr. Malfoy, all of our testing is entirely safe—”
“You cannot possibly know that for certain,” Draco cut in sharply. “There are fewer than a dozen recorded triads in modern magical history, and fewer still involving pregnancy. You do not have sufficient data to guarantee safety. I will not gamble with her life. Or our child’s.”
Theo stepped in beside him then, calm but immovable.
“As a healer, I support that decision,” Theo said evenly. “Standard bond alignment testing is harmless and non-invasive. That much I’m comfortable with. Anything that directly floods magical pressure through Hermione’s core or is at all experimental is off the table.”
Hermione lifted her chin in defiance, “I consent to alignment testing only,” she added quietly. “Nothing further.”
The Unspeakables exchanged a glance with one another. A long one.
“And if we insist?” the second Unspeakable asked coolly.
Draco’s magic flared, angry in the bind.
“Then we involve the Minister,” he said without hesitation. “Immediately. I’m sure he’d love to get a patronus right now from one of us.”
The tension in the room and bond coiled tight.
Finally, the Unspeakable gave a slow nod. “Very well. No additional testing on her while she is pregnant. Only standard triad alignment verification. All further magical analysis will be performed on Mr. Nott and Mr. Malfoy exclusively if needed.”
Draco did not relax until the words were written into the enchanted ledger beside the basin and signed as a binding promise.
Only then did they agree to proceed.
The three of them took positions at the edge of the basin.
Theo on Hermione’s left.
Draco on her right.
Their hands were linked, fingers interlaced, with magic flowing between them in invisible currents.
The Unspeakable murmured the incantation.
Light stirred in the basin, slowly at first, then brighter. The surface did not churn violently, but it wasn’t the single calm wave that swept a crossed the surface they expected. Instead, many tiny ripples pierced the surface, spreading out from a singular point. All small, all rhythmic.
Theo let out a careful breath.
Draco’s shoulders tensed.
The Unspeakable observed the readings for several long seconds before finally speaking.
“Your bond is aligned,” she said. “Stable. But, there’s an undercurrent of tension and unease. Be careful not to let it turn into instability.”
Hermione felt the truth of it in her bones.
Draco exhaled slowly through his nose, unsure what to say.
Theo smiled faintly also unsure what to make of that result.
Unfortunately, that was only the beginning of their appointment.
The Unspeakables turned from the basin with that particular look Hermione had learned to dread, professional detachment layered over intense academic curiosity.
They began with the clinical, “How is her physical health?”
Theo answered, “She fine, I’m monitoring her.”
“Any fluctuations in bond sensitivity?”
Hermione answered with few words, “Not really.”
“Have you experienced heightened emotional echoes between members?”
“Not more than normal,” Draco responded.
Then the questions shifted to more personal.
“…And how has pregnancy altered your interpersonal dynamic?”
Hermione stiffened slightly, uncomfortable.
Theo’s jaw tightened.
Draco’s eyes narrowed a fraction.
“We are still functioning as a triad,” Hermione said evenly.
“And intimacy?” one Unspeakable asked, far too casually.
Draco’s temper sparked, “That is an inappropriate question.”
“It is strictly relevant to bond stability—”
“You can phrase it medically or not at all,” Theo said flatly.
The Unspeakable tried again. “Has your physical closeness decreased since conception?”
“No,” Hermione said quietly. “It has changed. Not withdrawn. This is a very early pregnancy, we barely found out.”
Another pause.
“And the identity of the biological father, does that create imbalance in the bond or emotional discord between triad members?”
Draco’s magic surged again, hotter this time, outraged in the bond.
“The identity of the father is not a threat to the bond,” he said, voice hardened. “It is a conscious choice all three of us made together.”
Theo placed a steadying hand over Draco’s wrist.
Hermione spoke before the tension could spiral further.
“We are not competing,” she said simply. “We are raising this child as a triad. Not as rivals.”
The questioning continued, probing at jealousy, security, fear, control, ownership, attachment, and feelings of love within the triad.
Each time, Theo answered with calm and clarity.
Hermione answered with reasoned logic.
Draco answered with barely controlled restraint.
By the time the final question was asked, the air felt heavy with magical pressure and emotional fatigue.
At last, the Unspeakable closed her ledger.
“Your bond is currently stable,” she said. “And pregnancy has not—yet—destabilized it. However, heightened emotional surges will become increasingly likely as the pregnancy progresses.”
Draco immediately closed ranks around Hermione, grabbing her hand.
“What precautions are required?”
“Continued emotional communication. Minimal stress. No magical experimentation with triad magic is recommended. And—” her gaze sharpened slightly on Draco, “—we strongly advise mind-healer support to help keep everyone’s feelings in check.”
Theo inclined his head. “That is already scheduled.”
The Unspeakable nodded, slightly mollified.
“You are… unorthodox as a triad,” she admitted. “But functional.”
Draco gave a humorless huff. “High praise from the Department of Mysteries.”
They were dismissed at last.
The moment the chamber doors sealed behind them, Draco’s composure fractured completely.
He turned to Hermione instantly, cupping her face in both hands, searching her eyes as if verifying she was unharmed.
“Are you alright?” he asked, quieter now. “You didn’t feel anything strange?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him softly. “Really.”
Theo exhaled slowly, tension draining from his shoulders in stages. “Bond’s in sync. Your core feels stable to me. They were right about the unease, I’ve felt it in the bond all week. It’s not… ideal.”
Draco’s hand slid down Hermione’s arm, reluctant to release her. “I hate that they looked at you like a… specimen.”
Hermione touched his wrist gently. “You protected me. Nothing bad happened.”
“You shouldn’t need protecting from your own government,” he replied bitterly.
Theo gave him a calm, grounding look. “You did exactly what was needed. They backed down. That matters.”
Draco nodded once, still simmering.
“We’re stable,” she said quietly. “All of us. That’s what matters today.”
And for the first time since conception, the bond felt, for just a moment… completely still.
The fire in their bedroom hearth that evening burned bright, casting the room in soft orange and gold. Hermione lay between them beneath heavy blankets, her back warm against Theo’s chest, Draco propped slightly on his side facing her, one hand resting possessively over her waist.
None of them were sleeping.
The day with the Unspeakables still lingered like a bad taste in their mouths. The bond held echoes of the day’s feelings. Draco’s anger held barely in check. Theo’s quiet authority as he insisted on boundaries. Hermione’s exhaustion from being treated like a subject instead of a person.
And beneath it all— unease none of them could place as being each other’s solely.
Hermione broke the silence, “Draco… I need to say something before it festers.”
His fingers on her waist stilled instantly. “Anything.”
She hesitated, choosing her words carefully, “I don’t mind you being… more attentive. More careful. I actually find it sweet.” A tiny smile tugged at her mouth. “But I don’t want you to start treating me like I might shatter if I breathe wrong. It’s making me feel like an invalid.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. He sat up a little higher against the pillows, eyes shiny in the firelight. “I’m not trying to make you feel weak.”
“I know,” she said gently. “But today—at the Ministry—you flinched every time someone even looked at me too long. I appreciated you standing up for me about the testing, but even in the corridors, people couldn’t so much at smile or wave at me without you nearly biting their heads off. It’s too much.”
Theo shifted behind her, one arm appearing and tightening slightly around her middle in quiet agreement.
Draco exhaled sharply, staring at the ceiling before looking back at her. “I lost Astoria. I lost the baby. I couldn’t protect either of them. And now I have you—both of you—and this time I actually feel… allowed to hope. That terrifies me. I’m not trying to suffocate you. I’m sorry it’s annoying.”
Hermione reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together, “You don’t have to make everything perfect to keep us safe.”
“I do in my head,” he admitted hoarsely. “If I control every variable, everything will be perfect.”
Theo spoke then, calm and steady, “Being attentive is good. Being obsessive will only exhaust you and her. Right now what she needs most is normalcy, not feeling locked away.”
Draco closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath, “Tell me what’s actually unsafe.”
Theo answered without hesitation, slipping smoothly into healer mode.
“No trauma to the abdomen. No prolonged magical exertion. No stress-induced magical surges. Sexual intimacy is completely fine this early unless she experiences pain or bleeding. Gentle triad magic practice will be fine this early. And her emotional stability is far more important than you shielding her from fresh air and friendly faces.”
Draco gave a weak huff. “I hear that. I don’t know if I know how to practice it yet. I’ll try to be less controlling, and let you breath.”
Hermione squeezed his hand in quiet thanks.
Then Theo spoke again, hesitantly, “There’s… something else… I need to admit out loud.”
Draco turned slightly toward him and Hermione shifted so she could see both of their faces.
Theo’s gaze dropped to the blankets, not wanting to meet their gazes. “I didn’t expect to feel this much jealousy.”
Draco stiffened. Hermione’s breath caught.
Theo continued quietly. “I’m happy. Truly. I know exactly why we chose you to be the first father. I agreed to it logically. I agree to it still. But watching you hover… watching the little moments that exist between the two of you, well…”
He swallowed, a bit glassy eyed, “Some small part of me aches that it’s not mine.”
Hermione turned fully in his arms now, facing him. Draco sat up straighter, eyes wide with surprise, then something like guilt flashed in them.
“I don’t resent the decision,” Theo said quickly. “I don’t regret it. I just… didn’t expect the feeling. I thought it wouldn’t feel like this at all. I’m not upset we did this. I’m still really excited, and I know you’ll both treat me like just as much the father. But, I just… didn’t expect to feel a bit alienated in this… especially not already. And I didn’t want it to grow quietly into bitterness, so that’s why I’m telling you now, before it festers.”
Draco’s voice was sincere, “You think I don’t see how much you’re giving up right now?”
Theo looked at him, startled.
“You’re planning your entire career around our child before you ever have one of your own,” Draco said. “You’ve already rearranged your future for someone you haven’t even met yet.”
Hermione reached for Theo’s face, brushing her thumb along his cheek. “You’re not being replaced in this. You’re being added to it. I’m sorry if it feels like you’re on the outside in some ways. I’m not trying to do that at all. I think we’re all just nervous and new at this, I love you just as much now as I did before all this. Maybe even more.”
Theo’s breath shuddered.
Draco shifted closer, “This baby is not mine alone. It’s ours. Biology is just mechanics. Parentage is what we choose to be.”
Theo locked eyes with him.
He hesitated, then added softly, “You’re going to be an extraordinary father.”
Theo blinked rapidly, emotion finally breaking through his composure. “And you’re going to be one too. That’s why the jealousy is complicated. I’m not angry or sad or resentful. I’m just… maybe wishful is the right word?”
Hermione smiled, “All three of us are.”
Draco leaned in slowly, resting his forehead against hers. “I love you both. And I promise, our son is going to need two dads someday when he’s becoming a daredevil, and we will be happy to swap off on the parenting I’m sure.”
Hermione laughed quietly.
Theo’s arms tightened around her from behind. “And I promise not to bury complicated feelings until they rot.”
They stayed like that awhile, three heartbeats finding a shared rhythm in the dark.
But the bond between them felt very alive.
Notes:
Theo might be the calm one, but he's feeling the strain of this already. Thoughts...?
Chapter 308: A Silly Holiday
Chapter Text
The little wizarding café sat tucked between St. Mungo’s and a quiet side-street. Inside, the air smelled of cinnamon, coffee, and warm dough. Hermione and Draco were already at the corner table when Theo hurried in, still in healer robes, hair wind-blown, cheeks flushed pink from the cold.
He dropped into the chair opposite them, looking exhausted and apologetic.
“I’m so sorry,” he started, voice low. “The double shift turned into a triple when the potion factory spill victims came in. I hate that I’m missing Valentine’s as a triad—”
Hermione reached across the table and pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh. We’re together right now. That’s what matters. We still get to see you right now. It’s just a silly holiday anyway.”
Draco poured him a cup of tea from the pot already waiting, sliding it over with a soft smile. “We’ve got forty-five minutes before you’re due back. Eat. Breathe. Be with us in the moment now.”
Theo’s shoulders sagged with relief. He took the tea like it was a lifeline, then reached for their hands, squeezing tight.
They fed him bites of warm croissant and chocolate éclair between soft kisses and quiet laughter, the bond rings glowing warm gold between their joined fingers. No grand declarations were made, just the three of them stealing a pocket of time in the middle of a chaotic day.
When the plates were empty and the clock was ticking close to the end of his break, Theo reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, familiar brass key.
He pressed it into Draco’s palm.
“You know the plan,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “Take her. I’ll be off at ten. Meet you at home in bed.”
Draco’s fingers closed around the key, “Got it.”
Theo kissed them both quick but fiercely, then stood. “I love you,” he whispered. “Both of you. Happy Valentine’s.”
Then he was gone, robes swirling as he hurried back to the hospital.
Hermione looked at Draco, puzzled and delighted with curiosity. “What plan, Husband?”
Draco’s smile turned mysterious, “Come with me, you’ll see.”
He grabbed her arm and brought them straight to the gleaming white steps of Gringotts.
The first stop was one of the Nott family vaults.
The cart ride was a blur of wind and stone. When the door swung open, Hermione’s breath caught at the sheer amount of history and treasures. Draco urged her toward a far wall filled with cases and inlaid trays.
Draco lifted a particular tray of loose gems. “Pick any you like. Theo wants you to choose ones to represent each of us.”
Her fingers ghosted over rubies the color of fresh blood, sapphires like midnight, emeralds that glistened dark and ominous. She selected one of each in different shapes.
Then they headed deeper underground to the Malfoy vaults. The dragon was long gone, but the cavern still took her breath away even empty. Draco led her past mountains of gold to a smaller, locked cabinet. Inside lay a stack of blank journals bound in plain dragon-hide and brushed steel.
“Choose one you like,” he said quietly.
She ran her fingers over the covers, finally lifting a thick volume bound in dark steel with faint silver veins.
Draco closed the cabinet and turned to her, eyes shining at the surprise reveal.
“We’re going to have the cover decorated,” he explained, voice thick. “With the gems you just chose and whatever else you want. And the three of us… we’re going to write in it. Everything about being a triad. The initial bond. The love. The fights. The nights we can’t walk straight the next day. The day we found out you’re pregnant. All of it.”
He cupped her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks.
“So that one day, when our great grandchildren ask how three people came to love each other this much… they’ll have the truth. In our words. In our handwriting. Someday when the next triad emerges, maybe they can read our words from the course of our lives and feel comforted by knowing the experience of a triad before them.”
Hermione’s eyes filled instantly. She pressed the journal to her chest like it was already sacred.
“Draco,” she whispered, voice breaking. “That’s… that’s a beautiful idea, no one ever—”
He kissed her, slow and deep, tasting salt and love.
“Theo’s family gems,” he murmured against her lips. “A Malfoy journal. You picked everything. We picked you. Forever.”
She laughed through happy tears, clutching the book and the future it promised to portray.
“Best Valentine’s Day ever,” she said.
Draco smiled, tucking her against his side as they left the vault.
“And it’s only afternoon. Imagine what else we might get up to today….”
The bond between them pulsed with desire they very much intended to act on when they got home.
Notes:
Short, sweet, but hopefully you like the idea of them having a recorded history.
Chapter 309: When a Chosen Family Convenes
Notes:
The gang is spending some nights around the manor :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The drawing room at Nott Manor had been transformed into something very muggle for the evening. The heavy curtains were drawn, the fire was crackling big and hot, and a ridiculous number of cushions and blankets had been dragged into a loose nest across the rug. A projection charm shimmered gently on the far wall, already paused on the opening screen of Lilo & Stitch.
Hermione sat curled between Draco and Theo on the sofa, a quilt over her legs that Draco kept tugging higher every few minutes as if she might catch a cold indoors. She didn’t scold him for it tonight. Not when the ache of the last few days still lingered softly in all three of them—fear, relief, love, and the strange unsteadiness in the bond.
The floo chimed with guests.
Draco rose at once. “They’re a bit early again.”
“They’re exactly on time,” Theo corrected mildly, already standing too.
Draco shot him a look and went to the door anyway.
Pansy swept in first, wrapped in a dramatic winter cloak that matched the soft purple blanket bundled in her arms.
“Before anyone panics,” she announced loftily, “he’s fed, clean, and in an excellent mood. I am not responsible if he decides otherwise later on. That’s Blaise’s fault.”
Blaise followed just behind her, carrying a basket overloaded with enchanted bottles that gently rocked themselves, and a tin of sugared popcorn that he absolutely had no intention of sharing.
Harry and Ginny came in form the patio door, shaking snow from their coats.
Ginny froze the moment she saw Hermione on the sofa between Draco and Theo.
Her gaze dropped, not to Hermione’s stomach, not directly, but just enough for Hermione to suspect she had an inkling.
Her eyes widened.
Then she smiled brightly.
“Hi,” Ginny said lightly. “You look… very cozy.”
Hermione returned the smile, a little shy, but giving her the subtle message, “That’s Draco’s fault.”
“Obviously,” Ginny replied.
Harry, bless his naiveness, didn’t clock the exchange at all, he was already crouching down to peer at the baby in Pansy’s arms. “He’s gotten bigger since last week.”
“That tends to happen with infants Potter, they grow,” Theo said dryly with a sly smile.
They all settled into their spots. Pansy allowed Blaise to finally take the baby so she could dramatically collapse into a heap of cushions beside Hermione. Ginny stole Draco’s abandoned spot for a moment just to lean in and whisper something in Hermione’s ear.
“You okay?” Ginny murmured.
Hermione nodded. “I really am.”
“That’s all I wanted to know,” Ginny said, squeezing her hand.
The film began with cheerful Hawaiian music and ocean colors dancing over the wall.
They lasted maybe ten minutes in watchful silence before the commentary started.
“Why is the alien naked,” Blaise demanded.
“It’s a children’s film,” Pansy said patiently.
“That explains nothing.”
Harry laughed so hard he spilled popcorn all over Ginny.
The baby slept through the chaos, blissfully unaware of the ridiculousness chosen family surrounding him.
Hermione found herself watching them all more than the screen, just taking in the moment of togetherness.
Blaise carefully rocking the bassinet with one foot while arguing with Draco about whether Stitch was properly classified as a magical creature or should be a poltergeist.
Pansy absently smoothing the blanket over her son’s legs with tenderness.
Harry stretched out on the floor with Ginny’s legs draped over his back, utterly at ease.
Family, she thought.
Chosen. Built. Fought hard for.
Theo leaned in quietly. “You okay?”
“I just…” Hermione choked on her words. “I’m really happy. I love everyone here so much.”
His hand found hers, fingers threading together gently. “Me too.”
Draco noticed instantly.
He didn’t interrupt.
He simply shifted, placing his palm at the small of her back, happy to be a part of it all.
Halfway through the movie, Pansy excused herself with theatrical dramatics to fetch more drinks.
Ginny followed, quietly, and the two of them lingered in the doorway for just a moment longer than necessary.
They looked back.
At Hermione.
At the way Draco hovered near her.
At Theo’s constant touch.
Understanding passed between them.
When they returned, no one said a word, but both women were softer around her, more attentive.
Harry, oblivious and happily so, tossed popcorn into the air and missed his mouth. Blaise snorted. “Hero of the wizarding world.”
Harry flipped him off without looking backward.
By the end of the movie, Stitch was redeemed, Lilo was safe, and half the group was either drowsy or emotionally compromised.
Pansy wiped at her eyes. “If anyone mocks me, I will hex you.” Post-partum hormones suck.
Ginny sniffed. “Too late, I’m already crying too.”
Harry leaned back. “Why was that sad?”
Blaise glanced down at his sleeping son, “Potter you’re so oblivious.”
They began to rise slowly, gathering blankets and empty glasses.
Blaise carefully lifted the baby. “We should head out. He needs proper sleep in his crib.”
Pansy hesitated, then stepped close to Hermione and kissed her cheek softly.
“I’m really glad you’re okay,” she said quietly.
“So am I,” Hermione replied.
Ginny hugged her longer, tighter.
Harry gave her an awkward but earnest squeeze. “Love you sis.”
“I know,” Hermione said softly. “You guys are the best.”
When they were gone and the house settled again into quiet, only the soft hum of wards and the fading warmth of the fire remained.
Hermione remained seated between Draco and Theo for a moment longer.
“That went well,” Theo said softly.
“Yes,” Draco agreed. Then, hesitantly, “Too well. Ginny noticed I’m pretty sure.”
“They all did I think except Harry, they were just too polite to voice it,” Hermione replied.
A long pause.
“But you’re okay keeping it formally quiet a little longer?” Theo asked.
She nodded. “I want our first appointment. I want to be sure. Then we can tell them for sure.”
Draco let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Good.”
He hesitated, then added softly, “They’re going to be very happy.”
Hermione leaned into him, slow and careful, “So are we.”
The next afternoon, the fire was already lit in the long manor drawing room when the heirs began arriving, winter cloaks shaken free of snow and cold before being passed off to waiting elves.
Harry and Ginny arrived first, Ginny stomping snow from her boots while Harry immediately made a beeline for the hearth to thaw out form the walk they’d taken up the drive. Blaise and Pansy followed not long after, Cassian bundled against Blaise’s chest in a charmed sling, small fists flexing in his sleep. Neville and Luna arrived together last, Luna carrying their daughter snug against her shoulder, wrapped in soft yellow wool blankets.
Draco, Theo, and Hermione greeted each of them at the door.
There were hugs. There were congratulations exchanged again for Cassian and Celine, and soft murmured awe over how quickly babies seemed to change. Pansy passed Cassian to Ginny with a warning look that dared her to drop him. Ginny rolled her eyes but cradled him with unexpected gentleness regardless.
Once everyone was settled, drinks appeared sent by the elves.
Eventually, as it always did, the gathering split itself along familiar lines.
The men gravitated toward the billiards room to talk business over a game, and the ladies splintered off, Luna and Hermione to the conservatory to take tea, and Pansy and Ginny drifted out to a parlor to get the baby down for a nap and look through fashion magazines together.
While the men plotted policy and power, the conservatory was filled with sunlight refracted through glass and rows of dormant citrus trees waiting for spring to arrive again.
Hermione and Luna sat at a small wrought-iron table laid with delicate china. Steam rose from their teacups.
Celine slept in her basket beside Luna’s chair, one tiny hand curled around the air as if grasping at something unseen.
“You look brighter today,” Luna observed pleasantly. “Like a lite candle behind glass.”
Hermione smiled faintly, “I slept well.”
“That helps,” Luna agreed. “Rest does most of the invisible work.”
They sipped in companionable quiet for a few moments.
Finally Hermione said, “Neville told me about the greenhouse expansion in a letter the other day.”
Luna beamed. “Yes. The moon-lilies need more space. They get sulky when they’re too crowded.”
“I think most living things do,” Hermione said honestly.
Luna tilted her head, studying her with unsettling clarity. “Not all crowding is the same. Some closeness strengthens the roots. Other kinds starve them.”
Hermione felt something subtle shift in her chest thinking about Draco, “You always are so right.”
“I don’t always know what I’m saying,” Luna replied serenely. “I just trust that it will be understood when it needs to be.”
She lifted her teacup again, then added lightly, “Journeys matter more than destinations, you know. Especially the ones you don’t map.”
Hermione’s fingers tightened slightly around her cup as she sipped.
“And sometimes,” Luna continued, gazing out at the pale winter sky beyond the glass, “the path you think leads somewhere obvious actually leads sideways first. Around a bend. Through a late blooming garden, perhaps.”
Hermione swallowed. “You speak in riddles when you’re trying to be kind.”
Luna looked at her gently. “I shouldn’t speak plainly when I know being direct would frighten someone who is already being very brave.”
That landed deep.
Hermione exhaled slowly. “Everyone seems to think they know where my life is going these days.”
Luna reached across the table and briefly touched Hermione’s hand comfortingly, “They may know the season. But only you will know the weather, and even then, only when it starts to rain or the sun comes out.”
A pause stretched between them, tentative and thoughtful.
Luna added, almost as an afterthought, “And storms can be very nourishing, when they pass at the right time, storms are often followed by rainbows and clear bright weather.”
Hermione laughed softly despite herself. “I’ll take that as reassurance I suppose.”
Luna smiled warmily, “Good, you should. The journey comes whether you run from it or embrace it.”
When the group eventually reconvened in the main room, the tones shifted back to warmth and familiarity between all of them. Babies were passed around. Pansy demanded more refreshments. Harry teased Draco mercilessly about his pool technique. Theo and Blaise compared notes on healer exhaustion articles they’d seen published recently in England and Italy.
Hermione caught Draco’s eye across the room.
Something unspoken passed between them.
Later, when Luna and Neville were preparing to leave, Luna leaned in close to Hermione at the doorway.
“Whatever comes next,” she murmured dreamily, “remember that not all beginnings announce themselves loudly and some beginnings are endings, just like some endings are also beginnings. Life is circular not linear.”
Hermione watched her go with a thoughtful expression long after the floo closed behind them.
Notes:
Anyone have interpretation ideas for Luna's zingers?
Chapter 310: The 4th Week
Notes:
Time passes, and an important appointment happens.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The mornings settled into a new rhythm with Theo’s ever changing schedule.
Theo left before dawn most days, quietly dressing trying not to wake her, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s hair while Draco watched from the doorway, almost always already awake with tea steeping to send him off.
Hermione always felt the absence in the bond when Theo slipped away — not painful, just softer at one edge, like a chair pulled back from a familiar table.
Draco lingered longer in the mornings with her. He always did now.
Sometimes he accompanied her to the gate when the auror escort arrived, his hand resting at the small of her back as if he could physically hold danger at bay. Hermione teased him gently for it.
“I’m still the same witch I was last month.”
“I know,” he said, far too seriously. “That’s exactly the problem.”
After classes, she went to the Granger Center most afternoons. Draco joined her whenever Ministry work allowed. Parents came with questions about first accidental magic. Children hovered shyly behind them. Draco patiently demonstrated harmless charm theory with floating sugar cubes and color-changing parchment, delighting even the most anxious of families and opening up shy children.
Hermione loved watching him there. He was softer in the Center than anywhere else, jolly with the kids, and kind with the parents.
The evenings belonged to the three of them again most nights.
Dinner, dishes, Theo’s hospital stories, Draco’s latest Flint family tracing frustrations described over tea by the fire. Hermione often fell asleep with her head on Draco’s shoulder on the sofa while Theo read parenting books beside them late into the evenings.
The next week, Theo’s shifts were exceedingly long again.
There were days when Hermione only felt him in flashes as exhaustion through the bond. Draco carried those days heavily. He prowled the manor like a restless animal with them both out, checking wards twice, reading Flint archives and evidence files again as if answers might appear suddenly.
Sometimes Hermione found him buried in the old Nott library, parchment scattered everywhere when she came home from class.
“You’re hunting a ghost,” she told him gently one evening.
He didn’t look up. “Ghosts leave more evidence than this.”
Still, progress came in small increments. Names tied to squib exile. Lost registry entries. Evidence of erased bloodline records. Nothing definitive — but enough to confirm they weren’t imagining the pattern.
In contrast, Hermione’s days were full of light instead. Charms mastery projects slowly taking shape, as she prepared for the last 8 months of the program. Young witches at the Center casting their first controlled levitations accidently on crayons. Ginny dropping by with impromptu takeaway lunches at the Center. Luna sending odd but comforting owl notes about finding “steadier stars” and wishing her the best as Venus entered Mars.
On one quiet afternoon at home, Hermione sat cross-legged on the floor practicing delicate threading charms for her final mastery project while Draco worked at his desk nearby.
“Your magic feels weird today,” he observed casually.
Hermione paused. He was right. It did feel different.
Not stronger, but clearer. As if the static lately in the bond was disappearing and being replaced by clarity.
“I think maybe my magic is adjusting to the baby perhaps,” she said softly.
Draco smiled without looking up.
She visited Pansy and the baby mid-week after class.
Blaise met her at the door, tired looking but blissful, son tucked against his chest. The house was full of newborn chaos, dishes and laundry stacked for washing. Pansy was propped on cushions in the sitting room, fragile but radiant still trying to fully recover while also taking care of newborn.
Hermione sat with her for hours.
They spoke quietly about Pansy’s emotional state - the pain, fear, and of healing. Of the reality that this child might be her only one. Pansy held that knowledge with resentment, but also the beginnings of graceful acceptance.
“I don’t know what I’ll end up feeling in five years,” she said softly. “But right now, I’m just grateful I lived through it now honestly.”
Hermione squeezed her hand.
Pansy studied her face carefully. “You’re changing again, I can see it in your face.”
Hermione felt heat rise to her cheeks, “Slowly maybe.”
Pansy’s smile was knowing and kind.
She did not press.
Later, back at the manor, Draco sat silently beside Hermione by the fire, his fingers loosely entwined with hers.
“Sometimes, I think about what you’ll look like when your more round with my child” he said at last.
Hermione leaned into him smiling.
Theo, home late that night, wrapped them both in his arms when he found them asleep on the couch.
A light snowfall dusted the grounds one morning.
Hermione and Draco stood at the windows, watching it collect on the bare branches of the orchard.
“We survived another winter,” Hermione said.
Draco tucked her closer. “We haven’t seen the last of it yet I fear.”
Theo came in from outside, breath fogging, cheeks red from cold.
“We have exactly two hours before it melts. I vote snow angels.”
Hermione laughed and tugged Draco outside with Theo.
They laid in the snow, fluttering their legs and arms, making imprints.
It was absurd and it was perfect all the same.
Late one night, Hermione woke between them.
The house was silent. The bond felt oddly tight.
Draco slept lightly still, one hand resting over hers even in unconscious instinct. Theo’s breathing was slow and deep on her other side. She tried not to wake them as she tossed and turned for hours, trying to shake the tension and sleep.
The specialty clinic sat high above the frozen over river. Everything about the place was designed to feel calm: low voices, warm air, the faint scent of chamomile and old parchment. But none of it did much to steady Draco’s nerves.
Hermione felt them both through the bond, Draco’s tight, coiled anxiety, and Theo’s sharp, clinical focus that he always slipped into when he was afraid. She squeezed their hands as they followed the healer down the corridor.
“This is all very routine,” Mauve said kindly as they walked. “Non-invasive, purely diagnostic. No strain on your magic or the baby at all.”
Draco still looked as though he might argue, but Theo met his eyes and gave a small, reassuring nod. “These are standard maternal charms. I use them on patients every week. Mauve is just a specialist in this, so I feel better having her do them instead.”
They were ushered into a softly lit room with a floating examination chaise, runic tracings embedded into the stone beneath it. Hermione climbed up as directed, resting back against the cushions. Draco stood immediately at her right side, Theo at her left, their hands never leaving hers.
The healer lifted her wand and began the first charm.
A pale gold glow settled over Hermione’s abdomen—cool, but not invasive. Runes appeared in the air, gentle spirals of light only Theo and the healer could fully interpret, but all three of them felt the shift in the bond as the magic settled into place.
Suddenly, a second light bloomed tangling in the spirals.
Draco froze.
Hermione felt it before she understood what she was feeling: a tiny, steady presence, pulsing in delicate waves through the bond. Not thought. Not emotion. Just life, humming faintly, insistently in time with the pulsing of the lightshow in front of them.
Theo inhaled sharply.
“That’s… the heartbeat,” he said, quiet with awe.
The healer smiled, “Yes, it seems steady, very normal for this early stage.”
Draco’s breath hitched. His fingers tightened around Hermione’s so hard it almost hurt. “That’s… that’s him,” he whispered, voice breaking on the word before he could stop it.
Hermione turned her face toward him and saw tears streaking freely down his cheeks. He was trying to be silent about it.
Theo stood utterly still, eyes fixed on the floating runes as data and wonder collided in his expression. “Growth rate is as expected for four weeks,” he said automatically, then swallowed. “Normal.”
The healer let the charm deepen slightly.
Another pulse of light rippled through the room and more data appeared.
Draco let out a sound that was half a sob, half a broken laugh. He dropped to his knees beside the chaise without realizing he was moving, pressing his forehead gently against Hermione’s side as if afraid even his breath might disturb the miracle happening inside her.
Theo finally tore his gaze from the runes and looked at them both. His eyes were bright, wet, and unbearably tender.
“He’s healthy,” Theo repeated, more personally now, just for them. “And Hermione’s good too.”
The healer allowed a pause for them to have a moment before lifting her wand again. “I will now confirm parentage and sex—only because you requested it be done immediately and seem to already know. Are you ready to be sure?”
Draco lifted his head, eyes still glistening. He searched Hermione’s face, silent question and apology and fear all tangled together in the bond.
She nodded. “We’re ready.”
The runes shifted.
Blue light threaded through the gold.
“Male fetus as you expected,” the healer said kindly. “And the genetic bonding signatures confirm, Draco Malfoy is the biological father.”
For a second, no one spoke.
Then Draco let out a shaky laugh that turned into quiet, uncontrollable crying. He pressed his lips to Hermione’s hand over and over as if he could never thank her enough.
“My son,” he whispered. “Merlin… Theo—he’s mine, Theo—”
Theo smiled through his own tears and crouched beside him, resting his forehead against Draco’s.
“He’s ours,” he corrected softly. “And you’re going to be an incredible father.”
The healer completed the last of the monitoring charms. “Everything about this pregnancy appears completely normal for this stage. It’s still very early, so it’s impossible to say much about long term health, but this looks very promising so far.”
Hermione let out a breath she felt she had been holding for weeks.
Draco finally lifted his head enough to look at her properly. “You’re okay,” he said, more statement than question.
“I am,” she said. “We all are.”
Theo squeezed her hand. “And now we protect this with everything we have—but calmly and not like a jailer,” he added pointedly, glancing at Draco.
Draco gave a weak, wet laugh. “I will be calm,” he promised. “Eventually.”
The healer cleared her throat gently, smiling at all of them. “I’ll provide you with the next appointment schedule and care guidelines. Take today to rest. This is… a lot for the heart to process.”
When they finally left the clinic, Draco refused to let go of Hermione’s hand. Theo stayed close on her other side, quieter than even his usual, but his emotions flowed steadily through the bond, frightened, joyous, protective.
By the time they reached the street again, winter sunlight glinting off frost in the air, Draco stopped walking.
He turned to Hermione fully, cupping her face in his hands with reverent care. “Thank you,” he said gruffly.
Hermione leaned into his touch. “We chose this together.”
Theo nodded, “Every step, all the way, forever.”
Notes:
Things have been very domestic in the story lately... lots more action coming soon I promise.
Chapter 311: Sickness and Joy
Chapter Text
Grimmauld Place glowed with low golden light when they arrived, the enchanted lamps along the hall lighting one after another as if greeting them on arrival.
The dining room was already alive with soft conversation and the clink of dishes as they took their places.
Blaise sat at the table with Pansy, who had their son nestled against her chest in a soft green charm-warmed sling. She was absently rocking him with one hand while talking animatedly to Ginny about sleep schedules. Harry was pouring wine at the sideboard, moving easily in the room to make sure everyone was taken care of.
Theo squeezed Hermione’s hand once before they stepped fully into the room, Draco just behind them.
“There they are,” Ginny said cheerfully. “Finally. I was starting to think you’d gotten lost in Nott Manor.”
Harry grinned. “Or buried in research again.”
Draco smiled slightly, “Entirely possible.”
Pansy looked up at once, eyes lighting up with a joke, “Hermione. You made it out of the house without Draco spiriting you back for thicker mittens?”
Hermione smiled ruefully, “Barely.”
Draco didn’t deny it but shot Pansy a nasty glare.
Everyone gathered around the table, Blaise shifting his chair so Pansy could sit more comfortably. Their son made a small, sleepy sound, one tiny hand curling around Pansy’s finger.
“He’s so perfect,” Ginny murmured again, as she had at least three times already.
Blaise’s face softened instantly. “He really is. We keep waiting for something to go wrong and it just… hasn’t. He’s a very easy going baby.”
Theo watched them with open, quiet fondness. “I checked on him when we arrived and he’s still perfect,” he said. “Medically speaking.”
Pansy shot him a look. “You are not allowed to diagnose my baby for fun.”
Theo lifted his hands in surrender. “Noted. But he is my godson, so I feel like it’s acceptable to do once per visit.”
Dinner unfolded chaotically with passing plates and chewing food; warm bread, roasted vegetables, herb-crusted fish, light sauces—comfort food, not extravagant. The conversation drifted easily between them all.
Blaise and Pansy spoke like new parents, feeding charms, how absurdly fast he was growing already, how he smiles at bath time. Pansy complained about how unfair it was that he’d outgrown three sets of tiny robes in two weeks. Blaise looked permanently awed by the baby’s every smile.
Harry spoke next, more serious as the mood subtly shifted.
“There’s been a strange case at the Auror Office,” he said after taking a drink. “Not dangerous really, just odd.”
Draco’s attention sharpened. “Odd how?”
“A Ministry import regulation officer. Older wizard,” Harry said. “Went missing two weeks ago. Just stopped showing up for work. Hasn’t been home either.”
Ginny frowned, “A disappearance? Kidnapping?”
Harry shook his head slowly. “No signs of violence. No magical fight residue. His daughter filed the report. She thinks… well, it was the anniversary of his wife’s death right before he vanished. She’s afraid he may have left intentionally. Or worse.”
The table grew quiet.
“That’s awful,” Hermione said softly.
“We’re still looking,” Harry said. “But so far there’s just… nothing. No trail.”
Draco exchanged a glance with Theo—both thinking, both cautious—but neither said anything aloud.
Ginny brightened the mood again deliberately. “On a much lighter note, I’ve got a match next week. You’re all coming if your free.”
“Is that an invitation or a threat?” Pansy asked.
“Both.”
They all laughed, and the heaviness lifted.
Dessert was brought out in the form of light cakes, candied fruit, and warm vanilla mini custards. Pansy insisted on feeding Blaise the last bite of her own portion while he protested dramatically, but ate it anyway.
It was only when the plates were mostly cleared, and the conversation morphed into contented quiet, that Hermione drew a deep breath.
Her fingers had been laced with Draco’s under the table for most of the meal. Now she set her fork down carefully.
“There’s something… we wanted to tell you,” she said.
Theo stilled at once.
Draco’s posture shifted, more stiff, protective, bracing.
The room grew quiet immediately.
Hermione looked at each of them in turn. Pansy. Blaise. Harry. Ginny.
“I’m pregnant.”
For one heartbeat, silence reigned.
Then Ginny gasped in fake surprise.
Pansy’s hand flew to her mouth trying not to laugh.
Harry’s chair scraped loudly back as he stood halfway in shock. “You’re—what?”
Blaise blinked slowly, then broke into a slow, stunned grin. “You’re kidding.”
Theo smiled softly, eyes shining.
Draco’s expression was openly emotional, barely contained.
Ginny crossed the room in three strides and pulled Hermione into a fierce hug. “Oh—Hermione—oh my God—!”
Pansy followed immediately, careful around her arms and belly but no less fierce. “You absolute sneak. Not saying a word while I hinted around it. Had me thinking I was going mad.”
Harry recovered enough to hug her as well, gentler but no less sincere. “That’s incredible.”
Blaise exhaled slowly. “Another baby in the circle already. Bloody hell. Hogwarts isn’t going to know what hit it in a decade.”
Hermione laughed softly through the sudden rush of emotion. “It’s very early still. And… we’re hoping to keep it quiet. I mean really quiet. No press.”
“Of course,” Ginny said immediately.
Harry nodded, “Your secret is safe.”
Pansy’s eyes were bright, but her smile was careful, respectful. “We won’t say a word.”
Theo spoke then, voice steady but full. “We’ll tell people when it’s time.”
Draco cleared his throat, visibly working to hold himself together. “And only then.”
Blaise lifted his glass. “Then we drink—to secret joy.”
They all raised their glasses.
“To quiet joy,” Ginny echoed.
Hermione’s hands shook slightly as she lifted her juice cup, tears shining but not falling.
The conversation after was lighter. No one asked about fathers. No one made it complicated. It was simply… shared happiness between good friends.
Later, as they prepared to leave, Pansy pressed Hermione’s hands tightly between her own.
“You’re going to be an incredible mum,” she said quietly.
Hermione swallowed hard. “So are you already.”
Harry lingered by the doorway. “Any time you need anything—anything—you call.”
Draco’s voice was quiet but firm, “We will.”
Ginny hugged Hermione again, warm and laughing. “Now I get to spoil you with baby books.”
Hermione grinned back.
The first time it happened, it was just after midnight.
Hermione woke with that sudden, deep nausea that rolled through her like a wave she couldn’t outrun. She barely had time to push the blankets aside before she was sitting upright, one hand over her mouth, breath shallow and panicked.
Theo was awake instantly feeling her panic.
“Hermione?” he murmured, already moving.
She didn’t even answer, just nodded towards the bathroom and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Theo caught her elbow, guiding her toward the bathroom as Draco stirred behind them.
Draco was fully upright by the moment he heard the retching.
His heart dropped straight into his stomach as he hurried after them, bare feet silent on the stone floor. He hovered uselessly behind Theo in the doorway while Theo knelt beside her, holding her hair back with one hand and resting the other lightly at the center of her back. Draco flooded the bond with more panic, while Theo tried to counter it with calm and reassurance.
“Slow breaths,” Theo said softly. “You’re okay. Just let it pass.”
Hermione was pale, and shaking, with one hand braced on the edge of the toilet as the sickness came in bitter waves. When it finally passed, she slumped back against Theo’s chest, exhausted and trembling.
Draco moved to help, he pressed a cool cloth to her forehead, hands not quite steady. “Is this—” His voice broke. “Is this normal? Mother took care of Astoria when she was pregnant, not me…”
Theo met his eyes over her shoulder, calm but serious. “Yes. Very normal. Especially this early.”
Hermione wiped her mouth with shaking fingers. “I’m fine,” she whispered weakly. “Just… tired.”
Theo lifted her gently back to her feet as if she weighed nothing at all. Together, he and Draco helped her back to bed. Draco curled protectively around her from one side, keeping his palm light over her stomach as if afraid to press too hard. Theo settled on her other side, tucking the blankets around her with care.
Neither of them slept after that. Just watched her drift back off, exchanging worried glances with each other.
By the third night, it was becoming exhausting.
Sometimes it was late at night. Sometimes just before dawn. Other times it struck hard in the late afternoon while Hermione was trying to read in front of the fire or finish paperwork for the Granger Center. The nausea came suddenly and relentlessly, leaving her feeling drained and shaky afterward.
Theo handled it with quiet competence.
Crackers appeared by her bedside without her asking. Ginger tea was brewed almost constantly on the kitchen counter. Cool compresses were changed with careful precision every night. He tracked the timing in his head without writing anything down, quietly noting what helped and what didn’t.
Draco, on the other hand, hovered.
He hovered while she ate.
Hovered while she slept.
Hovered while she worked.
He flinched every time she went pale, his fear sharp and immediate in the bond, stressing Theo and Hermione further.
Once, when she gagged unexpectedly while brushing her teeth, Draco panicked so badly Theo had to physically steady him and get a calming drought .
“This doesn’t mean something is wrong,” Theo said firmly, pulling Draco aside later in the kitchen. “It doesn’t mean what happened with Astoria will happen again. Most pregnant women vomit during early pregnancy.”
Draco stared down at his shaking hands. “She was sick like this too. At the beginning. And then she just kept growing weaker and weaker until—”
Theo interrupted him gently. “And none of this is the same. Different body. Different magic. Different pregnancy. Different blood curse.”
Draco exhaled slowly, forcing himself to nod.
But the fear never entirely left his eyes or the bond.
By the sixth consecutive night of interrupted sleep, Hermione finally snapped.
She had just been sick again, was exhausted and curled on the bathroom floor with Theo stroking her hair when Draco whispered for the third time that night, “I should owl the healer.”
Hermione lifted her head and looked at him through watery eyes.
“Draco,” she said frustrated, “I need you to stop looking at me like I’m breaking. You have to stop flooding the bond with worry, it’s making this so much worse than it already is.”
He froze.
“I’m not dying,” she continued gently. “I’m uncomfortable. I’m tired. I’m nauseous. But I’m not dying. And when you look at me like that, all I feel is guilt for scaring you.”
Draco knelt in front of her slowly, eyes shining. “I don’t mean to— I just— I lost—”
“I know,” she said softly. “And I love you for caring. But I need you present, not panicked.”
Theo squeezed Draco’s shoulder, “She’s right.”
Draco swallowed hard and nodded once. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. I’ll try harder to relax.”
The next day, Theo finally owled his colleague, Mauve, the pregnancy specialist.
The reply arrived before lunchtime with a small padded parcel and detailed notes.
“These are safe,” Theo explained that evening as he set the labeled vials on the table. “Mild anti-nausea drafts. Won’t suppress the symptoms completely, but they’ll dull the worst of it hopefully.”
Hermione took the first dose warily that night.
The difference wasn’t miraculous, but it mattered.
The sickness still came, but it passed faster. The wave broke instead of dragging on endlessly for hours. She could keep down some food. She began to look more like herself again instead of perpetually glassy-eyed and hollow cheeked.
Draco watched her take every dose like a hawk.
Theo tracked every symptom with a ledger.
Hermione, caught between them, felt both fiercely protected and achingly loved.
One evening a few days later, Hermione managed to eat an entire bowl of soup before bed without getting sick afterward. She sat back in her chair, stunned.
“I think… I can actually keep it down,” she said leisurely with a smile.
Draco stared at the empty bowl as if it were proof of a miracle.
Theo beamed, “Good sign.”
Hermione leaned back in her chair, eyes fluttering closed in relief. “I didn’t realize how much frustration I was carrying around about it until just now.”
Draco moved immediately to her side, pressing a careful kiss to her temple. “You don’t carry any of this alone,” he said softly.
Theo stood behind her chair and rested his hands lightly on her shoulders. “Not for a second.”
That night, for the first time in over a week, Hermione slept through to morning.
Draco slept curled around her, one hand resting over her stomach without moving.
Theo lay on her other side, one steady palm between her shoulder blades, quietly monitoring every rise and fall of her breath.
For the first time since the sickness began, the house felt calm again.
Notes:
Draco is driving them crazy, thank god Theo is around to keep the calm.
Haven't heard from any readers today. Love to hear your comments on the last few chapters!
Chapter 312: Draco's 2nd Healer Session
Chapter Text
It was early March, and Draco almost didn’t go. They had pushed off their healer sessions to let Hermione get her nausea under control. But now… Draco felt stressed to go in.
He stood outside the door to Theo’s study for a full minute before knocking, one hand braced against the wall as if the wood itself might steady him.
Hermione and Theo waited in the sitting room down the hall, waiting for their turns. He squared his shoulders and knocked.
“Come in,” a calm female voice called.
The room smelled faintly of chamomile, antiseptic, and old parchment. The fire burned low and steady. The mind healer sat in a deep-cushioned chair opposite a matching one, a cup of tea in her hands. Her magic felt… quiet. Observant and safe.
“Mr. Malfoy,” she said gently. “Please. Sit.”
Draco did.
The silence stretched in that deliberate way he knew healers used—waiting for him to fill it, but not forcing him.
He didn’t know where to begin.
Finally, he said, stiffly, “You’re here because the Unspeakables were concerned our bond was uneasy.”
She tipped her head slightly. “I’m here because you agreed to come. Those are not the same thing. There is no force here.”
That unsettled him more than he expected.
She waited again.
Draco exhaled slowly. “I was engaged my whole life. Contracted at birth. Astoria Greengrass. I never loved her.” The words felt brutal, even now. “I tried to. I did everything I was told I was supposed to do. I was… kind to her. Dutiful. But it was obligation. Not choice.”
“And that matters deeply to you.”
“It matters because she died,” he said tightly. “And I lived. And she probably never even knew love.”
The healer said nothing.
He swallowed. “She was pregnant. With my child. And I felt responsible for her dying because I made her that way out of obligation.”
Draco looked down at his hands. “I hated myself for that. I still do. I thought—Merlin help me—I thought maybe the universe hated me enough to ruin her too. Now I feel even more guilty… because my happiness, the love I have in the triad was only possible with her death.”
His chest felt tight, like there was corset wrapped around his ribs, tighting with every admission.
The healer’s voice was steady. “Relief from captivity does not make you a killer, Draco. It makes you human.”
He laughed once, bitter and sharp. “Try telling that to my magic. Or to my mother.”
“Has your mother ever blamed you?”
“No.” His voice faltered. “She blamed herself I think. For raising a son who couldn’t feel what he was supposed to for his wife.”
Silence again.
Then she asked, “When Astoria died, what story did you start telling yourself about who you are?”
Draco didn’t answer immediately. He already knew how bad it sounded.
“I told myself that I don’t deserve happiness,” he said finally. “That if I reach for it, it will be taken away. That I poison the people who love me.”
The healer nodded slowly. “And now you have Hermione. And Theo. And a child on the way.”
His breath hitched.
“And you are terrified.”
“Yes,” he whispered.
His composure finally cracked then.. Tears slid down his cheeks before he noticed them. He didn’t bother wiping them away.
“I love them,” he said. “And I am terrified. Because I hoped for more once. And it still ended in a grave and a tiny coffin.”
He pressed a fist to his mouth.
“What if I’m not meant to be a father because I would be a terrible one?” he breathed. “What if everything I touch ends in loss because that’s my penance for my role in the war?”
The healer leaned forward slightly. “Draco—were you allowed to choose Astoria?”
“No.”
“Were you allowed to choose the terms of that life?”
“No.”
“Were you allowed to grieve that life honestly after her death?”
His jaw tightened. “No. I was expected to be… dignified about it.”
“Then you didn’t lose a family,” she said carefully. “You lost a prison and were pressured to call it a home. And your grief became tangled with guilt and shame.”
He covered his eyes briefly.
“Then your past does not define the meaning of this future,” the healer said. “But your trauma is trying to convince you otherwise.”
Draco’s voice broke. “I hover. I smother. I’m terrified she’ll slip through my fingers every time she leaves the room. I know I’m being irrational but I can’t seem to stop. I know it’s driving Hermione away and annoying Theo too now.”
“That’s not possessiveness,” the healer said gently. “That’s unresolved survival fear.”
He looked at her, startled.
She continued, calmly, “Your nervous system learned that love equals catastrophic loss. So now it’s trying to prevent attachment from ever being fully safe. That’s why you hover. Because your body is trying to out-watch fate.”
Tears slid freely now down his face.
“And it’s exhausting you.”
“Yes.”
“And straining your bond.”
“Yes.”
She let the truth sit between them.
“Draco,” she said quietly, “you are allowed to be happy and afraid at the same time. But you are not allowed to punish the present people in your life for the sins of the past.”
He gave a shaky laugh. “Theo told me something similar.”
“Your husband is very wise.”
“He also told me to stop treating Hermione like fragile glass.”
A small smile curved the healer’s mouth. “Good. Because she is not glass. She is steel wrapped in kindness.”
Draco exhaled slowly. “I don’t want to lose her. Or Theo.”
“You won’t,” the healer said. “Not if you let yourself live instead of only guarding.”
She studied him for a long moment.
“I’d like you to try something,” she added. “When you feel the urge to control—to hover, to forbid, to shield—ask yourself one question: Am I protecting her… or am I trying to soothe my own fear?”
Draco nodded faintly.
“And when the answer is the second?”
She smiled softly. “Then you tell Theo. Or Hermione. Out loud. You let the fear be seen instead of acted out. Fear loses its power when it is witnessed by others who care.”
Silence settled again, but it felt lighter now.
After a long while he said, quietly, “I want to be a good father.”
Her gaze was steady and warm. “Then you already are on your way.”
He closed his eyes, breath trembling.
When Draco left the study, Theo was waiting in the hall.
Theo didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need to—the bond carried the ache, the relief, the fragile easing of something long knotted in Draco’s chest.
Theo simply pulled him into a firm, grounding embrace.
Draco held on.
For once, he didn’t feel like the world was about to break beneath his hands.
And somewhere down the hall, Hermione felt the shift and exhaled in quiet relief.
Notes:
Still hoping to hear from you, dear readers :)
Chapter 313: Hermione's 2nd Healer Session
Chapter Text
“Draco’s session ran long,” she said gently. “But, we can still take this at your pace.”
Hermione nodded. “I’m used to rushing. I’d… like to try not to, today.”
“That’s a good place to start.”
They sat for a moment in silence before Hermione spoke.
“I am pregnant,” she said quietly. “But I don’t really need help with that part. I’m happy. Nervous. But happy.”
The woman smiled softly. “Good. Then let’s talk about you.”
Hermione swallowed. The word hit harder than she expected.
“I think,” she began slowly, “I’ve always felt a bit… extra. Even as a child.”
The healer tilted her head, “Extra?”
“Like I didn’t quite belong where I was. Even with the people who loved me.”
She exhaled shakily, “With Harry and Ron… everyone calls us the Golden Trio. But the truth is, they were a duo first. Always. Best friends from the start. I joined later. I was useful before I was actually wanted.”
“That’s a painful thing to carry for so long.”
“I don’t think they meant to do it,” Hermione said quickly, instinctively defending them even now. “But it felt real to me. They had history. Shared humor. A shorthand I never quite spoke. And I tried to make myself indispensable so I wouldn’t be… optional.”
She laughed softly without any hint of humor.
“So I became the brain. The planner. The one who carried the answers. If I was brilliant enough—if I saved them often enough—then maybe I deserved my place.”
She watched her carefully. “Did that work?”
Hermione hesitated. “It worked during the war. And it almost destroyed me right afterward.”
Her fingers twisted together nervously.
“I spent my whole childhood trying to keep them alive. And when it was over… I didn’t know who I was if I wasn’t protecting them.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m still doing it,” she admitted. “Just for different people. The Granger Center. Muggle families. Theo. Draco. Even Harry sometimes still.”
The healer nodded. “You learned early on that love equals responsibility. That if you stop holding everything together, something terrible will happen.”
“Yes,” Hermione whispered. “Exactly.”
They spoke of Harry specifically next.
“He’s… my brother,” Hermione said after a pause. “He didn’t understand me when we were children as much as I needed. He often sided with Ron because it was easier. Less confrontation. I was the difficult one. The one who asked why.”
“And how is that now?”
“He’s apologized,” Hermione said quietly. “More than once. He grew up. He sees it now more clearly. We both do. He has trauma I didn’t understand back then either. We hurt each other without meaning to. We were kids trying to live in a war-scape.”
Her voice softened, “But now? We are family. Not by habit. By choice. I trust him with my life. With my future child. That matters more than childhood failings under the pressure of trauma.”
The air shifted with heaviness when she spoke Ron’s name.
“Ron and I… we will never be what we were once,” Hermione said quietly. “And we shouldn’t be. We were two lonely children clinging to something familiar.”
She stared at her hands.
“Molly wanted it so badly. I think part of me tried to become what she imagined because I didn’t know who I was supposed to be.”
“And now?”
“Now we’re… civil. Careful. Distant.” Hermione sighed. “He was cruel about my triad match at first. Hurtful. He felt left behind. So did I. He said things that couldn’t be taken back.”
“Do you mourn that friendship?”
“I mourn the idea of it,” she admitted. “Not the reality. The Golden Trio is dead. And it should be. We are all different people now.”
Her eyes were steady and warm, “But I’m glad he has Cho. I sincerely am. He’s gentler with her. Happier. I hope our children grow up as friends. I just don’t need to be his anchor anymore. We can grow apart and still wish the best for one another.”
The healer leaned forward slightly, “And what is it like being the only woman in your marriage?”
Hermione was quiet for a long moment.
“At first… terrifying,” she admitted. “Draco and Theo had history. I worried I would always be the outsider. The balance point. The compromise.”
She swallowed.
“But slowly I realized something: I wasn’t joining their bond. They were choosing me. Over and over. Every single day.”
Her voice wavered.
“I get to be soft in ways I never was before. I get to need. Because they will deliver for me. And that’s still frightening.”
“Does pregnancy change that fear?”
“Yes,” Hermione whispered. “Because now I’m not just afraid of losing myself. I’m afraid of failing someone who hasn’t even been born yet too.”
“And what do you believe would make you fail?”
Hermione thought for a long time, “Stopping. Resting. Letting other people carry things. Not being in control.”
The healer smiled sadly. “You equate rest with abandonment.”
“Yes, I guess so.”
Near the end, truth was spoken gently, “You’ve carried the weight of other people’s survival since you were eleven years old. It is understandable that you don’t know how to be only cared for. That will take practice.”
Hermione’s eyes filled unexpectedly, “I don’t want to lose myself again,” she whispered. “But I’m tired of being strong.”
“You are allowed to be tired,” the healer said softly. “You are allowed to be held.”
Hermione let out a slow, shaking breath.
When the session ended, she felt wrung out, but lighter, too. As if naming the shape of her loneliness had made it less terrifying.
She knew Draco and Theo would be waiting.
And for the first time in a long while, she let herself believe that being held did not mean disappearing.
Notes:
Anything you're hoping the group session will cover? Leave a comment.
Chapter 314: Theo's 2nd Healer Session
Chapter Text
Theo sat in the softly lit office with his hands folded so tightly in his lap that he could barely feel his fingers any more.
He had almost left twice before even sitting down.
“You don’t have to speak right away,” the healer said gently. “We can start wherever feels least painful.”
Theo gave a short gulp, “That… might take a while.”
She nodded once, accepting that without pressure.
Silence settled between them. Not awkward per say, just heavy.
After a long moment, he spoke without looking up.
“My father used to tell me that caring was weakness and it was a disease. That it spread. That if I showed any… it made me unworthy of the name Nott.”
His voice was calm. Too calm for the words.
The healer didn’t interrupt.
“He believed pain built discipline. Fear built loyalty. And love—” Theo’s jaw tightened. “Love was only worth anything as leverage.”
He swallowed.
“My mother tried to be a shield. She failed. Everything he did to me, he did to her first. And when I was old enough… he made sure I knew it was my fault. That if I’d been stronger, better, quieter—he wouldn’t have needed to.”
The healer’s expression remained steady, empathetic, “Children often believe they are responsible for the violence of adults. But abuse is always the choice of the abuser, Theo. Never the victim.”
Theo let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“I know that. Intellectually. I teach it to patients myself in domestic violence situations. But knowing something and believing it are different beasts.”
He finally looked at her in the eye, “I learned early how to disappear in a room. How to make myself smaller than my fear. I learned how to take a beating and still say ‘thank you sir’ after.”
His hands trembled, and he clasped them tighter together to still them.
The healer’s voice was soft. “And now you save people for a living.”
Theo gave a faint, sad smile. “Yes. Because if I can’t save the boy I was… maybe I can save the ones who come after him. Maybe I can save lives to repent for my families generations of sins.”
They sat with that for a while in silence.
Then the healer leaned forward slightly towards him, “How does all of this connect to how you feel about becoming a father?”
Theo’s breath hitched before he could stop it.
“That’s the problem,” he admitted. “I don’t trust what’s in my blood.”
His voice dropped an octave, “I’m terrified that somewhere inside me is the same cruelty. The same capacity to hurt without meaning to. I know I would never—never—do what he did. But fear isn’t logical.”
His eyes burned with unshed tears.
“What if I flinch too easily? What if I grow cold too when I’m overwhelmed? What if I fail the way my mother failed me—by loving but not protecting for the world enough?”
The healer considered him carefully, “What kind of father do you want to be?”
Theo didn’t hesitate this time.
“The kind that listens even when he doesn’t understand. The kind that apologizes when he gets it wrong. The kind who shows up—every recital, every fever, every nightmare, is present when his kid needs him. The kind whose child never has to earn gentleness. Who is proud.”
His voice broke on the last sentence, “I want my child to grow up never doubting their worth. Never mistaking fear for love. Never thinking pain is the price of being wanted.”
Tears finally slipped free, silent and fierce down his cheeks.
The healer waited until he composed himself again before speaking further, “The fact that you fear becoming your father is the clearest evidence that you already aren’t him. Abusers do not worry about harming others. Only survivors do.”
Theo nodded.
“And with Hermione pregnant,” the healer continued, “your fear has likely intensified.”
“It has,” he admitted. “Because now it’s real. Not abstract. There will be a child. A future that depends on us all being better than what came before. Hermione is going to be a brilliant mother, I know it. But, Draco and I… well he had such terrible role models in our fathers, I’m not sure either of us even knows how to be a father worth having at all.”
He paused briefly, contemplating his feelings, “And I won’t be the biological father this time. I wanted that to hurt more than it does. Mostly it just… scares me in different ways.”
He looked up again.
“I worry I’ll feel less important. That the other’s won’t value me in the same way raising him. That Draco and Hermione will push me out to raise him. Or that the baby will never truly feel like mine to me either. And then I hate myself for even thinking that, because I already love this child and it isn’t even born yet.”
The healer smiled gently. “Love is not divided by blood, Theo. It is multiplied by presence.”
His chest tightened at that.
“I also feel… protective in a way I didn’t expect,” he admitted. “Of Draco. Of Hermione. Of what we’ve built. My father taught me that protection meant control. I’m trying to learn that it can mean trust instead. I see Draco struggling with letting go, with his need to control everything. It’s not good. I don’t want to contribute to that environment too.”
“That is unlearning, not failing,” she said.
Theo leaned back slowly, as if his body were finally registering the weight he’d been carrying now that he was reflecting on his words.
“I’m afraid I’ll freeze when I’m needed most by them both,” he said quietly. “That something inside me will revert to that scared little boy again.”
“And yet,” the healer replied calmly, “you run toward trauma every day as a healer. You sit with dying people. You handle suffering without flinching. That tells me fear does not govern your actions—your own values do.”
That landed somewhere deep in his heart. Theo closed his eyes.
“For the first time,” he said after a long pause, “I think I want to believe that I am not the sum of what was done to me.”
The healer nodded, “You are the sum of what you chose in spite of it.”
When the session ended, Theo left with red eyes but steadier breathing. The weight was still there, but it felt distributed now, no longer crushing and overwhelming.
He wasn’t healed.
But he was healing.
Notes:
I'm actually really enjoying these healer sessions... it's allowing me to unravel my own characters and better understand them myself. Hopefully that makes how I depict them feel more authentic.
Chapter 315: 2nd Group Healer Session
Notes:
The triad comes together to confront some hard truths.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The fire in the office burned low, its warmth soft against the winter chill that clung to the manor in the early evening. Late sunlight floated through the tall frosted windows. Three leather backed chairs were arranged in a tight arc around the healer.
Hermione sat between Theo and Draco.
All three of them were tense in that particular way that only came before very hard conversations.
The mind healer settled into her own chair across from them and folded her hands in her lap serenely.
“Today,” she said gently, “we talk about trust. As a triad.”
Silence stretched long before them all in the room.
The bond between them was uneasy, full of nerves, and things left unsaid.
Finally, the healer turned to Hermione, “Would you be willing to begin?”
Hermione’s hands were resting limply in her lap. She didn’t look at either of the men beside her at first. Her voice was quiet when she spoke finally, “I think… the first place trust broke between us was before it ever had a chance to fully form.”
Draco’s shoulders visibly stiffened.
Theo’s head dipped slightly, as he closed his eyes in shame.
She drew in a steadying breath. “When I learned that you had slept together after the triad match—before we’d talked about your history, before we’d decided anything as three people—it shattered something in me.”
Theo sucked in a sharp breath through his nose.
Draco’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the floor intensely.
“I wasn’t just hurt,” Hermione continued. “I felt… really foolish. Like I’d been brought into something already moving without my consent and not even realized it. And because the marriage law gave me no real exit, it felt like I had to swallow that pain rather than choose how to respond to it like I normally would of in a different situation.”
The healer nodded slowly, “That lack of agency is a critical piece to recognize.”
Hermione let out a shaky breath. “In any other circumstance, I would have walked away… probably for good. I would have needed space to decide if I could forgive at all. I would have pondered it for a long time, in a separate place, living my life very separate from you both. But I didn’t have that luxury because of the law.”
Theo’s eyes shone with tears, grief and shame twisting across his face.
Draco’s hands were clenched white-knuckled on his knees now.
The healer turned to Hermione again, “How did you survive that moment without leaving emotionally for good?”
Hermione was silent for a long moment. Then she whispered, “I told myself that survival in the wizarding world mattered more than my pride. That love sometimes starts after betrayal, that time can heal. And that if I wanted this bond to live… I couldn’t treat that night as the end of us—even though it almost was. I had to treat it as a mistake that they would need to atone for. I had to start letting them rebuild trust out of the ashes.”
Theo’s composure broke. Silent tears slipped down his face with a sniffle.
The healer shifted her attention to him, “Theo, what was happening inside of your mind then?”
His voice was raw. “Unresolved grief. Years of it. I thought I had buried what Draco and I were to each other, but it was still alive under everything, it was a surprise to me. When the triad happened, it all rushed back. I didn’t think. I acted from old pain. Old attachment. And I hurt Hermione because of it.”
He swallowed hard, wiping at a tear. “I hate that version of myself. I already was falling in love with her at that point, we had been building something really amazing… and a moment of weakness and confused old desire … well it ruined everything we’d erected so far.”
Hermione turned her head toward him now. Her eyes were soft, not accusing, just listening.
Draco finally spoke, his voice heavy with self-loathing, “I betrayed both of you. That night I think was completely my fault. Her trust—and his growth. I convinced myself it was inevitable. That our past gave us permission. It didn’t. All I did was make it harder for her to learn to trust me, and screw up the good thing Theo and Hermione had going. It was selfish and stupid.”
The healer let the silence linger a moment.
“Draco,” she said carefully, “how did Hermione’s forgiveness affect you?”
His breath hitched. “It broke me open. I didn’t deserve it.”
He finally looked up at Hermione’s face, catching her eye.
“I’d spent my entire life believing I was only ever allowed to destroy good things. When she stayed—when she chose to rebuild rather than leave—it terrified me more than any punishment ever could. It was worse than her leaving I think. Because it meant we all had to live knowing I fucked it up, and there was all this pressure to try to make it right between both of them. Being held accountable for my actions… well that wasn’t exactly something I grew up with.”
His voice shook and his eyes turned glassy too, “I don’t take a single day of her love for granted. I never will again.”
Theo wiped his face, nodding faintly.
The healer leaned forward, “Hermione, what allowed you to be able to trust them again?”
Hermione answered without hesitation. “Their consistency afterward. Their remorse wasn’t theatrical. It was lived. It was honest and real. They let me leave with Pansy. They let me have space. They let me be angry. They let me withdraw. They adhered to my boundaries afterward. They didn’t demand forgiveness. I’m not even sure how much they even hoped for it really. They let me decide what came next. They gave me the agency back in the situation.”
She looked between them. “You both stood still while I decided whether I could stand with you again. I needed that.”
Theo exhaled slowly.
Draco whispered, “Because you were never obligated to stay.”
The healer turned back to Theo.
“Theo, you’ve been quiet. What is hardest for you looking back on that period of time now?”
His voice was fragile, “That my worst mistake is woven into the very foundation of the best thing in my life. I live every day knowing our love today only exists because she chose mercy when I didn’t deserve it.”
Hermione reached out then. Her fingers brushed his sleeve.
“You took responsibility,” she said quietly. “That matters.”
Draco’s breath stuttered.
The healer smiled faintly. “You three have healed something very few bonds survive. And you managed to do so very early on in the development of your bond… it’s a small miracle really that this is what was born out of all that grief and hurt. But healing does not erase scar tissue. It teaches you how to live around it. You may be past the betrayal now, but it doesn’t mean it never happened.”
She rose from her chair slowly, standing behind it, “You built trust not because you never broke it, but because you faced the rupture honestly together.”
The bond between them shifted, still tight, still uneasy, but full of gratitude and understanding.
Theo’s hand trembled slightly as it moved to rest over Hermione’s knee.
Draco followed, laying his hand gently over hers on the other side.
The mind healer let the silence stretch after Hermione’s admission, giving Theo time to breathe again, giving Draco time to wipe his eyes. The room felt heavy with truth.
“Why,” the healer said gently, “did the relationship between the two of you fail the first time?”
Theo didn’t answer immediately. His jaw flexed. His hands clenched together in his lap.
“We were children,” Draco said quietly. “Not in just in age—but in how we handled pain. We didn’t know how to be honest without destroying each other. It was a dark time in my life. I wasn’t ready to even believe in love let alone feel it.”
Theo swallowed continuing, “We saw each other in secret at Hogwarts. That was part of the problem. Everything was secret. Fear made the rules. We met in shadows, in empty classrooms, behind wards and illusions. There was no future we could picture together, only survival in a coming war.”
“We were angry,” Draco added. “At the war. At our families. At ourselves. And we turned that anger on each other. I was frenched in darkness, I don’t blame Theo now for leaving me in it. He tried to pull me out of the depths of it so many times, but I just couldn’t. I was drowning in it. If he had stayed… I would have drown him too.”
Theo’s voice cracked, “We never learned how to fight without trying to win at all costs.”
Hermione listened silently, her heart feeling tight and aching. This was the first time she was hearing the truth without filters, without defensiveness, form them both actually together rather than one side privately.
“The night it ended,” Theo said, “we said things we could never take back.”
Draco closed his eyes. “And we never apologized to each other. We just… buried it.”
The healer nodded, “And what is different now?”
Silence filled the room again. Then Hermione answered for them, “You don’t hide anymore form each other.”
Theo looked at her, startled at the revelation.
“You talk,” she persisted. “You fight without destroying. You stop when someone is hurt. You listen when you’re afraid. You both try to be honest from the start of everything.”
Draco exhaled shakily. “We aren’t alone anymore.”
Theo nodded, “And we learned what happens when we hide. We lose the people we love.”
The healer leaned back slightly. “So the triad works now because it is built on truth instead of secrecy.”
“Yes,” Hermione said softly. “And we made it about choice. Not fear. Not force.”
The healer shifted the conversation gently again after reclaiming her seat, “You’re about to raise a child together. Two ancient pureblood lines… and one Muggleborn mother. What does that mean to you all?”
Draco spoke first this time, very careful and deliberate, “My family has rules about everything,” he said. “Blood. Name. Education. Magic. Even grief has rules. My son will know his heritage, but I will not allow it to be a cage.”
Theo nodded, “The Notts were the same. Power mattered more than people. That ends with us. Our kids will know connection, and love.”
Draco’s voice dropped, “There are things I will pass on. Discipline. Education. The importance of magic as responsibility. But hatred dies with me. Fear of love ends with my parents generation.”
Hermione let out a quiet held breath, “I want our child to know both worlds,” she said. “Magic and Muggle. I want them to grow up knowing they don’t have to choose one identity. That neither is better than the other, and that they can feel safe in both worlds.”
Her voice faltered. “And I want them to know their family loves them, biological and chosen.”
The room felt warmed suddenly.
“My parents will never meet their grandchild,” she admitted quietly. “They’ll never know this life we’ve made. They’ll never see who I became.”
Theo shifted closer to her to offer comfort. Draco’s hand moved instantly to take hers tightly.
“I don’t regret protecting them,” she said thickly. “But some nights I ache for the life that could have been. For them to see this world today. To see us together.”
Draco swallowed, “My mother will love your child fiercely.”
“I know,” Hermione whispered. “And I’m grateful for her every day.”
Theo smiled faintly. “We have a fierce grandmother in-waiting.”
The healer looked to Draco. “How does your mother feel about Hermione though now?”
Draco’s expression softened in a way none of them would have imagined two years before.
“She considers her family,” he said simply. “Not just by marriage. By choice too.”
He glanced at Hermione earnestly, “She prays for you. She guards you emotionally in ways she never guarded me as a child. And I don’t resent that.”
Hermione’s eyes shone. “She held my hand when I was worried about you. She sat with me after the kidnapping. She tries to help me learn your pureblood customs, but is quick to tell me when they’re stupid too. She tells me I’m brave when I don’t feel brave.”
Draco’s voice broke slightly. “She always wanted a daughter.”
The healer nodded gently, “And now she feels has one. That’s wonderful for everyone.”
Theo finally spoke again, voice low but steady. “Our child won’t inherit our mistakes,” he said. “But they will inherit our effort I hope.”
Hermione turned to him, “You’ll be a very good father.”
He shook his head once. “I’ll be a different father. And that’s enough.”
Draco reached across and took both their hands.
“Our child won’t belong to one of us,” he said quietly. “They’ll belong to all three. Loved. Protected.”
The healer observed them for a long moment. Then she said:
“This triad works not because it is perfect, but because you all hold each other accountable.”
She softened her tone. “That is what will keep your family whole going forward.”
Hermione leaned back into Theo’s shoulder. Draco’s thumb brushed over the back of her hand.
For the first time since the session had begun, the room no longer felt quite as heavy.
It felt more grounded.
The house was quiet in that deep, settled way that only came after midnight. Even the wind outside seemed hushed beneath the weight of newly fallen snow.
Hermione lay between them beneath the heap of warm blankets, her back against Theo’s chest, Draco on her other side, one arm draped protectively over her waist.
The fire in the hearth had burned down to a soft orange glow, casting long shadows across the ceiling. The room still carried the emotional echo of the healer’s session.
No one spoke at first even though they were all awake.
Theo’s fingers flexed slowly against the quilt at Hermione’s hip. Draco stared into the darkness, jaw tight, eyes burning with thoughts he had not yet found the courage to say.
Finally, Hermione broke the silence.
“I didn’t realize how heavy that still was inside me,” she said quietly. “Talking about… the beginning. About trusting you both afterward.”
Theo’s breath caught in his chest. Draco’s arm tightened fractionally around her.
“I thought I had healed all of it already,” she continued. “But tonight I realized I healed by building something new, not by erasing what happened. And sometimes… I forget you both still carry the guilt of it.”
Draco swallowed hard. His voice, when it came, was rough.
“It doesn’t go away,” he said. “Not ever. I see your face that night in my head more often than you know. I keep thinking—if I’d just trusted you enough to tell you the truth… if I hadn’t been such a coward…”
Theo shifted behind her. She felt his chest rise sharply as if holding back something enormous. Then his control broke.
“I was scared,” he whispered tearfully. “Scared to let go of Draco. Scared to lose you. Scared I’d end up alone again no matter what I chose. So, I made the worst choice. I tried to have both without facing the truth. Without bringing you both together.”
His voice cracked, “I hurt you. I hurt both of you. I’m always going to be so sorry for that.”
Hermione turned onto her side to face him. The dim firelight caught the shine of tears clinging to Theo’s lashes. She reached up and rested her palm against his cheek.
“You didn’t destroy us,” she said softly. “You wounded us. There’s a difference. We didn’t break, we fractured and rebuilt.”
Draco let out a shakier breath than he meant to. He finally turned toward them both, his expression naked in the low light.
“I thought I had already ruined everything the day my father fell and I failed the Dark Lord,” he admitted. “I truly thought I wasn’t allowed to be happy after that. And then you showed me that I could be… and I almost lost you because I didn’t think I deserved you. I didn’t think I’d ever earn you Hermione, so I tried to get what I could… Theo.”
Hermione shifted closer, pressing her forehead softly against his.
“You don’t get to decide that anymore,” she murmured. “You deserve happiness too. The war was none of our faults. It was so much bigger than any of our roles in it.”
Theo’s shoulders began to tremble. Silent tears slid down his face more profoundly, and he buried his forehead into Hermione’s shoulder as if the weight had finally become too heavy to carry alone.
“I don’t want to fail our child,” he whispered. “I don’t want to become my father in any way. And some days I’m terrified I won’t even know if I’m doing it.”
Draco reached across Hermione to grip Theo’s wrist, “You are nothing like him,” Draco said fiercely. “You stayed. You chose good when it cost you everything. You choose it every day in that hospital. Our child will never doubt that they are wanted by you, or me, or Hermione.”
Theo gave a broken laugh through tears, “I’m scared I won’t be enough.”
Hermione pressed her lips to Theo’s temple, “You already are.”
Silence followed. After a long time, Draco spoke again.
“I used to believe legacy meant blood, power, and reputation,” he said quietly. “Now… it just means you two. And the little life growing because of us. That’s all that matters.”
Theo nodded faintly, eyes closed.
“My legacy will be that I stopped the cycle of cruelty.”
Hermione rested both hands over her stomach instinctively.
“And mine,” she whispered, “will be that I chose love even when it terrified me.”
Draco drew her closer. Theo wrapped around her from behind.
Theo’s breathing slowed. Draco’s hand fell still at her waist. Hermione lay between them listening to the rhythm of both their heartbeats.
In the quiet, Theo wept one last soundless tear.
And then—finally—he slept.
Notes:
When the betrayal happened, alot of readers were very vocal and upset with how Hermione (and I) handled and viewed it.
So, I'm curious, what do you now think of how it was just talked about?
Chapter 316: Theo's Unease
Notes:
More of a focus on Theo's feelings this chapter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione clutched the paper bag of food as she walked the long hallway. Her nerves were fluttering in her chest despite the mundane reason for her visit. Theo wasn’t expecting her. That was the point of a surprise visit, to lift his spirits.
The corridors of St. Mungo’s were mostly empty, the midday rush of visitors long faded into the muted rhythm of healers changing shifts and patients settling into late afternoon naps.
She could feel him through the bond. He felt tired, and full of lingering tension from a difficult day.
A janitor recognized her, and waved her toward a seldom-used supply corridor near the spell-damage wing. “He just finished rounds. He’s restocking,” she whispered conspiratorially with a smirk.
Hermione smiled in thanks and turned down the narrow passage lined with shelves of potion ingredients and neatly stacked linen bundles.
As she approached, Theo stood with his back to her, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, cataloging vials of pepper-up.
“Theo?”
He turned in alarm, and then everything in him softened at once when he saw her.
“Hermione?” Happiness washed through his face, followed immediately by concern. “What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”
“I brought you lunch, everything is fine,” she said, holding up the bag as evidence.
She watched the worry melt from his face in relief.
“You didn’t have to you know,” he murmured.
“I wanted to.”
He took the bag from her as if it were something precious and pulled a small crate into the corner so they could sit on the floor with their backs to the shelves together. The corridor was obscurely located enough, that the chances of someone stumbling on them was rather small.
They ate in comfortable silence at first. Only after his hunger faded did he finally speak.
“Today was bad,” he admitted quietly. “Not catastrophic. Just… very heavy.”
She leaned her shoulder lightly against his, “You don’t have to carry it alone. You can tell me about it.”
“I keep trying to be strong for you and Draco. For the baby.” His voice dropped. “Sometimes I forget I’m allowed to be tired too.”
Hermione turned fully toward him. “You are allowed,” she said firmly. “You work long hours in an emotionally charged environment. Of course you’re going to feel burnout sometimes. I’d be shocked if you didn’t.”
The bond echoed his gratitude, and she took his hand. He hesitated only a moment before lacing his fingers through hers, grounding himself in the contact. The hospital sounds faded into the background for them both.
“It’s more than just work though. I don’t feel replaced,” he said quietly after a moment. “By the baby. Or by him. But sometimes I feel… displaced. In my own life lately.”
Hermione understood that ache more than he realized form her own childhood.
“You aren’t outside this marriage,” she told him softly. “This child will be yours just as much as Draco’s. And mine. The bond doesn’t divide us, it brings us all together.”
His eyes seemed tired as he looked at her.
“I needed to hear that.”
The bond pulsed with his affection.
Slowly, deliberately, he leaned his forehead against hers. It was quiet and slow and full of everything they weren’t saying because the hospital walls weren’t meant to hear confessions.
Their lips met in a soft, careful kiss.
There was no rush or urgency, just reassurance.
His hand tightened gently at her waist. Hermione breathed him in, the familiar scent of clean linens and potion grounding her in the present.
A footstep echoed faintly down the hall.
They broke apart instantly, both flushed but composed, hands lingering a fraction of a moment longer than strictly necessary.
Theo rested his forehead briefly against hers again before straightening again. “If Draco knew you were here, he’d be here too. So, I assume he doesn’t…?”
“He’d hover outside the ward for the rest of the night,” she teased softly.
Theo smiled, a real one this time.
When they stood, the bond settled into a tight but steady hum. Theo brushed his thumb once across her knuckles before releasing her hand.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. “For reminding me who I am when I forget to take the time I need to remember.”
“You never forget,” she replied gently. “You just carry too much lately.”
Hermione returned home after dusk. Draco sensed her the moment she crossed the wards, already pacing near the entry hall under the pretense of reorganizing books.
“You were at St. Mungo’s,” he said immediately smelling the antiseptic clinging to her clothes.
She smiled happily, “Theo needed food more than he needed another lecture about self-care.”
Draco exhaled in visible relief. “And you’re all right? You weren’t there for yourself?”
“I am fine, just went to see him.”
He pulled her into a gentle embrace anyway, hands resting possessively at her back, the bond stirring protectively.
When Theo finally came home near midnight, he was quieter than usual. The hallway light caught the healed exhaustion in his face as he stopped in the doorway of their shared private parlor.
Hermione felt his calm before he spoke.
“You brought me lunch,” he said softly as he crossed the room to her.
“You looked like you needed it. You’ve been working yourself to the bone lately.”
“You always know when I do.”
Draco watched them for a few seconds, taking in the subtle ease between them, then nodded once as if reassured by what he saw.
They settled together by the fire. Theo sat on the floor with his back against the couch, Draco to Hermione’s other side, her feet tucked beneath her as warmth flooded her toes.
Theo told them about his day, Draco and Hermione listening attentively, helping him unload part of his burden. The three of them slept peacefully that night.
The next afternoon, she felt apprehensive when Draco kissed Hermione’s temple at the foot of the stairs and encouraged her to go.
“Go,” he urged quietly. “I’ll be okay. He just… needs me for a bit. He’s been really overdoing it lately; I’m going to help him relax. We need some time alone together I think. He’s feeling alienated with the baby I believe.”
Hermione squeezed his hand once more before reluctantly backing away into the floo. She could already feel the tension in the bond changing. Theo’s was throwing off anxious, tightly wound energy while Draco’s was steadier, more like a determined calm. It wasn’t sexual yet. It was about needing to be heard, and needing to be chosen not overlooked.
She didn’t want to interrupt that.
She flooed to Grimmauld Place, the green flames depositing her into the informal sitting room. Harry was already there, sleeves rolled up, relaxing on the sofa.
“You didn’t have to come over alone,” he said politely.
“I wanted to,” she answered softly.
They ate spaghetti together at the small kitchen table in a comfortable silence that only came from years of shared history.
Finally, Harry glanced at her over his mug, “Are you okay, Hermione?”
Hermione hesitated, unsure what to voice aloud to him. Through the bond, she could feel anxiety and uncertainty from Theo. From Draco, there was steadiness and affection. Whatever was happening between them was intense, but not chaotic. An underlying tightness in the bond that seemed ever present since the pregnancy also could be felt.
“I think I will be,” she said honestly. “Tonight is just… complicated. Nothing to worry about though.”
Harry nodded like he understood far more than she’d actually said.
They moved back to the parlor after dinner. The flames crackled and silence loomed. Hermione curled up on one end of the sofa with a faded old blanket over her legs. Harry sat on the floor with his back against the couch, staring into he flames.
After a long time, he spoke quietly, “I’m really happy for you about the baby.”
Her voice was grateful, “Thank you.”
He stared into the fire some more. “It’s just… really strange lately for me. Everyone’s having children or actively planning for them.”
Hermione followed his line of thought, “And that hurts for you?”
He let out a sigh, “Yeah, a bit. I’ve wanted a family my whole life. And I know Ginny does too, just… not yet. Quidditch still needs her. It’s her body and her career at stake. I respect that, I really do.”
He paused and moved his eyes from the fire to her face. “But sometimes it feels like I’m the only one standing still while everyone else moves forward in my life.”
Hermione leaned closer and rested her hand comfortingly on his arm.
“Waiting doesn’t mean you’re standing still,” she said gently. “It just means your season isn’t right now.”
He sighed again, “Do you ever get tired of being the one who says the right thing?”
She smiled faintly, “Frequently.”
They fell into a shared contemplative silence again, watching the flames.
The bond continued to broadcast in the background of Hermione’s awareness.
Theo’s anxiety morphed first, while Draco’s presence remained firm and steady.
Then, slowly, Hermione felt understanding bloom, followed swiftly by relief, and beneath it all, affection. Soon after, passion burned hot with longing.
Whatever Draco was saying to him, she hoped it would settle him.
She and Harry spent the next hour talking about the little things. How funny it was to sharing godparent duty to Celine, how big Teddy was getting, and how Ron and Cho couldn’t settle on a name they both liked for the baby yet.
Later that night, she returned to the manor in a good mood.
Draco was in the sitting room, so was Theo.
Theo sat slumped into the armchair, seemingly drained emotionally and physically. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, but calm now too. Draco stood near the fireplace, one hand resting casually on the mantle, his attire casual now and not what he’d had on when she left.
The moment Hermione stepped inside the doorframe, both of them looked over at her.
Draco crossed the room, and took her hands.
“He’s okay,” he whispered to her.
Theo gave a small, tired nod. “I really am.”
Hermione exhaled and tucked Theo into a tender embrace. He stiffened for only a moment before sinking into it.
“I was afraid,” Theo admitted softly to her. “That I was… being replaced or forced out in some way.”
Draco’s voice was low but unwavering, “You aren’t.”
“I know that now,” Theo said. “But knowing it and believing it are different things sometimes as you well know.”
Hermione glanced between them smiling, “You never need to earn your place with us. You already belong.”
Theo swallowed hard.
Draco reached out and pulled him into a firm hug from the side. “You’re not on the outside of this family,” he emphasized. “You never have been, and you never will be.”
“Theo, you are so loved by us both, never forget that,” Hermione reiterated.
Theo smiled shyly and nodded, “I’m trying to keep that in mind.”
Later, when Hermione lay awake beside them, she reached for the bond again. It still hummed with unease and that constant tightness, but it also felt better than it had earlier.
Theo was finally at rest, emotionally exhausted but no longer spiraling emotionally.
Draco was protective, even in sleep.
She tossed and turned for awhile before eventually getting comfortable enough to drift off into a dreamless sleep.
Notes:
Man, both these boys are emotional wrecks in different ways....
Chapter 317: Theo's Shopping Spree
Chapter Text
Hermione tugged a wool coat around herself with a thick scarf and met Theo on the front steps of Nott Manor when he returned from his short morning shift. There was still a faint crust of frost along the hedges, and Theo’s breath fogged as he adjusted the collar of his jacket.
“You’re sure this place will be warm enough? I can’t wait for it to actually feel like early March instead of winter.”” he asked dryly.
Hermione laughed and slipped her arm through his. “It’s a mall, Theo. It’s indoors and heated.”
He eyed the portkey with suspicion. “If I get arrested for loitering in a shoe shop, I’m blaming you. When Draco bails us out, you can do the explaining.”
The portkey whisked them away before she could respond, and with a lurch they landed in the far corner of a sprawling muggle car park already half-full.
Theo turned in a slow circle in awe, “There are… an alarming number of these.”
Hermione grinned back, “Welcome to commerce.”
The automatic doors hissed apart as they approached, and Theo actually flinched in surprise.
“They open themselves! Are they magic?”
“Yes, muggles have magic.” She replied deadpan.
Theo grabbed her arm, and spun her around to meet his eyes, “They do?”
She grinned and let him in on the joke, “Yes, it’s called technology, Theo.”
“Oh….”
Inside, warmth rushed over them and loud music. Theo’s eyes went wide as he tried to take it all in. There were flashing neon signs, families and children rushing in and out of stores, fragrances perfuming gout of a beauty store, and a security guard was dragging a shoplifting teen out of a department store in handcuffs.
“This,” he said stunned, “is… extremely overwhelming.”
Hermione squeezed his hand fondly, “You’ll get used to it. Think of it like Diagon Alley without magic and with worse taste and more music.”
When they started walking almost immediately he was distracted by a cosmetics display kiosk exploding with bright colors.
“Why are there so many potions in glass jars labeled peach shimmer?”
“It’s makeup actually,” she said. “These are mainly lip balms, they’re mostly aesthetic. No healing properties like potions have.”
“That seems useless.” He replied.
They wandered past a clothing store first, and Theo stopped in front of a front window display mannequin in narrow black trousers and a fitted navy jumper.
“That one looks like a bit like curse-breaker.”
Hermione laughed, “And that one looks like a bored accountant.”
He joked, “Is that worse?”
“Probably depends on how many spells you want to block a day.”
Hermione led him into one of the larger department stores, straight toward the electronics section. The moment they crossed the threshold into the technology, Theo visibly perked up.
“This feels dangerous,” he said with open delight.
“You have no idea.” She grinned back.
Televisions flickered on different channels along an entire wall. Theo stared at them as if expecting one to bite.
“So, they move without magic?”
“Yes, they’re made of pixels.”
“Is that a species?”
She gave up explaining and just smiled back, before promising to get him a manual on how it worked.
They examined laptops, tablets, and small home appliances. Theo backed away from a blender like it might explode.
“You put food in this and it survives the spinning knives somehow?”
“Very briefly, the point is to liquefy it.”
“That’s horrifying, what did a piece of fruit ever do to deserve that?”, he teased.
They added a modest television to their cart for one of the manor sitting rooms, along with a small sound system that Theo kept insisting needed a higher top volume. Hermione also picked up an electric kettle, which Theo treated with deep suspicion.
“No fire needed,” she explained.
Theo’s brows knit in concern. “That’s weird. Where does it come from to heat?”
“Electricity.”
“Still not helping.”
“I’ll get you a book on how that works too,” she promised.
In a quieter shop filled with smart home devices, Theo became unexpectedly preoccupied. He knelt to examine a robotic vacuum with extreme concentration, playing with the remote control for it.
“So, this patrols on its own when you turn it on?”
“Yes.”
“And it avoids obstacles?”
“Usually. They do seem accident prone with stairs at times.”
He straightened back up slowly, eyes bright with wonder. “Hermione. I could charm this to recognize magical signatures. It could follow Pudding around all day sucking up the fur trail.”
She laughed loudly, “You’re already planning to enchant a vacuum. Someone is enjoying the muggle immersion today.”
“I’m offended you’d suggest otherwise.”
They selected several more muggle gadgets, things like lava lamps, a foot massager, and a white-noise machine Hermione wanted for the nursery.
He didn’t comment on that, just slid the box quietly into the cart with a nod.
By midday they were overloaded with bags and growing hungry. Hermione finally steered him toward the food court when his stomach betrayed him with a very audible growl.
He froze at the sight of the giant space.
“This,” he said solemnly, “is a feeding ground I think I’m going to like alot.”
“I’m sure you will.”
Theo’s head turned from stall to stall like he might short-circuit by the volume of choices.
“You can’t possibly expect me to choose one.”
Hermione beamed, “That’s the fun part, you can go to more than one counter and mix and match what you want.”
He insisted on trying nearly everything.
He started with a slice of greasy hot cheese pizza.
“This is… molten.”
“Yes, you’re supposed to let it cool a bit first.”
“It’s trying to kill my tongue.”
He took another bite immediately though with a smile.
Next came tacos, followed by Asian stir-fry noodles. Then fries dusted with something unnaturally orange. He drank an grape fizzy soda and coughed violently as the bubbles assaulted his senses.
“This beverage is possessed.” He proclaimed to her.
“You’ll adapt in a few more sips.”
“I refuse.”
Ten minutes later he was sipping it thoughtfully.
They sat side by side at a small table, Theo surrounded by wrappers and half-eaten food in a ring of discarded chaos.
He leaned back slightly, eyes unfocused with both delight and mild pain. “I may never return to civilized wizard dining.”
Hermione laughed until her sides hurt, “You said that about churros last year too.”
He studied the sugar-dusted pastry with reverence. “I stand by that statement.”
Theo reached across the table and brushed burger bun crumbs from Hermione’s sleeve with gentle fingers.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” he murmured.
She met his eyes, “You needed something that wasn’t work, studying, or being a human buffer. Something outside your normal schedule to let you have some fun.”
He smiled, “You always know what I need before even I do.”
They spoke about the manor next, where the television would go, how to charm the sound system so Draco wouldn’t accidentally blast classical music through three floors at once. Theo mused aloud about how Muggle infrastructure could be adapted with magical fail-safes.
By the time they left, the sun was beginning to sink toward late afternoon and Theo carried far more bags than necessary just to prove he could do it without shrinking them.
He claimed it was good practice on how to “act muggle” for when the baby came.
As they stepped back into the cold, he inhaled deeply.
“That place is terrifying, but also absolutely fantastic,” he concluded. “I want to go again soon.”
Hermione laughed and leaned into his side meerily as they walked toward the portkey location.
“Next time we’ll tackle the escalators again, hopefully with less reluctance.”
He grimaced, “Let me rest first.”
The portkey pulled them home moments later, just as Draco was stepping out of the study with a ledger under his arm. He barely had time to register Theo’s laughter before Hermione landed with an armful of glossy shopping bags and an expression that radiated triumph.
Draco stopped dead, “…What,” he said slowly, eyes flicking from the bags to their faces, “did the two of you do?”
Theo beamed, “We went to a mall.”
Draco blinked in confusion, “I’m sorry… a what?”
Hermione’s grin was wicked too, “A muggle mall with tons of stores. To buy technology.”
Draco’s expression shifted through several emotions in rapid succession: alarm, suspicion, reluctant curiosity, and finally resignation. “Of course you both did.”
They dumped the bags onto the long table in the sitting room sowing off their new hoard. Boxes slid out in all shapes, with cords, remotes, and manuals covered in diagrams Draco clearly found confusing.
He lifted a thin silver device with two fingers like it might bite, “Is this… alive?”
Theo snorted. “It’s a remote for my automatic vacuum.”
“It feels unnatural,” Draco muttered.
Hermione was already pulling open another box. “We got a small television for the library, a sound system for the parlor, and Theo thinks he can charm everything to work in the manor wards.”
“You brought a singing electricity box into an ancient magical estate,” he said flatly.
Theo, entirely unrepentant, shrugged. “For science experimentation purposes.”
What followed was chaotic.
They tried setting up the television in the library first. Draco watched with folded arms as Theo carefully laid out the cords like they were surgical instruments. Hermione read aloud from the instruction booklet, brow furrowed in academic concentration.
“Plug into the power source,” she read.
Draco lifted a finger in warning, “Absolutely not, you’ll alter our wards doing that nonsense.”
They compromised by running the cord into a magically insulated outlet Theo devised on the fly. The moment the screen flickered to life, every ward in the room rippled like disturbed water.
“Oh, that’s not good,” Theo muttered.
The television popped, then shut off.
Draco looked vindicated. “It attempted to duel the house and lost.”
They tried again with heavier insulation. This time it worked. Hermione clapped,“See? Progress.”
Draco watched the moving images with narrowed eyes. “It’s unsettling how confident it looks. I don’t know why we couldn’t just keep using your projection device for movies, we didn’t need this box too.”
They moved on to installing the sound system. That one triggered a temporary anti-apparition pulse from the east wing before Hermione stabilized the manors magical frequency with a careful runic overlay.
By the time they were done, Draco looked like he’d aged a year.
“We’re telling no one about this,” he swore. “My mother would disown me if she knew how we’d corrupted this place.”
Hermione disappeared into the bedroom with one final bag tucked behind her back, shot Theo a conspiratorial look, and called out sweetly, “Draco come here please?”
He sighed, “That tone of voice has never meant anything good in my life.”
He emerged holding up a pair of grey joggers. They looked very soft and very fitted, entirely muggle.
Theo leaned against the doorframe, watching Draco with clear interest.
“For lounging,” Hermione said innocently. “You’re always in structured robes. You deserve comfort.”
Draco eyed the fabric. “Those appear to be… trousers for people who have given up.”
“They are athleisure,” Theo corrected firmly.
Draco hesitated. “I will not be mocked. Is this a joke?”
“We promise nothing,” Hermione said, eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Try them on mate”, Theo insisted.
Five minutes later, Draco stepped back into the room.
The joggers clung to his hips in a way that made Theo’s brain stall in longing. The soft fabric outlined long legs that had no business being that distracting. The loose shirt he’d pulled on did nothing to soften the effect.
Hermione’s breath caught as she hungerly eyed the outlined bulge in the groin area.
Theo swallowed throatily, “Merlin.”
Draco crossed his arms, immediately defensive. “If either of you laughs… I’ll never wear another muggle thing again.”
Hermione stepped forward and flattened her palm against his stomach. “Draco… you look really really good.”
Theo nodded, entirely sincere. “You cannot be allowed in public like this. These are for our eyes only, I’m serious.”
Draco felt the bond flare with heat, appreciation, and want, rolling through him from both of them so strongly his breath hitched despite himself.
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” he muttered.
Hermione leaned closer, lowering her voice. “We’re enjoying you.”
Theo added quietly, “Very… comfortably, it seems.”
Draco shut his eyes for a beat as the bond pulsed with desire humming just under the surface.
“Get these cursed things off me before I forget my own dignity,” he said gruffly.
Hermione kissed his jaw. “Later. I want to enjoy this view all day.”
They retreated to the parlor, the new sound system playing softly in the background playing mellow muggle jazz music that made Draco grumble, but he didn’t turn it off. Theo sprawled on the rug with lots of manuals and books on manor magic, mapping out how to stabilize the tech long-term. Hermione curled beside Draco on the sofa, fingers tracing idle patterns on his wrist.
The bond was bright and warm—content, curious, threaded with quiet desire.
“Today,” Draco said tiredly, “I allowed a singing electricity box into an ancestral pureblood home, was betrayed by trousers, and survived a muggle shopping expedition by proxy.”
Hermione winked at him, “But you adapted. I’m proud of you.”
Theo looked up with a grin. “You even look good doing it.”
Draco huffed, but he didn’t move away when Hermione leaned into his side, or when Theo later joined them, the three of them pressed together in a comforting hug.
Notes:
Leave a comment with what muggle things you want to see Hermione introduce to the boys.
Chapter 318: Draco's Request
Notes:
It's been a long hard day. Here's a short scene to hold you all over.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Narcissa Malfoy arrived that afternoon prepared for a quiet tea time visit.
She did not expect to encounter a television for the first time.
She entered the parlor gracefully, took one look at the screen where a muggle children’s cartoon was currently playing, and froze in shock.
“What,” she asked very delicately, “is happening in my son’s house?”
Draco stiffened, “Hermione bought it.”
Hermione shot him and a look, “It’s not cursed. I promise.”
Narcissa approached the screen as if it might be possessed and dangerous. A bright orange, animated fox jump roped across the screen. The fox talked to a young child and music played in the background with tambourines.
She stood very still for a moment watching the flickering picture. Then, slowly, she sat down on the couch next to Hermione.
For the next twenty minutes, Narcissa Malfoy watched a muggle animated film with rapt attention, much to the admonishment of her son.
Theo and Hermione exchanged silent, stunned glances as Narcissa leaned subtly forward, completely absorbed in the animation.
When the credits finally rolled at the end, she cleared her throat dramatically.
“I do not hate it,” she declared solemnly.
Draco frowned and Hermione tried not to grin too wide.
Later, over tea, Narcissa asked lots of questions about it.
“How many such stories exist?”
“Are these creatures really alive?”
“How often is there a new episode?”
By the time she left, she had requested that Hermione “perhaps queue another” for her next visit, specifically something with more talking animals if possible.
Draco stared at the now-dark screen after she’d flooed away, “I think you’ve broken my mother.”
Hermione laughed and threw a pillow at him, “I told you no one can resist day time entrainment!”
Two evenings later, Hermione stood in the middle of the informal parlor holding a remote control with a mischievous grin.
“I want to show you both something fun.”
Theo flopped onto the sofa beside Draco, “Is it safe?”
“Absolutely.” She pressed play.
Music flooded the room form the surround sound system she’d gotten.
Theo’s eyes widened with wonder, “It’s everywhere. Not like a charm… like it’s woven into the air.”
Draco listened with an unreadable expression on his face. “You feel this in your body,” he said eventually.
Hermione stepped toward them and held out both hands.
“Dance with me.” She demanded.
Theo laughed and took one hand without hesitation.
Draco resisted initially, but with some encouragement he finally rose, stiff and uncertain. Hermione guided him to the beat of the dance club favorite. At first his movements were too formal, too trained for ballroom discipline, but as the music played he let go of the control more and more, rocking his whole body to the base beat.
The music swelled louder, and Hermione leaned back into Theo for a second as Draco spun her around. Theo’s laughter vibrated straight through her heart. Draco smiled at them both, throwing caution to the wind, and really getting into the idea of letting go.
Hermione attempted to teach him the moonwalk.
Later, breathless and flushed, Draco said quietly, “We should do this more often”. They all danced until the fire burned low before they headed to bed, giggling and exhausted.
It happened late that night, when Draco had gotten up in the middle of the night to use the restroom. He stood near the window, unusually restless.
“Hermione,” he said. She rolled over to her side, immediately attentive.
“There are… things in your world,” he said slowly, choosing each word with care, “that I have never seen. Entire normal experiences you grew up with that I’ve completely missed.”
She waited in silence to see where this was going.
“I don’t want to only borrow pieces of it through devices,” he continued. “I want to walk in it. With you. I want to know what things are and share muggle experiences with my child.”
“Yes, my upbringing was very different than yours.”
He hesitated, and then, very quietly asked, “Would you take me on a solo muggle adventure sometime like you did Theo?”
Hermione’s heart melted, “Draco, I’ve been desperate for you to ask that.”
Relief softened his shoulders at her reply.
“We could go somewhere new you haven’t ever seen before,” she said excitedly. “I’ll plan it. You won’t know where we’re going until we get there.”
His lips curved upward, “I trust you to plan something amazing.”
“I’ll surprise you this weekend.”
Over the next few days, life settled into a gentle rhythm again.
Theo came home with a face full of exhaustion and was immediately pulled into Hermione’s arms more often than not.
Draco buried himself in estate work and Flint research, but now with muggle classical music quietly playing in the background at Hermione’s insistence.
Narcissa sent an owl requesting “another moving picture evening soon.”
Hermione planned in her free time trying to come up with something perfect for Draco. She thought about his personality, and what might appeal to him. She also considered his comfort level, and what might be a good starting point for exposure to muggle culture that could lead to future dates too.
She wanted something fun, but that would push him out of his comfort zone a bit.
Finally she came-up with a fantastic idea she felt he would enjoy immensely.
Notes:
Any guesses on where she's taking him?!
Chapter 319: The Casino
Chapter Text
The portkey dropped them on a quiet stretch of grassy park behind some bushes, just outside the city. Hermione steadied herself beside him.
Draco looked around slowly, taking in the city skyline and chaotic traffic with awed disbelief.
“Every time I think I’ve seen the peak of muggle excess,” he exclaimed, “you prove me wrong.”
Hermione laughed softly and slipped her hand into his, “You haven’t even seen where we’re going yet.”
She apparated them the last short distance, landing in a discrete alleyway. The building rose before them like a glittering palace of opulence, complete with gilded gold and neon lights.
Draco openly stared. Hermione watched his expression with quiet delight. This reaction was exactly why she had wanted to bring him here alone.
“Welcome to a casino,” she said.
The automatic doors swept open, and sound crashed over them, bells, cheers, electronic chimes, low music jazz, and the murmur of thousands of voices layered over one another.
The air smelled faintly of perfume, polished wood, cigar smoke, and metallic coins.
Draco froze just beyond the threshold of the door, taking it all in.
Hermione leaned in close to his ear so he could hear her, “Still breathing?”
“I feel like I’ve stepped into something very chaotic,” he muttered. “A place designed by a madman.”
She grinned back, “Try to be open minded, I think you’ll really like this.”
They checked their coats at a desk, grabbed electronic slot machine cards, and finally moved into the main floor. Draco stood in the middle of it for a few moments, watching transfixed, his eyes followed everything at once, slot machine screens, spinning wheels, people laughing around card tables, and colorful drinks flashing past on silver trays.
“You can’t use magic here no matter how badly you want to win,” Hermione reminded him gently.
“I know,” he said. “It’s just… remarkably disorienting to rely on probability like this.”
“That’s kind of the point.”
He huffed with a small smile, “Barbaric.”
But he didn’t pull away from her hand.
Hermione took him first to the slot machines.
There were rows and rows of bright screens, some with cartoon creatures, shimmering fruit, and spinning symbols, so many choices it was overwhelming for him. She demonstrated how to let the machine read the cash card, and pulling the lever.
Lights flashed. Nothing hit.
Draco frowned, “That’s it? That’s the whole game? That’s a bit anticlimactic.”
“Try it.” She encouraged.
He slid into the stool cautiously, inserted the card, and pulled the lever with stiff formality.
The reels spun, nothing happened.
Again, he tried, nothing.
A third time, still nothing.
He sat back slowly, nostrils flaring annoyed, “This machine is broken and rather boring.”
Hermione laughed outright, “It’s not broken. You’re just losing.”
He stared at the screen like it had personally offended him, “I do not lose to inanimate objects.”
Five more minutes passed, he lost every single spin.
Draco stood abruptly.
“I hate it. I despise it. There is no strategy, no refinement, only stolen money.”
Hermione was nearly in tears from laughing at his extreme reaction..
“I told you,” she said. “Slots are all luck.”
“Then they are beneath me. Can we do something less scam feeling?”
She nodded, and kissed his cheek before he could protest. His scowl softened instantly.
The card tables peaked his interest.
Draco watched several rounds first, with quiet fouc, his gaze sharp as he tracked patterns and probabilities, learning the rules. Hermione noticed when his posture shifted, how he settled into a more confident stance, how his fingers flexed with anticipation.
“You like this already,” she teased.
“It has rules,” he said calmly. “Rules I can exploit.”
She bought them into a low-stakes table and sat beside him. The dealer shuffled, the cards snapped across the felt into waiting hands.
Draco learned the game very quickly.
Within an hour he was winning increasingly, his composure was unreadable, his movements precise and abrupt, throwing the other players off. Hermione watched him with open admiration.
“You’re terrifyingly good at this,” she whispered.
He flicked her a glance. “High praise from my wife.”
At one point, their knees brushed beneath the table, and he didn’t move away. The contact lingered, subtle, and grounding. When he won a larger pot, he leaned in close to her ear.
“Beginner’s luck,” he murmured.
“Absolutely not,” she huffed back. “You’re calculating all of this.”
He allowed a faint, smug smile to grace his face.
By late afternoon, they drifted into one of the quieter lounges tucked behind the gaming floor. It had low small tables, posh chairs, and faint jazz music playing.
Hermione ordered for both of them, explaining each drink under her breath to him, reassuring him hers was just a mocktail. Draco sipped his whiskey sour delicately, then raised a brow.
“This is… actually tolerable.”
“High praise indeed coming from you”, she grinned cheekily.
They relaxed there for a long while just talking, and ordering another round. Draco spoke about Berlin business ventures, the pressure of finding Flint records, and the weight of ancient family names thru his childhood. Hermione listened patiently, tracing slow circles on the back of his hand.
“For what it’s worth,” she said quietly, “you’re allowed to enjoy moments like this without earning them. You can just be happy because it’s a good time, not because you did something to get it.”
He looked at her, something unguarded in his expression, “I’m still learning that.”
As night settled beyond the glass walls, the casino came even more alive, the music swelling, laughter growing louder, glittering dresses and tailored suits flowing past to dinner reservations.
Draco returned to the card tables with renewed confidence. Hermione stayed beside him, shoulder to shoulder now, their closeness drawing quiet attention they politely ignored.
When he lost, he accepted it with controlled irritation.
When he won, Hermione squeezed his hand under the table with joy. Each time it happened, his fingers tightened around hers twice back.
They left the casino rather late, Draco wanting just “one more game” tens of times.
The night air outside seemed odd after growing used to the artificial light inside. Draco looked back over his shoulder once at the glowing building.
“I never expected to enjoy that,” he admitted.
“You didn’t enjoy the slots,” Hermione reminded him.
“No. But I enjoyed you enjoying it though, and the card tables were very fun.”
She smiled at him with affection, and he brushed her hair back gently with his knuckles.
The portkey activated in her palm a moment later.
In the foyer of the manor, Draco helped her with her coat, hands lingering on her shoulders just a second longer than necessary.
When they reached the sitting room, Theo’s absence was suddenly palpable. Hermione felt the faint pull of the bond, his steady presence at work full of care and intense focus.
She leaned into Draco’s side, “Thank you for going today,” she said quietly.
He rested his forehead against hers, “I didn’t know I needed it.”
They stood like that for a long heartbeat, neither rushing, neither pulling away.
Finally, he kissed her slowly, unhurried, while his hands worked with deliberate care. First the dress went, his fingers finding the hem, dragging it upward in one slow pullover her head, and falling to the floor in a soft heap. The sudden contrast of cool air and fire-warmth on her skin made her shiver.
Draco stepped back just enough to look at her, “Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re stunning.”
He dropped to his knees in front of her, hands sliding up the backs of her thighs, thumbs hooking into the waistband of her knickers.
“Off with these,” he commanded softly, tugging them down her legs, helping her step free. The lace bra followed a moment later, unclasped and peeled away, so she stood totally bare in the firelight, nipples tight from the sudden warmth, goosebumps racing over her skin with anticipation.
Draco guided her down onto the thick rug. He settled between her thighs, pushing them wide with gentle clambering hands, the fire’s heat kissing her exposed skin.
“Been thinking about this since we left the house this morning,” he confessed, lips brushing the inside of one knee, then the other, working higher with slow, open-mouthed kisses.
“About tasting you in front of the fire… watching you come undone on my tongue.”
His mouth finally reached her center. The first lick was long, deliberate, the flat of his tongue dragging from entrance to clit in one warm, wet stroke.
Hermione’s back arched off the rug, a soft moan spilling from her lips. “Draco”
He hummed against her, the vibration sending sparks up her spine, then sealed his lips around her clit and sucked, gentle at first, then deeper, steady pressure that made her thighs tremble.
Two fingers slid inside her easily, curling instantly to stroke that spot that made her see stars.
“You taste like home,” he breathed, pulling back just enough to speak, lips shiny with her. “So wet… dripping down my chin already. You’ve been thinking about this too all day I think.”
He set a slow rhythm, tongue circling, flicking, lapping in perfect, unhurried strokes while his fingers curled and thrust just were her body craved. Every time she got close he eased off, kissing her thighs, her lower belly, murmuring praise against her skin.
“Not yet, Hermione… want to draw this out… want to feel you shake for me.”
Hermione’s hands fisted in his hair, hips rolling helplessly, voice begging on every exhale, “Draco… please… I can’t—”
He finally gave her what she needed, as his lips sealing around her clit, fingers curling hard and fast, tongue flicking in tight, relentless circles. She came with a shattered cry of his name, her whole body bowing off the rug, thighs clamping around his head, slick flooding his mouth.
He licked her tenderly through it, drawing out every aftershock until she was limp and trembling on the rug, still spread wide.
Only then did he rise, shedding his clothes in quick, graceful movements, cock flushed and heavy against his abdomen.
He settled over her, skin to skin, the fire warm against their sides.
“Look at me,” he breathed, guiding himself to her entrance, the blunt head nudging her open. She did, eyes locked on his member as he sank into her in one slow, measured thrust, filling her completely, the stretch perfect and overwhelming.
They moved together, unhurried, deep rolls of his hips, her legs wrapped high around his waist, ankles crossed at the small of his back. Every thrust was calculated and deliberate, the head of his cock dragging over her G-spot.
“Feel me, Granger,” he mumbled against her lips. “Every inch… just for you… so deep inside you…”
Hermione’s nails scored gentle lines down his back, her voice low, “Draco… you feel like so good… don’t ever stop…”
He didn’t. They made love like that for what felt like hours, but really wasn’t, their bodies locked together intimately, foreheads touching, breaths shared, and the fire warming them.
When they finally came, it was understated yet devastating, together, Hermione’s walls fluttering around him, Draco spilling inside her with a low, broken groan of her name, their bodies trembling in unison.
After, he stayed inside her as he deflated, arms wrapped tight around her, kissing her slowly.
“I love you,” he whispered against her lips. She smiled, fingers threading through his hair. “And I love you too.”
They fell asleep just like that, still joined, firelight flickering over sweat-slicked skin, much to the amusement of Theo who found them like that hours later when he got home from his shift.
Notes:
I'm sure your realizing blissful triad love can't go on forever...
Chapter 320: A Bad Game
Chapter Text
Ginny was already circling high on her broom, red hair a bright streak against the pale sky.
Harry, Blaise, and a few aurors assigned casually as stadium security were waiting for them in their VIP section. Harry grinned the moment he saw Hermione and pulled her into a careful hug.
“Feeling all right?” he asked quietly.
She nodded smiling, “A little tired, but pretty good.”
Draco’s hand remained at the small of her back till they all took their seats. Theo sat on her other side, already scanning the pitch with excitement.
The match began with the crowd’s roar. The first fifteen minutes of gameplay were fast and clean. Ginny flew like a true star, with sharp dives, brutal feints, and perfect throws.
Then it happened, one of the opposing Beaters swung hard. The bludger smashed into Ginny’s team’s starting Seeker with a sickening crack. He spiraled, barely managing to slow his fall before the mediwizards below caught him in a web of cushioning charms.
Theo gave her and Draco his full medical opinion on what would be wrong, and guaranteed them the seeker wouldn’t be back out on the field for today’s game.
The backup seeker took to the field… and barely five minutes later, another bludger collision sent the opposition team’s seeker spinning into the protective netting near the east goal with what Theo claimed to be a “dislocated knee cap and likely a sever confusion”.
The crowd’s energy shifted from excitement to restless frustration.
“Both seekers down already,” Blaise muttered. “This is going to drag on with just backup seekers.”
Theo frowned. “They shouldn’t let the backups stay in if both primaries are out. That’s dangerous.”
Ginny’s team adjusted their formation, the chasers tightening around their seeker like a shield.
The backup Seekers, both young, and inexperienced had trouble even spotting the Snitch. Minutes stretched into half an hour, then an hour with not even a single catch attempted.
By the time the game crept past its second hour, people were losing interest in the gameplay between goals.
It was during one of those long, drawn-out stretches that Harry finally leaned closer, voice lowered.
“Still nothing solid on Bianco Flint,” he said quietly. “But we traced property records. He owns a villa in Italy. In a little village called Port Town.”
Blaise’s head snapped around beside them, “Port Town?”
Harry nodded. “Smaller ship harbor, very trade-heavy. Not tourist-heavy at all.”
That immediately sharpened Blaise’s expression. He sat forward on the bench. “My mother spends part of the winter on the Italian coast. Old wizarding families are mixed right into the harbor trade merchants.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “You think they cross?”
“yes, pretty often same circles actually. I think it’s worth looking into without making it obvious,” Blaise said. “My mother knows everyone. If there’s unusual traffic like ships that shouldn’t be there, wards that feel… wrong at the warehouses, she’ll hear about it.”
Harry dipped his chin in thanks, “Discreet is exactly what we need. Be careful asking.”
Hermione felt worry ripple through the bond from Draco’s side. She squeezed his fingers under the blanket charmed across their knees for warmth in mid-march chill.
“What about South America leads?” Theo asked.
Harry exhaled frustrated, “Peru’s still stalling. Officially cooperative on paper through diplomatic channels, but practically useless. Bolivia’s different, their government wants to talk to us, they have one reported family earlier this week with possible siphoning. The investigative team only arrived this morning. No report back yet from them.”
Hermione’s stomach knotted even as the crowd roared at another goal for Ginny.
“And the potion?” she asked.
“Still works,” Harry said firmly. “No confirmed failures when it’s actually taken so far”
Draco said nothing, eyes locked on the sky where Ginny cut sharply around a bludger.
The game dragged on. Every Snitch feint that turned into nothing brought louder groans from the crowded stands. Vendors flew through the stands on old model brooms selling hot butterbeer, roast chestnuts, and steaming beef pasties.
Hermione drank a butterbeer slowly, nausea present but manageable. Theo watched her like a hawk monitoring how much she hydrated.
Ginny’s performance never flagged. She dodged, dove, blocked, chased, shouted commands across the pitch like a true professional. By the third hour, even the opposing crowd was grudgingly cheering her.
At last, three hours and forty minutes in, the Snitch broke toward the high west hoop of the opposing side, glinting in the afternoon sun.
The backup seeker on Ginny’s team, exhausted and desperate, surged after it immediately. The opposing backup followed a second later hot on her tail. They chased it together in widening spirals s they climber higher.
Ginny peeled off from her chaser formation without hesitation. She climbed straight up above them all, then dove like a comet directly between the two Seekers. She flew into the opposing Seeker’s path with brutal precision, causing him to change course last second away from the snitch. Without the competition, Ginny’s backup seized the Snitch cleanly out of the air.
The stadium detonated in wild cheers from both sides, everyone just glad the game was over finally.
Hermione laughed, breathless with pride for her friend. Draco, typically composed, actually shouted her name in praise.
Ginny broke free of her teammates celebration, streaking straight toward the stands. She braked hard just in front of them, kicked off her broom, and vaulted the railing with a grin.
Harry caught her in a fierce kiss, the crowd howling in celebration around them, media cameras clicking for a chance to have a shot of The Boy who lived Snogging his famous player wife.
“Hell of a game at the end there,” Blaise said, applauding and then clapping Ginny on the back.
Ginny hugged Hermione carefully, then Theo, then Draco with a teasing wink. “You all freeze to death for me?”
“Barely survived,” Draco deadpanned.
Harry stayed close to Hermione as the crowd began to filter out. “We’ll keep pushing on Bolivia. And on Italy.”
Blaise nodded, “I’ll write to my mother tonight.”
Draco murmured, “Be careful.”
“I always am,” Blaise replied lightly.
They left the stadium under layered Disillusionment charms, slipping into a warded transport corridor that aurors used for high-risk departures.
Ginny leaned into Harry as their group prepared to separate. “Dinner soon?” she asked Hermione.
“If I’m not sick the entire day,” Hermione said with a wry half-smile.
Theo squeezed her shoulder, “We’ll make it work.”
As they portkeyed away, the roar of the stadium faded into the quiet of the manor.
Notes:
Any ideas what Blaise may find out?
Chapter 321: Time Rolls On
Chapter Text
The owl arrived just after dawn, tapping insistently against the window of the manor’s breakfast room until Draco rose to let it in. The bond was still feeling tight almost all the time.
Hermione was halfway through a slice of toast when the familiar thin handwriting on the parchment made her stomach tighten with recognition.
Harry.
Draco read it first, his jaw grinding as his eyes moved quickly over the lines. Then he passed it to her without a word.
>>>>>>>
It’s confirmed. The Bolivian case is the same as ours. Core completely depleted — mother, father, and child. Grandmother didn’t survive the collapse. No leads yet on why this family was targeted specifically. Ministry team still on the ground. I’ll update as soon as I know more.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Hermione’s fingers trembled slightly as she folded the letter back up.
“They lived,” she whispered. “The parents and the child at least.”
“Barely,” Draco said quietly. “But yes, they lived, probably without magic ever again.”
Theo, already dressed for an early shift, reached across the table and covered her hand. His touch was steady and grounding, even as exhaustion already shadowed his eyes.
When breakfast ended, Draco insisted on apaparting her to the Charms Institute himself.
“You don’t have to,” she told him gently as they stepped out into the cold morning. “The auror is meeting me at the gate.”
“I know,” he said, hand settling protectively at the small of her back. “I’m coming anyway.”
She didn’t argue. When they arrived, her auror fell into step without a word. Draco waited with her at the entrance, pressing a slow kiss to her knuckles before she went inside the classroom.
“I’ll be in the library,” he said. “Don’t rush. Learn something brilliant.”
She smiled faintly, “I will.”
Inside, Hermione forced herself to concentrate on the lesson, on runes, on complex charm structures, on theory that once would have completely absorbed her. But today, her mind kept drifting back to Peru and Bolivia. To the faceless child whose magic had been stripped away before they even understood what it meant to be magical really.
By the time her final lecture ended, the ache behind her eyes had turned into a dull, persistent headache.
Draco was waiting just where he’d promised, seated at a long table in the Institute’s private collection stacks. Several dusty volumes lay open before him. She could tell from one glance of his sagging posture that he’d found nothing useful.
“Anything?” she asked anyway.
He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Nothing I haven’t already seen. A lot of theory and no actual answers.”
She closed her fingers around his hand. “You looked anyway. That matters, now we know.”
Dinner that evening was quiet. Theo arrived later than he’d planned, shoulders slumped, movements slower than usual. He barely touched his food for the first few minutes, staring down at his plate without lifting his fork.
Hermione waited. Draco watched him carefully. Finally, Theo spoke.
“It was a nine-year-old,” he said quietly.
Hermione nodded for him to go on.
“He ran into a threshel he couldn’t see. Kicked him in the head really hard. By the time they got him to us his brain was already swelling, the pressure was way too high. We tried everything. But the damage…” He swallowed trialing off. “He never woke up.”
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat.
“He was declared brain dead two hours later.”
Silence followed, with a horrified look of sympathy from Hermione.
Draco stood and crossed the room without thinking, pulling Theo into his arms. Theo’s control broke instantly with a soundless collapse into Draco’s shoulder, fists clenched in the fabric of his robes.
Hermione rose as well, stepping in to wrap her arms around both of them.
“I don’t think I can keep doing pediatric cases,” Theo murmured after a long moment. “I thought I could. I thought I was prepared to maybe have that be my specialty. But children… it tears something out of me every time the outcome is bad. I’m not sure I can deal with that every day the rest of my life.”
“You’re allowed to change your mind,” Hermione whispered. “You’re allowed to protect your heart and pick something else you were interested in. You still have time before making the final decision.”
Draco nodded firmly. “You save lives every day. One case doesn’t erase that. But you don’t have to destroy yourself to prove anything to anyone. You should pick what you can live with and what makes you feel proud to be doing.”
Theo drew a shaky breath. “I know. It just… feels like giving up.”
“It’s not,” Hermione said softly. “It’s choosing the kind of healer you can be without breaking yourself. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
They stayed like that for a long time, the crackling fire the only sound in the room. The bond between them pulsed tight, with grief passing gently through all three of them.
Later, when they finally ate what remained of dinner, Theo managed a small, tired smile.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For not letting me carry it alone.”
“You never should, we’re here for you,” Draco replied at once.
Hermione reached for Theo’s hand beneath the table, squeezing once in quiet agreement.
The bond stayed too tight through mid-April.
Not painful exactly, just constantly present, like magic too drawn taut under the skin.
Meanwhile, spring tried to assert dominance outside. The late frost retreated from the edges of the grounds. Pale green buds appeared on the orchard trees. The air softened with birds returning.
Hermione split her days between the Charms Institute and The Granger Center. Mornings were filled with layered shield theory, compound activation matrices, and experimental charm stabilization. Her professors remained awed by the precision and clabar in her spellwork since her recovery and new wand.
Afternoons at the Center were louder then the classroom. Children argued over paint colors for kite making. Parents whispered anxiously in hallways about how to decide on the right familiar to take to Hogwarts.
One afternoon, Theo joined her there unexpectedly during a short shift day. He didn’t arrive in healer robes this time, just a navy sweater and slacks.
They worked side-by-side for hours in harmoney. Theo helped a nervous father understand how accidental magic manifested in toddlers. He gently redirected a crying six-year-old whose levitation bursts were fueled by panic attacks. Hermione handled intake paperwork with practiced calm, reassuring a terrified mother whose daughter kept vanishing ashtrays out of existence that this was just a phase.
At one point, they found themselves crouched together on the floor, helping a child glue sequins onto a paper charm bracelet.
“You’re good at this,” Hermione said quietly.
Theo smiled faintly. “I get to keep them alive in one building and help them magically thrive in another. It balances nicely.”
Later, when they walked outside for a quick breath of spring air, they snuck in a passionate kiss.
Two nights later, over dinner, Draco stood from the table with unusual ceremony.
“What did you do?” she asked.
Draco said nothing. He simply retrieved a long, velvet-wrapped object from his study and placed it in front of them on the table.
When Hermione lifted the cloth, her breath caught.
It was a leather-bound journal, its surface etched with delicate silver filigree. Set into the cover were three small gems, the same three she had chosen on Valentine’s Day, arranged in a triangle linked by fine runic threading.
Underneath, engraved in elegant script it listed:
Malfoy – Granger – Nott
A Triad Story
Draco cleared his throat emotionally. “It’s warded for security and parchment aging. Fireproof. Blood-keyed to all three of us. Oh… and waterproof.”
Hermione pressed her palm to the cover with a wide grin.
Theo looked stunned. “You made a family chronicle like we discussed”
Draco’s voice softened. “I’ve already started writing in it. Backdated, from the match letter forward. But… it’s only my own perceptive lens. It shouldn’t be.”
Hermione blinked back tears, “You want us to add our version of events too.”
“Yes, for all of it,” Draco said. “What we felt. What hurt. The good and the unbearable.”
Theo nodded, “I’ll start mine on my next day off.”
Later that night, Draco admitted quietly that writing the early days had shaken him more than he expected. Hermione understood. Some memories were still sharp enough to cut.
The day after that, Hermione and Draco stepped into Diagon Alley for potion ingredients and more ink.
They didn’t expect to see Neville.
He nearly collided with them near Olivander’s. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he recovered too quickly.
“Oh—Hermione—Draco—sorry, I—I’m late—”
“For what?” Hermione asked.
“Nothing. Everything,” Neville said hurriedly. “Teaching. Greenhouse rotation. I’ve got to go, sorry!”
He vanished into the crowd before either of them could ask another question.
Draco frowned. “That was… odd.”
“Very,” Hermione agreed.
They said nothing more about it, but something about the encounter lodged uneasily in her chest.
That same night, Theo came home well past midnight. Hermione knew before the door opened he wasn’t in a good place. The bond had been heavy all evening, feeling drained, and stretched thin.
Hermione crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him. Draco followed, steadying Theo from the other side.
Theo’s voice shook. “I keep thinking… if I specialize in pediatrics, these bad days won’t be rare. It’ll be constant.”
Draco said softly, “You need to stop pushing yourself too hard. You save so many people, Theo.”
Theo pressed his forehead against Hermione’s shoulder. “Some days that doesn’t feel like enough.” They stayed like that for a long time trying to convince him that he was brilliant and helping the world.
The next week passed by quickly in short moments. Hermione excelled in destabilization theory and earned rare verbal praise from her Institute master who was known as a hardass. Theo left before dawn twice for emergency shifts and wasn’t seen again till the following days. Draco spent evenings buried in Flint lineage archives, pacing when he found contradictions till Hermione would force him to come to bed with promises of carnal rewards. The bond never loosened, it remained tight, but steady.
Notes:
I am considering including some journal entries from each of them in their own perspectives.
What timeframes or events would people want to see? Let me know in the comments.
Chapter 322: The Rings
Chapter Text
The muggle bistro was small and tucked between a bookshop and a florist, with wooden tables, and low lighting. It was exactly Hermione’s kind of place, quiet, thoughtful, ad unpretentious with hearty food.
Theo arrived first, shaking off the lingering rain from his coat. Draco followed only a moment later, already scanning the room out of habit before he relaxed when he spotted Theo waving from the back corner booth. They were midway through debating whether to order wine or wait when Hermione arrived, eyes bright in a way that immediately caught both their attention.
She slid into the booth between them, hands tucked mysteriously beneath the table, putting something into her jacket pocket.
“You’re smiling like that on purpose, tell us the secret,” Theo said, suspicious already.
Hermione only laughed lightly, “You’ll see soon enough.”
Dinner came and their conversation drifted easily: Theo grumbling about an exhausting overnight shift cleaning out pus filled sores, Draco half-listening while casually updating them on a promising lead in the Flint research, and Hermione talking about a near disastrous charms demonstration that had set three desks with students on them hovering at once in her classroom early in the morning.
It was comfortable and lively. When plates were cleared and dessert menus arrived, Hermione finally reached into her pocket.
“I didn’t want to wait until we were home,” she said softly. “It felt… right to give these to you as soon as they arrived.”
Draco stilled instantly. Theo turned fully toward her. She set two small velvet boxes on the table between them. Draco opened his first.
The light caught immediately on the white gold. The ring was heavier than it looked, solid in a way that spoke of permanence. Set into the surface was the new triad crest Hermione had commissioned with their help. It depicted an open book, its pages etched in delicate detail. On one page, a curled fox rested, with a small gentle Hermione flower tucked behind its ear. On the opposite facing page, a serpent coiled, its scales shaped subtly into the same flower.
Draco’s breath left him in a slow, stunned exhale. Theo opened his at the same time, his fingers pausing over the same symbol, the same weight, his cast in durable titanium to be better for maintaining at work.
Theo swallowed hard. “Hermione…”
Draco didn’t speak at all at first. He simply slid the ring onto his finger, the one beside his family signet, and stared at it as if anchoring himself to the reality of being a new family.
Then he looked at her with a unwavering intensity that sent shivers down her spine.
“You redesigned our identity into something worth living for,” he said quietly. “Do you have any idea what that means to someone who grew up with crests that are equated with death, blood, and destruction?
Hermione’s eyes softened. “That’s exactly why I did it for us.”
Theo slipped his on next, his hand unsteady despite himself. “It’s us,” he said simply. “I love it.”
They both reached for her hands at once across the table. The waiter chose that exact moment to appear with their dessert, coughed politely, and retreated just as quickly when he saw the atmosphere had changed into something nearly sacred.
They laughed a little at that, grounding themselves again in the space.
“Now,” Hermione said lightly, trying to steady her own emotions, “if we’re done being profound for the moment, there’s something else.”
Draco arched a brow. “There’s more?”
Theo leaned back cautiously. “That tone never means something simple.”
Hermione’s smile turned mischievous. “It means you’re both very bad at noticing when people are planning things for you.”
Draco narrow his eyes. “Is this about Theo’s birthday?”
Theo froze. “What about my birthday?”
Draco looked between them slowly. “You’re plotting something.”
Hermione took a sip of water with exaggerated innocence. “I would never.”
Theo groaned. “You absolutely are.”
Draco studied her face with a slow, knowing smile. “Whatever it is, I’m fairly certain it will involve embarrassment, misdirection, and at least one moment where I regret my life choices.”
Hermione’s smile widened just enough to confirm everything and nothing at once. “All I’ll say is—you should probably clear your schedule for that entire day.”
Theo looked between them, suspicious, curious, and undeniably pleased. “How worried should I be?”
Draco’s eyes flicked briefly to Hermione’s before returning to Theo with quiet fondness. “Moderately terrified. Exactly the way celebrations should be for someone we love.”
The next day, Narcissa Malfoy arrived precisely at three, as on time as ever.
Hermione heard the familiar, elegant knock echo through the front hall of the manor and felt an unexpected flutter of nerves in her chest. She adjusted the sleeves of her soft knit dress self-consciously and glanced at Draco.
“She’s going to cry,” he murmured with faint amusement as he rose from the sofa. “Fair warning.”
Hermione smiled, nervous but fond. “I think… I might too if she does.”
Draco opened the door and Narcissa swept in, hair pinned flawlessly at the nape of her neck, spring cloak folded neatly over one arm. Her gaze flicked immediately to Hermione, warm and searching.
“My dear,” Narcissa said softly, stepping forward and cupping Hermione’s cheek with cautious, affectionate fingers. “You look well. Truly well.”
Hermione leaned into the touch before she could stop herself. “I feel… less nauseous lately” she admitted. “Finally.”
“That’s really good,” Narcissa replied.
They moved into the sitting room where sunlight spilled across the low table already set for tea. Draco poured for them all with practiced ease. Narcissa watched him with that familiar mixture of pride and quiet melancholy that Hermione had come to recognize as tangled mother’s guilt and love.
Once they were all drinking, Draco met Hermione’s eyes briefly, a silent question. She nodded.
He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew the small velvet case.
“Mother,” he said, tone careful but excited underneath, “we wanted to show you something.”
Narcissa lifted a perfectly groomed brow in question, “That usually means trouble… or something extravagant.”
“A bit of both, perhaps,” Draco said dryly as he opened the case.
Inside, nestled against deep emerald velvet, was his white-gold signet ring.
Hermione watched Narcissa’s breath catch.
Draco lifted it gently and turned it so the light could strike the engraving. “Hermione designed the crest with our input. This is the final version.”
Narcissa leaned forward, studying it in silence.
“It’s… extraordinary,” Narcissa whispered.
Hermione’s voice was full of emption as she spoke. “The book is for our shared story. The fox for Theo. The serpent for Draco. The flower for me, woven into both of them.”
Narcissa’s eyes glistened. “You did not just design a crest. You built a family symbol for the triad.”
Draco slid the ring onto his finger beside his ancestral signet. “We wanted something that wa sus, not to entirely replace Malfoy and Nott, but something that signals who we are together, and the starting of a new, better legacy.”
Narcissa pressed her fingertips to her lips, visibly overwhelmed.
“I thought I had lost the chance to see my son choose joy so freely,” she said quietly. “And yet here, I see not only joy, but intention and love in a partnership.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “We wanted you to be one of the first to see it.”
“And I will cherish this always,” Narcissa said, resolving herself with an elegant inhale. “But, I also wanted to come today to give you something.”
She reached into her white dragonhide handbag and withdrew a thick, softly enchanted volume bound in pale blue dragonhide. Gold lettering shimmered across the cover that said: ‘Magical Pregnancy: A Comprehensive Modern Guide to Motherhood’.
She placed it carefully into Hermione’s hands.
“I searched every reputable apothecary, medical archive, and healer’s guild registry in Britain,” Narcissa said. “And several abroad. This is the most current and medically sound resource on magical pregnancies available according to all my sources.”
Hermione ran her fingers over the cover in awe. “This must have taken ages to track down which was the best. Thank you..”
“It did,” Narcissa said simply. Then more softly, “There is nothing, absolutely nothing detailed enough on triad conception or gestation in anyone’s collections. I looked really hard, I wanted to give you something more personal to your situation. But, I found only footnotes, speculations, and poorly documented case fragments. Nothing I would trust you with following.”
Draco’s jaw tightened faintly at that. “Ministry and archival neglect.”
“Societal cowardice and alienation no doubt,” Narcissa corrected. “But this will at least guide you through the fundamentals like potions, developmental markers, magical surges, shielding charms for the womb, and how stress affects core resonance during the stages pf pregnancy.”
Hermione swallowed hard. “Thank you. I didn’t realize how much I needed something tangible. Everything still feels so… theoretical. I hadn’t started looking myself yet.”
Narcissa’s expression softened again. “It will feel real very quickly, my dear.”
“I’m sure, again, thank you for this.”
“I lost one daughter-in-law to fate,” she whispered. “And I have spent every day since fearing I would lose the chance to love another.”
Hermione’s eyes filled. “You haven’t lost that chance. You already love me.”
“Yes,” Narcissa said quietly. “And now I will love your child too.”
Draco’s composure broke. He turned away for a moment, shoulders tight, breathing uneven.
Narcissa turned back to him gently. “It is your legacy son.”
He nodded without looking at her. “We know.”
She stepped closer and rested her forehead very lightly against his. “Then my line continues, not through obligation, but through love. That is all I ever wanted for you.”
When Theo arrived home later that afternoon, he would find the three of them still sitting close together in the lamplit sitting room, their tea long gone cold, the blue book open on Hermione’s lap, Draco absently tracing the new crest on his ring, and Narcissa watching them both as if committing the image forever to her memory.
Notes:
if anyone is good at art, it would be cool to see the signet ring drawn :)
Chapter 323: Theo's Cake
Chapter Text
Evening settled softly over Nott Manor, Theo was on shift, another long one, according to his last message, and Hermione had been pacing all afternoon with an eager, nervous energy. She finally stopped in the middle of the kitchen and turned on Draco, hands on her hips.
“We’re baking his cake ourselves.”
Draco looked up from where he was reviewing ledger parchments at the table over coffee. “We have house-elves for that.” He reasoned.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “That is not the point, Draco. It means more form us.”
He sighed, already resigned when she gave him that determined look. “Very well. What sort of cake am I sacrificing myself to?”
“Double-fudge chocolate. Two layers. Ridiculous amounts of icing. You know how much he loves chocolate! And absolutely no elf interventions, we can handle this.”
His mouth twitched despite himself. “This already sounds like a disaster.”
“It’s a sentimental disaster if it turns into one,” she corrected primly. “Now wash your hands.”
An hour later, the kitchen looked like a flour bomb had gone off. Hermione was dusted in white from shoulder to knee, her curls escaping her hairclip in wild spirals. Draco stood opposite her, sleeves rolled up, a streak of cocoa powder on his cheek that she had absolutely not told him about yet. The counters were covered in bowls, measuring spoons, chopped dark chocolate, sugar, butter, and three different potion-grade whisks Draco had insisted on sterilizing first.
“For the record,” he said stiffly, “magical precision matters in all chemistry including baking.”
“Baking is not potion-making.”
“You are combining volatile substances under heat, same thing.”
She gave him a dirty look. “It’s butter, Draco. Not boomslang skin.”
He sniffed. “That remains to be seen.”
They worked side by side, Hermione directing, Draco executing with obsessive precision. He cracked eggs too cleanly, weighed sugar twice, and inspected the oven rune-thermometer like it might lie to him out of spite. Hermione was a chaotic force, adding in extra chocolate chips when he wasn’t looking, and splashing vanilla more generously than any recipe allowed.
At one point, he lifted the heavy mixing bowl for her and she leaned in to scrape the batter down the sides. Their shoulders brushed. Just barely. The bond stirred with longing.
They paused.
Neither spoke.
Draco cleared his throat first. “You’re… floury.”
“So are you.”
She reached out automatically and smeared the cocoa streak on his face with her thumb. He froze completely as her fingers lingered, warm against his skin.
“You did that on purpose,” he said quietly.
“Maybe.”
The silence stretched for a moment, and he leaned toward her. She moved in the last inch, capturing his lips with passion. They fought for dominance for awhile before breaking apart breathless.
Hermione quickly had Draco backed against the marble counter, his trousers shoved down just enough for his member to pop out, shirt rucked up his chest. A bowl of leftover chocolate buttercream sat beside them.
She dipped two fingers into the frosting, eyes locked on his, and painted a thick, swirling stripe up the underside of his cock from base to tip. Draco’s breath hitched, hips jerking at the cool frosting against overheated skin. Hermione dropped to her knees without a word.
The first slow lick made Draco groan, his hands flying to the counter edge for balance. She took her time, swirling her tongue around the head, sucking the chocolate off in deliberate pulls, humming at the taste of sugar and salt and something uniquely him.
“Fuck… Hermione”
She answered by sinking her lips down, taking him deep, cheeks hollowing as she swallowed around him, frosting smearing her lips. Every time she pulled back she added more, scooping fresh dollops from the bowl, spreading it thick and messy, then diving back in, licking, sucking, teasing until his thighs shook.
Draco’s head fell back against the top cabinet, a low, broken sound escaping as she worked him, her tongue tracing the vein underneath, lips sealing tight, throat opening to take him all the way over and over.
When he came it was sudden and hard, with a shout, “Salazar... fuck… Hermione.”
Hermione swallowed every drop, then licked him completely clean until he was trembling and oversensitive.
She stood, kissed him slow and deep so he could taste himself and the frosting on her lips, and whispered against his mouth, “Thanks for helping me.”
Draco laughed, breathless and wrecked, pulling her close, “Any time. Any fucking time.”
When the cakes went into the oven at last, Hermione sagged against the counter with a satisfied sigh. Draco slid a glass of water into her hand with quiet care.
They waited together on the kitchen stools as the scent of chocolate slowly filled the room. Evening darkened beyond the windows. The waited in comfortable silence, each deep in their own thoughts.
When the cake timer chimed, Draco rose first, checking the center for doneness. Hermione watched him with quiet amusement.
“They’re perfect,” he announced solemnly.
She smiled. “Good. Theo deserves perfect.”
They cooled the layers, stacked them, and then came the frosting.
Hermione spread the first layer with careful generosity. Draco stood close behind her, close enough she could feel his warmth without touching him. She inhaled slowly, grounding herself.
Once the smooth outer layer was complete, Draco lifted a small crystal vial from his pocket.
“I took the liberty of preparing the decorations.”
The icing shimmered as he shook on tiny enchanted shooting stars that flickered to life across the surface of the cake. They drifted lazily, winking silver and soft gold, orbiting the top tier like a miniature night sky.
Hermione’s breath caught.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“Nothing but the best for him,” Draco said simply.
Her eyes warmed. “He’s going to cry.”
“He’ll pretend it’s indigestion if you bring it up.”
They stood together, shoulder to shoulder now, admiring the cake in silence. The kitchen felt suddenly very still. Draco shifted slightly closer.
“You smell like sugar and vanilla,” he murmured.
“And you smell like desire and chocolate,” she replied softly.
His breath stuttered once.
Then she turned toward him and lifted her flour-dusted hands deliberately away from his chest, choosing distance before the moment tipped too far. He respected it immediately, stepping back without offense.
They cleaned together, bumping hips, trading murmured commentary about Theo, about his laugh, his endless patience, the way he got flustered when he was praised too directly. By the time they finished, the cake was concealed under a charmed dome on the sideboard, stars still drifting softly inside.
Hermione leaned against the counter, tired now.
Draco studied her carefully. “You’re pushing yourself too much.”
“I’m happy and busy,” she said. “There’s a difference.”
He nodded and dragged her to bed, helping her relax into a deep sleep first with multiple orgasms.
Notes:
Anyone have ideas what Theo's birthday surprise might be?
Chapter 324: An Arcade Birthday
Chapter Text
Theo woke to warmth on his birthday.
Not just the physical kind, though there was plenty of that too with all the tangled limbs and soft breath against his neck, but also the warmth of the bond humming quietly around him sharing with him their love for him.
He stirred slowly, half-dreaming, until the scent of maple syrup and tea drifted through the air. He blinked fully awake.
Draco was already awake on his other side, pale hair mussed, sleeves rolled up, wand resting lazily in his hand. With a flick, a breakfast tray floated down from the dresser and settled gently across their laps as Hermione shifted closer, laughing softly.
“Happy birthday my love,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to Theo’s cheek.
Theo stared at the tray in disbelief.
French toast, thick and golden, glistened with syrup. Crisp bacon steamed beside fluffy scrambled eggs with chive. A teapot hovered nearby, mugs followed, settling neatly in their hands.
“You summoned breakfast,” Theo said faintly.
Draco’s mouth twitched with a smile, “Obviously. You think I’d make you wake up and walk on your birthday? I’m not heartless.”
Hermione laughed as Theo shook his head in disbelief, then finally allowed himself to relax back into the pillows between them. They ate slowly, still tangled together, syrup inevitably ending up on Hermione’s fingers, which Draco cleaned with a kiss that made her laugh and scold him at the same time. Theo watched them with soft eyes, letting the normalcy of it sink deep into him.
Later, when the tray drifted away and the room settled into quiet again, Draco reached for the bedside drawer. He pulled out a cream parchment card, tied with silver ribbon.
“This is from both of us,” he said quietly.
Theo took it with careful hands. For a moment, he just looked at their names written together on the front. Then he opened it.
Inside, Hermione’s neat script flowed beside Draco’s sharper lettering.
Theo—
You make us braver. You make us steadier. You make our home warm even on the hardest days. Thank you for choosing life with us the way you do, every day, even when we drive you a bit nuts. We love you more than we say out loud. We should say it more so you know how much we really mean it.
So much love,
Hermione and Draco
Theo swallowed back tears. Draco shifted closer as Hermione took Theo’s hand, squeezing it gently. He tried to speak, but the words tangled in his chest. Then Draco drew out his gift.
“I found this while researching the siphoning cases,” he said softly. “Tucked into one of your mother’s old books. I think she intended to destroy it once… but she couldn’t. I thought you should have it.”
He handed Theo a folded, time-faded note. Theo unfolded it. The handwriting was feminine, slightly unsteady in places.
I felt him today. The smallest flutter. I don’t know how a heart this small can already feel so heavy with love, but it does. I will protect him from everything that ever tried to make me small. Even his father, if I must. His name will be Theo, and he will be the greatest thing in my life of all time. I love him so much already, I know he’s going to be the most perfect son I could ever imagine.
Theo stopped breathing momentarily. His hands began to shake with the paper. He read it twice to let it all sink in.
“She… she loved me,” he whispered.
Hermione wordlessly drew him into her arms. Draco wrapped around both of them, holding Theo between them as the reality of it broke through years of doubt and silence. Theo cried openly now, the tears quiet but unstoppable.
Draco rested his forehead against Theo’s temple. “She loved you fiercely,” he said. “I can see it in every word she wrote.”
As the tears settled, an owl tapped gently at the window.
Draco rose to retrieve the parcel. The handwriting on the tag was immaculate, clearly his mother’s. Theo’s hands trembled again as Draco placed the box in front of him. Inside, nestled in dark velvet, lay a sleek black heirloom quill charmed to only be able to write the truth, its nib glinting faintly with a sharp point.
Another note rested beneath it.
Happy Birthday, son.
Some truths are easier to write than to speak. I hope this helps you find the ones that matter most when the world asks you to hide them.
—Narcissa
Theo broke again. Hermione kissed his damp cheek. Draco’s arms tightened.
“My mum never does sentiment lightly,” Draco said quietly. “This means everything. She even called you son.”
Theo could only nod. Finally, Hermione reached for her last gift. She handed Theo a small velvet pouch.
Inside was a tiny enchanted portrait of Hermione, seated at a window in her original room with soft light on her face, a quill in hand. The miniature version of her looked up and smiled quietly.
“So you won’t feel alone on late shifts,” Hermione said softly. “You can talk to me whenever you need. I thought you could keep it in your locker there in the staff room.”
Theo laughed through tears and kissed her deeply, “I will never survive this family,” he whispered. “You’ll all be the death of me. This is so thoughtful, I’ll bring it next shift.”
Draco huffed softly. “Unlikely. You’re far too stubborn to just give up.”
Theo’s birthday had already been off to a perfect start; slow breakfast in bed, gifts, hours of lazy touching, but now the mood had shifted into something hotter, hungrier.
They’d migrated to the shower where steam curled thick around them, water rinsing over their bare skin. Draco pressed Theo’s back to the cool tile wall, kissing him deep while Hermione knelt in front of him, mouth already wrapped around his cock, taking him to the root while trying not to choke on his girth. Theo groaned into Draco’s mouth, hips jerking, hands fisting in Hermione’s wet curls.
Draco’s voice was velvet against Theo’s ear, “Hold still, birthday boy. Let her work.”
He slicked his own fingers with the waterproof lube from the shelf, then slid one hand between Theo’s back cheeks, circling, teasing, before pressing in, curling against Theo’s prostate with steady force.
Theo’s moan was broken, muffled by Draco’s tongue.
Hermione pulled off just long enough to look up, eyes dark with love and lust. “Want you to feel so good, Theo” she whispered, then took him back into her mouth, humming so the vibration shot through him like lightning.
Draco added a second finger, scissoring gently, stretching Theo open while Hermione sucked him with slow pulls, tongue swirling around the head on every upstroke.
Theo’s thighs shook. “Fuck, please… need more.”
Draco withdrew his fingers, lined himself up, and pushed in until he was fully seated inside Theo’s heat. Theo cried out, back arching, the stretch and pressure perfect.
Hermione stood, kissing Theo fiercely, letting him taste himself on her tongue, then turned in the small space so her back was to his chest. She guided Theo’s cock to her wet entrance and sank down in one slick motion as she bent over, using a shelf for balance.
Theo’s groan was raw, almost pained. He could feel Draco’s cock pressing against his prostate from inside, and Hermione’s tight, wet heat clenching around him from the front. Draco set the rhythm, slow at first, then harder, hips snapping forward so Theo was pushed into Hermione with every stroke. Water poured over them with the wet slap of skin echoing off marble all around them.
Hermione reached back, nails digging into Theo’s hip, urging him. “Harder,” she gasped. “Both of you.”
Draco obliged, gripping Theo’s hips and fucking him with deep, powerful strokes that forced Theo to drive into Hermione in perfect sync.
Theo’s voice was low, “I can feel you both… fuck… so deep… so much heat.”
Draco’s hand slid around to Hermione’s clit, rubbing tight circles while he took Theo. “Come for us,” he growled against Theo’s ear. “Let her feel you lose it.”
Theo shattered first, his hips jerking, with a hoarse shout as he spilled inside Hermione in thick, endless pulses, the clench of his release dragging her over with him. Hermione cried out, walls quivering hard around him, the sensation rippling back through the bond and tipping Draco over the edge. He slammed deep one last time and came with a guttural groan, filling Theo completely, his cum running out around his shaft, and down Theo’s leg..
They stayed locked together under the water for moment, hands roaming, whispering love and happy birthday in cracked, reverent voices.
Eventually Theo laughed, breathless and wrecked, “Best birthday present ever,” he rasped.
Hermione and Draco answered together, kissing every inch of skin they could reach.
“Wait till you see what we’ve got planned for later.”
After lunch, the moment Hermione apparated them both into the middle of the bright, neon-washed Muggle arcade, Theo barely had time to orient himself before he jumped at the voices.
“SURPRISE! Happy Birthday Theo”
His head snapped up, eyes wide, just as Pansy launched herself at him with a delighted squeal, nearly knocking him backward. Blaise was grinning behind her, Ginny waving wildly from beside a row of glowing dance machines, and Harry, looking absolutely delighted with himself for keeping the secret, lifted his hands in a half-sheepish, half-proud shrug.
Theo just stood there for a second, stunned.
Draco laughed softly beside him. “You’re allowed to breathe and enjoy, birthday boy.”
Theo finally did and then he was laughing too, the sound surprised and a little disbelieving, “You rented… an entire arcade for me?”
Ginny beamed. “For the afternoon and early evening. Unlimited gameplay. No grown-ups telling us to stop.”
Blaise draped an arm around Theo’s shoulders. “You’re welcome.”
Pansy pointed sharply at Hermione. “She planned it.”
Hermione flushed faintly but smiled. “I might have suggested it, Draco funded it.”
Theo looked at all of them, his throat suddenly tight all over again; first the earlier notes, then the gifts, then this. “You’re all… ridiculous.”
“And you love us,” Ginny said brightly.
He did. So much that it almost hurt. He couldn’t believe how he’d been so lucky to create such a loving group of chosen family.
The afternoon dissolved into pure chaos in the best possible way. Harry and Ginny immediately challenged Blaise and Draco to a four-player racing game. Draco, who had absolutely insisted earlier that “Muggle games are not as fun as magical ones,” proceeded to become ferociously competitive within two minutes.
“You rammed me,” he accused Harry.
“That’s literally the point.” Harry argued back.
Draco scowled, mashed the controls harder, and promptly sent his car flying off the track. Ginny doubled over laughing.
Meanwhile, Theo found himself dragged toward a rhythm game by Hermione and Pansy. Hermione was hesitant at first, watching the scrolling arrows with a mix of fascination and apprehension.
“I don’t think I understand the—”
The music started. Theo hit the first few steps by instinct. Pansy crushed the machine with terrifying moves. Hermione lasted twelve seconds before bursting into helpless laughter at herself and slapping wildly at the controls in the wrong direction. Theo laughed so hard he nearly lost his footing.
“That was not the rhythm,” Pansy scolded.
“It was my rhythm,” Hermione protested weakly.
Later, Hermione and Theo discovered a cooperative shooting game where they had to defend a glowing city from waves of undead monsters. Theo’s healer reflexes kicked in immediately; protecting, anticipating, adjusting, while Hermione adapted with analytical speed, timing reloads with perfect efficiency.
Harry wandered past at one point, watched them for thirty seconds, then said mildly, “You two are terrifying, we may have to recruit you for the aurror office,” before backing away.
Eventually, Pansy found the air-hockey tables. Her eyes lit up in a way that made Blaise immediately suspicious.
“Oh no,” he said. “No. I know that look.”
She slapped a Knut on the edge of the table. “Tournament. Everyone in. Winner gets eternal bragging rights.”
Ginny cracked her knuckles with a grin. “You’re on.”
What followed was intense. Ginny was aggressive and fast. Harry was unpredictable. Blaise was annoyingly consistent in blocking. Draco played with precise, controlled efficiency that made Hermione swear under her breath. Theo found he was good at angles and rebounds without quite knowing why. But the real contender was Pansy, who was downright lethal.
One by one, she eliminated them all.
When she scored the final winning goal against Draco, who stared at the table in quiet disbelief, she lifted her arms in triumphant victory.
“Bow before me you lot of slow reflexes losers.”
Blaise groaned. “I live with you. I refuse.”
Theo laughed and announced that Blaise was exempt.
As the evening wore on, the sugar set in form the soda, candy, fried snacks, and far too many churros. They sprawled across seating areas between games, trading turns, teasing mercilessly, laughing freely, and acting like children.
Ginny sidled up to Hermione at one point while Theo was distracted by a claw machine. “So, why didn’t Luna and Neville come?”
Hermione’s smile faltered, “They sent regrets. They’re abroad, tracking some rare creature. Luna said it was ‘important for the balance of someone else’s ecosystem.’ I didn’t ask for more information.”
Ginny snorted softly, “Of course they are.”
She glanced toward Theo, watching him coax the claw into finally dropping a plush dragon. “He looks really happy.”
“He is,” Hermione said quietly. “He deserves this so much. Healing has been rough lately.”
As the evening stretched toward night, Hermione slipped away briefly, returning with the large, carefully protected box she and Draco had brought with them.
She set it on the table near the center of the arcade lounge.
Theo looked curios. “What’s that?”
Hermione smiled. “Your cake.”
Draco lifted a brow, “Custom-made of course.”
Theo’s eyes widened when she opened the lid. Two layers of rich, dark chocolate, slightly uneven at the edges in a way that was unmistakably homemade, wrapped in glossy frosting and decorated with tiny enchanted shooting stars drifting lazily across the top.
“You… baked this.” He stated in disbelief.
“We nearly burned it,” Draco added solemnly.
Theo laughed softly, then went quiet again. “You baked it yourselves really though?”
Hermione’s eyes warmed. “Of course we did.”
Theo swallowed hard, “I don’t think anyone has ever done that for me before.”
Pansy immediately clapped her hands once, sharply. “Stop right there before I cry in public. Someone cut it.”
They lit enchanted candles that sparked in blues and greens. Theo closed his eyes, made a wish he didn’t speak aloud, and blew them out to enthusiastic applause from everyone.
When he tasted the cake, his shoulders eased in visible relief. “It’s… actually really good.”
Draco smirked. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
By the time they finally left the arcade, night had fallen fully outside. Theo walked between Hermione and Draco as they apparated home, still riding the warmth of the day. Back at the manor, the house felt quiet after all the game noise.
Theo paused in the entryway, turning to look at them both. “Thank you,” he said simply. “For all of it. For today. For… celebrating me.”
Hermione stepped in and hugged him first. Draco followed a second later, folding them both in. They stood like that for a long moment. Theo breathed them in and felt, more clearly than he had in awhile, chosen and loved. And that, more than anything, felt like the real gift.
“Happy birthday, Theo”, Hermione said before kissing his nose.
Notes:
Things are going to get alot less lighthearted now for awhile.
Chapter 325: What Suddenly Wasn't
Notes:
I did update the story tags now for this.
I'm sorry, this has been decided a long time ago.Don't shoot the messenger.
Have a box of tissues ready.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Two days later, Hermione woke slowly at first, surfacing out of sleep to a strange heaviness in her body. Everything felt wrong; too warm, too tight, a dull ach low in her abdomen that made her frown even before she fully opened her eyes. The morning light filtered gray and muted through the curtains. Theo was still asleep beside her, one arm slung loosely across her waist, his breathing slow and even.
She shifted carefully. The moment she moved her legs, she felt the damp cold beneath her. Her heart slammed violently into her ribs. Hermione flung back the covers with shaking hands and froze.
Dark red stained the sheets beneath her hips. For half a second, her mind refused to form the word she feared. Then terror ripped through her so violently it felt like her magic itself screamed. The bond exploded out from her with panic. Theo was awake instantly.
He jolted upright, breathless, eyes already searching her face as her raw fear poured into him. “Hermione—”
“There’s blood,” she whispered in horror. “Theo—there’s so much blood.”
He was moving before the sentence was finished, healer instincts snapping into place with ruthless precision. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, one hand steadying her shoulder, the other already summoning his wand.
“It’s okay,” he said gently, even as his own heart lurched. “We move calmly now. I’m here. You’re not alone.”
He helped her off the bed and ushered her quickly toward the bathroom. “Strip from the waist down. I need to see how much.”
She was shaking so hard her fingers barely worked. Theo turned away respectfully but stayed close enough that she could feel him anchoring her through the bond; cool, steady magic pressing against her frantic terror trying to sooth her,
The moment he saw the blood soaking through her underthings, his face went very pale. Still, his voice never wavered.
“All right,” he said softly. “We’re going to check you properly.”
His wand moved in swift, precise arcs. Diagnostic charms bloomed in pale blue and silver across her abdomen and torso, layering over one another as emergency diagnostics streamed back to him in complex magical readouts only a trained healer could interpret. Hermione watched his eyes move faster and faster. The bond filled with a deep, controlled grief he was trying desperately to keep out of his face and away from her.
Theo swallowed.
“Hermione,” he said quietly, kneeling in front of her, meeting her eyes. “Mauve needs to come immediately. I’m sending for her now.”
She shook her head weakly. “What is it, Theo?”
He hesitated for a single fraction of a second too long. And she knew with more certainty then.
“No,” she whispered.
Theo created his fox patronus with a sharp flick of his wand. The glowing silver fox leapt into existence, eyes blazing with urgency before vanishing through the wall toward the hospital with an SOS message.
Hermione collapsed back onto the edge of the tub, sobbing. Mauve arrived within minutes. The second she took in the scene, Hermione pale and shaking, blood on the tiles, Theo rigid with contained fear, her professional mask slid on instantly.
“Let me,” she said briskly but gently.
More spells lit the room. Warmer magic now, soothing, stabilizing, but even Hermione could feel how wrong everything was beneath it all. Theo watched every line of magic with harrowing focus.
This time, there was no softening the truth. Mauve straightened slowly, exchanging a sympathetic knowing look with Theo, before turning her attention entirely to Hermione.
“I’m very sorry,” she said quietly. “You are miscarrying, Hermione. It’s already progressing too far to stop.”
The words felt unreal, like a mean lie. Hermione made a broken sound that might have been a scream. Theo closed his eyes for a moment and the bond filled with a grief so heavy it nearly crushed her. When he opened them again, tears had finally slipped free. He turned sharply, summoning another fox Patronus. This one went for Draco with the message to come home right now.
Draco appeared mid-sentence from whatever meeting he’d been in. He took one look at Hermione, pale and bleeding, at Theo’s face streaked with quiet tears, at Mauve standing between them all and he broke at the conclusion he drew.
“No,” he choked out. “No—no, no, no—”
Theo moved to him immediately, hands gripping his arms. “Draco. Look at me.”
Draco was crying openly now, shaking. “It’s my fault. It’s my blood, my magic, my fault, my family’s karma from the war… can’t touch anything without killing it.”
“Stop,” Theo said firmly, though his own voice trembled too. “This is not your fault. This happens. Even with everything done right. It’s just part of life, unfair, but common.”
Draco sank to his knees anyway, a sound somewhere between a sob and a shattered breath tearing out of him. Mauve moved quickly then. A very mild calming draught appeared in her hand as she touched Draco’s shoulder. “Mr. Malfoy,” she said gently but firmly, “you need to take this now or you will collapse and damage yourself.”
Draco barely registered the cup being pressed to his lips. Theo helped guide it as he drank, his cries slowly dulling into broken, quiet sobs as the potion took effect. Hermione watched all of it through tears, her world narrowing to grief, loss, and the unbearable emptiness where hope had been only hours before. Theo returned to her side and took her hand fully now, pressing his forehead against hers.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “We’re both here. It’s going to be ok eventually.”
Hermione barely remembered later on how they got her back into bed. One moment she was shaking in the bathroom, cold tiles under her bare feet, blood dripping down her legs, Mauve’s voice careful and professional, Theo’s hands steady at her waist. The next, she was folded into clean sheets, wrapped in soft layers of blankets and cleaned of blood, exhaustion and emotional numbness crashing over her in waves so heavy she could hardly keep her eyes open.
Theo moved like a machine built for this moment; precise, gentle, heartbreakingly calm even in his own despair. He had cleaned the blood from her skin with careful spells, changed the linens with a flick of his wand, supported her shoulders while Mauve administered the potion that would dull the worst of the pain and prevent infection. The bitter liquid burned slightly going down, and then the edges of the agony began to soften into something distant and muted, as she fell into mild shock.
Draco sat at the foot of the bed, silent under the mild calming draught. Tears tracked endlessly down his face. His hands were knotted in the blanket like he was afraid to let go of the only thing tethering him to the room. He did not speak. He barely breathed. The bond between them felt warped and wrong, his grief too heavy, muted by the potion yet crushing in its intensity.
When Mauve finished her final diagnostic charm and straightened, her face was kind but professional.
“She’ll sleep for a while now,” she said quietly. “That’s good. Rest is what her body needs at the moment. I’m so sorry this happened to you guys, she was only 7 and a half weeks along, but her 4 week scans looked so normal, I’m sure this is quite a surprise.”
Hermione tried to answer but the words wouldn’t come. Only a weak nod.
Mauve’s gaze shifted to Draco, her expression softening with understanding and sympathy. “I’ll check back later tonight,” she said. “If anything changes… fever, dizziness, uncontrolled bleeding… send for me immediately.”
Theo inclined his head, “Of course. Thank you.”
When Mauve apparated away, the manor felt suddenly too silent. Theo waited until the echo of her departure fully vanished before moving. He crossed the room quietly, stopping beside Draco. Hermione’s eyes were half-lidded, heavy with emotional drain and potion-induced exhaustion, but she could still see them clearly enough and she could hear everything.
Theo crouched in front of Draco, voice low.
“Draco.”
No response.
“Draco, look at me.”
Draco’s gaze lifted slowly, shattered and unfocused.
“This is not your fault.”
Draco shook his head violently at once. “It is,” he choked. “It has to be. My fmaily is cursed to suffer for all the awful atrocities they committed. Everything I touch dies. Astoria. The baby. And now—this. I don’t deserve children. I never did. I never will.”
Theo’s jaw tightened. His voice did not rise, “Stop.”
Draco’s breath hitched. Tears streamed freely now.
“Theo, I kill everything I care about,” he whispered. “I ruined her. I ruined her body. Ruined our baby. I ruined her life. I’ll ruin yours too.”
Hermione tried to move. Her limbs barely obeyed her now. Panic flickered weakly through the bond, but Theo felt it instantly.
He placed one steadying hand on Draco’s shoulder.
“Listen to me,” Theo said, more force now beneath the calm. “Miscarriages happen. Especially this early. Even in perfectly healthy pregnancies. You know that. You’ve read the statistics. Hermione was cleared. Her magic was stable. There is nothing you could have done to cause this.”
Draco laughed brokenly. “Then why does it keep happening around me, always hangin gin the shadows of my life?”
Theo swallowed, shaking his head.
“You are grieving,” Theo said quietly. “And grief lies.”
Draco squeezed his eyes shut.
“Theo… I can’t stay here. I can’t look at her knowing I failed her again. I can’t—”
Theo’s grip tightened.
“She needs you. You need to be strong for her.”
Draco shook his head harder, spiraling further, “She deserves better than me. She should have had this with someone who doesn’t break everything. She should have just been with you all along, just had a perfect family with you.”
Hermione’s chest tightened painfully at that, even through the potion. She tried to speak. No sound came out though.
Theo leaned closer, voice dangerously quiet now. “If you leave right now, you will hurt her more than this loss already has. And you’ll be betraying me too.”
Draco shuddered.
“I can’t do this,” he whispered. “I can’t watch her hurt and not believe it’s my fault.”
He stood abruptly, swaying.
Theo rose with him. “Then you stay and you hurt with her. With us both.”
Draco looked past him, to the bed. For a single shattered second, clarity broke through the haze of grief and potion. He crossed the room in two unsteady steps and leaned down, pressing a trembling kiss to her temple.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered brokenly. “I ruined everything.”
Then he pulled away. Before Theo could stop him, Draco turned and apparated. The bond felt like it was splintering with pain, grief, abandonment, and a heavy undercurrent of self-loathing pulsing through.
The sudden absence of Draco’s presence hit Hermione like a physical blow. Panic surged weakly through her as her body failed her again as she tried to rise, tears spilling hot and silent down her cheeks.
Theo lunged instinctively for the space where Draco had stood, too late.
Hermione finally found her voice, small, cracked, “He left.”
Theo turned slowly back to the bed. His professional mask shattered the moment he met her eyes.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “He did. Bit, it will be ok. I’m here.”
He crossed the room immediately and sat on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle her. One arm slid beneath her shoulders, lifting her just enough to cradle her against his chest. His other hand rested over her hair, fingers trembling now that no one else needed him to be steady.
“He didn’t leave you,” Theo murmured. “He ran from himself. He can’t see the reality of it right now. He’s always struggled with self pity.”
Hermione shook softly in his arms, crying.
“It feels like he left me because my body killed his son,” she whispered.
Theo closed his eyes briefly to not cry too.
“I know. But, that’s not what just happened. It isn’t about you. It’s about him.”
Tears finally leaked from him then, silent an helpless. He did not sob. He simply cried as he held her, utterly useless to stop the grief colliding around them from every direction in the bond.
“Theo,” she whispered weakly, fear creeping into her voice. “Is it really over? There’s no chance… ?”
“Yes. We made absolutely sure, it was already too late to save.”
Her breath hitched, a sound somewhere between a sob and a gasp.
“I already loved him,” she whispered.
Theo’s arms tightened around her carefully. “I know. We all did.”
They remained like that for a long time; Hermione trembling in his arms, Theo holding what remained of them together with sheer will while one third of their bond fractured terribly somewhere miles away.
Notes:
It wasn't meant to be.
This is a big turning point for the triad. I'd like to hear your comments.
Namely,
Did you see that coming?
How do you think they'll each cope?
Thoughts on Draco leaving?Does anyone have theories yet on why it had to happen?
Chapter 326: Narcissa's Truth
Chapter Text
Narcissa Malfoy arrived without notice.
One moment Hermione lay curled in the dim quiet of the bedroom, drifting in and out of sleep beneath the haze of potion and exhaustion, Theo seated at the edge of the bed with one steady hand in hers. The next, the ward chime was alerting them. Theo felt her first, in his family wards.
“She’s here,” he murmured softly. “Draco’s mother.”
Moments later Narcissa swept into the room, the most unput together either had ever seen her. Her hair was unpinned, her cloak crooked at the shoulder, her breath just a little too fast, and without jewelry or makeup. This was the most disheveled Hermione had ever seen her.
“I knew something dreadful had happened,” Narcissa said quietly, her pale eyes flicking between Hermione’s tear-streaked face to the bloodstained cloth folded on the bedside table, to Theo’s red-rimmed eyes. Her eyes narrowed as she puzzled out possibilities.
“Draco arrived at Malfoy Manor like a raging ghost two hours ago. Wouldn’t speak to me. Broke a few antique vases. Then went straight to his old bedroom and locked the door. He won’t come out or speak to me. I haven’t seen him like that since Astoria...”
Her voice wavered at the end, just barely.
Theo stood, swallowing hard. He moved a step closer to her, his voice calm but low.
“She…” His voice broke once. He inhaled and tried again. “Hermione miscarried this morning. It was very early in the pregnancy. There was nothing anyone could do.”
For a heartbeat, Narcissa did not react. Then her breath left her in a light broken sound. One hand flew to her mouth, and tears welled instantly, fierce and bright. “Oh,” she whispered. “Oh, my poor girl…”
She crossed the room in three swift steps and sat carefully at Hermione’s other side, taking her free hand in both of hers. Her fingers shook. “I am so sorry, my dear,” she said, voice thick with grief. “So terribly sorry.”
Hermione tried to speak, but her throat wasn’t working. All she could do was nod faintly as fresh tears slid down her face. Narcissa lifted her head, eyes shining with a kind of controlled devastation that spoke of a lifetime spent mastering hiding sorrow.
“And Draco? Why is my son at the manor instead of here with you both?” she asked Theo.
“He believes it was his fault,” Theo said quietly. “He was… inconsolable. Mauve had to give him a calming draught to keep him from hurting himself. He was wrecked… I couldn’t reason with him. He’s convinced this is penance for his and your family’s sins.”
Narcissa closed her eyes briefly, pain flickering across her face. “Of course he does,” she murmured. “He always takes everything on as his fault.”
She straightened abruptly, decision settling in her mind, “You need to go to him, Theo. Now, please. Before he does something reckless in his grief. He does not trust himself in moments like this. He’s not thinking straight. He needs someone to talk him down. Please, go.”
Theo hesitated, looking torn about leaving Hermione.
“I will stay with Hermione,” Narcissa said firmly. “She will not be alone. I give you my word.”
Theo turned to Hermione, brushing his thumb gently across her knuckles. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said softly, voice trembling. “Do you want me to send for anyone? Harry maybe? Ginny? Or Pansy?”
Hermione shook her head feebly. “No, I don’t want to see them all yet. Please… just go to Draco.”
Theo leaned down and pressed a careful kiss to her forehead. Then he straightened, met Narcissa’s steady gaze once more, and turned away. The crack of his floo departure echoed faintly through the manor.
Hermione stared at the empty space where he had been sitting, the bond still humming with Draco’s distant agony, and Narcissa tightened her grip on Hermione’s hand. She looked undone. Not frantic but shaken in a way that seeped through every line of her face.
Narcissa’s eyes moved over Hermione’s pale face, the tear tracks she’d made no attempt to wipe away, the way her sorrow seemed to radiate in the air.
“Oh, my dear,” Narcissa whispered and sat carefully on the edge of the bed. For a moment she only looked at Hermione, then she slipped off her shoes and set them aside. With slow, cautious gentleness, she climbed onto the bed beside her and drew Hermione into her arms. Hermione’s heart broke open at the contact.
The sob wrenched out of her chest before she could stop it, sounding raw and helpless. Narcissa held her firmly, one arm around her shoulders, the other cradling the back of her head against her chest. Hermione clutched at the front of Narcissa’s robes.
“I’m so sorry,” Hermione cried.
Narcissa stroked her hair slowly, rhythmically, like one might do with a frightened child.
“Hush, my girl,” she murmured. “You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all. These things happen, it’s no one’s fault.”
They stayed like that, with Hermione crying until the sobs dulled into broken breaths. Narcissa never loosened her hold, never rushed her to finish pouring out her soul. The only sounds in the room were Hermione’s uneven breathing and the crackle of the fire Theo had lit earlier.
Eventually, Hermione whispered, barely audible, “Draco thinks he caused it.”
Narcissa’s frown deepened. “My foolish son always believes he is the source of every tragedy,” she said softly. “Even the ones the universe itself creates.”
Hermione hesitated before asking, “Did it… ever happen to you?”
Narcissa went still. For a few seconds, Hermione thought she might not answer at all, Then Narcissa exhaled slowly, a breath heavy with pained aged memories.
“Twice,” she said. “Once before Draco, and once after.”
Hermione lifted her head slightly, startled.
“I miscarried my first child very early in my marriage,” Narcissa continued quietly. “Lucius and I barely spoke of it. In pureblood society, such grief is… yet hidden. It’s endured privately in silence. I was told to rest and to just try again. As though the heart could be so easily commanded to forget.”
Her fingers moved in slow, soothing passes over Hermione’s hair.
“The second time was years later,” she went on. “I was already a mother then. I remember thinking that surely I was strong enough to bear it again. I was not expecting it to happen again. We stopped trying nay more after that.”
Hermione’s chest tightened painfully. “How did you survive it?”
Narcissa’s lips curved in a line of sadness that never fully left her eyes.
“Because I had Draco,” she said. “And because time, cruel as it is, does move forward. One breath after another. One day after another. You do not heal all at once. You simply… live through it, until one day the grief is no longer the only thing inside you. You don’t realize it’s happening… it just does. One day you think you may stop breathing from the tightness in your chest, then suddenly one day you realize you’re laughing again somehow. Time passes, and the sting doesn’t go away but it dulls.”
Hermione whispered, “I was ready. I didn’t even know how ready I was until it was gone, or just how badly I wanted it.”
Narcissa pressed her forehead briefly to Hermione’s temple.
“This does not mean you will never hold a child in your arms,” she said firmly. “This does not mean your body has failed you. Early losses are far more common than people like to admit. It is not punishment. It is not fate’s judgement either. It’s just natural.”
Hermione wasn’t sure if she could believe that.
“And my son,” Narcissa added, “will move heaven and earth to see that you receive the finest care in the world when he gets his hea d on straight again. As will Theo and as will I.”
A quiet tear slid down Hermione’s cheek. “He thinks he’s ruined my life.”
Narcissa’s mouth drew into a thin, resolute line.
“He has taken this terribly,” she allowed. “But he has not ruined you. And I will not allow him to bury himself in that belief.”
Hermione pressed a hand flat over her abdomen, “I feel so empty.”
Narcissa held her tighter. “That is what loss feels like, my dear. It does not mean you always will feel that ache though.”
They stayed together in silence for a time. She adjusted the blankets around Hermione with maternal precision.
“You rest,” she said. “You heal. Draco will come back once Theo finds him, and he will be calmer by then. He has always listened to Theo when no one else can reach him.”
Hermione whispered, “Thank you for staying.”
Narcissa brushed a kiss into Hermione’s hair.
“You are my family,” she said simply.
Hermione’s eyes finally closed, exhaustion pulling her under. Narcissa remained beside her, one hand still resting protectively on her back, eyes fixed anxiously on the door, willing both sons to come home.
Notes:
What do you think is happening with Theo and Draco while this is going on?
Chapter 327: Theo's Fury
Chapter Text
Meanwhile, at Malfoy Manor, the wooden bedroom door didn’t just break; it was obliterated into toothpicks.
A blast of powerful, almost uncontrolled magic tore it off its hinges and sent splintered oak flying like shrapnel inward. Theo stood in the smoking doorway, chest heaving, face streaked with tears and eyes full of pure, blinding fury.
Draco was on the floor in the center of the room, curled into a fetal ball, rocking, hands clawing at his own scalp pulling out his hair. His voice was nearly gone by this point from the raw, broken sobs that sounded like his soul was being ripped out through his throat for the previous few hours.
Theo crossed the room in four ferocious strides and grabbed Draco by the collar, and yanked him upright.
“YOU FUCKING COWARD,” Theo bellowed, his voice at full volume. “YOU LEFT HER. SHE’S BLEEDING AND SCREAMING YOUR NAME AND YOU FUCKING LEFT HER ALONE.”
Draco’s legs wouldn’t hold himself up. He collapsed the second Theo let go, hitting his knees, hands scrabbling at the floor like he could dig his way out of his own skin.
Theo hauled him up again, slamming him against the wall so hard the impact rattled his teeth.
“YOU THINK THIS IS ABOUT YOU?” Theo screamed, shaking him. “YOU THINK THIS IS YOUR PERSONAL FUCKING TRAGEDY TO HIDE FROM? SHE’S IN OUR BED RIGHT NOW THINKING YOU CAN’T STAND TO LOOK AT HER BECAUSE SHE LOST HIM. SHE THINKS YOU BLAME HER. SHE THINKS YOU LEFT BECAUSE SHE FAILED YOU.”
Draco’s face crumpled completely and a broken, guttural sound tore out of him.
“I killed him,” he sobbed, voice barely understandable, clawing at his own chest like he could rip his heart out. “My blood… my family… curse… my fault… I killed our son…”
“STOP IT,” Theo shouted, voice cracking on every word. “You do not get to do this. You do not get to make this about your fucking Malfoy martyr complex while she’s alone thinking the man she loves can’t bear to be near her because she lost his baby. You are not your father. You are not a curse. You are the man we chose, and if you stay here and let her think she’s alone in this, you will destroy us.”
Draco curled forward, forehead slamming into Theo’s chest, hands fisting in Theo’s robes so hard the fabric tore.
“I’m poison,” he whispered, voice completely gone. “Everything I care about dies. Now our baby. I should have died in Hogwarts battling for the right side.”
Theo grabbed his face in both hands, forcing eye contact through their tears.
“Listen to me, you selfish, miserable bastard,” he growled, voice breaking with grief and fury. “You didn’t kill our son. It happens. It’s no one’s fault. But you running away? That’s a choice. That’s you choosing to hurt her worse than any miscarriage ever could.”
Draco was shaking so hard his teeth chattered with sobs so violent they sounded like they were tearing him apart from the inside.
“I don’t know how to come back,” he choked out, voice barely human. “I don’t know how to look at her and not hate myself for existing, for being selfish enough to think I could have a family.”
Theo’s grip tightened, nails digging into Draco’s jaw.
“Then let us have the pain with you,” he whispered, voice breaking completely now. “Let us carry it all together. But you do not get to decide you’re not worth saving. Not when we’ve spent years proving you are.”
He let go. Draco slid to the floor again, curling into himself, rocking, whispering “I’m sorry” over and over like a prayer that would never be answered.
Theo stood over him, chest heaving, tears still falling heavily.
“One hour,” he said, voice deadly quiet, almost terrifying in its calm. “One hour to stop this. Then you come home. Or I swear on everything we are, I will drag you back in pieces and chain you to that bed until you remember you belong to us. You are breaking us apart in a way that won’t ever be able to be healed. You’re hurting her, and betraying me right now. Get it together, and get your ass home, or consider yourself no longer a part of our marriage at all.”
He turned and left, the ruined door hanging off its hinges. Draco stayed on the floor, curled into himself, crying until there was nothing left to expel. He didn’t know if he could go back. But the thought of never holding them again was the only thing louder than the guilt.
Draco returned just before dusk.
Hermione sensed him in the bond, somewhat more calm, before she heard the floo flare. She felt the tremor of panic and shame ripple through the bond like he didn’t know how to do this. The bedroom door creaked open a moment later. He stood there with clear uncertainly, eyes red-rimmed, hair uncombed, robes stained, wet, and torn, looking smaller than she had ever seen him.
Theo quietly rose from the chair beside the bed. He caught Draco’s gaze once, clearly still angry, but then he turned to Hermione.
“I’ll see Narcissa out,” he said gently. “I won’t be far.”
Hermione nodded. Theo brushed a careful kiss to her temple, then passed Draco without a word. His mother only placed a hand on his shoulder, and shook her head at him, as she took her leave in silence. Draco flinched when the door closed behind him, sealing them alone together.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Draco finally crossed the room like he was approaching something fragile and half-broken. He dropped to his knees beside the bed instead of sitting on it, as if he didn’t deserve to share it with her.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered with tears. “I’m so ashamed. I shouldn’t have left. That was a really terrible thing to do to you.”
Hermione reached for him despite her uncertainty. Her fingers trembled as they curled into his sleeve. “Draco… look at me.”
He did, reluctantly. Tears tracked freely down his face now.
“I panicked,” he said hoarsely. “Then ran. And that’s unforgivable. I left you when you were bleeding and terrified, and I hate myself for it. I didn’t mean what I said completely. I don’t know if I believe it. I just…” His voice collapsed. “I couldn’t breathe in that moment. Every loss felt like it piled on top of one another.”
Hermione insisted, “You didn’t ruin my life.”
“I did,” he insisted fiercely. “I should have been your anchor in this. Instead I became your storm, and made it so much worse. I’m such a bad husband. I’m so sorry.”
She tugged him closer with what little strength she had. He resisted only a second before folding in toward her, forehead resting against the edge of the mattress like he was afraid to touch her too much.
“I lost our baby too,” she said softly. “You don’t carry that alone.”
His shoulders shook.
“I think I caused this to happen to us. I thought if I stayed I would break in front of you,” he whispered. “And you already had enough pain.”
Hermione’s eyes filled again. “You broke me more by leaving.”
That landed on him heavily. Draco drew a slow, ragged breath. “I will never do that again. Not to you. Not to Theo. Not to our family. Even when it hurts this much. I won’t keep running form the pain. I swear, this was a mistake, I know that.”
“I needed you,” she murmured.
“I know.” His voice broke completely now. “And I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”
They stayed like that, crying quietly together, unsure what else to say or how to heal.
In the corridor, Theo stood rigid as Narcissa fastened her cloak with shaky hands.
“He hates himself,” she said quietly. “You cannot let him drown in that.”
“I won’t,” Theo replied, jaw tight. “But he left her. I needed him there too. I can’t just pretend he didn’t run.”
Narcissa’s composure cracked. “So did I when I miscarried. And yet Lucius ran too. Men flee grief differently. It does not excuse the wound, but it explains it.”
Theo hesitated, then nodded once. “He’s back now. That’s what matters. But, honestly, I don’t think he can fix this easily with me. Don’t ask me to lie to you about that.”
She squeezed his arm. “You are a good healer and a good husband to him, whether he knows it or not.”
Then she flooed away.
Notes:
Draco has really screwed his relationship with Theo. They already had been having issues since Hermione's kidnapping, that they'd just barely recently been recovering from... and now this.
Chapter 328: Draco Speaks
Chapter Text
Draco shifted closer to the bed, still kneeling, resting his forehead against Hermione’s hand.
“I thought I destroyed everything,” he whispered. “I thought it was all my fault, and I panicked like I always do. I’m still not sure it’s not my fault because I don’t deserve anything you or Theo have offered me. But, I know the running part was bad.”
Hermione’s other hand slid into his hair, slow and steady.
“You didn’t cause this,” she said gently. “Mauve was very clear about that. Theo was very clear about that. You aren’t being punished via me.”
Draco shook his head faintly. “Astoria died carrying a child. Every time I close my eyes, I see the blood on the floor again. I see her. And today I saw it here and thought the world was repeating itself because I wasn’t worthy of having a different ending.”
Hermione’s chest tightened painfully.
“Draco,” she whispered. “This isn’t punishment. This isn’t fate balancing scales. This is grief and terrible chance and a body that went through something it couldn’t prevent.”
Tears slid freely down his face, quiet and unguarded.
“I wanted that child so badly,” he admitted. “I already loved it. And I feel like I failed you before I ever got to protect either of you.”
Hermione pulled his face closer to hers despite the tremor in her arms, pressing her forehead to his.
“You didn’t fail me in the sense that losing the baby was about you. You failed me though by running away when I needed you,” she said softly. “But, you came back. You’re here now. That matters more than anything else.”
His breath shuddered. “I’m ashamed my mother saw me like that,” he murmured. “Still that boy in the manor who locked his door and waited for storms to pass instead of running into them.”
“She saw her son in pain. That’s all. And she stayed for me when you couldn’t. I’m grateful to her for that.”
At that, something in Draco finally broke open more fully. He sobbed once, strangled and quiet, pressing his face into the blanket near her waist, careful of her body but seeking the comfort of proximity. Hermione let him stay there. Let him cry. Let the bond uncoil some of the painful aching pressure between them. After a long while, his breathing evened.
“I should have stayed,” he said again, but softer now.
“And you came back,” she repeated. “That’s what we carry forward.”
The door creaked faintly then as Theo re-entered, his presence sliding back into the room like a steadying anchor in the bond, though still laced with anger and resentment towards Draco.
Hermione didn’t look away from Draco.
“We’re still here,” she said quietly. “All of us.”
Theo nodded but still didn’t knowledge Draco’s return.
Hermione drifted in and out of sleep for hours, her body heavy and sore, her emotions though even heavier. The potion Mauve had given her dulled the worst of the physical pain, but nothing dulled the hollow ache in her chest. At some point the manor grew dark as day turned to night.
She was half-awake when she heard voices. They came from just outside the bedroom door at first; low, strained, and unmistakably Theo and Draco. Theo’s voice was tight with restraint, the kind that came when he was barely holding himself together from lashing out.
“You don’t get to run every time something hurts,” Theo whispered harshly. “Not anymore. Not when she needs you.”
Draco’s voice was wrecked in answer. “I didn’t run from her. I ran because I didn’t trust myself not to fall apart in front of her. I thought, Merlin, Theo, I thought I was doing the merciful thing by getting out of the way. By not letting my awful legacy touch her any more.”
“You abandoned her when she was bleeding and terrified,” Theo shot back. “You abandoned us. Do you understand how that felt?”
There was a long, awful silence.
Hermione’s eyes opened fully then, though she did not yet move. She lay very still, listening with her heart in her throat.
“I’m sorry,” Draco said at last, his voice broken. “I have never been more sorry for anything in my life probably. I panicked and I spiraled. I let the guilt swallow me whole and I didn’t think about what it would do to either of you. I swear to you I will not do that again.”
Theo’s breath shuddered. “I don’t know how to forgive that easily. You have to prove it, to me and to her. You have to prove that when things are unbearable, you stay. That you choose her and me, even when you’re drowning. That you want to drown together with us.”
“I will,” Draco said hoarsely. “I will. I’m going to owl the mind-healer tonight. I won’t wait, I swear. I won’t hide from this. I’ll see her right away to work thru this. And I’ll ask her to see us together. All of us. We need help navigating this, and I won’t pretend otherwise.”
Theo’s anger finally faltered into exhaustion. “Good. Because we’re all shattered right now. And pretending we aren’t will only poison the bond further.”
Hermione shifted on the bed then, unable to bear listening any longer without making herself known. The mattress creaked softly beneath her, and both voices immediately cut off. Draco appeared in the doorway first, his face pale and ravaged, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen. Theo followed more slowly, still rigid with hurt, visibly struggling to set it aside.
“Hermione,” Draco whispered, crossing the room in two steps. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, careful not to jostle her. “You’re awake.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. Her voice was thin but steady. “I heard you.”
Shame flooded Draco’s face. “I never meant for you to hear any of that. I’m so sorry I left. I was wrong. I was selfish and cowardly and I…” His voice broke completely. “I thought I was sparing you from my grief and my curse, but I only added another level of pain and hurt.”
Tears slid down Hermione’s temples into her hair. “When you vanished, I thought I’d lost you too,” she admitted softly. “For a little while I thought the miscarriage had taken everything from me.”
Theo sat on the other side of the bed then, reaching carefully for her free hand. “You didn’t lose us,” he said firmly, though his own eyes were wet. “Not either of us. Not for a second. But Draco… you scared us. This was betrayal to us. You can’t run away from us, you have to be present and active member of our bond.”
“I know,” Draco whispered. “And I will live with that for the rest of my life. It was a terrible thing to do, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was blinded by the pain, terror, and self loathing.”
Theo exhaled slowly. “I’m still angry. I’m not pretending I’m not. But I also know you’re not the same man who would have stayed locked in that room forever. You came back. That matters. It’s a start.”
Draco nodded, unable to speak. Hermione lifted her trembling hand from Theo’s grasp and gently cupped Draco’s cheek. “I need you here,” she said simply. “Not perfect. Just here, not running away when things are hard.”
Draco leaned into her touch like a man starved. “I’m here to stay. I swear it. I will not leave you o Theo again.”
Theo shifted closer so that the three of them formed a fragile circle around the bed. He hesitated only a moment before lying down carefully behind Hermione, his arm draping protectively over her waist. Draco climbed up on her other side, tentatively at first, as though seeking permission. Hermione turned slightly into him and pressed her forehead to his collarbone.
The bond, which had been frayed and screaming with grief all day, felt a little less heavy.
“We lost this one,” Theo said quietly. “And that hurts more than words can carry. But we can not lose each other over this.”
Draco’s hand found Hermione’s and held it tight. “We will mourn this together. And when we’re ready, we will try again, but only if you want to.”
Hermione closed her eyes, tears rolling freely now. “Someday,” she whispered. “But for tonight… I just want to be held please.”
The both encased her in their bodies, holding her tight, and reassuring her they loved her till she drifted off again.
Notes:
Anyone have theories about the miscarriage, why it was always going to happen?
Chapter 329: Words in the Dark
Chapter Text
Hermione woke sometime in the middle of the night with a dull ache low in her body and an even heavier ache in her chest. Draco’s arm was curled around her middle uncomfortable, and Theo’s hand was resting warm at her back. For a long moment she simply listened to their breathing, uneven but steady, grounding herself in the proof that they were all still here.
Her voice came out quiet, “Does the bond feel… different to either of you?”
She felt them turn inward immediately, the familiar shared awareness shifting as all three reached for the same invisible current. For a few heartbeats there was nothing but silence, the quiet stretching between them.
Then Theo whispered, barely audible, “The constant pressure of tightness is gone.”
Hermione’s heart dropped. She felt it too now that he named it, the tight constant pull of unease was lifted.
“I feel it,” she murmured. “It’s emptier, less taught.”
Draco’s breath hitched behind her. He didn’t speak at first, just tightened his arm around her. When he finally did speak, his voice was gravelly.
“There’s almost nothing in the literature,” he said quietly. “The triad studies I’ve read mention children only in passing. Most of them barely detail the pregnancies at all, just… that they happened. There was no description of the bond during it. No sensations. Nothing about what it should feel like. We really didn’t know what to expect as normal.”
Hermione swallowed. The words came out before she could stop them, heavy with guilt even as she spoke them out loud, “I hate that I’m thinking this… but do you think the baby was what made the bond feel so tight?”
Theo shifted closer, his forehead pressing gently to the back of her shoulder.
“It’s possible,” he said softly, ever the healer even now. “A fetus producing its own magic inside a bonded matrix could amplify the existing currents. That tightness could have been the three of us plus the baby’s developing core weaving into it.”
A quiet, broken sound escaped Draco. “Or it could mean something was wrong from the beginning.”
Theo was silent for a moment. When he answered, his tone was careful, measured, “No. Not necessarily. Early miscarriages are common, even in single-bond pregnancies. Most of the time there is no reason. Cells fail to divide correctly. A vessel doesn’t anchor properly. Tiny things that medicine still doesn’t fully understand. The bond tightness may have been a sign of just the baby existing at lal, not a bad thing. We don’t know right now.”
Hermione turned her head slightly so she could see the faint outline of their faces in the very low remaining firelight. Draco’s eyes were red-rimmed, hollow with grief and self-blame. Theo looked exhausted beyond his years, all control and clinical calm stripped down to sadness.
Draco spoke again, urgent now. “I swear to you both, I’m not letting this remain unanswered. I will find something. I will tear the world apart looking more thoroughly. Archives. Private collections. Old family records. Someone, somewhere, has written about triad pregnancies in detail. And if not… I’ll commission the research myself if I have to.”
Theo exhaled slowly. “We’ll also run every diagnostic Mauve and I know once Hermione is physically more stable. Hormonal traces, magical signature retention, residual bond frequency. We’ll try to understand what happened, but we also have to accept that sometimes… it simply does for no real reason.”
Hermione felt tears slide silently into her hair. “I keep thinking my body betrayed us.”
Theo tightened his arms around both of them. “No,” he said firmly. “Your body did exactly what it was meant to do… try to make life. Sometimes life just… doesn’t stay. That isn’t betrayal. That’s biology. Magic doesn’t make us immune to loss. These things happen.”
Draco buried his face against the back of her neck. His voice shook.
“I wanted that tightness to mean something permanent. I wanted it to mean I had finally done something right.”
Hermione twisted gently in their arms so she could face him, bringing her forehead to his. “You didn’t fail me. You didn’t fail us. Losing something doesn’t mean we were wrong to want it either.”
Theo’s fingers threaded through both of theirs, “We don’t know yet what this means for the future,” he said. “But it doesn’t take the future away. Not unless we decide it does.”
The fire popped softly.
Eventually, Hermione whispered, “If we ever try again… I don’t want us to do it out of fear. I don’t want us chasing that tightness like it’s proof we did something right.”
Draco nodded slowly against her. “Next time, it will be because we choose it. Not because we’re terrified to lose it again or are trying to come up with a replacement.”
Theo brushed a light kiss to her temple. “And next time, we walk into it with more knowledge.”
Notes:
You will get an explanation eventually.
Chapter 330: Luna's Blame
Chapter Text
Hermione sat upright in the bed, the blankets pooled around her waist, her heart still thudding from their explanation of Neville’s words. The room felt too quiet without Draco and Theo inside it. The fire crackled softly, indifferent.
Theo stepped back into the bedroom first. Draco followed a heartbeat later. Both of them looked like they had aged several years in the few minutes they’d been gone.
Hermione searched their faces. “What did he say… exactly?”
Theo leaned against the doorframe, rubbing a hand down his face. “Neville said Luna has been… sensing things.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “He said she knew. For weeks. She told him a few weeks ago, the day he ran into us at Diagon, that’s why he was being so cagey.”
Hermione’s breath left her in a shallow rush. The word ‘knew’ echoed painfully in her chest. She stared down at the pale coverlet as if it might break her fall.
“She didn’t say anything,” Draco went on, voice strained, brittle. “She let us get attached. Let us think we were safe.”
Theo stepped closer to the bed. “She didn’t let anything happen, Draco. That’s not how Seer magic works.”
Draco rounded on him. “Then what is the point of it if it can’t stop this?”
Theo’s voice went dangerously low. “It shows what is, not what can be changed. You know that. This isn’t on her. Neville says she’s been very worried we would blame her though, hate her for having known it was coming.”
Hermione lifted her eyes slowly. “Did she know it would be a miscarriage like this… so random and early on?”
Theo hesitated. Draco closed his eyes. The answer was in their silence.
Something inside Hermione fractured with an aching split that cut straight through her chest. She pressed a hand over her sternum as if she could physically hold herself together.
“And she said nothing because… because she couldn’t,” Theo finished softly.
Hermione swallowed. “Or because she chose not to.”
Theo didn’t contradict her this time.
They stood with the weight of it between them until Draco finally moved back to the bedside and knelt, taking Hermione’s hand carefully as if she might break under his touch.
“She didn’t want you to think she could fix it according to Neville,” he said quietly. “That’s exactly the sort of burden Luna avoids putting on people.”
Hermione stared at their joined hands. “But she let me believe everything was fine.”
Theo came around the other side of the bed and sat, close but not touching. “She let you have hope without fear. That may have been the only kindness she could offer in a situation she knew would happen regardless.”
Hermione let out a soft, broken sound that might have been a laugh. “It doesn’t feel kind.”
Draco’s thumb brushed over the back of her hand again and again, a nervous, grounding repetition. “Do you want to see her? Neville came with her, they’re still in the foyer. The baby is with Molly.”
Hermione hesitated. She tried to imagine Luna’s wide, serene eyes. The way she spoke in riddles and half-metaphors. The way she often knew things without explaining how. She imagined herself facing her now, trying not to be angry that she said nothing.
“I don’t know,” Hermione whispered. “Part of me wants to scream at her. Part of me wants her to explain everything. And part of me…” Her voice broke. “…part of me is afraid she’ll say something that makes it feel inevitable. Like this was always meant to happen or our faults somehow.”
Theo softened visibly at that. “You don’t have to see her today. Or this week. Or ever, if you don’t want to.”
Draco nodded. “Neville will understand if you want to wait.”
Hermione closed her eyes and took several careful breaths. She could feel their anxiety pressing against her fear, their grief brushing against hers.
“She already knows how this ended,” Hermione said quietly. “I don’t get the luxury of ignorance anymore. At least not with her.”
Theo tilted his head slightly. “You want answers from her.”
Hermione nodded once. “Even if I don’t like them.”
Draco searched her face, “Are you sure?”
“No,” she said honestly. “But I don’t want her waiting out there thinking I hate her without giving her the chance to speak.”
Theo rose and moved toward the door. “I’ll get her.”
He hesitated with his hand on the handle. “Do you want us both to stay with you when she comes in?”
Hermione didn’t answer right away.
“Yes,” she said at last.
Theo nodded, opened the door, and stepped into the hall.
Draco leaned in closer immediately, pressing their foreheads together. “Whatever she says,” he murmured, voice unsteady, “you don’t go through it alone.”
Hermione closed her eyes at the warmth of his breath. “I know.”
They waited in strained silence for nearly a full minute before footsteps approached again. Theo returned first. Neville followed several paces behind him.
And then Luna appeared in the doorway.
She looked worse somehow than Hermione remembered. Not frail, just… subdued. Her pale blond hair was braided simply over one shoulder. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but startlingly calm.
Hermione’s chest squeezed painfully at the sight of her.
Neville stopped at the threshold. “I’ll… uh… I’ll wait in the corridor,” he muttered, already retreating awkwardly.
Theo gave him a grateful nod. Luna stepped inside.
“Hermione,” she said softly.
Hermione studied her face intently. “You knew.”
Luna did not pretend otherwise. “Yes.”
Draco’s hands clenched at his sides. “And you said nothing.”
Luna’s gaze flicked to him briefly, then returned to Hermione. “Not exactly, it’s complicated.”
Hermione swallowed hard. “Why?”
Luna tilted her head. “Because knowing the tide is coming does not teach you how to stop it. It only teaches you how to fear the ocean.”
Tears burned instantly behind Hermione’s eyes, “So you let me walk into the water anyway?”
Luna’s voice trembled for the first time, “I let you live the warm part before the cold reached your feet.”
Theo’s brow furrowed. “You’re saying there was no version where this didn’t happen?”
“There were many versions over the last year,” Luna said quietly. “But in all of them, something was lost first.”
The room felt suffocating. Hermione pressed her palms into the mattress, grounding herself. “Did you know it would end like this?”
“Yes, but some specifics only recently. It’s not a vision exactly… more like feelings of knowing, and random parts of a whole.” Luna answered simply.
Draco let out a sharp, broken breath. “Then why didn’t you try… something?”
Luna met his eyes, and there was pain there now, “Because every time I ever tried to intervene before, worse things always happen, but the end result is still the same. There is no change, only what is.”
Silence crashed down heavily across the room. Hermione shook her head faintly. “You let me fall because the other options were worse you think?”
“Yes.”
Theo spoke carefully. “And now?”
Luna’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Now the path opens again. Different. Harder. But still bright.”
Hermione laughed weakly through her tears, “You think there will be others.”
Luna stepped closer to the bed at last. “You are going to carry life again, Hermione. Not yet. But soon. And it will not hurt like this one.”
Draco stiffened. Theo inhaled sharply.
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. “You sound very sure.”
Luna smiled faintly. “Some knots loosen when grief is named.”
Hermione stared at her for a long moment. Then, very quietly, she said, “You hurt me. Even if you couldn’t change it… you still hurt me by keeping silent.”
Luna nodded once, eyes shining. “I know. And I’m sorry. But, I can not do anything differently.”
Tears spilled down Hermione’s cheeks. Draco moved instinctively, climbing onto the edge of the bed to wrap an arm around her shoulders. Theo took her other hand. Hermione did not pull away. After a long moment, she wiped at her face and whispered, “I don’t hate you. But it will take time to not feel hurt about your silence.”
Luna smiled softly. “Time is very good at stitching.”
Hermione exhaled shakily. “You can stay for a little while. But not long.”
Luna inclined her head in grateful acceptance. “Of course.”
Hermione asked the boys to give her a moment alone with Luna.
Draco hesitated, torn between his instinct to stay and the quiet strength in Hermione’s voice. Theo read the bond more clearly, Hermione needed this without their emotions crowding the air. He touched her hand once, grounding, warm, then guided Draco from the room. Neville lingered in the hall, wringing his hands, before Theo shut the door softly behind them.
Luna stood near the foot of the bed. Her eyes were already damp, but she smiled the same sad, gentle smile she always wore when she carried bad truths.
Hermione’s voice trembled despite her effort to steady it, “I can’t believe you always knew.”
Luna nodded, almost imperceptibly. “I knew something was going to loosen,” she said softly. “Like a thread slipping from a sleeve before anyone notices the fabric thinning.”
Hermione swallowed. Her throat felt raw. “You knew I would lose the baby.”
Luna tilted her head. “I knew the baby would not stay. I did tell you your motherhood journey would start with a sad note, then become a joyful choir last year. It’s always been the way of the world.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Hermione whispered. “Why didn’t you make it clearer?”
Luna’s eyes filled completely now, tears spilling over without sound. “Because seeing the rain does not mean I can stop the clouds,” she said. “And sometimes if I name the storm too loudly, people believe I caused it.”
Hermione closed her eyes. The words landed painfully but truthfully. When she opened them again, Luna was still watching her with quiet, unwavering sorrow.
“I need you to explain better,” Hermione said. “Please. No riddles this time.”
Luna considered that solemnly. Then she spoke more plainly than Hermione had ever heard her.
“The triad is… different magic,” Luna said. “it looks different to me. It is not only yours. It is something that lives between you. It thinks in patterns and balance and timing. It does not like being pushed.”
Hermione frowned faintly. “What do you mean, pushed?”
Luna stepped even closer to the bed. “The bond was still learning your shape,” she said. “You three have only just stopped hurting in the same places at the same time. The magic was still stitching you together still.”
Hermione’s breath hitched. “We wanted the baby.”
“I know,” Luna said gently. “All three of you wanted a child. But that is not the same as the bond wanting one.”
Hermione went very still. “What do you mean?” she asked.
Luna hesitated. “Did the bond ask for the baby… or did you decide because time was pressing and rules were narrowing and longing or logic was loud?”
Hermione’s lips parted. The answer rose in her chest as truth she didn’t fully realize till now.
“We decided,” she said softly. “We wanted it because we wanted a family together. I wanted a child with all my friends. And the Ministry was watching. And… we were afraid to miss the window.”
Luna squeezed her eyes shut, a pained expression on her face. “Then the magic did not choose. It was commanded.”
Hermione felt cold spread through her.
“I took a fertility potion,” she said quietly. “To make sure it worked.”
Luna’s breath caught sharply. She looked genuinely horrified for the first time.
“Oh, Hermione…” she whispered. “That is force. I didn’t know specifics like that.”
Hermione’s heart pounded. “It’s used all the time though.”
“For single bonds,” Luna said. “For solitary magic. Not for living triadic magic. Not for magic that has three hearts and one pulse.”
Hermione looked like she might faint, “Are you saying… I killed my own baby?”
Luna rushed forward and took Hermione’s hand in both of hers, gripping tight. “No. No, no, no,” she said urgently. “You did not kill anything. You loved something that could not live inside the balance that existed. You did not know any better. This was what was always meant to happen.”
Hermione trembled, tears leaking.
“The bond and the child were fighting each other,” Luna said softly. “Two different songs trying to use the same breath. The more the baby grew, the tighter the bond strained. That relentless tightness you felt, that I could see between you all, that wasn’t only pregnancy. That was incompatibility.”
Tears slid down Hermione’s face, “Why didn’t the bond want our baby?”
Luna’s voice broke. “Because the bond did not choose the baby.”
A horrible realization settled into place in her brain.
“We chose the father too,” Hermione whispered. “On purpose.”
Luna’s shoulders slumped. “That mattered too I’m sure.”
Hermione stared at her, heart racing. “Why?”
“Because triad magic is not built on hierarchy,” Luna said. “It is built on circulation. Power, agency, choice, it must move freely between all three. When you fixed the lineage, the timing, and the conception all at once… the bond had no voice left.”
Hermione felt like she’d be sick.
“You’re saying the magic rejected the baby because we stole it’s agency,” she whispered.
“I think the magic never made space for it,” Luna replied. “And what cannot find space… falls through.”
Hermione covered her face with her hands, a broken sound slipping out. Luna climbed carefully onto the edge of the bed and wrapped her arms around Hermione’s shoulders, holding her as she sobbed.
After a long time, Hermione asked in a hollow voice, “Will the bond ever allow us to have children though, did we insult it too much?”
Luna pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Yes,” she said with surprising certainty. “But it must invite them. Not be instructed to bear them. It will decide when.”
Hermione wiped frantically at her cheeks. “So we did everything wrong.”
“You did everything human,” Luna whispered.
Silence fell again, heavy and aching. Finally, Hermione asked, barely audible, “Does Draco ever get to be a father by blood?”
Luna shook her head. “I only see you with child, not all the roads that lead to them.”
Hermione stared at the ceiling.
“This means if we try again the same way…” she whispered.
Luna nodded. “The ending will likely rhyme.”
Hermione’s breath shuddered. “And if we let the bond decide?”
Luna smiled, sadness and hope interwoven. “Then the child will come when it belongs to all three of you and the bond is in support.”
Hermione closed her eyes, overwhelmed.
After a while, Luna spoke again, very softly.
“You are going to be a mother,” she said. “Just not by the calendar you were handed.”
Hermione let out a quiet sob-laugh through her tears. “You make that sound so simple.”
Luna tilted her head. “It is. The universe cares very much about timing, even when it breaks our hearts.”
Hermione squeezed Luna’s hand. “Will you tell Draco and Theo this?”
Luna nodded. “When they are ready to hear it.”
Hermione swallowed. “I think they need to.”
After a long pause, Hermione whispered, “Will you stay a little while longer?”
Luna smiled gently. “Of course.”
And outside the door, Theo and Draco waited, feeling only the echo of something shifting in the bond they did not yet understand.
“The bond was… angry?” Hermione whispered after a little silence.
Luna tilted her head, silver earrings chiming softly. “Not angry like people get angry. More like… dissonant. Like plucking a string that was tuned for wind and trying to make it sing for fire instead.”
Hermione folded her arms around herself. “So you are saying we caused this.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple,” Luna replied gently. “You acted from love, fear, obligation, pressure, hope… all the messy human reasons. Magic doesn’t always speak that language kindly.”
Hermione’s voice cracked. “We wanted the baby. All three of us. Even without the deadline. We wanted him so badly. We already loved him.”
“I know,” Luna said. “But wanting and deciding aren’t always the same as the bond choosing.”
Hermione’s breath hitched. “And the potion?”
Luna’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “That kind of potion bends probability. In a single bond, that’s disruptive but survivable. In a triad bond? It overrides something very old. Very… alive.”
Silence stretched between them.
Hermione finally asked, quietly, “Do you sense the bond wants us to have children?”
Luna nodded. “But, not this way. The bond needs to be asked. Not be told. It may not agree when the right time is with you.”
Hermione’s shoulders sagged. “We did everything wrong.”
Eventually Hermione spoke again, “Draco and Theo think I’ll hate you for this.”
Luna shook her head serenely. “You won’t.”
Hermione hesitated. “I don’t hate you.”
Luna’s smile returned “Good.”
A gentle knock sounded at the door. Hermione and Luna both looked up.
“Come in,” Hermione said.
Theo entered first, his face tight with worry. Draco followed a step behind him, pale and drawn, dark circles under his eyes. Both of them froze when they saw Luna still seated beside Hermione.
Hermione took a steadying breath. “She told me everything.”
Draco stiffened. “About the future?”
“Well, what she knows, and about the bond, too,” Hermione said.
Theo’s gaze flicked instinctively to Luna. “And?”
Luna stood, smoothing the skirts of her dress. “You are not broken. You are simply… early.”
Draco swallowed hard. “Early for what?”
“For the version of yourselves that knows what not to force,” Luna replied gently. “I’ll take Neville home now.”
She gave Hermione one last soft look. “You’ll be a wonderful mother. Just not by command.”
Then she left quietly, the door clicking shut behind her.
For several seconds, no one spoke.
Finally Draco whispered, “So is it my fault?”
Hermione shook her head sharply. “No. Luna says we forced the bond and it didn’t like it. Triad magic is very against dictating children’s timing and percentage apprentely. It likes to decide itself when, and with who.”
“I was the donor,” he said hoarsely. “I brewed the potion. I…”
“And I took it,” Hermione interrupted. “We all agreed to it. Stop trying to be the villain.”
Theo stepped closer to the bed. “Hermione… what do you think?”
“I think,” she said slowly, “that we were scared of time. Scared of the Ministry. Scared of doing it wrong. Not wanting children to be left out from our friend’s kids. And we tried to control something that was never meant to be controlled.”
Theo exhaled shakily. “So… if we ever try again…”
“It has to be because the bond wants it too with us,” Hermione said. “Not because of a law. Not because of fear. Not because of pressure. Because we’re steady and aligned and ready.”
Draco lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. His voice was barely audible. “I don’t know how to forgive myself.”
Hermione reached for his hand, gripping it tightly. “Then borrow my forgiveness until you can.”
Draco’s breath shuddered. His eyes finally overflowed, and he bent forward, pressing his forehead to Hermione’s shoulder as the first quiet, broken sob escaped him.
Hermione held him firmly.
Theo held her.
Notes:
Do you think Luna and Hermione can get past this fully?
Chapter 331: Never Alone
Notes:
Their friends come to their aid in their time of need.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mauve finished the last diagnostic charm in silence. The glowing runes and outputs faded from Hermione’s abdomen. For a long moment, no one spoke.
Hermione lay still against the pillows, Draco’s hand clenched tightly in hers. Theo stood at the foot of the bed, arms folded across his chest, every inch of his posture rigid with restraint. Mauve slowly lowered her wand.
“Medically,” she said warily, “there is no single, definitive cause that I can identify.”
Hermione’s breath stuttered. Draco squeezed her hand harder.
Mauve continued professionally. “You do have light scarring on the uterine tissue, likely residual damage from prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus during the war I’d guess. It is not severe enough to prevent future pregnancies. It could make conception slightly more difficult, but it does not explain a spontaneous early miscarriage on its own.”
Draco turned his face away roughly, one hand flying up to cover his mouth as a raw, broken sound escaped him anyway. His shoulders shook brutally with quiet sobs. Hermione reached for him, but he pulled back out of her reach.
“Draco,” she begged.
He shook his head, voice shattered. “It happened in my house. I watched it happen. I couldn’t stop it. And now… this… I probably really did cause it.” He sank to his knees beside the bed, “Everything I touch…” He buried his head against the blankets, crying helplessly.
Theo moved instantly, gripping Draco’s shoulders from behind, grounding him with firm, steady pressure. “Stop,” he said quietly but fiercely. “This is not a punishment. This is not fate hunting you. This happens to people who have done nothing wrong at all. You cannot carry every bad thing as penance.”
Draco sobbed still, but more quietly. Mauve let them have a moment before speaking again.
“From a healer’s perspective, early miscarriages are tragically common,” she said. “Often there is no reason anyone can point to. No single failure of body or magic. And at seven weeks, there is rarely anything anyone could have done to change the outcome.”
Hermione closed her eyes. The words were logical, but they did nothing to dull the ache in her chest.
“What about the triad bond?” Theo asked tightly. “Could that have played a role?”
Mauve’s expression shifted to uncertainy now. “That is where my knowledge ends. There is very little peer-reviewed data on triad pregnancies. Almost none on the interaction between bond magic and early fetal development. I would not advise attempting conception again until you can consult a specialist who understands triad magic specifically. Theres so many unknown variables. I can’t honestly say that played a roll in this outcome, but I also can’t say it didn’t either.”
Draco jerked his head up, “I will find one,” he said croakily. “I don’t care where they are. I don’t care what it costs. I will fix this.”
Mauve nodded, “I expected you would try.”
She reached into her bag and withdrew a slim scroll. “I will be filing the medical paperwork with the Ministry to petition to issue you an extension on the mandate. Given the circumstances, they cannot in good conscience continue to apply pressure right now.”
Hermione exhaled shakily, the sheer relief of that almost overwhelming, “Thank you.”
Mauve’s expression softened. “Rest, and take the remaining potion on schedule. No magic heavier than basic household charms for at least a few more days. Physically, your going to be healed very quickly. Emotionally… I won’t pretend that is something a potion can fix. You may want to consult your own spiritual leaders or a mind healer. I can recommend some good ones if you need.”
She paused at the door, looking at the three of them in turn. “I am very sorry,” she said quietly, and then she was gone.
The house felt too empty after she’d gone. Draco had stopped crying and now sat on the edge of the bed, one hand clasped tightly around Hermione’s, the other pressed to his forehead. Theo remained standing at the foot of the bed, watching both of them intensely, unsure what to do or say to help.
“I keep thinking,” Draco whispered, “that if I hadn’t brewed the potion… if we had just waited… or maybe I had tried even harder to find a triad expert…”
Theo cut him off immediately. “You did not cause this. Hermione chose it, and I chose it too. The Ministry loomed over it. Our friends were all having kids. Hermione was getting broody. There was pressure everywhere. You are not singularly responsible.”
Draco looked up at him, “It still feels like I was.”
Hermione squeezed his hand as hard as she could manage. “We made that decision together,” she said softly. “All three of us. If there’s blame, it belongs to all of us… or to none of us. We had no idea such a normally safe potion wouldn’t be safe for us.”
Draco swallowed hard, nodding once. Theo finally sat down on the other side of the bed. The three of them were quiet for a prolonged minute.
Then Hermione spoke again, hesitantly. “Luna… says the bond didn’t choose the baby. That we forced it. Hat the bond could be resentful of the force applied to it.”
Theo’s jaw tightened. Draco stiffened. “We don’t know that Luna is right,” Draco said, though his voice wavered.
“No,” Theo agreed quietly. “But we cannot pretend it isn’t a possibility. Until we know more, we have to assume it could be feasible.”
Hermione turned her face toward Theo, eyes glassy. “If the bond really rejected it… does that mean it will always reject a child? That even if we ask it nicely next time and give it a choice, that it will just decide no?”
Theo hesitated with honestly, “I don’t know.”
Draco straightened with sudden fierce resolve. “Then we will find out. We will find every record, every surviving triad study, every obscure magical theory hidden in some dust-choked archive. We are not guessing about this. We are not walking into it blind again. Before we seriously consider trying this again, I will make sure we have more information on our bond available to make informed decisions with.”
Theo nodded slowly. “I agree, we really shouldn’t do anything rushed. We need to have a better idea what’s happening with our bond before anything else happens.”
Hermione stared at the ceiling. “And if we find the bond truly cannot support a pregnancy?”
The question hung in the air like a undetonated bomb. Neither of the men answered her immediately.
Finally, Theo said quietly, “Then we will grieve that reality together. And we will decide what a family means for us beyond blood. There are other options out there to pursue if we still want children. But, we will only go down that path if we need to, and never alone. We will handle this together.”
Draco reached for Hermione’s face, tracing her cheek with a single finger, “You are my both family,” he said fiercely. “With or without a child. My love for you isn’t contingent on that.”
Theo and Draco both kissed her forehead, insisting she get more sleep. They stayed with her till she fell asleep, then went their separate ways while she was out. When she woke up, Theo helped her shower in a way that could be described as nothing but clinical and dressed her in comfortable lounging clothes, and then Hermione asked Draco to bring Ginny, and Theo to go for Pansy.
Neither boy argued. Draco kissed her forehead with affection before apparating away. Theo squeezed her hand once, then followed suit. When the door closed behind them, the manor felt unbearably empty. She sat curled on the edge of the bed, fingers twisted in the sheets, feeling hollow in a way she didn’t have words for yet.
They returned nearly together. Pansy came in first, wrapped in a soft gray cloak, her face already tense with worry. Ginny followed just behind Draco, eyes red-rimmed, a clear I indication the boys had told them what happened already. The moment their eyes landed on Hermione, both froze.
The boys didn’t stay. Theo guided Harry, who had come with Ginny, to the hall, and into his study. Draco hesitated in the doorway, torn, then Hermione gave him the smallest nod. The door closed quietly.
Pansy crossed the room in three quick strides and dropped to her knees beside the bed, gripping Hermione’s hands.
“Oh, Granger, I’m so sorry sweetheart,” she whispered, voice breaking with restrained tears.
That was all it took. Hermione’s composure shattered completely. She folded into Pansy’s arms with a sob that tore out of her chest, painful and uncontrolled. Ginny climbed onto the bed behind her, wrapping both arms around her shoulders. For a long time there were no words at all, just shared crying, shaking breaths, and the steady pressure of her friends hands holding her together while she fell apart.
When she finally found the ability to speak again, it came out in fragments.
“I was pregnant. I was,” she whispered, disbelieving even now. “And then… there was blood… so much blood… and Theo tried to stay calm and Mauve was there and she told me… she told me there was nothing they could do… he was gone.”
Ginny pressed her face into Hermione’s hair. Pansy squeezed her hands gently but firmly.
“Oh, Hermione,” Ginny murmured. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Pansy’s voice was heavy with her swallowed tears. “It’s not fair. It’s so unfair.”
Hermione nodded helplessly. “It was Draco’s. We’d only just started thinking about the nursery décor.” Her voice cracked. “He was so happy. And Theo was happy for him. And I was happy. I didn’t even get time to be afraid yet.”
Pansy sucked in a sharp breath at that, instinctively placing a hand over her own abdomen.
“I know this pain,” she said sadly. “Not like this… not yet… but the fear of losing what you’ve just found… it never really leaves you. It just changes intensity.”
Ginny lifted Hermione’s chin gently so she had to look at her.
“This is not your fault,” she said with quiet force. “Not yours, not Draco’s, not Theo’s. You didn’t do anything wrong. Fate is a fickle and mean thing at times.”
Hermione shook her head weakly. “It feels like my body betrayed us. Like I failed them both.”
“You didn’t fail anyone,” Pansy snapped, sudden and fierce through her tears. “Your body endured torture that should’ve killed you and it still carried life. These things just happen, your body isn’t to blame.”
The words hit Hermione hard. She sobbed again, quieter this time. Pansy admitted how terrified she’d been during her own complications, how helpless it made her feel. Ginny talked about watching Harry carry too much loss for one lifetime and how unfair it was that Hermione had been spared so often only to be wounded like this instead. Eventually the tears slowed into exhaustion.
Hermione wiped her cheeks feebly. “The boys… they’re blaming themselves. Draco ran. Theo stayed, but he’s breaking too.”
Pansy softened. “Of course they are. They love you.”
Ginny stood. “I’m going to get Harry. You shouldn’t have to carry this alone. I know he wanted to talk to you too.”
Hermione hesitated, then agreed. Moments later, Harry stepped into the room. He looked wrecked, like being on the run all over again, eyes red, glasses fogged, jaw tight like he was trying not to fall apart himself. The moment he saw Hermione pale against the pillows, something in him fractured further. He crossed the room fast and pulled her gently into his arms.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking completely. “Hermione, I’m so, so sorry.”
She clutched the front of his jumper and sobbed into his shoulder some more.
“I wanted it,” she cried. “I wanted this, I wanted this life so badly.”
“I know,” Harry whispered, pressing his forehead to her hair. “You deserve every good thing. Every single one you ever want. You’ve made enough sacrifices for everyone else, you deserve to be happy finally.”
Pansy and Ginny quietly made themselves scarce, slipping into the adjoining sitting room and closing the door behind them to give the two of them privacy. Harry stayed with her, rocking her in his arms slightly, until her breathing steadied again. After a while he pulled back just enough to look at her face.
“Draco is blaming himself, isn’t he?” he asked gently.
She nodded.
“And Theo is trying to hold everything together, but he’s very cross with Draco...?”
Another nod.
Harry exhaled slowly. “Of course they are. That’s who they are. But this isn’t on any of you. Bodies don’t always follow magic… even the very best pure magic.”
She looked at him through red, swollen eyes. “What if it never works again?”
Harry didn’t lie to her.
“I don’t know,” he said softly. “But I do know this, whatever happens next, you won’t face it alone. You hear me? You have your husbands, but you have me too… and Ginny.”
Her lips trembled. He brushed his thumb across her knuckles. “You’ve spent your whole life being the strong one for everyone else. Taking care of us all of our childhoods. Let us be strong for you now.”
She whispered, “Thank you for coming.”
“Always,” he said immediately. “You don’t even have to ask. There’s nowhere else I should ever be more than with my sister when she needs me.”
He sat with her in silence for awhile, rubbing reassuring circles on her hands. Eventually her head lulled back against the pillows, her body physically and emotionally spent. Harry, tucked her covers in tight around her and left the room.
An hour later, outside the room, the muffled sound of Theo and Draco’s voices drifted through the hall; low, strained, raw with emotion.
Hermione lay in bed with her back to the door, eyes open in the dark, trying to go back to sleep. The potions Mauve had given her left her body heavy and muted, but her mind refused to rest. The fire in the bedroom had burned down to embers. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the low murmur of voices. At first she thought she was imagining it. Then she heard Draco’s voice louder.
It came from the adjacent sitting room; soft, muffled by the thick stone wall but unmistakably his. She strained to listen, not meaning to eavesdrop, but unable not to when she heard the raw grief in his tone.
“I keep seeing it,” Draco said hoarsely. “Over and over. Her blood. The look of horror on her face… just like Astoria. I can’t get it out of my head.”
Theo answered quietly. “Draco…”
“I failed them both,” Draco cut in. “Astoria. Our baby. And now—” His breath hitched hard. “And now her and another son. I promised myself I would never let anyone I care for bleed because of me again.”
Hermione’s chest tightened.
Harry’s voice joined in, low and steady but thick with emotion. “This isn’t something you caused, mate. You know that. These things just happen. It’s really terrible, but it’s not your fault. You know that deep down.”
“I don’t,” Draco said bitterly. “I chose it. I chose this path. I chose for the child to be mine. I took that decision into my hands, and the universe took everything back.”
Theo’s voice was annoyed now, “You didn’t cause the miscarriage by wanting your child, Draco. If guilt were that powerful, none of us would have survived childhood. You need to get this line of thinking out of your head.”
Draco let out a broken sob he clearly hadn’t meant for her to hear. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as tears slid soundlessly into her hair.
“I ran,” Draco whispered. “Again. I always run. She needed me, and I fled to Malfoy Manor like a coward hiding in old walls with old ghosts. And she still forgave me. Merlin, she still forgave me.”
“You’re here now,” Harry said carefully. “That matters.”
“It doesn’t erase that I left,” Draco replied. “It doesn’t erase that for hours she thought she’d lost me and the baby at the same time.”
Theo inhaled sharply. Hermione could hear the stiffness in his voice now too. “You’re allowed to fall apart, Draco. Just not alone. Not without us. Not without her.”
There was a long silence.
Then Draco spoke again, barely audible. “When Mauve said there was nothing that could be done… I felt it all leave me. I felt like whatever future I’d allowed myself to imagine was torn out of me. And I did’t know how to hold that and still be strong enough for her.”
Harry answered gently, “You don’t have to be strong tonight. You just have to be present for her… and for Theo.”
Another long pause ensued.
“I am so afraid,” Draco admitted. “I was afraid of losing the baby before. Now I’m terrified of trying again. Terrified of hurting her again. Terrified of proving that my blood just… breaks things.”
“That,” Theo said firmly, “is not the truth. That’s grief talking.”
Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth as a quiet sob escaped her. There was movement then; chairs shifting, someone rising. She imagined Harry standing, imagined Theo turning toward Draco. And then she heard the unmistakable sound of Draco breaking down, his breathing collapsing into harsh, shuddering gasps for air.
Harry spoke again, closer now. “You loved that child. Even if you only had them for a few weeks. That love doesn’t disappear just because their body is gone.”
Theo added softly, “And Hermione is still here. Still yours, still ours. You have deeply hurt me, Draco, but she’s already forgiven you, even if I haven’t.”
At that, Draco finally spoke the truth he’d been circling all night, “I don’t know how to hold both the grief and the hope for a future at the same time.”
“You don’t have to yet,” Harry insisted. “You just have to survive tonight. Pull yourself together over the next few days, work on repairing your relationship with Theo, being a support to Hermione. None of you are making choices about he future right this minute. You’re all still too raw and reeling.”
Hermione could not listen anymore. She shifted in the bed, unable to stay silent any longer. The movement must have been heard as intended, because she felt the bond stir with a sharp, sudden awareness from both Theo and Draco. Moments later the door squeaked fully open. Draco stood in the doorway like a shadow of his former self. His eyes were red, his hair tangled, his face grim.
“Hermione,” he whispered.
She held out her open arms without speaking. He crossed the room in two uneven steps and collapsed beside her, burying his face at her shoulder. All the composure he’d tried to maintain shattered in her arms. She felt his entire body shake as he cried without restraint.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered over and over. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She threaded her fingers gently through his hair, pressing her cheek to his temple. “You didn’t do this,” she murmured. “None of us did. I don’t blame you. You can’t blame yourself either.”
Theo followed a moment later, sliding onto the other side of the bed. He hesitated only once before wrapping an arm around both of them.
“You don’t get to carry this alone,” Theo said quietly. “Either of you.”
Draco’s sobs softened into exhausted, broken breaths. Hermione’s tears fell freely now too, silent and endless. The bond pulsed with a deep, steady brokenness, laced with guilt, and pain.
Notes:
I haven't had any comments since posting 325, and I'm thinking you all hate me now for doing this :(
Chapter 332: Draco's Marwen Session
Chapter Text
Draco sat rigidly in the study, hands folded tightly around the armrests. The door closed softly behind Mind Healer Marwen.
She didn’t sit across from him right away. She moved leisurely, settling into the armchair at an angle rather than directly opposite him.
“Thank you for asking me to come in so quickly, Draco,” she said kindly. “I know this wasn’t a scheduled session.”
He gulped. His voice came out gravelly, “I didn’t want to… wait. If I waited too long, I think I’d do something stupid.”
That, finally, made her look directly at him.
“That’s exactly why you’re here,” she said. “You don’t have to protect anyone in this room, just give yourself honesty and grace.”
Draco let out a laugh that was more breath than actual sound, “That’s sort of the problem. Protection is all I know how to do. Or… destroy.”
Silence stretched between them. Marwen waited him out patiently.
He stared at the horizon in the window and finally said, “She was pregnant. And now she’s not. And it was my child. My magic. My blood. Now he’s just gone, like he never existed at all.”
His shoulders started to tremor.
“I did this once already,” he whispered. “With Astoria, with my other son. It happened under my roof, under my watch. And now it’s happened again. This is all I’ll ever know, loss, I deserve.”
Marwen leaned forward slightly. “You didn’t cause this miscarriage.”
Draco’s eyes snapped toward her, bright with fury and grief. “You don’t know that.”
“I know medicine,” she said calmly. “And I know trauma. And I know patterns of self-blame when grief feels unbearable.”
His breath hitched. “I kill everything I care about by simply touching it.”
There it was, the core belief laid bare.
Marwen named it softly. “That’s the story you tell yourself to rationalize something unknown.”
“It’s not a story,” he snapped. “It’s a ledger. Stuffed full of history and examples.”
His hands began to shake visibly now. “Astoria. My son. Hermione’s child. Snape. My father. I walk into their lives and something beautiful dies. And every time people tell me it isn’t my fault and every time they are wrong.”
“Why?” she asked softly.
He let out a broken, helpless sound. “Because I was there and deserved it.”
“That’s not causation,” she said. “That’s proximity.”
Draco shook his head forcefully. “If I weren’t cursed… if my family weren’t cursed… if my blood weren’t rotten…”
Marwen raised a hand, stopping him. “Draco. You are spiraling into inherited guilt. You’re punishing yourself for crimes you didn’t commit and tragedies you didn’t cause because it feels easier than accepting that the world is sometimes cruel for no reason at all.”
His eyes burned. “Astoria suffered because of me.”
“That’s not true,” she said evenly. “Astoria suffered because of a family blood curse you didn’t cause. Because of a magical illness no healer could fully stop. Because of political coercion that forced a marriage neither of you chose. None of those were your personal doing.”
He pressed his palm to his face. “But I was her husband. I was supposed to save her.”
“And you did care about her,” Callista said. “Those are not the same thing. No one could have saved her better than you tried to.”
Draco bent forward, elbows on his knees, a hand over his mouth as sobs finally tore free; violent, silent, shaking sobs that ripped through his chest. Marwen didn’t interrupt. She didn’t rush. She simply let him fall apart in safety. After several minutes, his breathing slowed into ragged pulls of air.
“I left,” he whispered. “Hermione was bleeding. Theo was holding her. And I ran away form them.”
Marwen’s voice softened. “What were you feeling when you fled?”
“Terror,” he admitted. “And shame, and this unbearable certainty that if I stayed… she would see the worst part of me. The part that ruins things, and she wouldn’t ever want that near her again.”
“That’s not the worst part of you,” she said. “That’s the most wounded.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Theo told me to pull it together. To stop hiding. And I… just couldn’t. I …. ran right back to the room where everything already died once.”
“Grief often drives us toward familiar pain and places,” Marwen said. “It feels controllable.”
Draco nodded weakly. “I thought if I disappeared long enough, they’d be better without me. That they’d see the truth, they were better off alone together. ”
“And yet,” she said gently, “you came back.”
His voice cracked. “Because Hermione needed me, and Theo would have killed me otherwise.”
“And because you needed them,” Marwen added.
Silence again.
“Draco,” she said after a moment, “you are allowed to mourn the child you lost. But you are not allowed to sentence yourself for it.”
He gave a hollow laugh. “Theo hasn’t forgiven me yet for leaving.”
“No,” she agreed. “Because forgiveness requires time and consistent behavior. It’s not punishment, he likely feels very betrayed by your actions.”
Draco’s mouth tightened. “I’m scared he’s right. That I don’t know how to face pain without running.”
“That’s not fixed by holding onto shame,” she said. “It’s fixed by choosing differently next time. And the time after that.”
He swallowed. “What if it happens again, with another child?”
Marwen didn’t dodge the question. “Then you will grieve again. But you will not be alone. And it will still not be your fault.”
His voice dropped to a whisper. “Hermione is so small and hurt right now. She lost the baby and she still has to hold us together because Theo and I can barely be together without her as the conduit.”
“She doesn’t, you aren’t doing your job if she’s feeling that way,” Marwen said firmly. “You and Theo must hold her. That is your responsibility. Not get stuck in your guilt.”
He closed his eyes.
“I owled you,” he murmured, “because I was afraid I’d drown in this.”
“And you chose not to,” she said. “That matters.”
After a long pause, he finally asked, “How do I face them without breaking again?”
Marwen answered softly, “By telling them the truth. That you ran because you were afraid, not because you didn’t care. And by staying the next time it hurts. You need to ask Theo what he needs from you to be able to forgive you. It might be something specific, but it also might be time to process this and time to see you changed.”
Draco nodded slowly.
“I will,” he said. “Even if it terrifies me.”
“That,” she said, “is courage.”
Before he left, Marwen added gently, “You are not cursed, Draco Malfoy. You are grieving, don’t do it alone.”
Notes:
Thoughts on Draco's mental state and how he can recover...?
Chapter 333: Theo's Marwen Session
Chapter Text
Theo sat rigidly in the leather chair. Across from him, the mind-healer waited without speaking, letting the silence stretch until he could breathe in deeply and begin.
Finally, he said, very quietly, “I don’t know where to start.”
She smiled gently. “Then we’ll start with what hurts the most.”
Theo let out a shaky breath. “I’m angry,” he admitted. “So angry I don’t know what to do with it. And I hate myself for that, because she’s the one who lost the baby. Not me personally.”
“Anger is often grief with no place to go,” Marwen replied. “Tell me who you’re angry at exactly.”
Theo palmed his face, “…Draco.”
The word came out heavier than he intended.
The healer nodded, unsurprised. “Why?”
“He left.” Theo’s voice cracked on the words. “He ran away… again. Just like he always does when something is unbearable. I was standing there holding Hermione while she was bleeding, while she was breaking, and he just… he disappeared on us.”
Theo’s hands were fisted now. “I know he was in shock. I know he was drowning in guilt. But I didn’t have the luxury of leaving. She didn’t have the luxury of leaving.”
He pressed his knuckles against his mouth. “I needed him there. She needed him there. And he wasn’t there because he was being a quitter.”
Marwen let that sit for a moment in the room. “So, you’re angry because you felt abandoned in a moment when you needed your partner.”
“Yes,” Theo said instantly. “And because I’m terrified that no matter how much he promises to change, this is who he is when pain is unbearable… he flees it instead of standing in it with us. I don’t know if he can ever stop doing that. But, I can’t keep living with it.”
Silence settled again, heavier now.
“Do you still love him?” the healer asked gently.
Theo let out a broken half-laugh. “Of course I do. That’s the worst part. I love him enough that I expect more from him. But, that feels cruel, and I don’t want to be cruel.”
He wiped at his eyes angrily. “I was trying to hold Hermione together with one hand and sending orders with the other like I was on a shift. I didn’t get to collapse. I didn’t get to scream. I had to be the healer, and calm collected husband. And somewhere inside me I was thinking, why do I always have to be the strong one? Why isn’t Draco holding me, and her too?”
The healer leaned forward slightly. “Is that a familiar feeling for you?”
Theo’s breath slowed in resentment, “…Yes.”
And suddenly the words were spilling out faster than he could fully comprehend saying them.
“I learned that young. If I wasn’t calm, my father got worse. If I wasn’t quiet, my mother got hurt. If I wasn’t useful, no one protected anyone. Strength was survival, control was survival. I have to be the one to hold everyone together no matter what’s happening. It’s my responsibility.”
His voice dropped to a whisper. “So, when Draco fell apart and fled, my old instincts took over. Hold everything, save everyone, don’t feel.”
“And now?” the healer asked.
“And now I feel everything,” Theo said throatily. “The anger. The grief. The fear that this will happen again. The guilt for being angry at all when I know he’s traumatized outside his control too.”
He squeezed his eyes shut in shame, “I’m also jealous.”
The word surprised even him.
“Tell me.” Marwen asked.
“I was jealous of how openly Draco was allowed to fall apart,” Theo said. “People rushed to protect him, to sedate him. I immediately tried to take care of him. I didn’t get that. I was expected to just function, to be steady. And I was what Hermione needed in that moment, but something inside me snapped over it. No one was carrying for me or how I was breaking inside too.”
The healer nodded slowly. “You’re carrying unresolved resentment.”
“Yes. And I don’t want it poisoning us. I don’t want it turning into bitterness. Hermione has already let go of it, and forgiven him. But, well… I just can’t let him off the hook so easily. He hurt me, and hurt her.”
Theo rubbed a hand over his face, pulling at his hair. “I love them both so much. I love Hermione in a way that makes my chest ache. I love Draco in that infuriating, terrifying way where he can still break my heart even after everything. I don’t want this moment to rot inside me and ruin our bond. But, I also don’t know how to move past it either.”
Marwen was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly said, “What are you afraid will happen if you fully express your anger to Draco?”
Theo swallowed. “That he’ll think I don’t need him. That I’m strong enough without him. And then he’ll leave again, this time for good. Because he’ll think I don’t love him and never truly have. Or worse… he’ll revert back to thinking Hermione and I are better off without him entirely.”
The vulnerability in that confession left his brain buzzing and heart aching.
“You’re afraid that demanding accountability risks further abandonment,” she said.
“Yes,” Theo whispered.
“And yet,” she continued, “not demanding it risks resentment festering too.”
Theo let out a deep breath. “Exactly, it’s a catch 22.”
There were tears on his cheeks now, falling slowly.
“I don’t want to lose either of them,” he said. “I almost lost her. I can still see the blood. I can still feel how cold her hands were. I keep thinking… what if I hadn’t woken up fast enough? What if I’d been out on shift? What if she’d been home alone? Fuck Merlin… what if Draco had been the one to wake up with her like that, and he’d just panicked and left her there alone?!”
His voice collapsed. “I don’t think I can survive that ‘what if’ again.”
Marwen let him cry this time uninterrupted, until he’d let his emotions out.
When he could breathe again, she spoke carefully. “Theo, you are allowed to be angry. You are allowed to grieve. You are allowed to need care too… not just give it all the time. Your role in the triad is not ‘the strong one.’ It’s supposed to be ‘an equal partner.’”
Theo nodded in understanding.
“But I need to know something,” she continued. “Do you believe Draco is capable of learning to stay thru hard pain?”
Theo thought of Draco’s broken, haunted eyes when he’d returned. Of the shakiness in his hands every day since. Of the way he’d crumbled into sobs when Hermione squeezed his fingers that night in forgiveness.
“…Yes,” he said softly. “I do. I just don’t know if he knows how to yet.”
“Then your task,” the healer said gently, “is not to suppress your anger, but to express it in a way that invites growth instead of fear.”
Theo inhaled slowly. “I don’t know if I can do that without hurting him further. I’m s angry myself still.”
“You already are hurting,” she replied softly. “The question is whether you hurt alone, or at least try to heal all together.”
Theo stared at his hands. After a long moment, he whispered, “I don’t want to lose him. But I can’t keep carrying everything by myself.”
“That,” Marwen said, “is the most important truth you’ve spoken today.”
Theo stood to leave with eyes still swollen, and heart still in pieces, but with a better understanding of his pain.
He wasn’t wrong for being angry.
He wasn’t broken for needing more.
And he didn’t have to be strong alone.
Notes:
What do you think Theo will need to trust Draco again and work through this?
Chapter 334: Hermione's Marwen Session
Chapter Text
“Hermione,” Marwen said gently. “You don’t have to be composed in here.”
That alone almost undid her before they even really started. Hermione folded her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. “I don’t know how to be anything but composed. I’ve spent my whole life trying to hold things together, be the planner, or the responsible one.”
The healer nodded. “Then perhaps we start with what you’re holding together right now.”
Hermione stared at the fire for a long moment before the words finally came. “I lost the baby,” she said plainly. Saying it out loud still felt unreal, as if the words belonged to someone else’s life, not herself.
The healer didn’t rush her. “How does that feel right now?”
Hermione swallowed. “Empty…. yet heavy. It’s confusing. I also… I feel guilty for not feeling more devastated like I think I’m supposed to. I’ve been feeling… numb maybe?”
“That’s very common,” the Marwen replied. “There isn’t a one correct way to grieve.”
Hermione’s eyes blurred. “I was already planning everything in my head. I knew it was early, logically I knew… but I’d already imagined a future. I’d already imagined him with us.” Her voice cracked. “I was so ready to have this with them.”
The healer leaned forward slightly, very attentively. “And what do you feel toward Draco right now?”
That question made Hermione’s chest tighten with dread.
“I’m… disappointed,” she admitted quietly. “Not even in his fear. I understand why he ran. I really do… Astoria, and losing their child. Then watching it all happen in front of him again almost. I get why this broke him open. I do rationally understand why he got so emotional about it.”
Her voice softened. “But he left me, when I needed him.”
Marwen nodded gently. “You can understand someone’s trauma and still be hurt by their choices. Those truths can both exist together.”
Hermione continued, “Theo stayed. He held my hand. He cleaned the blood. He kept talking to me through it all. He didn’t disappear when it became unbearable, even though his grief was immense too.” Her breath trembled. “I don’t resent Draco for spiraling, but I do feel disappointed he left. We could have handled the emotions all together, it’s one thing to fall apart, it’s another to leave us like that.”
“That’s an important distinction,” the healer said.
Hermione closed her eyes breathing deeply. “What scares me most is that I already want to try again. I really want a child. That terrifies me because I don’t know if they will. What if they’re too afraid now? What if Draco decides he can’t survive another loss? What if Theo thinks the bond isn’t meant for children at all or that Draco can’t be trusted to be a father with us?”
She opened her eyes, tears falling. “I know how usual early miscarriages are statistically. I know they’re common. I understand the science. But emotionally? All I feel is this awful fear that maybe the universe is telling us no for a reason.”
Marwen studied her with calm compassion, “Do you believe that?”
Hermione hesitated. “No. I believe this was terrible and painful and unfair… but I don’t want this to be the end of our story as parents.”
“Then that belief matters,” the healer said. “Not as something you can force on your husbands, but as something you need to speak to them about. If your desire for motherhood is that important, then you need to share that with them.”
Hermione wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I’m also scared that they’ll associate me with grief and wounds now. That they’ll hold back because they’re afraid of hurting me again.”
“That fear comes from love,” the healer said. “But it can still create distance if it isn’t spoken out loud between you all.”
Hermione let out another breath. “I don’t want distance. I want them close. Even if it’s messy, even if it hurts sometimes. I just… I can’t lose them too form this.”
“You haven’t,” the healer said quietly. “But the three of you are suffering. That doesn’t mean you are broken though, but it does mean you need to figure out how to stand together and help ease each other’s pain.”
Hermione fell silent again. After a moment she asked, very quietly, “Do you think they’ll still want to be fathers after this?”
Marwen answered honestly. “Grief can make people pull away, or it can deepen their longing. What matters is whether they talk about the fear instead of letting it live unspoken, you all need to be honest with one another.”
Hermione nodded. “Draco feels responsible for everything. Theo feels responsible for everyone. And I spend my life trying to keep both of them on track, and happy.”
The healer offered a faint smile. “You don’t have to carry that alone. You need to communicate your needs and feelings to them.”
“I want to try again someday, not yet, but someday soon. I am terrified of wanting that.”
“That fear doesn’t mean the desire is wrong,” the healer said. “It means your heart still has healing to do.”
Hermione nodded slowly.
At the end of the session, when Marwen started to exit, she lingered at the doorway.
“You are allowed to hope again,” she said gently. “But you are also allowed to protect your heart in the meantime too. Don’t let your men’s current feelings overshadow your own.”
When the door finally closed, Hermione sat alone for several minutes longer, one hand resting unconsciously over her abdomen, thinking about what she needed to tell Theo and Draco… and soon.
Notes:
group session next
Chapter 335: Marwen's Group Session
Chapter Text
The chairs were arranged in a wide triangle this time.
Hermione sat between Draco and Theo, close enough that their knees touched hers on either side. She hadn’t asked for that, but neither of them had moved away. The physical closeness felt reassuring at the moment, so she didn’t mind. Healer Marwen sat opposite them, alittle beyond the triangle.
No one spoke for several moments.
Then Marwen said gently, “I’d like this session to be about what broke, what frightened each of you most, and what you need from one another now. There’s no right order. Whoever wants to begin, may.”
Hermione’s fingers tightened on the fabric of her skirt, “I’ll go,” she said quietly.
Both boys turned toward her at once with curiosity.
“I’m… not angry,” Hermione said slowly. “I thought I would be. I kept waiting for it to come. But mostly I just feel… hollow at the moment.”
“That’s a good start, what else?” Marwen encouraged.
“I lost the baby. That hurts in its own way. But what scared me most was waking up afterward and feeling like I’d lost the triad too. Draco, when you left… I understood why, but it still felt like I’d been abandoned in the moment I needed you most.”
Draco’s looked aghast.
“I don’t hate you for it,” she rushed to add. “I know it was trauma induced. I know it was fear overtaking your logic. I just… needed you here. I’m not mad, but I am deeply disappointed you weren’t there for us… for me. But, I am relived you came back.”
She turned to Theo next, “And I saw what it cost you to hold everything together alone. You shouldn’t have had to. I know why your angry with Draco, he left the burden all on you, and that’s not fair. You shouldn’t have to always be the one who is expected to pick up the pieces. I felt you in the bind clearly that morning… your grief was immeasurable too, and you couldn’t even express that, because Draco had already left, and you were trying to hold me together.”
Theo’s jaw clenched and his eyes were already wet.
Hermione’s voice carried on. “What I’m most afraid of isn’t the loss itself though. It’s that this might make us afraid to hope again. That one day you’ll decide the risk isn’t worth it. I already know I need to…. Want to try again, as soon as we have more answers. I know I’m supposed to be a mom, I crave it. I’m worried you both won’t want that risk again of being let down. Or maybe of even wanting it as a triad any more at all.”
She finally met Draco’s eyes directly. “I still want a family, with both of you. I’m scared you won’t want to try again… with me… or maybe not with each other, and that’s killing me inside.”
Draco lips had been trembling silently since she started speaking. When he finally spoke, his voice lacked all of it’s normal confidence.
“I thought I deserved it. I still feel that way a bit. It’s really hard to explain how much it feels like a punishment for me… my whole life till you both has literally been evil all around. I know my family deserves every awful thing that happens.”
Hermione flinched.
“I thought this was just more proof that I ruin everything I touch,” he said. “That I wasn’t meant to have this, either of you, this good life, a child. I panicked and ran like a coward instead of staying and protecting you when I should have been strong for you… for Theo too.”
His voice went lower, with more shame, “I keep reliving Astoria. I thought I was past that. I clearly was wrong and I left you alone because I was ashamed of myself for bringing this on you… and also because I was worried to let you both see me completely break down. I know I don’t deserve either of you, but I was scared you’d realize that too.”
His voice broke. “I would trade almost anything to take that day back and stay with you. To comfort you both, and handle this as a family.”
Hermione reached for his hand without hesitation, gripping it tight. Draco squeezed back desperately, like he was afraid to let go again. Theo didn’t meet his eye.
“I don’t want to lose our future because of my fear and self-loathing,” he said. “But I’m terrified that my existence is poisoning you both. I’m not sure how to make this up to either of you, but I swear I’ll try so hard.”
Theo had been silent the whole session so far, when he spoke, it was quiet and thoughtful.
“I was so angry. I don’t regret that. It was justified.”
Draco turned toward him sharply.
“I was angry that you left,” Theo said simply. “Not because I don’t understand trauma, but because I stayed. I stayed with her even though it was hard for me to just like it was for you. I held her while she cried. I made the medical decisions. I watched her bleed. And part of me resents doing that alone while you collapsed somewhere else. I feel like I always have to take care of everyone else and no one ever takes care of me. Where were you when I needed to break down too Draco?”
Draco closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead.
Marwen interjected, “Tell Draco what you need to work through the anger.”
Theo paused, looking uncertain, “I honestly don’t know what will make this right in my heart. I feel betrayed, and not taken care of. Like Draco’s pain was more important than mine, than even Hemrione’s, and that… that’s just intolerable. I need to feel like Draco can put me and Hermione above his own fears. I need to see that he can stand with us, instead of running when things are hard.”
Draco tried to mumble something, “Theo… I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean… that wasn’t how I wanted you to feel…”.
“But that anger sits on top of something else,” Theo continued. “Fear and self doubt. I keep thinking if I had seen something sooner, as a healer, I could have stopped it. If I’d done one more scan, one more charm, one more test… maybe the baby would still be here. Maybe I’m not as good of a healer as I should be, I don’t know.”
His voice was gruff. “And then there’s the guilt I don’t want to admit out loud, a small, ugly part of me was relieved that it wasn’t mine. That it was Draco’s child, not mine, and I hate myself for that thought.”
Draco looked up sharply, stunned. Theo met his gaze steadily.
“I love you. I love the idea of your child… our child. Merlin knows I was already looking forward to being a dad, and I already loved the baby. But, fuck… when it happened, all I could keep telling myself to keep the pain and grief manageable, was at least it’s not my blood, that would be even worse. I hate that about myself, that even for a moment I let my mind use that as a way to buffer my grief.”
Hermione stuttered, “Theo… Merlin… you didn’t wish the baby ill, you were protecting your heart in that moment, trying to be both my husband and my healer without letting yourself break.”
“But mostly,” Theo finished, “I’m afraid that if we try again and it fails again, it will destroy us completely.”
Hermione silently cried. Draco, began to reach a hand towards Theo’s knee, then thought better of it, and retracted it, “I know right now, I might not seem like a good candidate for a dad, but … I’ve wanted it my whole life. I still want it now, even knowing how this ended. I swear if it went sideways again, I wouldn’t run from it, I’d stand beside you both in our pain together. If Hermione wants to try again… then I’d be willing to as well, but only if Theo is onboard too, and only when we know more about triads to try to avoid this happening again.”
Theo listened carefully before responding, “I agree, we can’t try again so blindly. I do want children. I do want Hermione to get the chance to be a mother. I want us to be a happy family. But, at this moment I honestly can’t even think about trying again. I think I’ll be there again eventually… but all I can see if the blood, and feel the pain. I’m too angry, and hurting too much to be ready to commit to trying again. It’s just overwhelming right now to even think about. I do logically know that I will want to at some point, but emotionally I’m not yet ready to think about it seriously.”
Marwen responded, “I think right now, this is the most we can expect from any of you. It’s a very fresh pain right now. Healing first before making any decisions about the future is what I professionally would recommend. Keep checking in with one another about were you each are in processing the grief, be open to holding each other through this.”
They all solemnly nodded.
“Each of you is grieving differently,” she said softly. “And each of you is blaming yourself for something you could not control in some way.”
She looked at Draco, “You equate fear and loss with moral failure. You need to internalize that what your family did before is not you, that anything that happens in your life is note a punishment for your legacy.”
She turned to Theo, “You equate responsibility with omnipotence. You need to be willing to vocalize your needs to your partners and give them some of the burden you carry.”
“And Hermione you equate holding everyone together with being lovable. You need to accept that love given by these men is not contingent on your providing glue or planning for them. They love you because it’s the feeling they have inside for you, it’s not got strings attached.”
Hermione’s eyes became glassy. Marwen continued, “These damaging patterns existed long before this loss,” the healer continued. “The miscarriage didn’t create the, it exposed them. You need to help each other work through them, overcome them together.”
Draco turned to Theo, voice filled with regret. “I ran. I won’t do that again. Even if I break, I will break with you, not away from you. I will work on trying to actually believe I’m worthy if both of your love.”
Theo stared at him for a long moment, then nodded once. “You don’t get unlimited chances,” he said quietly. “But this time? I’m willing to try to let you fix it. But, I can’t do this again... this is your last chance to show me you can be there for me… us, and can stand with us even when the pain is agonizing. You’re not forgiven, but I’ll give you the chance to be better. It will take time.”
Draco exhaled a sob. Theo turned to Hermione, “And you don’t have to be strong for us right now. You don’t have to mediate our feelings. You can fall apart too. We don’t need you to fix it, we will handle it like adults ourselves.”
Hermione let herself cry then and both men pulled her into their arms without hesitation.
Marwen ended the session, “We will meet again soon. Grief does not end in one conversation. But today, you chose not to run from one another. That is how families survive tragedy. Now you must try to listen and be honest with each other.”
Notes:
This is not resolved, but the conversation has at least started.
Chapter 336: Ministry Extension
Chapter Text
The house was finally quiet. The elves had been given the day off. No healers, and no well-meaning friends lingering in hallways. Just the three of them, wrapped in the soft hush of late evening and lamplight.
Hermione lay between Theo and Draco beneath the heavy covers having argued with them both, that no one was sleeping in a separate bedroom tonight. Her body was still weak in that hollow way exhaustion leaves behind after grief. Draco’s arm was curved around her waist, his forehead pressed to her hair. Theo lay on her other side, one hand resting gently over her own acrossed her stomach. The bond between them was uncertain, lightly pained, but mostly tentative and tired.
“I don’t want either of you to disappear into this.” Hermione stated. She shifted just enough to look at both of them. Her eyes were tired, red-rimmed, but resolute. “I don’t want you hiding in work, or research, or guilt. I don’t want you breaking yourselves to try to fix what already happened. We can try to find out, but I don’t want it to become all consuming for either of you.”
Theo argued, “We’re not.”
She shook her head urgently. “You could. I don’t want that. I know you throw yourself into work Theo when you’re stressed. And Draco becomes obsessive with tasks.”
Draco, groaned “I don’t do that.”
Hermione gave him a pointed look wish shushed him.
“Theo… it’s okay for you to go back to work soon. But, please try not to disappear into it constantly.”
His brow furrowed. “Hermione…”
“I mean it,” she said softly. “In a few days, when Mauve and you both clear me. I don’t want you putting your life on hold because of me. You’ve already been passing off all your shifts this last week. I’m going back too… to the Center, to my classes. I don’t want us to wallow in this.”
Her fingers tightened marginally around Theo’s hand, “This pain… it’s not something we can hide from by stopping the world. It’s going to take time. But retreating from life won’t make it hurt less. I can’t afford to get more behind, and neither can you.”
Theo’s leaned forward and pressed a careful kiss to her knuckles. “You shouldn’t have to be the strong one right now.”
“I’m not strong,” she whispered. “I’m just choosing not to run. I still need you both to hold me. I’m still hurting so bad… but I just… I have to cling to some hope too.”
Draco had gone very still beside her.
Then, it came pouring out, “I will give you the family you want,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care what I have to do, I’d do anything to make sure it happens for you” he stopped himself from crying, then continued more carefully, “I will not stop looking for answers. I will learn everything there is to know about triad conception and pregnancy. I swear it. I will find us the answers we need if it’s the last thing I do.”
Hermione turned her face into his shoulder as his voice broke.
“I lost Astoria,” he whispered. “I lost that child. And now I…” He choked. “I won’t lose this future too. I won’t. You deserve a real family.”
Hermione’s hand slid up Draco’s arm, steady and warm. “You don’t have to tear the world apart alone.”
A breath shuddered through Draco’s throat. “I would if I had to.”
She lifted her head and met his eyes. “You won’t. We’ll do it together. But we won’t let what happened turn into a fixation …. for you, for Theo, or for me.”
Theo nodded slowly. “We’ll grieve this together properly. But, we’ll keep living too.”
Then Hermione spoke again, almost hesitantly, “I’m… glad the papers never knew.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “I would have burned half the press office down if they reported it now.”
A faint, tired sound escaped her, “I don’t think I could have stood seeing it turned into speculation. Or pity. Or rumors about fault.”
Theo squeezed her hand reassuringly. Hermione closed her eyes. Draco leaned down and pressed a slow, reverent kiss to her forehead. Theo mirrored the gesture on her other side.
The owl arrived just after noon the next day. Hermione was curled on the sofa with a blanket and a cup of chamomile tea when the familiar thrum of wards announcing official post rippled through the house.
Draco was in the study with her, old ledgers and journals spread everywhere, quill scratching furiously as he chased yet another triad lead. Theo had just stepped out of the shower, hair still damp, when the owl slipped through the receiving wards and landed on the low table before her.
On it’s neck was tied, the gold-sealed badge from the Ministry for the Department of Family Compliance. Hermione’s stomach dropped. Draco was at her side instantly, sensing the spike of anxiety through the bond. Theo followed a second later, towel still around his shoulders, eyes scanning the seal with dread. Draco broke the seal.
The parchment unfurled itself and Draco read it out loud.
<<<<<<<<<<<<
Ministry of Magic
Department of Magical Family Compliance
Level Seven, Whitehall Wing
London
Re: Triadic Reproductive Mandate Extension – Case File 21-NT-MG
To
Hermione Malfoy-Granger-Nott
Draco Malfoy
Theodore Nott
Following the sworn medical documentation submitted on your behalf by Healer Theodore Nott and Senior Healer Mauve Clearwater, and the subsequent review by the Department of Magical Family Compliance in coordination with the Office of Extraordinary Bonds,
You are hereby granted an official extension of five (5) months on your reproductive compliance mandate.
Your revised deadline for verified conception is now:
August 31st
This extension has been approved on the grounds of:
- Healer documented miscarriage
• Confirmed uterine trauma secondary to wartime curse exposure
• Insufficient existing research regarding triadic gestation
• Ongoing psychological and magical stabilization following trauma
During this period:
- No fertility testing will be required
• No coercive magical evaluation will be conducted on Hermione Granger-Nott
• Standard triad bond alignment reviews will continue as scheduled
• Any future conception efforts may proceed only with full informed consent of all three partners and the recommendation of Healer Clearwater
Failure to comply by August 31st will result in compulsory fertility intervention under Clause 4-B of the Marriage & Lineage Preservation Act.
We strongly advise consultation with a triad-specialized Unspeakable prior to future conception attempts.
May stability find your bond during this diffcult .
Signed,
Director Elspeth Rowe
Department of Magical Family Compliance
Countersigned,
Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
For a long moment, no one spoke. Hermione’s hands clenched her blanket tightly. Theo exhaled slowly, lost in thought. Draco closed his eyes, pressing the letter flat between his palms.
“They’re not forcing us yet at least,” Hermione muttered.
Theo crouched in front of her, taking her hands carefully. “No. They’ve given us some space to heal and figure this out.”
Draco swallowed hard. “Five months,” he said roughly. “It’s not forever. But it’s not a knife at your throat either.”
Hermione nodded, tears cresting again with grief mixed with relief. “They’ll leave me alone for the time being,” she said. “They finally have to leave my body alone.”
Theo leaned forward and pressed his forehead to her knuckles. “We won’t focus on deadlines, just on healing for now.”
The manor was quiet again that evening. Hermione lay between them, her back against Theo’s chest, Draco’s hand resting affectionately over her waist.
“I keep waiting for the tightness to come back,” Hermione whispered into the dark.
Theo’s fingers traced slow circles at her right hip. “I know. I feel it too. That constant pull isn’t there anymore.”
Draco stared at the ceiling, “The books never mentioned that part. If pregnancy changes the bond sensation… or if it was just that pregnancy.”
Hermione hesitated, then forced the thought out of herself. “Do you… resent that we tried honestly?”
Theo answered immediately. “No.”
Draco was slower. His voice cracked when it came. “No. I resent that we didn’t understand what we were asking the bond to do.”
“I don’t regret wanting that baby,” she said. “Even knowing how it ended.”
Theo tightened around her slightly. “Neither do we.”
Draco’s voice dropped to a whisper. “But next time… it will be because the bond chooses it too. Not a law. Not a potion. Not a deadline. We will be better prepared for the possibtilites.”
Hermione nodded slowly in the dark.
“I want to try again someday,” she admitted quietly. “After we understand. After my body and the bond both feel ready.”
Theo kissed her temple. “Then we will someday.”
Draco’s arms tightened around her from the other side. “And until then, we will try to heal the things between us.”
The extension changed the air in the house, from worried, to more like pained resilience. Hermione was officially placed on medical rest for another full week. Theo limited her spellwork strictly, and Draco took over nearly everything: ward maintenance, correspondence, even her afternoon tea timing with absurd precision.
She rolled her eyes at him constantly. “I am not made of porcelain.”
“I am aware,” Draco replied calmly for the tenth time that day. “You are made of stubbornness and defiance. Both require supervision.”
She snorted despite herself. Theo quietly returned to light shifts at the hospital three days later, but only daytime rotations. He refused overnight ER trauma cases, and refused to not sleep beside her at night yet.
Draco threw himself into research with renewed ferocity, pouring over unspeakable records, ancient lineage archives, and sealed triad case studies dating back centuries. Narcissa quietly opened Black vaults to him through Harry that had not been accessed in generations.
Hermione returned, slowly, to the Granger Center towards the end of the week. The children there did not know she had lost anything and somehow that made the space feel easier to move in. She helped with accidental magic control, laughed with anxious parents, and felt, bit by bit, like herself again after spending a couple hours a day there.
One afternoon Ginny stopped by with lunch and said softly, “You’re allowed to still be excited about being a mum someday, you know. Even now.” Hermione had cried in the staff room after that for a half hour, face buried in Ginny’s shoulder.
One night by the fire, Theo finally put words to what they were all feeling.
“This extension doesn’t just buy time,” he said quietly. “It buys us healing too.”
Draco nodded. “It buys us the chance to do it properly… with more knowledge this time.”
Hermione rested her head on Draco’s shoulder. “It buys us space to become untied again. Time for the two of you to work out your issues. Don’t pretend for my sake everything is fine… I’m not blind, you’re barely interacting with each other, just both being here for me… not for each other.”
Draco and Theo didn’t deny it, but both looked a bit ashamed
Notes:
Theo and Draco are still at arms length form one another close to two weeks after. :(
Chapter 337: Growing Unsteady
Chapter Text
The morning Hermione returned to the Charms Institute, the world felt harsher. Early April buds were forming on the orchard trees as Draco walked her to the gates to meet the auror. He hovered without meaning to, reminding her to eat the apple pie and chicken sandwich Theo had charmed to stay warm, asking if she was certain she felt well enough to go. She loved him for the care, but nearly snapped back at him from the weight of it.
“I’m strong,” she told him, “And Theo cleared me. I need this bit of normally again.”
Draco nodded reluctantly, “I’ll be here when you finish.”
Her auror escort kept a respectful distance behind her as she entered the Institute. The familiar warmth of layered wards wrapped around her… ancient stone, humming enchantments, and the faint metallic tang of active spellwork hanging in the air. For the first time since the miscarriage, she felt something close to truly normal.
Students glanced at her in the corridor. Some had questioned her absence yet again, murmuring about special treatment. None knew the truth of what she had lost. Their ignorance was both a mercy and a knife to the gut with their judgements.
In her morning practicum, she failed a shielding projection she could have cast blindfolded just two months earlier. The spell collapsed in a shimmer of white light. Murmurs rippled across the class at her sudden incompetency.
Hermione inhaled deeply, gathered herself, and cast again. This time the shield bloomed solid, and flawless. Her instructor’s sharp eyes softened with approval before moving onto the next student.
By midday she was exhausted in a way that felt like a badge of honor and fully earned. She sat alone on the terrace between classes, her auror a few paces away, tea steaming in her hands, letting the cool spring air steady her. The bond with the boys pulsed lightly thru her chest… calm and focused from Theo at work, and anxious with a hint of concentration from Draco at the manor.
That evening, Draco and Theo were both waiting when she returned to the manor from class. Theo read her small smile, and contentment in the bond right away, “You did well,” he said softly. “I can feel it.”
They had barely settled into dinner when Harry’s patronus burst into the dining room in a streak of silver.
“Hermione, Draco, Theo… Kingsley just looped me in. About the missing imports officer. He turned up… walked back into work the other day like nothing ever happened. Whole thing is very odd, I’ll be over soon.”
Harry arrived in person less than twenty minutes later, coat still dusted with soot from the fireplace. He dropped into a chair, rubbing his face hard.
“He told his daughter and his supervisors that the anniversary of his wife’s death overwhelmed him. Said he went camping…. At Yellowstone National Park, of all places. No magic, said he left his wand in his bag most of the time because he wanted to convene with nature. No communication either, he said no owls ever reached him, that he didn’t know his daughter was so concerned. He basically just… vanished off grid for nearly three weeks. The whole thing sounds so… weird.”
Theo frowned, “Did Healers examine him?”
“Yes. No physical trauma was recorded, his core is perfectly intact too. Honestly, I‘m a bit worried about his mental state. Who just takes off like that without a word? I know his boss at work has told him to see a mind healer if he wants to be back to full time shifts again. Maybe that’s what the poor bloke really needs.”
Draco’s fingers tapped against the table. “Then why does your voice sound like this is not finished?”
Harry exhaled slowly. “Because it doesn’t fit, not really. There are no supplies chartered, no record of him buying camping gear at all. No portkey registered to go to The States for him… he says h took a muggle airplane, but also seems to misplaced the paper ticket form that. And his house? Pristine. Suitcase never moved. His daughter said everything looked untouched while he was gone.”
Hermione felt a chill along her spine. “So either this was a very odd camping trip done haphazardly, or he’s lying about where he went,” she said quietly, “or someone helped him vanish for some reason he doesn’t want to share.”
Harry nodded. “And he’d been working import regulation tied to South American shipping routes before he vanished. Bolivia. Peru. Exactly where we’ve been tracing the siphoning shifts lately.”
Theo’s instincts flared with unease, “It feels like a dry run. Testing disappearance without detection, seeing the reaction from the Ministry.”
Draco’s eyes darkened. “Or someone decided he knew too much and moved him without killing him. Maybe he was being held and threatened.”
Hermione’s hand drifted unconsciously to her abdomen. The absence there still ached. The world kept turning though, “ assume you questioned him, but can’t use any forceful methods?”
Harry nodded, “Officially, he was a missing person only, who has been found. We’ve spoken to him. But, legally he’s not in any trouble. We have no justification to hold or integrate him further, he’s been cooperative. No one is legally bound to inform the Ministry of taking a vacation. And whether he gets fired or not, is up to his boss. Before this he’s been a model employee for decades… at most this may result in probation or a writeup.”
“We need to tell Kingsley to keep an eye on this,” she said. “This wasn’t necessarily grief-driven wandering. This could be extraction without siphoning, or something nefarious.”
Harry stood. “Already on it. But… I wanted you to hear it first. Given everything. I didn’t want it ambushing you in the Prophet. I just wanted to have you guys hear it from me first.”
She met his gaze, “Thank you.”
Later that night, Draco sat in the library with the Flint genealogy scrolls unrolled across an entire table. Theo brewed tea he forgot to drink while looking over patient notes. Hermione worked on charms revisions she hadn’t touched in weeks.
“I hope this isn’t the start of a round of disappearance. It just still seems so odd… but for what purpose would someone be taken, just to be returned weeks later perfectly fine?’ Hermione puzzled.
Theo and Draco both shook their heads in confusion too. Theo told her about one of his more amusing cases to distract her mind, about a man that day who had come in that day with unnaturally green body hair with no idea how it happened. Eventually, after much confusion and inconclusive spell diagnostics, the man’s grandson has admitted to using muggle hair dye infused into his body wash as a prank. He was promptly grounded, and they had to send he man off with instructions to wait out the wash out of the dye. Hermione laughed so hard that for a moment everything seemed like before, Draco even snorted at the story in amusement.
But soon, the bond grew sad again, echoing everyone’s grief.
Hermione whispered, “I’m still afraid to hope for the future.”
Theo kissed her temple tenderly. “You don’t have to hope yet. Just heal with us.”
Draco’s arm came around her. “We’ll do the hoping for you until you’re ready again.”
The days that followed blurred into one another, emotionally heavy, and strangely uneventful.
Hermione tried to move forward. She knew she needed to. But even as she resumed small daily routines like reading at night in the parlor, making tea for Theo before his shifts, and sorting lesson notes to study for her exams, the manor still felt weighted with a new, aching tension between them all.
Draco threw himself into research like a man possessed, even as Hermione protested to deaf ears. Many mornings he was already gone from their shared bedroom before Hermione woke, leaving only a lingering warmth on his pillow. His study became a research headquarters of sorts: piles of ancient scrolls, borrowed volumes from the Department of Mysteries, hand-written family genealogies, half-translated rituals from extinct magical cultures. He sent out owl after owl trying to find out more triad and Flint information, mostly to no avail. He forgot meals many days. He forgot to shave once until Hermione forced him into the bathroom and locked him in for two hours of what she claimed was ‘necessary self care’. Theo largely left him alone to wallow, often only interacting with him when Hermione was present, ignoring him when they were alone in the manor. Draco noticed and hurt because of it, but couldn’t bring himself to leave his self imposed desperate research pace, nor did he know how to fix what was broken between him and Theo anyway.
Hermione would lift her head from whatever quiet task she was doing and feel I on a regular basis, the bond straining with his frantic desperation for answers. It was almost always laced with guilt, fear and a low, constant panic.
She knew it wasn’t sustainable, and that it was forcing more distance between them all, but very time she tried to coax him away from his research, Draco would kiss her forehead, murmur, “Just a little more… I’m close to something, I can feel it,” and slip back behind his desk. She knew the truth though, he wasn’t close to anything. He was drowning in trying to come up with answers, just as she feared he would.
Theo, meanwhile, cuddled her, but not in the warm, steady way he used to.
He did everything he could for Hermione when he wasn’t on shift: fetched her tea, checked her vitals, made sure she wasn’t pushing herself magically after classes. He curled around her at night like an emotional support animal and whispered that she wasn’t alone, that she was strong, that she would heal. It was comforting, but also felt superficial in some ways, like they weren’t connecting fully emotionally. Theo was careful with holding back his his full grief with her.
But, with Draco, it was like something had snapped between them.
He was civil, but his eyes were cold when he spoke to him. He no longer lingered in rooms Draco occupied unless Hermione was in them too. He no longer reached for him casually during dinners, or joked with him softly getting ready before bed. He monitored Hermione’s emotions heavily, but avoided Draco’s almost entirely. Hermione saw it all with the clarity of an outsider, the stiffness, the polite distance, the unanswered touches. It exhausted her in ways she didn’t dare voice to either of them, for fear of sparking it into a worse fire.
They weren’t just fighting. She knew they were… unraveling. Hermione loved them both with her entire heart, but she was getting frayed at the edges after so many days of the tension and shallowness in the bond.
Every time Draco refused sleep at a reasonable hour, she felt her temper rise. Every time Theo steered her gently to the couch with a blanket and told her to rest, even when she was physically perfectly fine a week ago, she felt smothered. Every time the boys passed each other in a hallway with careful quiet, and polite distance, she felt the bond ripple with unease.
The bond was feeling more uneasy by the day, each of their individual feelings becoming a building storm with no relief. It felt unsteady, and frustrated with each passing hour. Hermione could feel Draco’s frantic obsession pouring into it. She could also feel Theo’s quiet hurt simmering just beneath the surface. Her own grief and impatience only stirred the instability more.
One evening, when she returned from the Institute utterly drained form long practical exercises, she found them in separate rooms yet again, Draco hunched over a desk full of scrolls, Theo pacing in the guest hallway, rubbing the back of his neck as he reviewed anatomy notecards for an exam.
She could feel the bond vibrating with how disconnected they were becoming, it felt like they were standing on the cliff edge about to fall off into complete unalignment. Hermione closed her eyes, pressed the heels of her palms against her forehead, and finally lost her temper with them both.
She didn’t raise her voice often. But tonight, the words erupted out of her loud and desperate, “Enough! I can’t take this any more!”
Both boys froze, Theo mid-stride, Draco lifting his head from a book in startled guilt, and both came running to her in a panic.
“Enough,” Hermione repeated, voice shaking. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t navigate grief with both of you pulling away from each other and drowning yourselves in your own guilt and feelings!”
Draco swallowed hard. Theo stiffened.
She continued, “You’re both hurting, I know that. But so am I. And lately it feels like the bond is twisting itself into knots because we’re all trying to cope separately instead of together.”
Theo opened his mouth, then closed it again. Draco looked like she had physically struck him. Hermione took a few steps closer, forcing them both to look at her.
“Draco, you haven’t slept properly in days. You’re obsessing, and it’s making the bond feel like it’s going to snap or something. And Theo—” She turned to him gently. “I know you’re angry, and hurt, and scared. But shutting Draco out won’t make any of us feel safer. Your pretended indifference is making the bond and me feel incredibly uneasy. It’s hard to even concentrate in ym classes the last few days, I feel so on edge because of you both.”
Theo averted his eyes form her, while Draco’s eyes went glassy.
“And what about me?” Hermione whispered. “I feel like I’m trying to keep us from falling apart all by myself. I can’t do that. I shouldn’t be having to. We have to face this together, or we’re going to lose each other when we need each other the most. You both need to take care of each other in this, and take care of me. I feel so alone in this.”
The silence felt thick and unyielding for the next few moments. Hermione was trying to catch their eyes, but neither would let her. Then Theo exhaled, voice low, “You’re right. You shouldn’t have to suffer because we can’t get it together between us right now. Draco, I will talk to you about it soon, but I’m just not ready quite yet.”
Draco whispered, “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more present with you both. But, I do feel like I need to fix this… get us some answers, and I don’t think I’ll ever feel like I’m really healing till I do.”
They both did go to bed with her that night at a reasonable time, one settled in on each side of her, each clasping one of her hands. Neither talked about themselves or interacted much with the other, but they did ask her to talk about her feelings and grief, and both listened intently. They held her tight while she cried, and lulled her to sleep with light back rubs. It was a start, but it wasn’t enough.
Hermione arranged the tea out of quiet desperation more than anything else.
She waited until Theo had left for a long hospital shift and Draco had locked himself away in the study again with stacks of ancient texts looking for mere footnotes on triads before sending the last minute invitations. Pansy arrived first in a flurry of pale yellow spring robes and soft baby blankets, Cassian fast asleep against her chest, followed shortly by Narcissa, elegant as ever in soft charcoal robes perfectly tailored to her slim figure.
They gathered in the sunroom overlooking the orchards. Steam curled from porcelain cups with a rich exotic blend she knew Pansy favored. Cassian was settled into a cushioned cradle near the fire sleeping peaceful like a little cherub.
“Hermione, I love spending time with you, but why are we here today?”, Narcissa inquired after helping herself to a lemon scone.
For a long moment, none of them spoke. Pansy tried to read her face, to figure out what was coming.
Hermione finally broke the silence, her voice depressed, “I don’t know how to fix them both.”
Pansy locked eyes with her at once. Narcissa’s fingers stilled on her teacup, mid rise to her mouth.
“They’re both trying,” Hermione continued quietly. “In their own broken ways. Draco is… careful with me. Watching me breathe. Watching me walk. It’s like he’s terrified I’ll disappear if he blinks. But, he’s also throw himself so heavy into research on triads and the Flint history, that he’s barely more than surface level keeping track of me. And Theo, he won’t let go of me either in a very clinical way… constant medical spells to check everything is still fine, making sure I’m eating, holding me at night, but he won’t even speak to Draco, let alone forgive Draco. And Draco won’t forgive himself either. And I’m in the middle of it, feeling everything through the bond. I think they’re on the verge of destabilizing us all.”
Her hand trembled slightly as she set down her cup.
“The bond feels very wrong,” she admitted. “Not quite broken. Just…well, it’s hard to explain really… but like it’s pulled apart in one place, stretched too thin in another. They’re both attentive with me but awkward, careful, and wounded with each other. I can feel the distance between them constantly, and the bond echoes with their pain, and fear, and Theo’s distrust. The bond … is unhappy.”
Pansy exhaled slowly. “That sounds bloody miserable to feel all the time. Particularly when you’re trying to work through your own grief as well.”
Hermione gave her weak smile. “It is. It’s driving me crazy.”
Narcissa leaned forward slightly, brushing her hand, “My girl, grief does not move in straight lines for most people. It makes cowards of the bravest people.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed, “He ran away from us, Narcissa.”
“I know,” Narcissa said softly. “And I also know exactly why.”
Hermione looked at her in disbelief.
“I lost two pregnancies,” Narcissa said. Her voice was steady, but her eyes shone. “Lucius broke something in our house every time. Then he disappeared into his study for hours. Not because he loved me less, but because he believed he was the cause or at least that he needed to be the solution. That if he allowed it to reoccur, I would break again, and he would be a failure of a husband.”
Hermione swallowed hard.
“That is what Draco is doing now at least partly I think,” Narcissa continued gently. “Except he no longer has a firm confidence in the strength of his legacy to cling to. So, not only does he feel the pressure to come up with the solution as your husband, but he also feels the self-blame of believing he caused this in the first place. He carries so much shame for what he’s inherited. And on top of that… I know he feels like a fool for running, and dejected without Theo speaking to him.”
Pansy shifted uncomfortably. “And Theo?”
Narcissa looked thoughtful as she took a sip of tea, “Theo’s pain is different I think. He stayed. He held her while the world burned, while he watched Draco flee. That kind of loyalty and betrayal gets twisted into resentment very easily. He’s always been such a reserved boy all the time I’ve known him … emotionally at least. I’m sure he’s drowning in his own from of grief over the loss, but feeling like he can’t let Hermione see it because it would drag her down. And now… well, Draco isn’t a safe space for him to come clean to either.”
Pansy nodded slowly in agreement. “Theo doesn’t trust that Draco will stay when things get unbearable, so he won’t unload his emotions with him. And Draco doesn’t trust that he deserves to have you both now either. It’s a very bad cycle to get caught in.”
Hermione stared down at her hands, “And I’m so tired of being treated like I’m a breath from breaking. I’m devastated, I am… but I’m not broken. I just want us to all come together and help each other thru this.”
Pansy snorted softly. “Yeah, that tracks. But, those boys have both been martyrs all their lives.”
“I know they think they’re protecting me,” Hermione whispered. “But it makes me feel… helpless. Like I exist only in relation to their fear, or as something for them to take care of out of responsibility.”
Narcissa reached across the table and took Hermione’s hand again. “Then you must remind them who you are.”
Hermione looked down at her hand being held.
“You are not a fragile thing to be guarded into silence,” Narcissa said firmly. “You are the center of that triad’s gravity. If the bond is destabilizing, it is not because of what you lost, but because of what they are refusing to face. But, it’s also not on you to fix it either. You can only tell them your own truth, what you personally need form each of them to feel whole. But, what’s happening between them, you can’t solve, and you need to stop putting that bending on yourself.”
Pansy added more gently, “They need to talk to each other without using you as the translator. Right now they’re both leaning into caring for you as an excuse to fill the void, instead of leaning into each other emotionally. That’s not sustainable.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “What if they can’t fix it themselves?”
“They can,” Narcissa said without hesitation. “But one of them must stop hiding, and the other must stop punishing.”
Pansy smirked faintly. “And you, my dear, need to stop absorbing everyone else’s issues like it’s your job.”
Hermione laughed weakly through held back tears.
They sat quietly for a while after that. Cassian stirred in his cradle and Pansy rose to fetch him, rocking him absently against her shoulder.
Hermione watched the tiny rise and fall of his chest.
“I still want this too,” she whispered. “A family… with both of them. Even after everything.”
Narcissa’s grip on her hand tightened. “Then do not let this season of hardship convince you that love has failed between you all. This is simply what it looks like when three people are bleeding at once but not together.”
Pansy added, very softly, “And sometimes the bravest thing you can do is demand that the people who love you stop hurting themselves on your behalf.”
Hermione closed her eyes in acceptance; she wasn’t going to let the bond fracture quietly anymore. But, she also wasn’t going to feel fully responsible for its mending either.
Notes:
Thoughts on this dear readers? How can healing really begin if no ones talking?
Chapter 338: Hermione's Intervention
Chapter Text
Theo and Draco were both more attentive to her since her blow-up, almost excessively so. They watched her continuously. Draco hovered constantly, insisting she do her work in the same rooms as he did his research every afternoon. He doted on her, asking the elves to make all her favorite foods and desserts each night, and presenting her with elaborate gifts she neither desired nor wanted, like bath bombs infused with rare Persian herbs, and designer muggle dresses more ready to wear to the red carpet, than out in the wizarding world. Theo soothed her to sleep, checked her health obsessively, adjusted her pillows and lap blankets, and encouraged her to speak about her grief to him. Neither stopped touching her entirely, but it was always in comfort, platonic gestures, never sexual, more like good friends, never like a wife.
But they barely touched each other at all. And the bond knew it. By the fourth night of cold politeness between them following her confrontation with them, Hermione woke from a shallow sleep with a sharp ache under her ribs and the unbearable certainty that if she waited much longer to leave them up to their own devices, the bond would begin to make her magic erratic.
So, the next morning, while Theo was still asleep and Draco was quietly brewing tea in the kitchen, Hermione sent the owl to the mind-healer from her old bedroom. Draco’s hands froze mid-pour when Hermione told him what she’d done.
“You invited her back,” he said carefully.
“I asked,” Hermione corrected. “She confirmed for this afternoon.”
Theo, standing in the doorway with sleep still clinging to him, stiffened. “Hermione… are you sure now is the right time to add more reassure to this?”
She met both their eyes, confident, and unwavering.
“This is the right time. Because we’re breaking apart quietly, and all three of us can feel it. Pretending we’re protecting each other, by not acknowledging it is only making it worse. Most days lately I’m half afraid we’re going to get a Ministry summons saying we’ve become unstable and dangerous. This can’t go on any longer.”
Neither man argued. They both knew she was right.
Marwen arrived just after lunch, once again claiming Theo’s study. The room looked the same as it had weeks earlier; book-lined and healer instruments on the shelves, sunlit, deceptively calm. But the air inside it felt heavier now, full of everything they had not said out loud enough.
The three of them sat in a loose triangle, far apart today. Hermione on the sofa, feet curled under her body. Theo at the window seat, and Draco in a high-backed chair with rigid posture. The healer observed them for a long moment, noting not just their physical distance from one another, but the buzz of the bond coming off them too.
“I can feel the instability coming off you all without casting a single diagnostic charm,” she said gently. “Which tells me it’s emotional, not magical in origin. That’s good news. It means this is repairable through words and actions.”
Draco exhaled shakily. Hermione started, “We’re… stuck. And the bond is suffering for it.”
The healer nodded. “Tell me how.”
“They’re both protecting me,” she said softly. “But they’re doing it by pulling away from each other too. Hey’re treating me too softly, like I’m not their lover, just something broken. It’s awful. Then, they’ve made no progress to reconcile between the two of them either. Draco is swallowing himself in redeeming himself by finding a solution through research, while Theo refuses to try to work through things with him emotionally. None of us are being physical with one another, and frankly none of us are very psychologically deep together either. And the bond… was never meant to be maintained by only two points at a time engaging in surface level interactions. It needs all three of us together, and more depth of emotion and physicality. We all know that.”
Theo’s face was pulled tight in a grimace. Marwen turned to him. “Is that accurate?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “The bond does require triadic flow. Emotional connection… physical resonance… between all three of us. We are… not doing that.”
Draco visibly flinched at the word physical.
The healer’s gaze shifted to him. “Why is this happening, Draco?”
Draco didn’t answer at first. His eyes were fixed on the carpet when he finally did.
“Because I don’t deserve to have it,” he said finally.
Theo turned sharply toward him. “That is not… ”
“I left,” Draco cut in. “I abandoned both of you when you needed me most. I broke the bond at its most fragile point. I don’t get to pretend things are normal and try to touch either of you like nothing happened. Before that… well, I still feel like the baby… everything was because of karma for my family. I’m trying not to feel like that… but it still feels that way some day.”
Hermione surged forward in her seat. “You don’t get to punish yourself at the cost of all of us.”
Draco’s breathing was becoming labored, “I probably killed our child by agreeing to be the father.”
The healer held up a steadying hand. “No. You did not. This line of thinking needs to end now.”
Draco’s eyes were wild. “It was my magic. My bloodline. My fault… just like Astoria…”
“Enough,” The healer said firmly. “That belief is grief speaking, not truth. And grief, when left unchecked, becomes rot. It will rot your magic. It will rot your bond. And it will rot your relationship with them if you let it. Just because you feel it, and worry about it, does not make it the truth. You have to let go of what isn’t because of you and focus solely on what is in your actual control. The baby was a tragic event, it had nothing to do with punishment for you. However, running away from the pain of it is something you must own and see as your own choice.”
Theo spoke next, voice low and unhurried, “I’m angry with him. I still am. He left me to hold everything alone. But I also… see how deep his shame and guilt goes. And I don’t know how to reach him through it without excusing the hurt I feel as not important. That’s why I haven’t been speaking to him, I’m not sure how to connect again… how to be comforting and yet still mad all at once.”
Hermione looked between them. “I feel like the two of you are about to send the bond into alignment at any moment.”
Marwen inhaled slowly, encouraging them all to-do so as well.
“None of you are wrong in how you feel. But this avoidance… this emotional distance, this absence of physical connection… is actively destabilizing your triad bond. Each of you have a different part of responsibility you’re playing in that.”
Draco deflected, “We’re not having a child right now. It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters greatly,” the healer said. “Triad bonds are not sustained on wished for love alone. They require resonance. Touch, and intimacy. Not just sexual… though yes, that too when appropriate… but physical reassurance between all bonded members. As well as emotional vulnerability and togetherness.”
Theo looked stricken.
Draco whispered eyes darting to Hermione, “You’re saying we’re hurting her by staying apart.”
“No, I’m saying you’re hurting all three of you. You might very well be teetering of the edge of imploding the whole bond and yourselves if rumors about previous triads are to be believed.”
Theo argued, “Hermione… we didn’t stop touching her.”
“I know,” Hermione said softly. “That’s not the problem biggest problem, though… it hasn’t exactly been intimate with me either.”
Draco realized she meant them, before Theo totally did.
“You and Theo,” Hermione continued. “You’ve barely stood within arm’s reach of each other since Russia. You had just barely started to find your rhythm again together before this happened. Since the miscarriage your even worse off together than Russia even.”
Theo’s throat worked, “I didn’t want to hurt him with my fear and anger.”
Draco laughed weakly. “You couldn’t hurt me as much as I already have myself.”
Marwen leaned forward. “You do not heal a wound by refusing to look at it and ignoring it. That’s what caused it to get infected, Theo you know that as a healer. You heal it by bringing it into the open, draining it of the infection, keeping it clean and medicating it. You keep an eye on it till it’s fully healed before you fully brief a sigh of relief and move on form it.”
She looked directly at Draco, “You are allowed to seek comfort even when you feel unworthy of it Whether or not the others provide it, is for them to decide, but they won’t give it if they don’t know you need it.”
Then to Theo she said, “You are allowed to be angry without withholding love as a punishment. You can be understanding of trauma and try to heal grief together, without saying your own anger and hurt doesn’t matter. Be mad, but also be understanding too.”
Her head went to Hermione, “you are allowed to ask for what the bond needs, even if it’s inconvenient, even if it’s vulnerable for you. If you need more emotional depth for them… voice that. If you want intimacy, be clear with them.”
Hermione’s voice trembled back . “The bond feels like it’s starving in every way right now.”
Theo closed his eyes. Draco’s hands began to shake.
“Fine, I will sit down with Draco and attempt a conversation. We can see where it goes.” Theo gave in.
“That’s a place to start. If you continue as you are now,” the healer said gently, “the bond may not break in a dramatic snap, or maybe it will, I’m not a triad magic expert. But at the very least, I can grantee that it will wither away.”
No one spoke for a long moment. Then Theo stood. He walked slowly, across the room and stood in front of Draco. Draco lifted his eyes, startled at the sudden proximity.
“I am still very angry,” Theo said. “But I don’t want us to die this way.”
Draco’s voice was gruff and low. “I don’t know how to be forgiven.”
“You don’t get to decide when or how that happens,” Theo said quietly. “But you do get to decide whether you show up or keep hiding.”
Draco nodded, “I’m not leaving I swear. I will show you that.”
Hermione rose and joined them, placing a hand over both of theirs. The bond still felt very uneasy, but beneath the guilt, grief, and pain, there was a flood of hope too now.
Notes:
Maybe a bit of progress finally...?
Chapter 339: The Start of Forgiveness
Chapter Text
Hermione left the manor with her auror escort just after sunrise the next day. Neither of them spoke to each other as she went out. She kissed Draco’s cheek, then hesitated before turning to Theo. He froze like he always did now when she touched him first, like he was afraid to initiate, afraid to take, afraid to be too much for her fragile self. She leaned in anyway and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.
“Don’t work all day,” she murmured.
Then she was gone. The bond changed the second she crossed the wards. The warmth that always anchored Theo and Draco through her presence became fainter with distance. What was left behind between them alone was sharp, restless, and volatile.
They lasted less than three minutes in complete silence once she’d disappeared. Theo was the first to break the silence, with a cough then words.
“You can’t keep avoiding me.”
Draco didn’t turn from the window. “I’m not avoiding you.”
“You haven’t looked at me at all this morning. I said yesterday, we could talk, I meant that.”
Draco swallowed, “I’ve looked at you plenty.”
“Not like you should be.”
Silence stretched. The bond pulsed with unsaid feelings. Theo crossed the room in three strides and stopped in front of him. “Say it.”
Draco’s eyes widened, “Say what?”
“That you still think I shouldn’t be mad.”
Draco finally turned to fully face him, and the look in his eyes made Theo flinch.
“I don’t blame you,” Draco said roughly. “I blame me entirely.”
“That’s a coward’s way of blaming me anyway.”
That landed in his heart. Draco’s magic rippled through the air; books rattled on the shelves, glass chimed faintly in the cabinets of the nearby kitchen.
“No, that’s me trying to own up to it and you not listening again. I left,” Draco hissed. “I left her. I left you. Again. That’s what I do. When things hurt badly enough, I run. So no, don’t pretend this is about you. This is about the fact that I’m exactly what I feared I was all along, a hindrance to you both from the start.”
Theo’s voice shook. “You think I don’t know you left? Merlin, Draco… that’s why I’m so damn angry with you at all. It’s why I’m scared to express how much I’m hurt with you, because I don’t want to give you anything more to turn into self-loathing, even though leaving makes me think I can’t trust you anymore to be what I need, or what she needs.”
Draco looked stricken. “You think I blame you for feeling that? I fully understand why your mad I left… it was a shitty thing to do.”
“No. I think you blame yourself so violently that you don’t leave room for anyone else’s pain.” Theo’s voice was raising higher still.
The bond surged with anger, grief, guilt, and longing all twisting together.
Theo dragged a hand through his hair, pulling at it in frustration. “You left me to hold everything alone… again. The blood. The grief. Her healing. You weren’t there, Draco. She needed you. I needed you too.”
“I couldn’t breathe.”
“I couldn’t either.”
The silence was only broken by their heavy breathing.
“I let Astoria die,” he said suddenly. “I felt her fade in my arms for months. I felt our child die without ever being able to save him or see him. And when the blood showed up again in our bed… on her… just like she looked in that damn ER… I just… couldn’t…”
His voice cracked completely with a single sob.
“I wasn’t in our bedroom anymore that morning. I was back in that hospital room. And I knew if I stayed, I would fall apart so badly I wouldn’t be able to hold her when she needed me most. I wasn’t trying to abandon her. I was trying not to destroy her by falling apart in front of her or let you see this ugly side of me. Not let you both see I caused this..”
Theo’s anger faltered into something complicated and aching in the bond.
“You still left,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
“You always leave.”
Draco’s gaze dropped. “And you always stay.”
The bond throbbed painfully between them, with love and resentment interwoven like old scars.
Theo exhaled raggedly. “I don’t hate you. I’m angry because I love you. Because I trusted you to stand with me.”
Draco lifted his eyes, wet with unshed tears. “And I failed you.”
“Yes,” Theo said without cruelty. “You did.”
That admission shattered the last of Draco’s composure. His shoulders shook as he broke down fully, pressing both hands to his face, tears streaming.
“And I caused all of it to happen.”
Theo didn’t hesitate to even try to lower his voice this time, “NO. YOU DID NOT. YOU HAVE TO STOP THINKING THAT.”
Draco shrank back from the outburst, “I don’t know how to believe it when it’s the truth.”
Theo looked exasperated, then suddenly thoughtful. “I want you to do something for me. Come to my study.”
Draco tried to compose himself, but his face was still snotty and wet, as he nodded and followed.
In his study, Theo indicated with a hand gesture for Draco to sit at his desk, while he rummaged through a drawer. He pulled out an elegant black ebony case, cracking the lid open to reveal the gorgeous Black family quill Narcissa had gifted him months ago.
“You remember this?” He questioned Draco, placing down a piece of parchment in front of him.
Draco nodded, eyes wide, “It’s the one that only let’s you write truth.”
“Yes, I want you to write down exactly what you’ve been saying. Exactly what you thought and felt that morning.” Theo commanded him, handing him the quill.
Understanding flashed in Draco’s eyes, and he nodded with a gulp of air.
The quill was heavier than it looked. Draco turned it slowly between his fingers, the glossy black shaft catching the low firelight. The truth-quill felt warm, almost alive, as if it were quietly waiting for him. Theo stood on the opposite side of the small writing desk now, arms folded tight to his chest, posture carefully neutral in the way he wore when he was bracing himself emotionally.
“You don’t have to perform exuberantly with it,” Theo said quietly. “Just write what’s actually there, what the truth is. It will refuse everything else.”
Draco swallowed and pulled the parchment closer. His hand shook as he set the tip of the quill to the page.
I killed the baby.
The quill didn’t move, no words appeared.
Draco’s fingers stiffened and he pressed harder.
This was my fault. My blood. My magic.
Nothing happened. The quill remained rigid, unmoving against the parchment at all.
A sharp, startled breath escaped him, and his eyes went the Theo.
Theo didn’t look triumphant, just anxious now. “Try again,” he said gently. “Without punishing yourself.”
Draco squeezed his eyes shut. His chest felt like it was a thousand times too small for what he was feeling.
The miscarriage was a punishment for who I am.
Still nothing.
His breathing hitched, turning shallow as panic climbed higher into his ribs. “It won’t…”
“Because it isn’t true,” Theo said quietly. “Even if it feels true to you. You’ve been being a self-loathing idiot. It was none of our faults directly. It just happened to us, not because of us.”
Draco’s shoulders shook as he held back tears. He dragged a sleeve across his eyes, then set the quill down again with trembling care.
I did not cause the miscarriage.
This time the quill moved immediately the ink flowing across the parchment with ease. Draco stared at the words as if they were written in a foreign language. Theo’s held breath left him slowly. Draco felt something crack in his chest. He swallowed it down again and wrote the next truth the quill would allow.
Early pregnancy loss is common even when everything is done correctly.
Again, the ink flowed. His hand tightened on the quill. Then he hesitated, this time not because the quill resisted, but because he did.
Theo shifted closer. “You don’t have to protect me from the truth,” he said. “Or yourself.”
Draco shut his eyes, blinking hard, then wrote again.
I ran because I was terrified you would blame me.
The quill moved, and Theo inhaled sharply.
I was scared to let either of you see me break this badly.
The ink kept flowing. Theo’s hand came down on the edge of the desk, to steady himself. Draco’s vision blurred. He could barely see the parchment beneath his tears now.
That morning felt the same as the day Astoria died.
The quill moved slower this time, but it moved. Theo’s composure cracked at that. His hand tightened as if he were struggling not to interrupt… not to rescue Draco from what he needed to get out.
I believed letting myself fall apart then would destroy what we had. I thought it would make you see how badly I handle pain.
More ink flowed a crossed the page with truth. Draco’s voice muttered for the first time since he started writing. “I thought if you saw me like that… you’d realize I’m not strong enough to be any of the things you both should have.”
Theo shook his head, silently. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes now too. The quill waited for more to come. Draco’s chest burned. His lungs couldn’t quite keep up with what his body was trying to release thru his hand.
I don’t believe I’m worthy of being your partner.
The quill wrote it. Theo exhaled a ragged, broken sound.
I don’t believe I’m worthy of being Hermione’s partner.
But, I wouldn’t ever leave either of you again when you need me.
The letters formed themselves with horrifying ease. Draco dropped the quill as if it had burned him, unable to continue the torture. Silence fell between them, layered with everything they had just laid bare in ink.
Theo moved first. He crossed the desk’s side quickly and crouched in front of Draco’s chair, so their eyes were level. His own face was damp with a trail of tears.
“You were wrong about one thing,” Theo said gruffly. “You didn’t ruin anything by breaking down. You did the wrong thing because of it, but we still love you anyway.”
Draco shook his head weakly. “I left her.”
“You left because you were drowning,” Theo said. “And you didn’t believe we’d hold you through it, or accept your pain with our own.”
Draco’s hands clenched in his lap. “I still did it.”
“Yes,” Theo said. “And that hurt her. And it hurt me. Both of those tings can be true without you being a monster. Without you having an intent to hurt us.”
Draco’s breath stuttered. “You’re still angry with me.”
Theo didn’t deny it. “I was furious. I still am, in places. But I’m not angry because you’re unworthy. I’m angry because you matter s much, I needed you, and you ran.”
Draco looked up at him, eyes red and raw. “You shouldn’t have to carry that pain of abandonment because of me.”
Theo’s voice softened. “We carry each other. That’s what this bond demands of us now. Not perfection, but presence. Always trying, always together, even when it hard.”
Draco’s shoulders fell forward and a sob broke loose, defeated and unstoppable. Theo reached out without hesitation and pulled him forward until Draco’s forehead pressed against his chest.
“I don’t want to be him anymore,” Draco murmured. “The one who always runs.”
“Then don’t be,” Theo said firmly. “Stay with us always. Even when it’s ugly.”
Draco nodded weakly against him. When Draco finally lifted his head, his voice was barely audible. “Will you ever trust me again?”
Theo answered without pause. “I already do. That’s why this hurts at all. I do trust you, but to be clear… I don’t yet entirely forgive you either. I think it’s going to take some time to heal that. But, I’m going to let you try to help me feel that forgiveness.”
Draco’s breath caught again. Theo glanced back at the desk, at the parchment now filled with hard truth.
“Keep it,” he said quietly. “Not to punish yourself. To remind you what’s real when the panic lies to you. To show you what the real truth actually is.”
Draco nodded, carefully rolling the parchment. “I will.”
Theo rose and extended a hand.
Draco took it.
And for the first time since the morning everything broke, the bond between them loosened just enough to breathe.
“I don’t know how to forgive you yet,” Theo whispered. “But I don’t want to lose you either.”
Draco choked. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness at all honestly.”
Theo said quietly, “We can’t keep using her as the bridge between us.”
Draco nodded against his shoulder. “I know.”
“And the bond is weakening because of it.”
“I feel it.”
Theo’s voice dropped. “We can’t keep starving it, physically or emotionally.”
Draco stiffened slightly, shame flickering. “You mean intimacy.”
“Yes.”
“Not just for her,” Theo added. “For us.”
Draco pulled back at that, eyes searching his face. “And you still want that?”
Theo’s answer was immediate. “I never stopped.”
The bond flared alive, heat laced with pain.
Draco whispered, “I’m terrified to touch you now. I don’t trust myself not to break everything again.”
Theo met his gaze steadily. “Then start by not running.”
Draco nodded once, sharply. “I will stay. We will work through this emotionally and physically”.
Theo acknowledged, “Let’s let it come back naturally then, just don’t shut me out please.”
“I won’t. I’ll be ready for forgiveness, when you’re ready to give it.” Draco pulled him in for a quick hug before releasing him so Theo could get ready to leave for his shift.
Notes:
So, that quill was not just a random gift months ago =P
Comment with what else needs to happen between them all to heal.
Chapter 340: The Spark of Healing
Chapter Text
The next day when she left for class, they tried to speak again. Draco stood at the windows in the west sitting room, hands clasped behind his back, watching the late afternoon light spill across the gardens. He had been standing there for nearly twenty minutes without moving, behind him, Theo hovered in the doorway.
The bond between them pulsed uneasy, still tinted with anger and guilt, but not nearly as strained as the morning before.
Theo cleared his throat. “You’re going to wear a hole through the glass if you keep staring like that.”
Draco didn’t turn. “At least the glass reflects back on me exactly as I am.”
Theo spoke, more quietly. “You can’t keep punishing yourself like this and call it penance. That’s not how forgiveness works. It’s not even how repentance works.”
Draco let out a brittle exhale. “You assume I know how to get forgiveness.”
Theo hesitated, then said, “I’m still angry today.”
Draco nodded once. “You deserve to be.”
“I’m angry that you left her.” He moved a step closer. “I’m angry that you left me.”
Draco turned around then to face Theo. His eyes were red-rimmed, and exhausted, not at all the polished Malfoy composure he usually wore like armor.
“I thought if I stayed,” he said hoarsely, “I would poison everything with panic and pain. I didn’t trust myself to be what either of you needed in that moment.”
Theo’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to decide what we need by abandoning us.”
Draco swallowed hard. “I know that now too. In the moment, I wasn’t thinking clearly at all… everything just … hurt so badly. All I could think was … it’s happening again, just like Astoria."
Theo looked at him for a long time. His anger was still there, but beneath it lived the grief they both shared.
“You don’t have to be perfect,” Theo said. “I don’t need perfect, I just need present. You just have to stay.”
Draco’s voice was scared. “What if I fail at being composed? At managing my grief so it’s not overwhelming to you both?”
Theo stepped closer, until they were standing within arm’s reach of one another now. “Then you fail with us. That’s the whole point of the bond, to do life together. If your burden is too great we help you bear it. And when our burden’s are too much… you’re supposed to help take it from us too.”
The words loosened something in Draco that had been braced too long. His breathing all but stopped for a moment. He nodded, unable to speak.
Theo hesitated only a second before lifting his right hand, slowly, giving Draco every chance to pull away, and rested it firmly against Draco’s chest, right over his heartbeat.
The contact was very limited, and simple. But, the bond reacted instantly. Theo felt Draco’s unsteady relief echo through him. Draco felt Theo’s restrained longing flicker awake, cautious but real. Neither of them moved for a long moment.
Then Draco whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
This time, Theo believed it wasn’t just fear speaking, but actually heartfelt. He didn’t answer with words. He simply leaned in and pressed his forehead lightly against Draco’s. The gesture was tentative, but it grounded them both.
They stayed that way until the mantle clock chimed the top of the hour, breathing in each other without words. The pressure in the bond was building with heat and desire, feeling like it was drawing them closer without their consent.
Theo drew back first, breath uneven. “We should… reset instead of escalate this right now. I can’t do more with you right now. I’m still mad, but I’m trying to let it go.”
Draco nodded taking a step back too, “I understand. I don’t expect you to suddenly be not hurt by my actions. Didn’t mean to hurt you though, I hope you do know that. It was just my fear talking and taking over in that moment. Thank you for letting me use the quill yesterday, I keep looking at the parchment and realizing, my truth isn’t always the actual truth, that’s a hard pill to swallow, but I’m trying to accept it.”
Hermione felt it halfway through her last class. It was like a low vibration under her skin, a restless hum that wouldn’t settle. Her magic fluttered uneasily in her chest, too warm and too cold at the same time. The quill slipped from her fingers mid-rune.
Her auror escort noticed immediately.
“You all right, Granger?”
Hermione pressed a hand to her sternum, breathing slowly. “I—yes. Just… lightheaded, must have gotten dehydrated.”
But she knew better. It was the bond. She gathered her things quickly, nerves on edge. By the time she flooed home, she could feel it clearly, the bond was destabilizing.
The manor felt quiet when she arrived. Too quiet. Draco’s magic prickled through the wards, bright with emotional exhaustion and frustration. Theo’s was there too, softer, guarded, and more restrained.
They were both home, together. Hermione set her bag down and followed the pulse of the bond toward the sitting room. Theo stood by the window now, arms folded tightly across his chest. Draco was near the hearth, back rigid, fingers twitching on the mantle like he wanted to touch something and didn’t dare.
They both turned at the sound of her footsteps. Twin relief flickered across their faces, and beneath it sprouted guilt.
Hermione felt a sudden ache in her throat. She didn’t raise her voice. She simply said, quietly, “Something is wrong with the bond.”
Both of them froze. Theo’s face sharpened instantly. “What do you feel?”
“Instability,” she said. “Like it’s… underfed. Like it’s trying to recalibrate and can’t.”
Draco sputtered, “We’ve barely been touching. We’ve been, careful with you.”
“Protecting me,” Hermione finished, gently. “I know.”
“But in doing that,” she said softly, “you’ve been starving it I think.”
Theo’s was defensive, “It felt wrong to… after everything…”
She took another step into the room, “You don’t heal a bond by freezing it. You heal it by using it.”
They all sat together on the couch side by side, but not quite touching.
Theo spoke, “They warned us prolonged bond suppression can lead to resonance fractures.”
Draco stared at his hands. “I should’ve known better. I’ve read about it. I just… every time I looked at you, I thought if I moved the wrong way I’d break you more.”
Hermione reached out then, taking his hand, “I’m already broken, but healing,” she said quietly. “I don’t need to be wrapped in glass. I need to be held and truly … seen.”
Theo’s voice lowered. “And we stopped touching because I was angry with him… but the bond doesn’t care about moral high ground. It cares about balance.”
Hermione nodded. “Exactly.”
She hesitated only a second before adding, “And it also needs physical closeness. Not just emotional caretaking. That’s how our magic regulates.”
Draco whispered, “You’re sure that’s why it feels off still? It’s not just the loss of the baby?”
She met his eyes without hesitation. “I’m sure. It’ wants us to be physically and emotionally close again. It doesn’t like us all at odds like this.”
Theo nodded and pulled her closer, up onto his lap. Draco scooted in, only hesitating briefly before pushing into his side, and wrapping an arm around them both. They sought out each other’s hands, each holding one hand of each other.
The moment they all cuddled together, the bond surged, not violently, but with an audible thrumming in Hermione’s ears, and warmth flooded her chest.
Theo exhaled, “There. That… do you feel that?”
“Yes,” Hermione murmured. “It’s stabilizing for now, I think.”
Draco’s magic flared soft and gold at the edges. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
They stayed like that for a long time just letting the bond magic flow through them in a circle. It wasn’t sexual, nor groundbreaking really, but it did feel intimate and calming.
Eventually, Theo collapsed sideways slowly, bringing Hermione and Draco down with him in a heap. They rearranged pillows and summoned blankets for comfort, keeping close, toughing in non-charged ways, allowing contentment to settle in their bond.
Later, wrapped together on the sofa with the fire low and the manor silent around them, Hermione spoke, “This won’t fix everything. I suspect it’s more of a band aid solution momentarily. You still have to face each other.”
Theo’s voice was soft, “I know. We’ve started talking again.”
Draco murmured, “And I will be worthy of forgiveness. I swear it.”
Hermione closed her eyes. “Good. Because I can live with grief. But, I can’t live with a broken triad.”
Theo tightened his arm around her slightly. “You won’t need to. We just need more time to sort through it.”
The study had been transformed again into a quiet, neutral space. Hermione sat rigidly between Theo and Draco, fingers knotted tightly in her lap. The bond felt very tentative today, like a thread pulled too far.
Marwen took her seat across from them. Then Narcissa Malfoy entered. Draco stiffened immediately. His mother moved with quiet composure, but Hermione could see the tension in her shoulders, the tightness in the way she held her hands. Narcissa met Draco’s eyes for a long moment before sitting beside him.
“This is not a trial,” Marwen said gently. “This is a moment to help bring more clarity to the situation at hand.”
Hermione nodded.
Marwen’s voice was calm, “The triad bond is destabilizing. Not because of grief, that is natural. It is destabilizing because of estrangement within the bond. Hermione tells me yesterday she could physically feel the destabilization happening until you all fed it some moments of touch. Intimacy has all but ceased. Emotional honesty has been fractured. Guilt has replaced connection.”
Marwen turned first to Draco. “You are carrying the failure of this pregnancy as punishment. You believe, emotionally, that you deserve to suffer.”
Draco didn’t answer, just locked eyes with Theo, both frowning.
Narcissa spoke instead, quietly, “My son learned that belief long before Astoria. Long before this triad.”
Draco’s breathing became heavy. Narcissa turned fully toward him. Her voice remained calm, but it shook with restrained emotion, “You were raised to believe that love is conditional. That mistakes must be repaid with pain. That suffering is the price of failure. I didn’t mean for that to be what you grew up with, but it’s what happened nonetheless.”
Theo looked at her, stunned she’d be this vocal about sacred 28 child raising practices with a mind healer. Hermione’s eyes filled with melancholy tears.
Narcissa continued, unwavering, “That belief was not born in you. It was taught… mostly by Lucius. But also, by the world that used you as a weapon. You were a child, Draco… when everything happened, you were just my child.”
Tears slid down his face in silence.
“You were not protected properly as a child should be,” she said quietly with clear regret. “And that was our failure as your parents. Not your fault.”
Draco’s face crumbled and the tears fell faster. Hermione reached for his hand instinctively. Theo noticed.
Marwen shifted to Theo next, “You are withholding forgiveness. Not because you do not care, but because forgiveness feels like permission for abandonment to happen again, and you’ve already had far too much of that already in your young life.”
Theo exhaled shakily. “I watched him leave us like that, and something in me just… snapped, too.”
Draco looked up at him with raw, broken eyes.
“I didn’t leave because I didn’t care,” Draco whispered. “I left because I was afraid I would destroy this if I stayed.”
Theo said quietly, “You already did. By leaving.”
Hermione’s voice cut in, shaky but firm in conviction, “And you are destroying the bond now by not letting him come back to us the way we need to heal together.”
Theo’s breath stuttered. Ellory nodded. “Theo, your distrust is understandable. But triad bonds survive only by repair after failure.”
Theo wiped his eyes angrily. “I don’t know how to stop being furious. Even now seeing how honestly he internalized all of the the self blame about this genuinely, I still am so hurt he left like that.”
Hermione leaned forward towards him, “I need you to try anyway. Because I love you both, and I know you both feel that way about each other still too, underneath all this pain, it’s still there.”
Theo’s expression cracked. Draco reached for Theo’s hand this time, very hesitant. Theo let him take it.
Narcissa spoke softly, eyes on Hermione, “You are not made of glass, dear girl. And you are not broken either. You cannot allow these boys to keep treating you like you are.”
Hermione’s lips trembled. “I feel like I am trying to get them to see I’m still me here, but they can’t see past the pain to realize it’s still me standing here.”
Narcissa shook her head, “You are grieving, and grief masquerades as fragility easily. They are misreading you. Sons, Hermione doesn’t need your pity and penance, she needs her husbands as equals in the healing process. She needs you to treat her like your wife, not your chance at salvation.”
Draco squeezed Hermione’s hand tightly, nodding at his mother. “I’m trying, and will keep trying to be a good partner to them both. I’ll show them I can be strong when they need me.”
Marwen concluded gently, “You three must choose to reconnect, not out of obligation, and not out of fear. But out of true desire to remain a family. The bond will not wait forever for you to see what’s right in front of you. You must each make an active choice to reach beyond your individual grief and welcome each other back intimately… emotionally and physically. Don’t force connection, but try to foster it instead in the little moments. Allow it to come back organically with encouragement.”
Theo murmured, “I don’t want to lose either of you. I’ll try harder to give you both what you need to move forward.”
Draco choked out, “I already felt like I lost everything, I absolutely don’t want that to become a reality. Tell me what you each need from me, let me provide it.”
Hermione pressed her forehead to his, “Then stop pulling us all apart. Believe in our love for you, trust it. Stop questioning it every time something goes badly. See it as a fixture, not as a contingency.”
Theo added, “Try to emphasize with how we feel actually, not with how you think you should feel because of ill-wrought fear.”
Draco nodded solemnly, “I’m trying to wrap my mind around it.”
Narcissa rose slowly. “My son does not need punishment, he already unwisely internalizes enough of that. He needs forgiveness for being a fool, and encouragement to keep trying to undo all the damage of his childhood I turned a blind eye to. I’m deeply sorry for allowing that, son. And all of you need to remember the reasons you chose this bond in the first place, focus on what it feels like when your all together in harmony.”
She met Theo’s eyes, then Hermione’s, and finally lingered gazing into Draco’s, nodding at her son before she excused herself out the floo.
“Love in pure forms is a hard thing to come by in this life, don’t waste the chance you have to embrace yours. Being a triad with such magical potential is a very rare gift.” Marwen finished quietly.
The house was too quiet after both woman left. Not the peaceful kind of silence either, but rather the kind that rings faintly in your ears because too much had been said and not nearly enough had been healed yet either.
Hermione lingered in the sitting room, wrapped in a soft shawl, pretending to read while really paying attention to the bond as it sat uneasy, but with hopeful longing. Narcissa’s words still echoed in the back of Draco’s mind, about not shouldering the blame for poor parental protection. He hoped his mother would think about some private sessions with a mind healer too.
Theo had said little after the session. Draco even less. They moved around each other carefully as the evening settled in, not apart but still not engaged with each other either. They sat together in the kitchen for dinner, none of them really tasted. Then they moved to a parlor, where they all pretended to be deeply enthralled in something, Hermione editing a charms essay due that week, Theo going over a patient file, and Draco pouring over records alluding to 1600s triads.
Later, as they tired and a dark night finally wrapped around the windows, Theo retreated to the bedroom first. He changed quietly into something comfortable for sleep, shoulders still tense with unresolved feeling. When Draco entered a few minutes later, Hermione stayed where she was in the sitting room, giving them space together but still able to feel everything through the bond.
Theo stood near the wardrobe, folding his worn clothes with too much precision for something going into a hamper. Draco lingered by the door, intensely watching him.
Neither spoke at first. Finally, Draco said, very quietly, “I meant what I said earlier.”
Theo didn’t look at him. “You’ve said quite a few things the past few days.”
Draco plowed on, “I meant… that I’m not trying to punish myself anymore. I’m trying to lean into the belief that you both care about me regardless of my family’s past. I know how deeply I love you both, and if either of you feel even half as strongly about me as that, well then… maybe I’m more loved than I thought.”
That got Theo to turn around and face him. Their eyes met, Theo’s guarded, and tired, and Draco’s raw in a way that scared both of them alittle.
“You left us,” Theo said softly, not full of anger now in his voice.
Draco nodded once. “I did. And I nearly lost everything because of being a self-righteous prat. I’m so sorry I let you down. I don’t deserve either of you, but I still want you, and I hope you want me too still.”
Theo took one step closer. “I don’t hate you. I just don’t know how to trust that your not going to fall back into yourself at the next hard moment and run again.”
Draco’s voice broke. “Then let me earn that trust, let me show you I can stay and support you both through pain and hard moments, not just good ones.”
The distance between them fell away, as they both closed the gap between them. When Theo’s hand finally brushed Draco’s wrist, it felt like the release of a breath held far too long.
Hermione felt the bond shudder so hard, she nearly dropped her quill.
Theo’s thumb traced the inside of Draco’s pulse point, tentative. “You don’t get to disappear again.”
“I won’t,” Draco said immediately. “Even when it hurts. Especially then. I swear I’ll stay even if it kills me.”
They stood there for another long moment before Theo leaned in carefully, uncertainty in his eyes. Their foreheads touched, and their eyes locked. Hermione’s breath hitched downstairs, as the bond bloomed with aching and unsteady tenderness.
Theo exhaled once, then kissed Draco in a slow, almost questioning way that drew out over long moments. Draco responded with care and reverence, giving back with the same pressure and longing. His hands trembled as they slid to Theo’s waist. Theo answered the unspoken question by pulling him closer.
Hermione’s body went warm with the echo of it down the hall. Longing curled low and deep in her belly, not passionate or desperate, but like a coil being scrunched too tight. The bond flooded with her quiet ache before she could stop it from flowing into the bond.
Both men felt it immediately. They broke apart, breathing unevenly.
Draco whispered, blushing, “She’s watching us in the bond.”
Theo nodded with a smirk, “I know.”
Neither pulled away. Instead, Theo kissed him again, firmer and more demanding this time. Draco responded in turn, pushing him back against a dresser, meeting his tongue to dance. The bond surged with sudden heat, Hermione pressed her hand to her chest, eyes fluttering shut as desire, relief, and hope tangled together all at once in a wave through her.
The boys broke apart panting, both with small hopeful smiles to one another as Draco got ready for bed, and Theo went to brush his teeth. Minutes later, when they finally changed for bed and came downstairs to collect Hermione, something fundamental seemed to have shifted. The unease between Theo and Draco was no longer brittle and sharp, there was still uncertainty in it tinged with pain and guilt, but it also felt more hopeful than it had since the morning of the miscarriage.
Theo held out his hand to her. Draco held out the other. Hermione took both without hesitation. The room was quiet as they got into bed together.
Theo lay on one side of the bed, Draco on the other, and Hermione sprawled out between them. For the first few minutes none of them spoke. They were still reeling from the overload of emotions that had flooded the bond, and their own thoughts on it.
Draco shifted first. He didn’t reach for Hermione immediately. Instead, slowly, as if afraid of breaking something fragile, he let his hand drift across her waist. Theo answered the motion from the other side a moment later, sliding closer until Hermione felt his warmth at her back, as he held Draco’s hand tight over her abdomen.
She exhaled in a deep sigh.
“That…” she whispered, unsure how to finish the thought.
Theo pressed his forehead gently to her shoulder. “Was necessary,” he finished.
Draco’s voice came out throaty. “Long overdue.”
Hermione turned around slowly so she could see both of their faces.
Theo’s eyes were still rimmed red from crying earlier, and Draco’s expression was tight with exhaustion and shame, but he didn’t look like he was running anymore.
“I just need you both here… together… with me,” Hermione said quietly. “Not perfect. Not fixed yet. Just… here all together, helping each other navigate this as a unit, not individuals alone.”
Draco swallowed hard. “I can do that.”
Theo nodded, “Me too.”
Draco brushed his thumb over Hermione’s knuckles in slow, grounding circles. Theo’s arm rested over her middle, a steady weight, protective without being smothering. Hermione felt the bond easing, not healed by a long shot, not fully whole yet, but finding a new balance after everything that had been torn through it. The anger had softened. The self-loathing had quieted. The fear was still there, but it no longer ruled the space between them.
“I don’t want to lose either of you,” Draco said into the dark, voice barely above a breath.
“You won’t,” Hermione answered immediately.
Theo, steadier now, added, “Not if you stop trying to punish yourself.”
Eventually Draco turned slightly toward Theo. The movement was tentative, careful. Their shoulders brushed cocooning her in below them. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t heated. It was simply an acknowledgment of comfort in the dark. Theo didn’t pull away.
Hermione closed her eyes between them, held on both sides, and for the first time in days, she was very sure they’d both still be there in the morning when she woke up, together with all of them cuddled together.
Notes:
It's going to take alot to still get past this completely, but they're starting on the right path now.
Chapter 341: Marwen Comes Back
Chapter Text
None of them had slept deeply. Not after the night before. Not after everything that had finally been said, and barely begun to be healed. They had idly stayed in bed together an hour after everyone had woken up. They hadn’t really spoken much, but their bodies remained touching, and while nothing intimate had happened, it had been reassuring to simply cuddle without words.
Hermione dressed slowly now, and Draco had already risen and was standing near the window, arms crossed tightly lost in thought. Theo hovered near the doorframe, quiet, but seemingly no longer closed off the way he had been just days ago.
The wards buzzed with a guest, then a knock on the front door came, and all three of them startled, Theo even spilling his tea. Draco opened the door. Marwen entered with her familiar calm presence, pale silver robes flowing behind her. Her eyes moved gently over them, perceptive but kind.
“Things were very deep yesterday, I thought it best to check in with you all afterward”,” she said after a moment. Her eyes were cycling between all three of them, keen, and assessing.
A look of understanding crossed her face, “You attempted some form of reconnection since I left.”
Draco shrugged. “Attempted, but not fixed,” he said again.
She inclined her head. “Trying matters. Especially when it’s hard. Trying is a step in a good direction.”
They settled into positions in Theo’s study, Hermione on the chaise, Theo on the edge of the hearth bench, and Draco stiffly in the armchair opposite her. The space between Draco and Theo was still present, still obviously charged with unease, but it was no longer hostile.
“Before we begin,” Marwen said, “I want to acknowledge something important. What you attempted last night was not perfect. But perfection isn’t recovery. Willingness to try is.”
Theo nodded once. Draco said nothing, but his shoulders eased a fraction.
“We’re going to start with a verbal grounding exercise today,” she said. “Each of you will speak to the bond as it feels now. Not how it used to feel. Not how you wish it felt. What it currently is to you now.”
She gestured to Hermione first. Hermione hesitated, then placed a hand over her chest. “It feels… fragile,” she said softly. “Not broken. Just… more like thin glass. I can feel both of them, clearly. But I’m afraid of breathing too hard on it, making it crack.”
Draco’s gaze dropped to the floor.
Marwen nodded. “Good, that’s rather reflective intuition. Theo.”
Theo stared at his hands. “It feels… awake again. For the first time since the miscarriage, it doesn’t feel numb or burning with anger or guilt. It feels sore. Maybe like a muscle after it’s been injured in Quidditch and used again too quickly.”
Hermione looked uncomfortable.
Marwen turned to Draco. His voice was strained with nerves, “It feels… like a relief. Like it came back from the brink of snapping even though I don’t deserve it to.”
Theo flinched.
Hermione whispered softly, “Draco…”
Marwen lifted a hand stopping him from going on, “That belief is still poisoning your recovery,” she told him calmly. “You need to embrace that love is not earned, but freely given when someone truly loves you.”
Draco nodded stiffly. “I’m working on accepting that fully still. But, I am glad they feel like maybe forgiving me is a possibility nonetheless.”
Hermione interjected, “From my side, you’re already forgiven. Every day you keep working on yourself like this helps me reaffirm that decision.”
Marwen looked to Theo, “I’m not there yet… I want to get there, but I just don’t feel that way right now. I am open to it happening though in time and thru shown action.”
Draco looked disappointed, but the bond pulsed with his understanding and perseverance to make it happen.
The mind healer seated herself again. “You succeeded in one essential thing last night, you all chose connection over withdrawal. But reconciliation is not a single moment. It is a pattern you must repeat over and over again. A choice you must consciously make to say and do what might be difficult, and to not just chose the easy way out by dissociating with one another.”
She looked directly at Theo and Draco. “You two are still carrying resentment and shame that you are trying to protect Hermione and yourselves from. But your bond cannot stabilize unless you address it between yourselves more fully. For Theo, this sounds like he needs you to show up for him more Draco, physically, but more so emotionally. Show him you can handle holding him together too, not just fall apart yourself.”
Theo nodded slowly in agreement.
Draco’s face was pale and clammy, “I’m trying,” he murmured.
“I know,” Marwen said. “But trying silently is not enough for Theo right now. You must be seen trying too, seen making progress and not reverting back to bad habits of self-blame.”
Draco nodded, still looking nervous.
She turned to Hermione, “You need to let them handle this mostly themselves. You should encourage their reconciliation efforts and give them space to work through this alone. But, you need to keep yourself from becoming the go-between or peacemaker between them. It is not your responsibility to fix this for them. They need to do that themselves.”
Hermione sighed, “It’s hard to remind myself that I’m not the one who needs to hold everything together anymore. But, I’ll try to give them whatever space they need. I just want us all to be united again.”
“Try to just be there for them, but not initiate or force their efforts.”
Hermione nodded grimly.
“One final exercise,” Marwen said. “I want you each to tell each other what traits you most value in each other. Draco, you start this one.”
Draco took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Hermione is brilliant, and feisty in a way that always keeps me on my toes. She feels like a challenge to me, and I’ve always admired that about her. She’s smart, passionate, and stubborn… which means that while we butt heads occasionally, she also pushes me in every way too, that makes me better in so many ways.”
Hermione blushed. Marwen prodded, “And Theo?”
Theo allowed Draco to lock eyes with him while he spoke, “He is remarkable too. He’s always a calming presence, so logical and smart. He cares so much for doing good, helping people, it’s very admirable. I know he isn’t just healing because it looks good… he’s doing it because he really cares about everyone and wants to make society better. He’s very genuine in his actions and words, and always worried about everyone else. I find that very attractive.”
Now it was Theo’s turn to blush as he broke the eye contact.
Hermione decide to go next, “I agree, Theo is very genuine and kind. He’s also incredible humble. He’s out here saving lives every shift, and he never wants credit for it or the spotlight on himself. He’s very smart, and always so empathetic with me. I love his silly sense of humor that comes out with people he feels closest to. He really understands how to put people at ease. I also admire his ability to be levelheaded. That’s not a trait Draco or I really have in the heat of a moment, but he does, and I appreciate it. He’s truly a gentleman which is so rare to see.”
Theo smiled at her, and Draco nodded with her assessment.
“Draco is a brilliant potioner. He is amazing to watch work, and the way his brain pulls things together in new ways and so intuitively I find very appealing. He is dedicated, passionate, and someone I would always trust to protect me. I’ve seen how much he’s changed since we started Hogwarts till now, and I think that turnover is remarkable, and speaks to his true character and resilience.”
The bond showcased Draco’s affection for her.
“And Theo, what do you feel about your partners?”
“Draco is very driven and calculating. He gets things done in a way that’s both terrifying, but also incredibly impressive. He always pushes the boundaries of what’s possible, dedicating his time and energy to achieve his goals. There have been so many times I think a lot of people would have given up on something, but he preserves thru, never giving up, just working harder till he finds the solution he’s looking for. I think he’s also incredibly loyal and family oriented.”
Draco’s eyes looked alittle glossy when Theo finished. Theo didn’t make eye contact with him, but Hermione caught him glancing at him anyway.
Theo looked to Hermione, " Hermione is courageous and scary smart. She doesn't take no for an answer and often thinks of the greater good and those less well off than her. She is all light in the darkness. Passionate and warm. She's also welcoming, and willing to give people a chance even when many others wouldn't. I really admire her ability to think on her feet, while also never compromising on her values."
Marwen clapped her hands in delight. “See, each of you has many great qualities that your partners appreciate about you. Everyone in this triad is valued and respected as an individual.”
The three of them had smile smalls they exchanged.
“You are not healed yet,” she said gently. “But this was a necessary step on the path there. Yesterday you reopened the door. Today you learned how to take the initial move through the door.”
She gathered her things. “I expect setbacks may happen. I expect there might be some emotional meltdowns along the way. I also expect jealousy to surface. But now you know you can reorient toward one another without harming the bond. You can listen to one another and be honest with each other without the bond breaking.”
She moved toward the door, “I will check in with you all in one week. Until then, I recommend you keep the channels of communication open with one another. Daily touch and verbal check-ins would go a long way. No resorting back to avoidance even when it gets hard.”
When the door closed behind her, the room remained quiet for a spell.
Finally, Draco mouthed, “She’s right, isn’t she.?”
Theo nodded quickly. “About all of it.”
Hermione let out a shaky laugh, “Unfortunately… yes. We may have our work cutout for us.”
They got up, and walked to the kitchen together. Theo looked at the time and said it would have to be a check lunch because his shift started soon. They easily agreed on an easy to prepare lunch, each of them taking on ne element of it with practiced ease as they danced around each other in the kitchen to prepare it. Hermione grilled up some marinated chicken breasts on the stove, while Draco prepared a vinaigrette from scratch with what the pantry had in it. Meanwhile Theo used his healer precision to quickly dice up the ingredients for a garden salad. The silence felt comfortable for the moment, and things almost felt normal as they prepared lunch together.
When the chicken was done, Draco sliced it up, topping each of their salads with it, and a handful of sliced almonds. They sat at the kitchen table together in silence. The bond still felt uneasy, but there were glimmers of tenderness, compassion, and hope in it now, not just anger, guilt, and shame.
When they finished, Draco took over cleaning up, while Theo left for his shift, and Hermione went to stuff her bookbag with assignments, also shortly heading out to a late afternoon class.
Notes:
Hi folks, haven't heard from many of you lately. Hope all of you are still enjoying :)
Chapter 342: The Secret Chat
Chapter Text
Three days passed after Marwen’s last visit. Theo had been working long double shifts both days, barely making it home for a few hours at a time to tumble into bed with them both in a tangle of blankets and wrapped arms, and immediately start snoring, only to wake a few hours later and head back in, long before Draco or Hermione were fully roused. That didn’t stop Draco though from trying to interact with him.
He’d been making him snack bags of goodies he knew Theo liked best like blueberry muffins, licorice wands, lemon tarts, and sliced pears, tucking the bags of them into the pockets of his healer robes for him to find while on shift. Theo had actually thanked Hermione for doing it the first shift he found the hidden treats, but she’d shook her head negatively and gestured a crossed the room to where Draco was currently in the shower. Theo had paused at that looking surprised and thoughtful, but not said anything to Draco about it.
Draco spent the two days mostly alone thinking, working on brewing, or researching for anyone to contact who might have more triad information for them, with Hermione spending extra time with her professors trying to makeup the work she’d missed, while also trying to get opinions about some of her final mastery project ideas.
One afternoon he’d spent at Malfoy Manor with his mother, discussing some particularly unpleasant childhood memories with her that left them both in tears, not that he’d told Theo that. Hermione knew he’d been there, but he’d also been light on the details of the purpose of the visit with her as well.
Theo was so tired and preoccupied with his shifts he honestly hadn’t been paying much mind to Draco over those few days. They passed like ships in the night the few times they happened to be at the manor at the same times. While Hermione was also mostly away from the manor too, deeply involved in her own work, she still found herself listening closely to the bond, and tried to at least have breakfasts with Draco in the mornings before heading out.
The bond still felt restless and sore, but it was mostly filled with less pain lately. Theo’s contribution was mostly that of fatigue, professional calm, and the occasional tender affection and shudder of grief. Hermione too occasionally found herself lost in thought of what could have been, pushing out a sad yearning into he bond, but most of her days added small delight to the bond of getting a new spell right, or learning a new concept. Occasionally, the boys could feel a unsure brewing desire in her too, but it was often quickly snuffed out.
Hermione however, had been noticing Draco in the bond felt… odd. What rolled off him in these days was not his normal possessiveness or confidence, nor was it the endless guilt he had been carrying lately either. It was unlike what she had come to associate with him, filled with hours of brooding, sharp spikes of surprise, and the occasional echo of regret.
She had asked him over scrambled eggs the morning before, ‘Draco, are you ok here alone? Maybe we should owl Blaise, and the tow of you can take a broom spin around the grounds…?”.
But, he had been insistent he was fine in the solitude of the manor while her and Theo were out, saying He could “finally catch up on some things in the peace and quiet.” Hermione wasn’t quite convinced, but she let the subject drop, giving him space he apparently wanted.
While Theo and Hermione were out one afternoon, Draco arrived at Grimmauld Place under a thin, gray afternoon sky. Harry Potter opened the front door with mild surprise.
“Malfoy?” Harry said startled. “I thought when you owled about lunch you were coming with Hermione.”
Draco shook his head slightly. “She’s… out at class today. I thought… I could come alone.”
Harry hesitated for half a second, then stepped back. “Right… sure. Come in.”
Draco stepped inside without his usual sharp confidence. No crisp tailored robes today either, just a dark, ordinary button-down and rolled sleeves. Harry noticed, immediately, how unlike himself he seemed.
They ended up in the billiards room after grabbing a light lunch from the kitchen that Kreacher insisted on making, just simple bacon sandwiches and jasmine tea. Draco barely touched his food, harry noticed. He leaned against the table, watching the balls roll around the table under Harry’s practiced aim.
Harry spoke after a few turns finally, “So… what’s actually going on, Malfoy? I’m fine with you being here, but you don’t normally do this with me.”
Draco swallowed, looking away, “I don’t know how to be… this version of myself. I thought, maybe… we could talk… or something.”
Harry straightened in surprise, cue resting loosely at his side. “You’re going to have to explain that one.”
Draco exhaled slowly, still avoiding eye contact. “Everyone looks at me now like I’m… redeemed. Like I should just move on and be happy with how things turned out. Like I’ve earned this life I have with Hermione and Theo. But I don’t think I have at all. I’m not sure how to enjoy it when I feel like the next shoe is always about to drop.”
Harry’s eyes widened slightly. He leaned against the table opposite of him. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because somehow,” Draco muttered, “you did it.”
Harry laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Did what exactly?”
“Put your past behind you,” Draco snapped. “After everything your whole life. After being hunted since infancy… after watching the people you love die. You still built a life. You still let yourself be happy with Ginny, with your friends. You’ve let yourself move on from it all somehow.”
Harry studied him for a long moment. “You really think I did that easily?”
Draco looked at the floor.
Harry’s voice softened with truth. “I grew up in a cupboard under the stairs, Malfoy. I’m not sure you know that. But my aunt and uncle were terrible people at worst, abusive at best. I was starved for food and affection. I was treated like a burden for twelve years before I even knew what magic was. Then I found out I was famous for something I never chose or even knew about, and that a dark wizard wanted me dead.”
Draco’s fingers curled against the edge of the table, taking it all in.
“Every year,” Harry continued, “someone tried to kill me. My friends got hurt because of me. People either hated me for being the chosen one, or wanted a piece of my fame, not because they even really wanted to be friends with me. People died because of the war built around me. At one point I had Voldemort living in my head. I pushed everyone away because I thought anyone near me would just die. I spent years pushing Ginny away and denying my feelings for her, because I thought that would somehow keep her safe.”
Harry’s voice dropped, and tears sprang into he corners of his eyes. “And a lot of them did die because of the tangled web of the prophecy I was an unwilling participant in.”
Draco whispered, “You lost your parents. Sirius. Dumbledore. Lupin. Tonks. Dobby…”
Harry didn’t break eye contact. “Yes. I did, and so much more. People that only died because of their proximity to me…”
The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.
Draco finally spoke again. “My father never saw me as enough. Never once. Not good enough for the Malfoy name. Not strong enough… not cruel enough…. not loyal enough… not even smart enough to best Hermione in most classes even. Everything I did was judged and measured by him and pureblood society. I was always found lacking.”
His hands trembled slightly on his stick.
“I was bred to be a political object… an heir to keep the line of Malfoy going. I didn’t choose Astoria. I didn’t choose the Mark. I didn’t choose Voldemort living in my house. I was seventeen, Potter. And the whole world expected me to be a monster.”
Harry’s expression was melancholy and attentive.
“I did terrible things,” Draco hissed. “I carry guilt every day. And when Hermione lost the baby… I looked at myself and thought, Of course this happened. Of course I don’t get to keep good things. I knew better form Astoria, what I touch… it isn’t meant for me, so it perishes.”
Harry set the cue aside and stepped closer. “You think you’re being punished by fate?”
Draco nodded once with a jerk of his head. “I don’t know what to think. Some days I wish I’d never been born. I think happiness is something I stole undeserving… and eventually it will always be taken back. Other days, I can feel how much I’ve tried to repent, how different the choices are that I’m making, and I think… maybe that progress can change my fate.”
Harry was quiet for a long time. Then he said, very simply, “You’re not the only one who thinks like that.”
Draco looked at him sharply.
Harry continued, “I spent years believing everything died because of me. That the world only suffered because I survived. That I should have just died as a baby, that it would have spared so much suffering in the world. I kept waiting for the moment happiness would be ripped away again, because that’s what always happened. Every good thing as a kid seemed to always come followed by two even worse events. I felt like no one should be around me any more, because they would ultimately meet the same fate as everyone else in my life who tried to protect me and failed.”
He paused, “But eventually… you either choose to live, or you decay inside your own guilt.”
Draco’s voice was low, as he looked up, meeting his gaze, “How did you stop blaming yourself?”
Harry shook his head gloomily. “I didn’t completely. Not all at once. But I stopped letting my past decide whether I deserved my present. I decided to stop living in what could have been, and start just focusing on living in the present. I try not to let myself be haunted by too many ghosts and every day move forward. I try not to focus too heavily on the past, but rather look forward to the future.”
Draco whispered, “Why do I feel like I don’t deserve Hermione? Or Theo? Or a family?”
Harry met his eyes fiercely. “Because you’re still judging yourself by the version of you that was controlled.”
Draco flinched, and rubbed his neck awkwardly.
“You were a child in a war,” Harry said. “So was I. The difference is the world gave me a hero’s redemption and you got a villain’s brand. That doesn’t make you less human, or less deserving of love and happiness though.”
Draco’s breath hitched. “I ran when they needed me most.”
“Yes,” Harry said gently. “You did… and that was wrong. But running from trauma doesn’t erase everything else you’ve done.”
Draco shook his head, “If I let myself believe I deserve this life… I’m scared of how badly I’ll break if I lose something again. Or how much I’ll just let more people down, like I have all my life.”
Harry’s voice was firm. “You don’t avoid loss or pain by denying joy. You only lose twice doing that.”
Draco slowly sank onto the edge of the pool table, palms braced against the wood.
“I don’t know how to forgive myself for everything.”
Harry stepped forward and placed a firm hand on Draco’s shoulder, awkward, but steady.
“I didn’t forgive myself all at once either. I just woke up every day and chose not to be the boy I used to be. I made a decision not to let my past define my future. To embrace the moment, and live in it fully.”
Draco closed his eyes, hand bracing his forehead.
Harry squeezed his shoulder lightly. “That’s all any of us can do.”
Draco’s eyes were wet now. “What if I fail them again?”
“Then you be honest, apologize,” Harry said simply. “And you don’t run.”
Draco nodded faintly.
“You love them right?” Harry asked.
“With everything I am.”
“Then stop trying to atone for things that weren’t even in your control in the first place,” Harry said. “And start living like the man they already believe you are.”
Silence settled between them for a moment, and they each shot a few more turns.
Draco finally exhaled. “Thank you… Potter… Harry.”
Harry gave a small, crooked smile. “Anytime, Malfoy. And for what it’s worth… I think you’re allowed to be happy now. That you’ve earned it.”
Draco didn’t argue this time, but also didn’t confirm it.
They played a few more billiards games over glasses of whiskey, speaking only of light hearted topics, like Ginny’s season ranking so far, and the absurd names Cho had been pushing Ronald to agree to for the baby.
By the time late afternoon had set in, Draco felt a bit lighter as he left.
“Thanks… for the games. If you could not mention I was here to Hermione though, I’d appreciate that.” Draco held out his hand at the mouth of the floo.
A look of understanding passed Harrys face as he reached out and shook his hand in farewell, “Were you even here at all?”. They exchanged a knowing smile before he stepped into the flames, arriving home just a half hour before Hermione.
Notes:
Thoughts on Draco talking to Harry about this...? Leave a comment.
Chapter 343: The Tattoo
Notes:
Draco's bene brooding for days... what was he contemplating... ?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
After days of brutally long and exhausting shifts, Theo finally had a day off to relax. The manor was quiet in the late morning light, rain tapping softly against the tall windows as Hermione and Theo stretched out on the sofa beneath a pile of blankets. The air still carried that strange, brittle quality to it, of things not quite right, but also not entirely broken either.
Draco had left earlier with a vague, “I have a few errands to run, let me know if you need me to pick anything up for you in Diagon,” and hadn’t offered anything more than that. Theo hadn’t pressed. Neither of them had been pressing much of anything between them lately.
Hermione had chosen some films, proclaiming the day to be a lazy, movie day for the two of them. The Wizard of Oz played first, all old film and childhood music, the two of them half-watching, and half-talking through it.
Theo kept muttering medical commentary about the Wicked Witch’s apparent cardiovascular endurance, inability to stay dead, and the impossibility of flying monkeys, which made Hermione laugh more than the actual film did.
By the time Forrest Gump began, the rain had deepened outside and the blankets had somehow multiplied. Popcorn sat forgotten on their laps as they leaned into each other, Theo’s arm around her shoulders, her cheek resting against his chest. It felt safe, gentle, and easy between them.
Draco still hadn’t returned by the time the third movie started, a repeat viewing of The Lion King, because Theo insisted the music in it “was catchy”.
It was well into the afternoon when the family wards whispered softly to them both of Draco’s return. Theo stiffened almost immediately. Hermione felt the faint ripple in the bond of distance closing before the sound of the door opening echoed faintly through the manor.
Draco’s footsteps followed, slow, and hesitant. He didn’t come straight into the sitting room. Instead, they heard him pause in the foyer, then the soft retreating steps toward the stairs.
“He’s… acting strange lately,” Hermione murmured.
Theo nodded slowly. “That’s an understatement. I’ve noticed the intense brooding too even on shift.”
Minutes passed, they both had trouble getting immersed back in the film even as “I Just Want to Be King” started playing.
Finally, Draco reappeared in the doorway. Hermione sat up instantly noticing he’d changed. Instead of his formal public outing robes, he wore a simple short-sleeved black shirt with the grey joggers they’d gotten him at the mall. His pale forearm was fully visible with the unusual lack of sleeves, and wrapped tightly in a strip of white bandage low on his arm.
Hermione’s worry flared. Theo was on his feet in a heartbeat, “Draco, what did you do?”
Draco froze just inside the room, eyes wide as though he hadn’t expected the immediate panic. “I… I didn’t…”
“why is that on your arm?” Hermione asked, cutting him off, already moving to him. “Is that where the mark… did you try to…”
Theo’s voice was sharp with fear, “Did you cut it off?”
Draco flinched, “No. Gods, no. I didn’t hurt myself. I promise. You can’t cut a dark Mark off anyway… the magic doesn’t allow it.”
“Then why are you bandaged?” Hermione demanded, heart hammering.
He swallowed, glancing between them. The bond quivered with nerves, and something concerned and vulnerable underneath.
“I didn’t want to alarm you both before I did it,” he said quietly. “But… I needed to do this. I needed to do something for myself.”
With trembling fingers, he lifted the edge of the bandage. Theo moved closer without even realizing he was moving. Hermione’s breath was held in anticipation.
Slowly, carefully, Draco unwound the cloth. Fresh black ink gleamed against his pale skin, still faintly red needing time for full healing, curving in an elegant, unmistakable shape.
An infinity symbol, but not a simple one. One half of the looping figure was formed from the sleek body of a serpent, its scales flowing seamlessly into the other side where a fox’s tail arched in a graceful sweep. Woven through the other curve of the infinity was a delicate trail of tiny, flowers, Hermione’s namesake blooms, each petal etched with life like precision.
Within one hollow of the figure eight was a flawlessly integrated outline of a parchment and quill sitting on a wooden desk. The parchment was black, and the quill was poised mid-air to write, ink looking wet on it’s nib. In the other hollow, a bunch of tiny potion bottles lined shelves.
For a long moment, neither Hermione nor Theo spoke. Draco’s voice was laced with uncertainty about their reaction. “I went to a private Muggle artist first, one who works in coverups. It’s really hard to change the dark Mark… he had a lot of prevention for desertion embedded in it. But, he never considered the possibility a follower may use muggle tattoo ink. So, that worked well to cover over it. Then, I went to a wizarding ink-master for the enchantment stabilization. I wasn’t sure if it would work or not, but it did. It’s… very permanent now, the Dark Mark can’t push thru it again. Theo… don’t worry, they were both very clean and sterile, I made sure.”
Theo stared, words failing him entirely. Hermione’s hand rose to her mouth, still stuck in shocked surprise. Draco lifted his arm slightly, letting the jet-black ink gleam in the firelight.
“I’m tired,” he said roughly. “Of looking at a symbol of hate that was carved into me when I was a child… of punishing myself every day for something that was done to me. I didn’t choose that mark. I didn’t choose the war. I didn’t choose the things I was forced to become.”
Theo’s eyes burned. “Draco…”
“I finally understand that,” Draco went on, voice growing lower. “And if I’m ever going to believe I deserve you… either of you… I can’t keep seeing a symbol of my own condemnation.”
His gaze lifted to Hermione. “This… this is me claiming my body back,” he said. “My life, and my future with both of you. This is me trying to let go of the past, and believe in deserving happiness.”
Hermione touched his arm with light fingers, careful of the healing skin. Magic hummed faintly beneath the ink, protective enchantments stitched into the artistic devotion.
“What does it mean?” she whispered.
Draco quirked a half smile. “The serpent is me. The fox is Theo. The flowers are you. Endless in our love and bond, one unbroken unit forever.”
Theo sucked in a broken breath when he examined the fox’s tail more carefully, its lines soft and proud and unmistakably meant for him. “You… you put me on your skin.”
Draco nodded reverently. “Of course. I love you. Both of you, of course. We’re a bonded triad together.”
His voice dropped lower still, “The parchment and quill are to remind me that my story isn’t written by blood, fate, or legacy anymore. It’s blank, because we’re all writing the future together. That I get a say in what the story going forward is. That there’s still plenty of space on the parchment for all the possibilities.”
Hermione’s eyes are shinning with unshed tears, “And the other side?”
“The potion bottles… are a bit more complicated. Dual purpose really. To remind me that I’m not only what I’ve destroyed, but I’m also what good I can create too. That my skills can better society. That I’m not a failure like my father thought. It also goes a bit beyond that… a bit darker. It’s a subtle nod to my godfather, a reminder to me to not make his same mistakes. To not allow a single moment of bad judgement or pain to define the rest of my life. To not spend the rest of my years atoning for a sin so obsessively, that I never get a chance to enjoy life and move on.”
All three of them stared at the tattoo for a few minutes, taking in the intricate details, and thinking on the meanings.
Theo broke the silence first, a loud sob ripped free before he could stop it. He surged forward, gripping Draco’s shoulders, forehead pressed to his. Draco collapsed into him instantly, shaking.
“I was so scared when I saw the bandage,” Theo whispered. “I thought you’d done something irreversible.”
“I have,” Draco answered smirking. “For the right reasons though.”
Hermione wrapped herself around them both, hands splayed over Draco’s back and Theo’s shoulders, the bond swelling with tender warmth and fierce love.
“You don’t need you to punish yourself for surviving,” she murmured forcefully against Draco’s hair. “You only need you to stay present with us, keep building a life with us even through the setbacks.”
Draco clutched her tightly, “I am staying. I swear. I’ll weather storms with you both, I won’t run anymore.”
Theo’s fingers brushed the edge of the tattoo again, awed. “You really included me on your skin forever...”
Draco let out a weak laugh through his unshed tears. “Of course, your my husband. And it had to be your fox… it’s so you. Stubborn. Clever. Impossible to corner. Loyal to the bone. It was an obvious choice.”
Theo laughed for a moment, then wiped at his eyes. They pulled Draco into their cozy sofa nest, demanding he pick the next movie, and stay wrapped up in the movie marathon for the rest of the day with them. The rest of the day was spent all together, throwing popcorn at each other, making fun of stupid lines, and Theo trying to get them to join him in the chorus of Disney hits.
They ended up falling asleep together on the sofa in the middle of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, and slept soundly through the night.
Notes:
What do you think of the design? Leave a comment.
Chapter 344: Simple Moments
Chapter Text
The manor was quiet in late afternoon, Hermione at class, and Theo just got in from a shift and collapsing in fatigue before the fire.
Draco stood for a long moment in the doorway to the sitting room, watching Theo sit on the chaise near the flames. He looked exhausted and overworked.
Draco cleared his throat softly, “Welcome home. Theo… can I try something?”
Theo didn’t look up at first. “Try what?”
Draco hesitated, then said quietly, “You said once that touch used to quiet your mind. Before everything went wrong between us. I thought maybe… just for a little while… I could help with that.”
Theo looked at him now, “This isn’t an apology shortcut. My forgiveness can’t be bought physically.”
“I know,” Draco said immediately. “This is… me staying… not running. Trying to take care of you too. If you tell me to stop, I will.”
The silence stretched. The bond between them trembled with uncertainty, but beneath that, something softer stirred. Finally, Theo exhaled. “Fine. But only because you’ve been showing real progress lately emotionally. I’m really proud of you putting in the effort to work on your mindset.”
Draco nodded, but looked away, “Thank you, I’m trying.”
Draco stepped forward and indicated for him to get comfortable and lay down.
He didn’t hesitate at all. Theo removed his jacket, and button down, and lay down on the chaise, turning his face toward the back cushion. Draco retrieved a small vial from the hearth shelf, enchanted oil, he warmed it with a careful flick of his wand. He knelt beside Theo and slowly, with deep and forceful touches, began working the tension out of his shoulders.
Neither of them spoke for several minutes. The silence was comfortable though.
Theo’s muscles slowly began to loosen under Draco’s determined hands. Every small, careful movement carried with it inches of unspoken history; Hogwarts corridors, old betrayals, years of unhealed silence, recent pain, and attempted healing. Draco worked with reverence, as if afraid one wrong motion would shatter what fragile progress they were making lately.
“This doesn’t fix everything, but damn it feels good” Theo murmured at last.
Draco’s hands never stopped moving. “No, I know that. But you deserve it with how hard you work.”
Theo swallowed back a groan as Draco worked a particularly tight knot at the small of his back. Draco tried not to notice. Over the next half hour, Draco persistently worked out the tension in Theo’s back, neck, and shoulders. Theo did his best to just relax into it, mostly successful in biting back his soft whimpers and whines of enjoyment. Draco did hear the few that managed to slip thru though, and held back the reactionary smirk.
The floo flared suddenly in the adjoining room. Hermione stepped into he room with the click of heels and the faint smell of baked dough. Two pizza boxes hovered behind her, following on a gentle charm. She froze when she saw them.
Theo lying on the chaise. Draco kneeling beside him. The bare skin of Theo. The oil. The closeness. For half a heartbeat, she was afraid she was interrupting something private and may have ruined whatever healing this might be.
Then Draco looked up at her, and their eyes met. He gave her a small smile and a raise eye brow, which Theo couldn’t see form his position face down into a pillow. Hermione felt it through the bond, the fragile warmth they’d been struggling to recover flickering stronger, steadier.
She smiled cautiously. “I brought peace offerings.”
Theo pushed up on his elbows and turned to look at her. His expression shifted from surprise to relief. “You’re home early, and with good food even!”
“The seminar got out ahead of schedule, the guest speaker needed to catch an early porkey to Madrid.” She lifted the pizza boxes slightly. “Figured I’d rescue you both from starvation.”
Theo smiled, “Any rescuing is appreciated if it comes with mushrooms and pepperoni.”
Draco rose from the chaise and took the boxes from her with a quiet thank you. He whispered in her ear as he took them, “You couldn’t have timed it better. Another twenty minutes and I think I could have made him into putty…”.
She giggled, and Theo’s head snapped towards them warily as he did up the buttons of his shirt. Hermione set her bag down and crossed the room, giving Theo a kiss on the cheek. They ate curled together on the rug in front of the hearth, Hermione nestled between them, Theo’s shoulder against hers, Draco’s arm wrapped protectively around her waist. It wasn’t a fancy diner, but it was real, and it felt comforting.
After dinner, Hermione shifted so her legs rested across Draco’s lap. Without a word, he removed her shoes and began rubbing her feet with slow, careful pressure. Theo moved behind her on the cushions and began gently working his fingers through her hair, brushing her scalp, easing the tension left over from the long day.
Hermione’s eyes drifted shut. The bond responded with a warm hum of approval, warmth, calm, and a hint of longing pulsing to them all.
Theo glanced at Draco across Hermione’s head. Draco gave the smallest nod in return, it was an unspoken agreement to keep trying.
Notes:
Leave a comment with how long you think it'll take the boys to fully reconnect =P
Chapter 345: What She Needs
Chapter Text
Hermione hadn’t realized how badly she needed to leave the manor until she was sitting at the worn oak table near the back window of the little café on the edge of Diagon Alley, The air smelled faintly of citrus and baked bread. It felt normal in a way she’d almost forgotten was possible over the past month.
Ginny arrived first, sliding into the seat beside her with a soft squeeze to Hermione’s arm. Luna followed moments later, baby bundled against her chest in a lavender sling asleep.
They ordered a hearty spread of teas, toast, eggs, bacons, sliced fruits, two types of croissants, and maple porridge for Luna. For a few minutes they spoke of small things: the weather turning into a nice late April after all, Neville’s newest greenhouse additions, Ginny’s bruised shoulder from training. It was gentle, careful conversation.
Then Luna tilted her head slightly and said, far too casually, “Your little joyful chorus after the note of sadness is in motion.”
Hermione gave her a frustrated look.
Luna looked a bit taken back, “Oh Hermione, I’m sorry. I know you may not be ready to hear that from me yet. I’ll try to respect your boundaries.”
Hermione’s face soften, “Luna… it’s ok. I know it’s just part of who you are. I’m just still a little touchy about … it still. Please don’t leave me out of the loop again.”
Ginny’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth. Hermione’s fingers tightened slowly around her teacup realizing her mistake.
“You knew,” Ginny said quietly, not accusing yet, but close.
Luna’s eyes drifted to the window. “I felt the ripple end before it reached shore.”
Ginny exhaled, sharp. “Merlin, Luna. You could have said something.”
Hermione reached for Ginny’s wrist gently. “She did… just not in words we could understand yet.” She looked at Luna. “Didn’t you?”
Luna nodded once. “If I tug the wrong thread, the whole constellation shifts. Seeing is not steering.”
Ginny looked torn between frustration and reluctant acceptance. “I still don’t like it.”
“That’s all right,” Luna said serenely. “The Moon doesn’t mind being disliked at times.”
The baby made a soft sleepy sound against her chest, and Luna rocked her gently.
A quiet settled over them.
Then, softly, Luna added, “The orbit has been distorted. But it’s not broken. Things that fall out of line sometimes return… stronger for having wandered. Hermione is going to be ok.”
Hermione felt something unclench in her chest. Ginny studied Hermione now, more carefully. “How are you, really though?”
Hermione hesitated. The truth felt strange on her tongue, “I’m… functioning. Some days better than others.” She paused. “The worst isn’t even the grief actually anymore. I’ve made peace with it, I think. It’s the distance that’s really getting to me honestly.”
“Between you and the boys?” Ginny asked.
Hermione nodded. “They won’t touch me. Not like before. Not at all, really. They’re terrified of hurting me again. And I understand it, I do… but Ginny, I can feel how badly our bond needs that closeness again, and I ache for it.”
Ginny’s expression was understanding. “You’re grieving, and you’re still a young woman with a body and a heart. That doesn’t stop just because something went wrong.”
Hermione swallowed. “I want them. I miss being wanted by them both in that way. I miss feeling… chosen physically, not just protected. They’re cuddling me, trying to chase away the sadness… but it’s not like they’re even seeing me as their wife… as a woman.”
Luna sipped her tea and said dreamily, “When tides pull back from the shore, it is not because the sea has stopped loving the land. It is only gathering itself for the bigger waves.”
Ginny coughed, and squeezed her hand, “Have you told them this?”
“Not this clearly at all,” Hermione admitted. “I don’t want them to think I’m ungrateful for their care during all this. They’ve been taking good care of me emotionally, and on the surface level physically too. And it’s not like I wanted more until recently. Mauve cleared me weeks ago, but physically being fine didn’t make the desire spark. But lately, things have felt different. Like I can breathe fully again, things are normalizing… now, I feel like I’m slowly going mad… all this wanting, all this waiting…”
Ginny gave a small, knowing smile. “You’re allowed to want your husbands, Hermione. Trauma doesn’t revoke desire.”
Luna smiled, “The bond hums loudest when you all intersect.”
Hermione laughed weakly, and changed the topic. They finished their meal leisurely after that. Ginny stayed to safe topics, grounding her in the ordinary with stories of training mishaps and team mascot drama. Luna spoke of tracking creatures they’d never heard of.
When they finally stood to leave, Ginny hugged Hermione tight.
“Don’t carry this alone,” she whispered. “Not with them. Not with us. We’re all here for you.”
Luna pressed a soft kiss to Hermione’s knuckles, “The orbit is wobbling, but it has not collapsed,” she said gently.
As Hermione stepped back into the warm late-April breeze, she felt relaxed, and pledged to spend more time with her friends soon.
That night after dinner, Hermione found Theo alone in the small formal parlor off the east hall. He had changed out of his work robes but still smelled faintly of skelogrow, exhaustion etched under his eyes. He looked up when she entered, immediately reading her mood through the bond.
“Ready to go to sleep?” he asked gently.
She crossed the room and sat beside him on the low sofa, drawing her knees up beneath her. For a moment neither of them spoke. The bond between them pulsed softly with hesitation and unspoken desires.
“I need to tell you something,” Hermione said at last.
Theo turned fully toward her, “All right.”
She looked him in the eye. “I want to be close to you again. To both of you… physically.” Her voice wavered only slightly in embarrassment. “Not because of I’m worried about bond instability. But because I really need to feel… wanted and desired again. I need to remember that my body still belongs to me. Right now I keep feeling like it failed, and I’m angry at it for that, but I want to reclaim my sexuality again.”
Theo’s chest tightened at her words. He reached out, carefully taking her hand. “Hermione… physically, you’ve healed really well. Mauve was right about that. But emotionally… are you sure your ready for this?”
“I know,” she said quickly. “None of us are fully ok with what happened. I’m not pretending this is easy. But being wrapped in just platonic comfort isn’t helping me either.”
He exhaled slowly. “I want you. You know that. The bond tells me every time lately when you ache for it. But I also feel how sad you still are sometimes. And I feel how frozen Draco is. He’s terrified of hurting you again in any way.”
“I know,” she whispered. “And I’m sure your traumatized in your own way from taking care of me as it was happening, even though it’s not fair.”
Theo was quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was conflicted but honest. “If we rushed back into physical closeness right now, I think it would feel… desperate to me maybe. Like we’re trying to cover the grief instead of moving through it. I think Draco is afraid intimacy will deepen his guilt instead of soothe it, but you need to talk to him yourself. He and I haven’t talked about this at all.”
She nodded slowly. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
“But,” Theo continued softly, “that doesn’t mean your need is wrong. Wanting touch after loss is completely human. Wanting to feel desirable after your body is physically healed is normal.”
Hermione closed her eyes, a tear sliding down her cheek despite herself.
Theo shifted closer and gently pulled her into his chest, one arm wrapping around her shoulders.
Hermione’s fingers curled into his shirt. “I don’t want to lose the two of you to this. I miss what we had before it all happened.”
“You won’t,” Theo said firmly. “But we’re going to have to rebuild some of it from the ground up. And that means not pretending the cracks aren’t there.”
She nodded against him. “I’ve restarted the potion.”
Theo stiffened slightly. “Because you don’t want to try again?”
“Not yet,” she said. “Not until the bond is stable for real… not just magically, but emotionally. And I don’t trust my judgment on family planning while everything still feels this fragile. We all agreed we need more triad information before we try again. I don’t want an unplanned moment to change that.”
Relief and sadness mingled in his chest. “That’s… responsible. Painful, but responsible.”
“I also need you both to want me again,” she admitted unsteadily. “Not as something that might break. As… me… your wife.”
Theo tipped her chin up so she had to meet his eyes. “You are wanted. By me. By Draco. By the bond itself. That never stopped.”
She searched his face. “Do you really think Draco still wants me like that, after I lost his son?”
Theo didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Hermione let out a shaky breath. “I don’t want him to be afraid of loving me.”
“Neither do I,” Theo said softly. “And we’ll both get there, probably a lot more difficult conversations.”
She leaned back into his chest again. After a while she murmured, “Thank you for listening. For not dismissing this.”
Theo kissed the top of her head, gentle and reverent. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”
They stayed like that for a long time in the quiet, following into an easy conversation about Theo’s current cases, and Hermione’s latest charms exams.
Hermione found Draco in the library long after midnight, exactly where she expected him to be. The fire had burned low to just warm embers, with stacks of ancient books spread in untidy piles all around him.
She stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him silently. He looked thinner than he had just weeks before. The grief and obsessive research were clearly taking a toll on him.
“Draco,” she said softly.
He jumped, then turned. Relief crossed his face before guilt could catch up to it.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
She shook her head and crossed the room. “No. I needed to talk to you.”
His posture stiffened immediately. He closed the book he was reading without marking the page. “About…?”
“About us,” she said gently.
That single word made his eyes grow scared. He nodded once and waited.
Hermione took a breath. Her fingers twisted together in her lap as she sat down acrossed from him.
“I talked to Theo earlier tonight,” she said. “About being physical again. About how much I miss feeling close to you both in that way.”
Draco’s eyes darkened. “And…?” he asked carefully.
“I told him I’m ready. Physically, at least. Emotionally, I know we’re all still broken in different places. And I know the two of you still have a lot to work out yourself. But I can’t keep pretending that part of me just… shut off. It didn’t.”
His voice was gruff, “Hermione…”
She lifted a hand, gentle but firm. “Please let me finish first.”
He nodded silently.
“I know you’re terrified of hurting me again. I know every time you touch me you’re probably afraid you’ll break something. But right now… I feel like I’m disappearing inside all that caution. Like I’m not even a woman or your wife anymore.”
His breath stuttered, and he looked concerned.
“I lost the baby,” she whispered. “And I’m still mourning and some days I hate my body for what it did. But I don’t want to live in that space forever. I need to feel wanted again, Draco. Not just protected and comforted… actually desired and wanted.”
His face crumpled. “You were carrying my child,” he said hoarsely. “How could I want you without feeling like I’m dishonoring the memory of that?”
Her eyes filled. She reached across the table and took his hand, pressing it to her cheek.
“By choosing me now,” she said. “Not as a vessel to try again at this moment, But as your wife.”
Tears slid down his cheeks before he could stop them.
“I ran,” he admitted brokenly. “And I feel ashamed to even hope that you would still want me in that way, after I did that to you.”
She squeezed his hand harder. “But… I do still want you in every way.”
Silence stretched between them, the bond felt heavy and electric.
“I’m not asking you to rush back into anything you honestly don’t want,” she continued the explain softly. “I’m asking you to meet me where I am. I want you to desire me as your partner.”
His shoulders shook with restrained sobs.
“I do desire you,” he whispered. “Constantly. It’s been agony not touching you. But every time I feel like maybe I can, I also feel terrible for leaving you like that.”
Hermione stood and moved into his space, resting her forehead against his.
“We can’t let grief steal everything from us,” she said. “The bond is hurting. Theo is hurting. You are hurting. And I’m hurting too some days. But, life goes on and we still… have needs.”
He nodded weakly.
“I told Theo I’m taking the birth control potion again while we find our emotional footing and gather more information,” she added. “So no one has to be afraid of that happening again right now.”
Draco looked at her in surprise. “You’d do that… for us?”
“For all three of us, we will try again when it’s right” she said simply.
His hands came up slowly, hovering at her waist as if unsure he was allowed there.
“May I?” he asked.
She nodded and smiled back. When he pulled her into his arms, it wasn’t desperate. It was careful and unbearably earnest. She felt his heart racing against hers. They stayed that way for a long time, just breathing together.
“I don’t expect you to be okay overnight,” Hermione finally murmured. “But I do need you to stop punishing yourself by shutting me out. Stop telling yourself we can’t feel good just because this happened.”
He gulped. “I don’t deserve how patient you’re being.”
“No,” she said softly. “We all grieve differently. I just wanted you to know where I’m at. I’m ready when you are.”
His breath hitched again. “I’ll try,” he whispered. “I swear I’ll try to meet you where you’re at soon.”
She kissed his cheek with a hug, “That’s all I’m asking.” She headed off to take a shower and join a sleeping Theo in bed.
The next morning, Draco watched Hermione leave through the manor gates from the tall arched window in the east hall parlor, her auror escort a step behind her. She looked smaller lately to him, quieter in her movements, as if she were still nt quite herself.
Theo stood near the hearth, arms folded, staring into the cold embers that hadn’t been lit since the night before.
“She asked you too,” Draco said quietly without question.
Theo nodded, “Yes.”
Silence stretched between them, it felt rather tight and complicated.
Draco turned to face him completely. “She is hurting. Not just from the loss, but from the distance between us. From thinking her body failed, a from being treated like something we’re just trying to piece back together.”
Theo was stiff, “I know. I feel it from her in the bond lately at times.”
“Then we can’t leave her feeling undesirable on top of everything else.”
Theo closed his eyes briefly. “You think I don’t want her? You think that’s what is going on?”
“No,” Draco said softly. “I think you’re afraid of how much you do perhaps. Or maybe you’re still so angry with me, it’s bleeding over into her too. I don’t know, Theo… what is going on? I know why your withdrawn with me… but with her, no I guess I don’t understand.”
Theo exhaled sharply letting go of what he felt. The bond rippled with grief, layered with want, restrained so tightly Draco let out a surprised gasp.
Theo hung his head, “Every time I touch her even with the remotest idea of sexuality, I think about the blood… the bed… and the moment I realized there was nothing I could do. I’m a healer, Draco. I fix things, and I couldn’t fix that for her. And now… I can’t unsee that morning, and it’s making it hard to feel the desire.”
Draco’s voice dropped. “She doesn’t see you as someone who failed her though.”
Theo looked at him, “You ran.”
Draco flinched. “Yes.”
“And she still trusted you enough to come back and ask for you anyway.”
Draco moved closer. “That is why I won’t let her believe she is unwanted. Not by me, not by us. She’s literally coming to us saying she needs this, and that we’re hurting her by treating her not like our desirable wife. I can’t let her feel like that after all of this.”
Theo hesitated. “And what if I can’t be there yet, not physically?”
“Then you don’t have to be,” Draco said firmly. “Not until you’re ready. But I won’t let her sit alone in that need, wondering if she is broken and we don’t want her anymore or making her feel shameful for wanting closeness.”
Theo’s shoulders sagged. “I know. I don’t want her to feel that way either. Would … you would be with her… even while I am not?”
“With consent only,” Draco replied sincerely. “This is not about replacement of you. It is about care, and giving her what she needs. I’d hope you can make peace with your demons soon, and go to her as well.”
Theo wrestled with it internally in silence. At last, he said, quietly, “If she wants you… not because she thinks she has to, but because she wants you… wants to feel desirable to us again… then I won’t stand in the way of giving her that.”
Relief and severity twined in Draco’s chest. “I will not take more than she freely gives. And if I can help you overcome this in some way… let me know please.”
Theo nodded once. “I’m still wrestling with it, but I’ll speak to Marwen about it privately. Obviously, I want to move past this quickly, and show her how beautiful she is to me too.”
“Then, I’ll let it happen if she wants it,” Draco said simply.
“Thank you.” Theo hugged him, before kissing his check as he went to change for work.
Hermione returned at dusk, magical fatigue clinging to her after an intense practical lesson. Theo kissed her forehead automatically and she leaned into it for a moment longer than necessary. Draco watched from the doorway of the sitting room, heart tight in his chest.
After dinner, Theo excused himself to his study under the pretense of inventorying supplies in his grab-and-go medical bag that he didn’t truly need to check on. He looked at Draco once before he left. “Talk to her,” he whispered in his ear.
Hermione noticed the tension, and nerves in the bond immediately when Draco followed her back toward their shared bedroom, where she planned to get changed.
“Did something happen?” she asked him.
Draco shut the door softly behind them. “We talked this morning, about what you asked of us… about what you need.”
Her shoulders stiffened, “And?”
“And Theo is still hurting in a way that makes sexual physical closeness difficult for him right now,” Draco said honestly. “But he does not want you to suffer for where he is in healing right now.”
Hermione studied his face, feeling already a bit disappointed, “And you?”
“I want you,” Draco said calmly. “Not to distract myself from grief, and absolutely not out of obligation. I want you because you are my sexy wife and because you asked to be seen.”
Her breath caught. “If I say yes… Theo won’t feel replaced?”
“No,” Draco said firmly. “He knows this is about your needs, not his absence. We spoke about it… and he just wants you to get what you need whether it’s from him or me.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, fingers clenched. “I don’t want to hurt either of you.”
Draco knelt in front of her. “You won’t. We are choosing this with you, not for you. Something only happens if you want it to.”
The bond flared with longing, and a tad bit of uncertainty still.
Hermione touched his cheek with her palm, “I don’t want to feel alone in my body anymore.”
Draco closed his eyes, pushing into her palm for a brief moment. “Then you won’t.”
“I need to feel desirable again.”
Draco had gone very still, eyes searching hers, then he’d nodded.
“You are,” he whispered. “You always have been, let me show you.”
He stepped closer, hands gentle as he began to undress her, outer robes first.
“You’re beautiful here,” he murmured against her exposed wrist skin.
He kissed down the curve where her neck met her shoulder, then moved to the buttons of her blouse, undoing them one by one, pressing a kiss to each new inch of skin revealed underneath.
His voice was low and worshipful, “Every part of you, every curve… I love all of it.”
By the time her skirt pooled at her feet, she was breathing hard. Draco knelt, kissing her stomach, right over the place their baby had been, hands sliding up her thighs to hook into her knickers and draw them down slowly. He looked up at her, eyes shining.
“You’re perfect,” he said. “You’re everything I’d ever want in my wife.”
Hermione’s hands shook as she reached for his shirt, pulling it over his head, then fumbled with his belt. He helped her, kicking off trousers and socks until he stood in only black boxer briefs, the outline of his erection unmistakable in the low light.
He took her hand gently and pressed it to the hard line of him through the fabric.
“Feel this,” he hissed. “Feel how much I want you. How much I’ve always wanted you. Nothing’s changed at all.”
Hermione’s breath caught on a half-laugh, half-sob at the hard proof of his desire.
He eased her back onto the bed, still in his boxers, and spent what felt like hours worshipping her with his hands and mouth. Starting with slow, reverent kisses down her throat, then across her breasts, lingering on each nipple until she arched and moaned. His fingers traced every curve, every scar, every freckle, kissing each one like it was sacred.
When he finally settled between her thighs, his mouth was gentle using slow licks, soft suction, and two fingers sliding inside her with careful glides and curls. He brought her to the edge again and again, never rushing, just getting her right to the brink before backing off, until her first orgasm in over a month rolled through her.
She came with a quiet cry, tears spilling freely from the overwhelming relief of feeling desired and whole again. Draco crawled up to her face immediately, pulling her into his arms, and holding her tight as she softly cried against his chest.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, kissing her tears. “I’ve got you, love.”
When the sobs eased into cuddles she gave back, he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.
“Do you want more tonight?” he asked tenderly, rolling his hips so she could feel how hard he still was. “Or is this enough? There’s no pressure. We can do whatever you want tonight… or another day.”
Hermione thought for a moment, fingers tracing his jaw.
“This was perfect,” she murmured. “But… I’m not ready for more tonight I don’t think. Can we just… be fully naked together? Skin to skin? I want to feel you against me.”
Draco’s smile was somewhat relieved. “Anything you want.”
He slipped his boxers off, then pulled her close again, arranging her so she lay half across his chest, one of his arms wrapped around her, the other stroking her hair lovingly. She could feel his heartbeat under her cheek, steady and strong, and she sighed softly with a smile.
Hermione fell asleep like that on his chest. He enjoyed her warmth and listened to her breathing. Some time later she stirred, rolling onto her side in her sleep, off him. Draco waited until her breathing evened out again, then slipped from the bed, being careful not to wake her.
He padded to the bathroom, turned the shower to cold, and stood under the spray until the ache in his groin eased and his own silent tears were lost in the water.
Theo came to the bedroom well past midnight. He paused in the doorway when he saw her naked in bed with a clothed Draco. He was confused for a moment, sure he had felt pleasure in the bond earlier, before realizing it must just have been hers.
Draco stirred, when the floor creaked as Theo walked in. Hermione did not wake. Theo eased closer to the bed, touching Hermione’s hair lightly, then Draco’s shoulder.
“Is she all right?” he whispered.
Draco nodded tiredly. “Sleeping. It was a bit emotional for her, but I think she’s close to asking for more soon.”
Theo studied them both for a minute, “Thank you for taking care of her when I couldn’t.”
Draco met his gaze in the dim lighting. “There will be always be space for you again with both of us when you are ready.”
Theo’s eyes glassed over, “I know. Soon. I just need to get my head on straight about that morning.”
He settled on the other side of Hermione without touching her, letting his presence reach her unconscious without waking her.
He whispered into the darkness, “Good night Draco, I love you both.”
“I love you too Theo”, Draco choked back with a sniffle.
Notes:
Everyone is getting better at verbalizing their feelings and needs. <3
Thoughts on what Theo needs to be ready for this step with her?
Chapter 346: Theo's Reservations
Notes:
We haven't heard alot about Theo's healing... so here you go!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Theo sat rigidly in the soft chair across from the mind healer, leg bouncing with anxiety. Marwen waits a moment before speaking, eyes flicking over him, reading his mood.
“Tell me why you asked for this emergency session.”
Theo take a deep breath. “Because I’m failing them right now,” he says simply. “And I don’t know how to stop.”
The healer nods. “Start from what feels most urgent.”
Theo stares at the rug. “Hermione wants to be close again… physically. And I can’t… I can’t make myself cross that line from comfort into sexual.”
Marwen does not react with shock or judgment, only quiet attention.
“Why not?”
Theo swallows, “Because every time I touch her, all I can think about is the blood that morning… and her panic. Then Draco breaking down. The way my hands were shaking while I tried to be a healer in that moment instead of her husband.”
His voice is grave, “My body has been trained to handle those moments as an emergency, as danger. Now, when she asks for closeness, my brain just shows me that morning, I can’t unsee it or unthink it now.”
The healer lets the words settle.
“And Draco?”
Theo’s leg jiggles fast, “I don’t know how to touch him without feeling like I should still be mad about him leaving. But, I know that’s also just punishing him and myself at this point for something he’s been working to fix about himself. I don’t want to further shame him when he already feels so much guilt about it already.”
Silence hums between them.
“So now,” the healer says gently, “you’re stuck between wanting connection and associating it with catastrophe.”
Theo nods once, and palms his forehead.
“There’s a lot of guilt… so much guilt. She wants to feel desired again. She told me she feels like she’s not our wife or a woman. That she needs to know we still want her. She wants to feel desired again. I feel guilty for denying her that.”
His voice cracks, “And I do want her. Gods, I want them both. But wanting them feels also somehow selfish now. Like I’m choosing pleasure over respect for what we lost. Even if I could get past the mental block with her, I almost feel like sex downplays the lose of life…”
The healer leans forward slightly, listening intently.
“Theo… grief often disguises itself as morality. It convinces us that suffering is the only honorable state.”
Theo closes his eyes tightly.
“That’s what it feels like. Like if I let myself be happy with them again, I’m betraying the baby somehow.” Tears spill down his face silently.
“Why?”
“I was already planning to be a father,” he whispers. “I was already picturing the way she’d laugh with the baby, the way Draco would hover, the way I’d wake up for night feedings just to give them both more sleep. And now that future feels like it vanished overnight. It feels like we should be sitting with that loss for awhile… not enjoying ourselves.”
Marwen lets him cry without interruption for a few minutes.
After a long while, Theo scrubs at his face.
“I’m terrified that if I open myself again… if I re-enter intimacy… then I’m saying it didn’t matter this happened.”
The healer speaks very quietly.
“That fear may feel real, but part of life is healing and moving on, even when terrible things happen. Being intimate with either of them doesn’t mean you didn’t love the baby, or the loss of the baby didn’t matter. It’s about allowing yourself to reclaim joy though.”
“She told me she feels undesirable,” he admits. “And I hate that I’m the reason she feels that way. I know Draco is trying to help us make sure she stops feeling that way, but I think she needs it form both of us, not just him.”
“You are not punishing her,” the healer says. “You are protecting yourself. Those are not the same thing… but they can both cause harm.”
Theo exhales shakily.
“I don’t want to hurt her anymore.”
“Then what do you need in order to feel safe enough to touch her again?”
He thinks for a long time, “I need to stop seeing intimacy as a countdown to disaster,” he says slowly. “And I need to separate my grief from Draco’s choices. I’m still so angry at him for leaving, but I’m also scared that if I forgive him, I’ll lose the last piece of the baby that still feels real.”
Marwen’s voice is steady, “Anger is often where grief goes when it has nowhere else to live.”
Theo nods faintly.
“Draco is ready to try with her. He told me he would, if I couldn’t. And part of me is relieved… and part of me feels like I’m being replaced.”
“You’re not being replaced, they both love you and want you to join them,” the healer says. “But you are being asked to choose whether fear or love gets to lead you.”
Theo closes his eyes again.
“I don’t know how to step back into that space again with either of them.”
“Then you don’t step in all at once,” the healer replies. “You start with smaller moments that feel safe, and build up to the bigger moments of intimacy. You retrain your nervous system to associate touch with comfort again. You may also find it easier to start with just one of them first. If you can let go of the anger, Draco might be a better starting point to ease back into intimacy, if Hermione is triggering flashbacks.”
“But, won’t that hurt Hermione more?”
She locks eyes with him, “And you tell Hermione the truth, that your hesitation is not a lack of desire, but an excess of terror. That your working through some difficult feelings. That you still desire her deeply, and it’s not about her. That this is abut your working through your own grief.”
Theo looks resolved, “She deserves that honesty.”
“Yes. She does.”
The healer softens, “And Theo… you are allowed to be a man who wants his wife while still grieving his child. Those realities can coexist, if you give yourself permission to let them.”
Silence rests heavy between them again.
Finally Theo whispers, “I don’t want to lose either of them.”
“You won’t,” the healer says. “But you must stop disappearing inside your own pain. The bond is already reacting to the distance between you and Draco. If you both retreat, Hermione will carry the emotional weight alone, and she already feels her body betrayed her. She needs you to be there for her. They both do. Just like if you let them… they’ll both be there for you too.”
Theo’s face scrunches, “I won’t let that happen.”
“Then your work now,” the healer says gently, “is to choose presence over punishment. To work on forgiveness with Draco, and work on giving yourself permission to enjoy your wife again.”
Theo nods, deep in thought.
Later that afternoon, after his shift, Theo was searching the manor for Hermione who should be home from class by now. The water was already running when Theo knocked softly on the bathroom door.
Hermione had been sitting on the edge of the tub, robe slipping off one shoulder, staring at her body in the mirror. She startled a little at the sound, then said, “You can come in.”
Theo entered slowly, and stood near the counter, hands braced on the stone, grounding himself.
“I talked to the mind healer this morning,” he said finally. His voice was low, “About… all of it really . About you. About Draco. About what I’m afraid of.”
Hermione nodded, eyes intrigued. “Do you want to tell me what you discovered?”
He met her eyes. “That I don’t know how to let myself be happy when something good feels like it might vanish. That when I feel pain, my instinct is to step back instead of forward. And that right now…” His eyes lifted to meet hers. “Right now I’m having a really hard time choosing pleasure when I’m still grieving the loss.”
Hermione stood slowly and reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers.
“I’m hurting whether we touch or not,” she said gently. “But being alone in it is worse.”
Theo closed his eyes at that trying not to cry.
“Hermione, I still love you both so much. And I do find you incredibly desirable still, I’m just really in my own head about everything. I just need time to… reacclimate to feeling intimate and make my peace with it all.”
“Will you stay with me at least?” she asked. “Just… stay. That’s all I’m asking, nothing needs to happen. I understand if your not where I am yet, but I would value at least your presence.”
He nodded with a small smile, “I can start with that.”
They stepped under the warm spray together, fully clothed at first, then quietly shedding layers from each other tenderly. The moment was not charged with heat but with an undeniable vulnerability. The water beat softly against their flesh, as they both tried to ground themselves in being present in the moment.
Theo lifted his hands to her slowly, giving her time to stop him if she wanted. She didn’t pull away. He washed her hair carefully, fingertips gently massaging her scalp. There was no heat, no urgency, and no feeling in the bond beyond loving care. Hermione leaned into the touch with a quiet exhale, the tension easing from her shoulders just a fraction.
“I don’t trust my body right now fully,” she murmured. “It feels like it betrayed me.”
Theo’s voice wavered. “Your body didn’t fail you. Something happened to you that your body couldn’t control. There’s a difference.”
She turned slightly under the water stream, so he could rinse the soap from her hair. “It still feels like I did something wrong, like maybe I could have been more careful to prevent it.”
He shook his head. “You didn’t. And I need you to hear that from me clearly, because somewhere in your pain, you’re blaming yourself. That isn’t fair, or medically accurate.”
Tears slid down her cheek, as she nodded slowly, “I’m trying to internalize that. Some days I can, some days it’s harder.”
When he washed her arms, it was slow and deliberate. When she washed his in return, his hands quivered a little.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t want me anymore,” she admitted.
Theo’s breath hitched. “I’m afraid I want you so much that I don’t know how to without losing myself again.”
They stood there in the water, foreheads pressed together, just breathing deeply.
Afterward, wrapped in towels on the edge of the tub, Theo finally spoke what had been sitting heavy in his chest.
“I still love Draco. I still love you. I’m also still angry and grieving and scared. All of those things are true at once. I don’t know how to untangle them yet, but I’m working on it.”
Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder. “We don’t have to untangle everything tonight.”
He exhaled slowly. “Would you… be all right if I’m slow? Not distant… just slow with the intimacy with you.?”
She nodded. “Slow is okay, as long as your trying and still present. It’s also ok… if it’s easier first with Draco. I understand your hangup with both of us is likely very different. Forgiveness might be easier than… forgetting.”
Theo wrapped his arms around her then in a tight embrace.
“I won’t disappear, I’ll be present with you. Soon, I'll get out of my head and show you how much I'm attracted to you.” he promised in her ear.
Notes:
Comment on who you think he'll end up being intimate with first and why.
Chapter 347: Planting Grief
Chapter Text
On very last day of April the moment she stepped off the patio onto the lawn, she saw him.
Theo was on his knees in the soil beside the rose bed of his mother’s roses, the white blooms they had coaxed back to life the first summer they moved into the manor. A trowel lay forgotten next to him, and in his hands he held a tiny parchment packet. Hermione’s steps slowed.
“Theo?” she said softly.
He startled just a little, not noticing her as he was deep in thought. He looked up at her, eyes tired as the often were, but also full of a certain vulnerability.
“I didn’t hear you get home,” he said. He gestured at the packet, “Neville owled back. He… sent what he thought would be best.”
Hermione set down her bag and slowly knelt beside him. “What did he choose?”
Theo opened the little packet with careful fingers. Inside were tiny pale seeds, hardly more than speckles.
“Forget-me-nots,” he whispered. “Neville said… they’re hardy, and they thrive near roses. And they’re… symbolic...”
He couldn’t finish the sentence. Hermione’s heart clenched too.
“They’re perfect,” she whispered.
Theo nodded, staring at the small hole he’d already dug. He didn’t move to fill it yet.
“I thought I was doing better,” he said, barely audible. “I thought… if I kept working, kept moving, kept focusing on all the things ahead, it would hurt less.” He laughed weakly, shaking his head. “It doesn’t really, just dulls it in a weird way.”
Hermione placed her hand gently over his dirty one, “Of course it doesn’t.”
Theo’s breathed deeply and his fingers curled around hers, gripping tight as if grounding himself.
“I didn’t know how excited I was truly was until it was gone,” he said softly. “I kept imagining… you, glowing and happy. Draco beside you, proud and terrified. And me…” His throat tightened. “Me holding him… holding our child… and knowing that for once in my life something good would for sure be left as partly my legacy.”
Hermione felt her eyes sting, but she stayed quiet, letting him speak freely.
“I know he wouldn’t have been mine,” Theo whispered. “Not biologically. But I didn’t care about that. I was already imagining the little things… reading to him, taking him to the magical zoos, teaching him how to mix his first healing balm.” His voice grew lower. “And now it feels like I lost all of that possibility. Like something was stolen before it ever really existed at all.”
Hermione squeezed his hand, her own breath coming a bit too quick.
“Theo,” she murmured, “you didn’t lose your chance to be a father. This didn’t take that away from you.”
He shook his head, tears finally slipping down his cheeks.
“I know. But he was supposed to be the first. And I’ll never get that back.” His voice dropped. “And I wanted… I wanted so badly to protect you both from pain… and I couldn’t.”
Hermione leaned forward, resting her forehead against his.
“You took care of me,” she whispered fiercely. “You were calm when I couldn’t be. You were gentle when everything hurt. And you’ve been my anchor through every bit of this. You didn’t fail me or the baby. I know that morning you did everything you possibly could… it just wasn’t meant to be this time.”
Theo’s eyes began to leak as he tried to hold them back. Hermione wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him against her tightly. He folded into her almost immediately, head to her chest, tears flowing.
She held him while he cried in silence, stroking his hair. When he finally quieted, she brushed his hair back from his forehead.
“Plant them,” she whispered. “Let the garden be a reminder of him for us.”
Theo nodded shakily, wiping his face with his sleeve. With care, he tipped the seeds into the hole and pressed the soil gently over them with his fingertips. He lingered there long after the planting was done, hand resting atop the earth. Hermione wrapped her arm around him again, leaning her head on his shoulder.
“I miss him too,” she said softly.
Theo let out a deep sigh.
“I know,” he whispered. “And that… somehow makes it hurt a little less.” They stayed that way for a long while, unaware of Draco watching them form an upstairs window with yearning.
When they returned to the manor, Theo went off to shower the dirt and tears away, while Hermione spent the next few hours pouring over memos from The Center about the daily comings and going for the previous two weeks, and working on ordering more materials they were short on.
Eventually the three drifted to dinner together, dining mostly in casual silence, with the occasional scrap of knives, and short story about their days. It wasn’t awkward, but it lacked much of their old comradery and ease. After eating, they drifted to the private parlor together.
Theo sat on the couch, legs comfortably stretched out, and Hermione sat on the rug in front of him, leaning back against his shins. He brushed through the curls with slow, careful strokes before beginning to braid it for her. His touch was gentle, and movements practiced on many occasions over the last two years.
Across from them, Draco sat in the armchair closest the fire, curled slightly forward with his elbows on his knees. There was a gratefulness in his eyes watching Theo’s hands in Hermione’s hair. Something in his expression looking thankful.
Conversation flowed more easily, with a discussion of childhood hobbies and stories.
Theo was the first to share. “I had a Poe phase,” he admits humorously, fingers still working through her curls. “And Emily Dickinson. I kept the books under a loose floorboard so my father wouldn’t know I had them. Blaise found out and I tormented him for an entire summer by ending every ow to him with ‘nevermore.’ He stopped writing back after the tenth one.”
Hermione laughs, surprised. Draco shakes his head. “Of course you did,” he murmurs.
Draco offers his own memory next, “When I was thirteen, I tried to convince my father to buy me a dragon egg from a trader he knew. I stole a chicken’s egg from a neighbor’s farm to ‘prove’ I was responsible enough to hatch one.” He grimaces. “He was not impressed. Instead he got me ledger for my birthday and said it would teach me more useful responsibility.”
Hermione laughs so hard she almost falls over sideways into Theo’s leg. Theo steadies her shoulders, smiling too.
“And you? What did miss perfect enjoy?” Draco asks, eyes on her.
Hermione tucks a curl behind her ear that’s escaped Theo’s braiding. “Strategy board games. I got obsessed for years with a bunch of them. I beat everyone… my parents, Harry, Ron, Ginny. Eventually no one wanted to play with me anymore because they could never win.”
Draco raises a brow. “We could take you I bet.”
Challenge sparkled immediately in her eyes. Five minutes later, Settlers of Catan is spread across the rug by the fire. The first game is absolutely chaos… Draco calculating probabilities out loud, Theo quietly hoarding resources, Hermione effortlessly outmaneuvering them both while the boys are still figuring out how the game works exactly.
She wins very easily.
The second game does not go the way she hoped though, the boys team up together for revenge and completely box her in before she sees it coming. She spends the whole game desperately trying to get someone to trade with her for some brick to build, to no avail. Draco ends up winning that round and leans back triumphantly.
“The winner gets a prize from the losers I think,” he announces, smirking.
Hermione rolls her eyes but leans in, giving him a kiss. It was one meant to be brief, but Draco’s hand slides gently to her cheek, turning it into something slower, deeper, and more tender than she anticipated. When they part, her eyes are warm, amused…and she’s a little breathless.
Both she and Draco look toward Theo. Theo tries to pretend he doesn’t notice.
Draco quirks one pale brow. “Lord Nott, my prize,” he says softly, voice low and serious, but trying to play off as joking.
Theo huffs out an exasperated, affectionate sigh, leans forward, and gives Draco a kiss, quick, and done without pomp. Draco’s expression softens immensely, and the bond hums with warmth between them all.
Hermione watches them with open curiosity, warmth blooming in her chest. Hope tints the bond off of her, and she gives them a smile, before they clear the board and start on another round.
Notes:
Slow progress towards finding their normal again.
Chapter 348: An Eyeful of Help
Chapter Text
May had arrived with green shoots pushing through the soil beneath the bare ground of the fields on the edge of the property. Spring was trying to come back into the world, bringing with it fresh air, warmer temperatures, and new growth.
The bond had changed lately. It was no longer sharp with pain the way it had been in the weeks immediately after the miscarriage, but it was still… off. It pulsed with longing one moment, quiet grief the next. Hermione felt it constantly, like a low hum under her skin. It was not unbearable, but it was distracting at times, and a constant reminder that things were not back to how they were before between them all.
Draco coped the way he always did, by throwing himself into a project. He buried himself in ancient texts, obscure journals, half-charred family records pulled from long forgotten archives… anything that mentioned triads, fertility magic, or legacy bloodlines. He wrote letters to scholars across the world, and offered absurd sums for evidence based information about triads.
He slept poorly most nights. There were some nights he wouldn’t come to bed at all especially if Theo was home, lingering in the study until dawn with ink-stained fingers and tired eyes. Other nights, if Theo wasn’t home yet, he would slip into bed beside Hermione with careful gentleness, and worship her body. He was generous with the pleasure he provided her, always making sure she consented, and was thoroughly satisfied before always pushing away her hands offering him the same back.
He wouldn’t allow her to provide him relief, telling her that ‘making her feel good, was reward enough’ and that right now was about her reclaiming back her sexuality and body. She knew it came from a place of love and respect, but the more it happened, the more guilty she felt for constantly taking, but never giving.
Theo saw her emotional vulnerability better. He could sense her healing while progressed, wasn’t as complete as she liked to pretend. He was the one who brought her tea when the mornings were cold.. Who sat on the edge of the bed at night and brushed her hair back until her breathing evened out when she woke from a nightmare about that morning. He did not touch her in ways that meant anything more than comfort and connection. But, the way he looked into her eyes when they spoke quietly of broken dreams always made her feel heard and supported.
Draco was all careful devotion and quiet penance.
Theo was all steady presence and emotional restraint.
Hermione was caught between grief and hunger, wanting reassurance but also wanting desire. The two men were kinder to her than ever, anticipating her every whim and humoring her in the ways they could. But they were still often colder to each other than before the miscarriage.
Theo still had not forgiven Draco, not fully. He did not let anger take over his words. He did not glare. But there was a guarded distance now, a careful neutrality that hurt Draco more than the open anger ever could. Draco accepted it like a punishment he believed he deserved, still trying to show Theo he was changing.
Sometimes Hermione could feel the unspoken tension sliding through the bond… regret from Draco, shame braided with longing; hurt and resentment from Theo tangled with stubborn loyalty.
Despite everything, there were small changes afoot. Draco began making a persistent effort to be in Theo’s presence again without retreating. He would bring him tea without comment. Stand beside him at the kitchen island while Theo chopped herbs for his healer potions offering potion brewing advice. Sit across from him in the library, not speaking, but keeping him company. He packed Theo lunches for his shifts, with little encouraging notes and quotes.
Theo noticed it all. He didn’t always respond. Sometimes he pretended not to see the gestures at all. Other times he accepted them with a quiet nod of appreciation and half smile. Hermione watched all of this from the sideline, trying to take Marwen’s advice and let them sort it out themselves, her heart aching with cautious hope every time one of Draco’s actions was well received.
At night, when Theo was home, he still took Hermione into his arms and held her while they slept. It wasn’t sexual, but it was comforting and grounding. Draco joined them on occasion, always keeping Hermione in the middle, never pushing himself on Theo.
Some nights, he would stand in the doorway, watching the two of them curled together with something raw in his expression; love, guilt, longing all tangled together, before turning quietly away. The bond wasn’t exactly unsteady, but it was still off kilter even as daily progress felt tangible.
One afternoon, Theo and Hermione flooed back to the manor in the afternoon, within minutes of each other, practically stepping out into one another. They found Draco in the private parlor off their bedroom. The photo album Hermione had made was open across his lap, pages shifting slightly in the late-afternoon breeze from the open window.
He didn’t seem to hear them at first, he was too focused, his fingertips tracing the glossy edge of a picture where Hermione had caught the two boys laughing uncontrollably on the floor of the library on afternoon over Witch Weekly that Pansy had left.
When Theo and Hermione stepped inside the room, Draco looked up, startled for only a second before looking excited.
“Come see,” he murmured, voice thick. “I… I forgot how happy we looked. All these amazing moments we’ve had together.”
Hermione sat beside him, pressed tightly to his leg and arm, while Theo took the armrest at Draco’s other side. Draco flipped the page.
There was the one of Hermione asleep on Theo’s chest during an afternoon reading in the orchard; one of Draco half-smiling at a The Burrow while pretending not to enjoy himself; and one of all three of them at the Granger Center with paint on their clothes because the children had decided to paint a large mural.
Theo let out a small laugh. “I forgot about that day,” he said. “You still have paint stuck to your old boots.”
Draco huffed. “And whose fault was that?”
Hermione leaned into both of them, emotion rising in her chest, “It feels like another lifetime ago almost,” she whispered.
Theo’s hand brushed her back, and Draco’s fingers covered hers, squeezing tightly.
The evening had started innocently enough: the three of them curled on the sofa, flipping through the thick leather-bound photo album. Cape Town sunsets, Vienna markets, and BBQing on beaches on the honeymoon.
Then the pages turned to the private shots: Hermione in a scarlet bikini by the infinity pool in Cape Town with water glistening on her skin; Hermione laughing in a one-piece the day they’d turned the Manor lawn into a slip-and-slide.
Draco let out a low, appreciative whistle at the red bikini photo. “Still my favorite one you’ve worn,” he murmured, thumb brushing the picture. “That thing should be illegal for anyone else’s eyes.”
Theo’s voice was quieter, but warm. “The one from the slip-and-slide day, was fetching though” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You were laughing so hard you couldn’t stand up at the bottom of the slide. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful, you were so carefree and sun kissed.”
Hermione flushed, closing the album embarrassed. Silence settled between them all.
Theo drew a slow breath, then met her eyes.
“Show us,” he said, voice soft but steady. “The red one. Or… any of them. I want to see you like that again.”
Draco’s head snapped toward him, surprise flickering across his face. Hermione’s heart stuttered.
“Are you sure?” she asked carefully. “Because we don’t have to… ”
“I want to,” Theo cut in, gentle but sure. “I need to remember how it feels to want you without everything hurting.”
Draco met Theo’s eye and Theo nodded with certainty. They moved to the bedroom without another word.
Theo took the chaise in the corner, five feet from the bed, close enough to feel part of it, far enough to breathe. Draco perched on the very foot of the bed, eyes already dark.
Hermione stood between them, heart racing, before grabbing the red bikini from a drawer, and quickly changing in the bathroom. She strutted out for them in nothing but the tiny fabric triangles.
She started slow. She turned, letting them see the way the fabric hugged her hips, the ties at the sides begging to be pulled. Draco’s breath caught, and Theo’s hands clenched on his thighs. The window light caught her flawless curves, and highlighted her hair in a beam of sunlight.
She untied the top first very slowly, letting it fall to the ground. Then the bottoms followed, as she kept eye contact with Theo as she pulled the strings at her hips, letting them descend.
Draco’s voice was awed. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Theo’s was quieter, almost broken. “I forgot how perfect you are.”
Hermione crawled onto the bed, lying back against the pillows, knees falling open.
“I want to touch myself in front of you,” she boldly explained, eyes on Theo. “Is that okay?”
Theo swallowed hard, nodding. “Yes. Please.”
Her eyes moved to Draco who nodded enthusiastically.
She started with her fingers tracing lightly over her breasts, down her stomach, teasing her own thighs until both men were breathing hard watching every movement. Then she reached for the small bullet vibrator on the nightstand, clicking it on low.
The first touch to her clit made her gasp; Draco groaned appreciatively.
Hermione’s eyes fluttered shut as she circled the vibrator, her hips rolling. Draco didn’t hesitate, he shoved his trousers down, freeing his cock, and began stroking himself in time with her movements.
“Look at you,” he rasped. “So wet, so gorgeous… fuck, I love watching you.”
Theo stayed clothed, but his eyes were locked on her, pupils blown. His cock was hard, visibly straining against his trousers, something that hadn’t happened in over a month. His hands gripped the arms of the chaise, his knuckles white with the tension.
Hermione’s climax built fast and sweet due to the bullet’s vibrations. She came with a soft cry, thighs shaking, back arching, tears of relief spilling as the pleasure rolled through her.
Draco followed seconds later, spilling over his fist with a low, broken moan, his eyes never leaving her body.
Theo was breathing like he’d run a marathon, his cock throbbing visibly through the thin cotton, but he hadn’t touched himself.
Draco, still catching his breath, glanced at him, then at Hermione whose eyes were fixed on Theo. Draco stood slowly, crossed the short distance, and knelt in front of Theo without a word till he was on his knees.
“Theo,” he said quietly so Hermione couldn’t hear him, voice thick with everything they hadn’t said in weeks. “Let me take care of you.”
Theo’s eyes flicked to Hermione. She smiled, wide and warm and full of love.
He hesitated, “I’m still upset with you, I don’t want you to think this just makes everything fine.”
Draco voice still very low responded, “I don’t want to make it about us at all. I want to help you be present with her. Don’t make it about us… make it about connecting with her. I know this isn’t forgiveness.”
Theo’s nod was small, almost shy.
Draco’s hands were gentle as he eased Theo’s trousers down, freeing his cock which was very hard, flushed, and leaking already. Theo’s breath stuttered as Draco took him in his mouth immediately with no hesitation, deep and hot.
Theo’s eyes stayed locked with Hermione’s eyes the whole time, watching her touch herself again with renewed vigor, the bullet now at an even higher setting.
“I love you,” Theo rasped, voice faltering as Draco took him deeper. “Both of you…so much…”.
His hands threaded loosely into Draco’s hair but he paid him no mind, just enjoying the sensation of the wet sucking, eyes and thoughts lost on witnessing Hermione’s pleasure build.
Hermione’s second orgasm was less dramatic, rolling through her in soft waves, as she watched Draco service Theo with his mouth. Theo followed moments later, hips jerking wildly, hand clamping harder in blonde hair, and spilling down Draco’s throat with a broken moan and three thrusts.
“Fuck… Hermione, so beautiful and sexy… fuck Merlin…”
His tears slipped free as the pleasure finally overtook the grief in his heart when his cock stopped spurting.
When it was over, they all joined together in the middle of the bed, the boys pantless, and Hermione fully naked. Theo was curled around Hermione from behind, his arms tight around her waist, soft cock on her thigh, face buried in her hair. Draco lay facing her on the other side, fingers laced through hers, forehead pressed to hers.
No one spoke for a long time. Eventually Theo’s voice came, muffled against her neck.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “For giving me this. You both… the patience, and just… well I needed time to get here.”
Hermione turned in his arms to face him, kissing him slow and deep, then reached for Draco to pull him closer behind her. Draco buried his face in her curls, kissing her neck.
“We’ll always wait for whatever each of us needs,” she said. “We’ll always choose each other, because we love each other. Things can be difficult, but we have to remember we don’t need to ever be alone. We can have each other.”
Draco’s hand found Theo’s over her hip, squeezing.
“Always,” he echoed.
Theo’s throat was too tight to respond.
They fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other, the bands on their fingers glowing steady gold for the first time in many weeks.
Notes:
Thoughts how how this went down...?
Chapter 349: Moving On
Chapter Text
Theo had seen Draco off by porkey at the crack of dawn while Hermione slept. They had spoken briefly, but it had felt like a step forward.
“I meant what I said last night Draco, physicality won’t buy forgiveness.”
“I know, I wasn’t intending for it to. I just wanted to try to give you a moment with Hermione where maybe you weren’t stuck in your head.”
“Yes, well it worked…”, Theo hesitated before continuing, “Thank you… I don’t… I don’t think I could have done it myself honestly. Things still feel, really complicated with her, but I’m getting there finally. Last night proved that.”
Draco nodded, “I did it just as much for her as for you. Did you feel her self confidence in the bond when you came? She was so proud, so happy that there was proof you still desire her. Don't hold yourself back... when your ready for more with her... take the chance.”
Theo smiled brightly, “I did. I never wanted her to doubt I did. It’s just… hard with what happened to unsee it.”
Draco felt the porkey vibrate in warning, “I know things aren’t good still with us, but when I’m back, can we maybe sit down and really talk?”
“I’d like that.” Theo agreed easily, as Draco’s porkey went off.
Draco’s departure for an overnight business meeting in Hong Kong left a strange quiet behind for Hermione. The house felt too large without him, especially with Theo on shift. Hermione spent the day with Pansy and Cassian as planned, letting herself be swallowed by the rhythms of baby bottles and tiny socks and the strange comfort of watching someone’s else’s broken heart learn how to love again. It didn’t hurt her mood that Cassian slept in the crook of her arm for nearly an hour, his warmth solid and grounding.
But the bond tugged at her all day with Theo’s exhaustion.. his restraint… and the longing ache beneath it.
He came home late that evening, hours after she was home, his shoulders slumped with endless cases, and coat damp from the spring drizzle. Hermione was in the sitting room, curled on the sofa with Pudding in her lap and a book she hadn’t absorbed a single word from while she waited for him.
“You’re home finally,” she said softly.
He nodded, setting his bag down with a tired sigh. “Long shift, sorry to make you wait up. I kept thinking I’d leave early… then didn’t.”
She rose immediately, crossing to him without thinking. Their hug was instinctual, and he lingered longer than usual, his arms tightening around her like he needed to breath her in.
“I’ll go change,” he said after a moment, voice low. “Then we can eat together. I’m starving.”
She watched him disappear down the hall.
The bond flared like something long-starved stretching awake. Hermione sank back onto the sofa, suddenly breathless, unsure whether the feeling belonged more to him or to herself.
Theo returned in soft black trousers and a plain green shirt, hair damp from a quick shower, whole body relaxed now that he was home and clean. They ate dinner quietly at first, sharing small stories of their days; Cassian’s latest milestones, an elderly patient who insisted Theo reminded him of his grandson, and a new charmed mobile Pansy was designing for the nursery depicting fake glimmering potion bottles. All the while, the bond rippled between them distinctly, like something unspoken gathering weight.
After dinner, Theo stretched slightly and leaned back against the sofa. Hermione shifted closer until their knees touched.
“Draco would hate being gone during this weather,” she murmured.
Theo smiled faintly. “He always has liked spring.”
Hermione felt her pulse quicken, heat stirring beneath her ribs, heat emanating form where their knees touched. She could feel his awareness too, restrained but present, alive in the bond like a quiet flame refusing to burn out.
He exhaled slowly. “Hermione…”
She met his eyes.
Then gently, deliberately, he said, “I don’t want to rush us. Or pretend the hurt isn’t still here. I’m not going to lie, I’ve been coming to terms with it much better lately. Drawing some closure finally. But, there’s still grief laced in there some days, I can’t just forget him entirely.”
“I don’t want that either,” she whispered. “But I don’t want us to disappear into it. He’s always going to be a part of us forever, but the living need to move forward too, not get stuck in the past.”
His fingers brushed hers.
“That,” he said quietly, “I do agree with.” She beamed back.
Soon, Theo’s yawns overtook the moment, and Hermione insisted they at least move to the bedroom, in case he fell asleep. The room was dim except for the soft glow of the enchanted screen at the foot of the bed she summoned.
Oliver & Company was playing quietly, the music low, the colors washed gentle by the late hour. Hermione lay curled on her side beneath the heavy quilt, Theo stretched out beside her, one arm draped loosely behind her shoulders. They had both said it was just to relax. Neither of them believed it.
His leg shifted slightly, accidentally brushing between hers as he adjusted for comfort. The warmth of him was immediate. The bond reacted before either of them could try to dull it, an echo of awareness, the sharp pull of memory and want.
Hermione’s breath caught. Theo froze.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The screen continued on, doggy characters laughing, lighthearted jokes spilling through the room in sharp contrast to the tension coiled tight between them.
Hermione could feel it through the bond, his sudden awareness, the jolt of heat, the way his emotions spiked with instinctual desire and restraint all at once.
“I—sorry,” he murmured quietly, shifting to pull away.
Warmth instantly left where he had been pressed against her, and the sudden cold made her heart protest.
“You don’t have to move,” she said softly.
His hand stilled on the blanket.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said after a moment, voice low. “Or confuse things more than they already are.”
Hermione turned her head slightly so she could see his face in profile. The flickering film light painted his features in shadows. He looked hopeful, but tentative.
“I already am hurt,” she admitted. “About… everything. But I’m not fragile, Theo. And I’m ready to move on. I’ve told you that.”
“I know.” His jaw tightened. “And part of me still doesn’t believe it. What you went through was truly awful. I’m not sure how you’ve found peace with it, when I’m still struggling some days.”
The words sat heavy between them. Hermione swallowed, then slowly reached over and laid her hand on his forearm. His skin was warm beneath her fingers.
“I don’t know why,” she said gently. “And I’m sad too, but I just feel like it wasn’t meant to be. Like I can’t let myself get stuck in one place because it happened.”
Theo closed his eyes as he tried to reflect on her words.
“I want you,” he said quietly, the words heavy with truth. “That hasn’t gone away. But wanting you and being ready are not the same thing. I think after last night, I am ready too… but I’m nervous that… maybe I’ll get into my own head and not be able to reform for you. That’ll I’ll ruin what should be a beautiful healing moment for you with my own insurrities.”
Hermione felt the truth of that ripple through the bond. He wasn’t rejecting her. He was protecting himself as much as her.
“I don’t need tonight to be anything if your truly not ready,” she whispered. “But, don’t think I would be upset if we tried and it didn’t happen like we want either. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”
His breath shuddered. Slowly, carefully, he shifted back into place beside her, his leg resting near hers. His arm slid more securely around her shoulders, a quiet, grounding weight. They watched the movie in silence for a few minutes. Theo’s hand rested on her hip, thumb stroking slow circles through the fabric of her leggings. Hermione’s fingers traced the bond tattoo on his finger, feeling the faint tremor there.
“I miss you,” she whispered into the dark, voice small but steady.
Theo’s breath caught. He shifted, pressing his forehead to hers.
“I miss you too,” he rasped. “So much. But only if you’re ready. Only if it feels good, not… heavy.”
She kissed him deep and long. “It feels right tonight,” she said against his lips. “I want to feel close to you again if you’re ready too.”
Theo’s hand slid up to cup her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. “Tell me if anything feels wrong at all, I’ll stop. Promise me please.”
“Promise,” she breathed.
The kisses stayed soft at first, gentle, exploratory, like they were learning each other all over again. Theo’s mouth moved to her neck, open-mouthed kisses along her jugular, tongue caressing the shell of her outer ear.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against her skin, voice gruff with emotion. “I love every inch of you. I love you so much it hurts sometimes.”
He kept her shirt on but his hands slid down to push her leggings and knickers off in one slow dragging motion. She helped him, kicking them free of her feet, then lay bare from the waist down, thighs falling open for him without hesitation.
Theo’s palm settled low on her groin with no pressure at first, just the warm weight of his hand covering her. He held it there for a few minutes, feeling her heartbeat through the sensitive skin, letting the anticipation build.
Hermione’s breath grew shallow; she could feel herself getting wetter under his hand, the warmth spreading down her legs. Theo’s cock hardened against her thigh, the piercing pressing through his loose trousers into her skin.
He kissed her neck again, whispering affection against her pulse. “I love how you feel under my hand,” he murmured. “Love how you’re already getting wet and ready for me. You’re so perfect my love.”
His fingers finally slipped lower with slow, slick circles over her clit, then down to her entrance, pressing in one finger in, then two, stretching her gently. Hermione moaned, hips rotating to meet him, tears pricking her eyes from the overwhelming relief of feeling desired again.
“You okay?” he asked, voice worried.
“Yes,” she whispered, tears spilling. “I want you. I’m sure.”
“I’m sure too,” he said, kissing the tears away. “I need you.”
He shifted above her, settling between her thighs, the wide, pierced head of his cock nudging her entrance. He pressed forward just the tip entering, letting them both feel the stretch after so long apart.
Hermione gasped, walls fluttering around the thick tube, and cool metal, trying to draw him deeper.
Theo’s eyes locked with hers, wide and wet. “Feel that?” he whispered. “Just the head… stretching you open again. You’re so amazing, love… so perfect.”
She nodded, “More,” she begged, voice eager. “Please”
He sank in gradually, inch by inch, the bar dragging against her walls in perfect, textured pressure. When he bottomed out, they both stilled with their foreheads pressed together, both breathing ragged, soft groans on their lips.
Theo began to move with slow, deep moves of his hips, each thrust calculated, the piercing pressing and dragging in ways that made her sob with pleasure. His hand slid between them, thumb finding her clit, circling it gently over and over.
“I love you,” he whispered with every thrust, voice tender. “Love how you feel around me… love you so much… perfect.”
The orgasm built slow and steady inside her, like climbing stairs gradually, till she was on the 20th floor looking over the edge. When he flicked her clit just right, she came undone with an ear shattering cry, walls clamping hard around him, pulling him deeper, as multiple shudders went through her body.
Theo followed five thrusts later with a extensive, drawn-out groan, grinding deep in her channel as he spilled inside her walls.
He kissed her slow and deep after, tasting tears and love, then rolled onto his side, pulling her close.
“You’re amazing,” he murmured into her neck, voice wrecked. “So perfect, my love.”
She curled into him, boneless and glowing, the bond singing between them.
Notes:
Ah, bet you thought it would be with Draco not Hermione =P
Ideas on Draco's reaction when he gets back? Also... what will be said when Draco and Theo can talk about their issues?
Chapter 350: Breaking Glass
Notes:
Bit of a long scene to hold you all over till I have time to finish editing Draco and Theo's talk.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The Ministry atrium felt colder than usual the next morning. Hermione noticed it the moment she and Theo stepped through the floo. Theo’s hand brushed briefly against the small of her back. The bond between them still hummed with relaxed tensions, and tenderness.
They didn’t speak as they crossed the atrium. An Auror was already waiting for them at the foot of the lifts.
“Potter and Shacklebolt are expecting you, sorry this was so last minute.”
Theo’s jaw tightened. Hermione felt a flicker of dread arc through the bond, quick and contained.
Harry was already there, standing near the long conference table, his sweater sleeves rolled to his elbows. Kingsley sat at the head of the table, hands clasped, and expression grave in that calm way that always meant things were worse than they sounded.
“The Peruvian Ministry has officially confirmed it,” Kingsley said as son as they sat down. “They’ve had a siphoning outbreak for months.”
Hermione stiffened.
“How many?” she asked softly.
Harry exhaled, annoyed. “At least twenty confirmed victims. Probably more… they’ve been suppressing it to avoid public panic.”
Theo’s knuckles went white against the back of a chair. “All fully drained?”
Kingsley confirmed. “Most. A few partials. It mirrors the early stages here almost exactly, random food contamination first, then what seems more like very partial targets. They’ve been terrified to admit it publicly because they didn’t have countermeasures in place.”
Hermione swallowed. “Until now I hope.”
Harry nodded again. “They reached out in secret after the Christmas case. That’s when we quietly sent them the potion formula.”
A heavy silence followed, everyone exchanging worried glances.
“You’re sure it’s the same network?” Theo questioned.
Kingsley slid a thin file across the table. “Seems like it.”
Hermione’s stomach twisted. “So, the network is now globally siphoning.”
“Yes,” Kingsley said evenly. “And organized far beyond anything we first suspected.”
“They’ve been hiding it,” Harry said, rubbing at his temple. “People disappearing quietly. Labeled as accidents. Illness. ‘Magical fatigue.’ Families paid off. Some threatened. They’ve been growing this abroad for while now.”
Theo’s voice was very soft. “Just kept it under wraps… or at least the government did.”
Kingsley inclined his head. “Exactly.”
Hermione felt a wave of anger roll through her chest, “So how long were they planning to let it spread before admitting it?”
“They weren’t,” Kingsley replied. “Their Ministry was infiltrated. Same pattern you saw here early on. Low-level clerks, supply officers, portkey regulators. The people no one watches closely. They’re infiltrated I’d have to guess.”
Theo blew out a breath ina huff. “How did they confirm it was siphoning?”
“They caught someone in the act,” Harry said grimly. “An experimental delivery method. Not food. Not potion. We won’t discuss the mechanism outside Kingsley and I for the moment. Sorry guys, I’ll be in touch when it’s declassified.”
Hermione stiffened. “It’s evolving though?”
“Yes,” Kingsley said. “Which means time is no longer on anyone’s side.”
“They’re deploying the potion immediately,” Kingsley continued. “Nationwide emergency distribution. They’re disguising it as a tuberculosis outbreak response in wizarding communities that live near Muggle centers.”
Hermione nodded slowly. “Smart. Avoids panic.”
“They also want to collaborate formally now,” Harry added. “Have a joint task force. Shared intelligence. They’re ready to stop hiding finally when the potion rolls out so at least the public has some hope.”
Theo rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Good. They should have done that sooner.”
“They were afraid,” Kingsley said gently. “Fear makes cowards of good people.”
Hermione flinched.
Harry hesitated, then said, “There’s one more thing.”
Theo’s head snapped up. Hermione felt that tight warning pulse in the bond.
“They think the network didn’t choose Peru at random. They were testing scalability. Ramping up production capacity on a continent with weaker international oversight than here, where it’s easier to pay people off and fall through the cracks.”
Hermione’s voice was sure. “Meaning this was always meant to go global, it was just a matter of time.”
“Yes,” Harry said.
Kingsley looked directly at Hermione now. “And it means your kidnapping was not an isolated attempt at intimidation. It was part of that same global escalation strategy, I bet they have multiple people they’d like to make an example of worldwide.”
Theo’s hand moved instantly to Hermione’s. This time he didn’t hesitate to pull her closer.
“They wanted you silenced,” Kingsley continued, “not just for what you knew, but for what you represent.”
Hermione could only nod.
When they finally stepped back into the hall, everything felt too loud again. Theo didn’t let go of her hand.
“They’re everywhere now,” Hermione said quietly.
“Yes,” Theo replied. “But we know it, so we can be on the lookout.”
Harry joined them at the lifts. “We’ll keep you updated on Peru. The formula seems to be holding there so far. No new full drains since deployment began so far, pass that on to Draco please too, I’m sure he’ll be relieved.”
Hermione nodded. “That’s something at least good.”
“It’s more than something,” Harry said. “It’s hope.”
As the lift doors closed, Hermione leaned subtly into Theo’s shoulder and he wrapped a reassuring arm around her.
On the way home, Hermione insisted they go first to a local muggle bakery cafe she and Draco were fond of. The two of them sip earl grey tea and nibble on chocolate croissants and warm out of the oven blue berry scones with clotted cream leisurely, taking about her ideas for summer events at the Center .
Right before leaving, they decided to surprise Draco tonight when he returns home with his favorite lemon meringue pie from the bakery, purchasing one to bring home.
Draco portkeyed straight into the foyer that evening. Relief washed through him so hard he had to brace a hand against the wall, upon feeling the dramatic change in the bond. The longing had all but disappeared, replaced by a more familiar, steadiness of affection.
He followed the feeling down the hall and stopped in the doorway of the parlor.
Theo and Hermione were curled together on the couch, a blanket thrown over their legs, a book open between them. Hermione was leaning back against Theo’s chest, his arm loosely around her shoulders, her fingers absently tracing the edge of the page.
Draco exhaled, a soft, shaky laugh escaping him before he could stop it. “Thank Merlin,” he smiled.
Both of them looked up. Hermione flushed instantly, color blooming across her cheeks. Theo just gave a small, knowing nod, his expression calmer in a way Draco hadn’t seen in far too long.
“You both okay?” Draco asked, stepping fully into the room now, his eyes moving between them.
Hermione beamed. “Yeah. We are.”
Theo nodded again. “We’re very good.”
Hermione shifted, lifting the edge of the blanket and patting the space beside her. “Come here.”
He didn’t hesitate to move towards her. On his way over, he reached out and gave Theo a brief squeeze on the shoulder and then slid under the blanket on Hermione’s other side. She immediately curled into him, one arm around his waist, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.
“Welcome back,” she murmured.
Draco closed his eyes for half a second, forehead resting against hers. “Good to be back.”
“So,” Theo said lightly, glancing at Draco. “How’d the meeting go?”
Draco smirked, some of his old confidence flickering back into place. “Productive. Malfoy Industries is now the proud owner of a rather impressive enchanted car factory.”
Hermione’s eyes lit up. “You reached an agreement?”
“I did.”
She beamed. “That’s incredible. I knew you would.”
Theo added, “Congratulations.”
Draco ducked his head, pleased despite himself. “Thank you.”
Hermione shifted again, sitting up just enough to wave her wand toward the sideboard. “Which means… mini celebration.”
A moment later, the lemon meringue pie appeared, hovering I front of them along with plates and forks.
Draco’s eyebrows shot up. In surpise “You didn’t.”
“We absolutely did,” she said, delighted. “From that little bakery you like off Diagon in the muggle area. The one with the ridiculous window display of the bunnies.”
His expression softened completely. “You thought of me while I was gone?”
Theo smiled faintly. “Of course we did.”
They served the pie to each other, the room filling with the faint scent of lemon and sugar. Draco took a bite and let out an exaggerated sound of approval. “I might just eat the rest of it myself, so good.”
Hermione laughed, nudging him with her shoulder. “High praise from you.”
After a while, Theo checked the clock and sighed. “I’ve got to head in… long overnight shift.”
Draco grimaced. “Right.”
Theo stood, tugging the blanket free and stretching with his arms over his head, cracking his shoulders. Draco rose with him, following him toward the bedroom to grab his healer robes.
In the doorway, Theo paused.
“I know,” he said quietly, meeting Draco’s eyes. “We still need to talk, and we will.”
Draco nodded. “Tomorrow? Maybe after you sleep.”
Theo’s mouth twitched. “After I sleep, yes.”
“Deal.”
Theo reached out and squeezed Draco’s forearm, “Thank you… encouraging me to try with her. It went really well...”
Draco smirked back, “Anytime.”
Theo turned back briefly on his way out, leaned down, and pressed a quick kiss to Draco’s cheek before heading for the door.
Hermione watched from the couch as he passed by, a soft smile on her face. He blew her a kiss too, dramatic and silly which she pretended to catch in her hand.
Theo pulled on his outer healer robes, gave them both one last look, and then disappeared with a crack of apparition.
Draco returned to the couch, Hermione immediately curling back into him, her head fitting beneath his chin as they talked more about his meetings, and the strange food he had tried at a street vendor by mistake.
Theo had kissed them both goodbye hours ago. The bedroom was dim, only the fire and a single lamp casting long, amber shadows. The air smelled faintly of the chamomile tea they’d shared on the sofa, over their conversations of the mundane.
Hermione stood at the foot of the bed now in one of Draco’s black silk shirts, unbuttoned, hanging open, nothing beneath. Draco sat on the edge of the mattress, shirtless, his grey joggers low on his hips, silver eyes fixed on her with a mixture of hunger and anxiety. He hadn’t had her… not like this… since the miscarriage.
Hermione took a relaxed breath against his neck, kissing his ear. “Draco,” she said, voice soft but sure. “Are you ready to actually have me again?”
His cock gave an immediate, visible twitch beneath the fabric of his joggers, but his hands stayed clenched on his thighs. “Gods, yes,” he rasped. “I’ve wanted you so bad. But… I didn’t want to push if you weren’t ready, or leave Theo out. I was also a bit nervous of hurting you somehow… after your body has just finished healing.”
Hermione climbed onto his lap, straddling him, the silk shirt falling open completely, revealing her bare breasts to his appreciative gaze.
She cupped his face, thumbs stroking the sharp lines of his cheekbones. “I’m not made of glass, Draco. I won’t break. I really just need my husband back, the one who takes me apart and puts me back together in ways I didn’t even know I needed. I want to feel like your wife again.”
Draco’s eyes searched hers, his obvious anxiety warring. “Hermione… are you sure?”
She leaned in, lips brushing his in a teasing way, voice dropping to a whisper that sent more heat straight to his groin. “I’m sure. I want you to fuck me like you missed me. Like I’m still the woman who can take everything you have to give.”
Draco’s breath shuddered out of him, then his eyes darkened, the fear giving way to something raw and possessive.
“Oh, Granger,” he growled, voice low and dangerous, hands finally moving to grip her hips with some pressure. “Are you saying you want something a bit naughtier… a bit dirty?”
Hermione’s face flushed crimson, but her nod was immediate, and rather eager. “Yes.”
Draco’s mouth crashed into hers then, hard, and claiming, all teeth and tongue and pent-up need. He kissed her hard and demanding, one hand fisting in her curls, the other sliding down to palm her arse, grinding her against the growing rigid length straining his joggers. She moaned into his mouth with need.
He broke the kiss only to rip his joggers off, cock bouncing up now freed, already leaking. “On all fours then,” he instructed, voice rough with lust. “ I want that gorgeous arse in the air for me.”
Hermione rushed quickly to obey, the silk shirt falling off one shoulder as she got on her hands and knees in the center of the bed, thighs spread, offering herself completely. Draco knelt behind her, hands gripping her hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh there.
He took a moment and just looked at her spread before him, his breath ragged. “Fuck, wife… look at you. You’re the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen. This perfect cunt…” he slid two fingers through her already slick folds, spreading her open, “dripping for me, begging for my cock.”
She looked over her shoulder, locking eyes with him with burning desire and shook her arse a bit in invitation. He groaned at the sight, and she bit her lip, before turning her neck back to face forward.
He lined up, notching himself at the entrance, and then thrust home in one long stroke that buried him to the hilt.
Hermione screamed at the feeling of her walls stretching to accommodate him fully, her fingers clawing at the sheets in front of her.
“Draco… yes… more please.”
He didn’t hold back once she pleaded for it. He fucked her with deep, relentless strokes, his hips snapping at a vigorous pace. One of his hands slid up her spine, fisting her curls, pulling her head back just enough to arch her further.
“You feel that, wife?” he growled. “My cock stretching you open… fuck, you take me so well.”
Hermione’s moans turned into louder cries of pleasure, as she pushed back to meet his every thrust. “Harder… please… I need… more.”
Draco’s other hand came down in a sharp slap on her arse, then gripped her hip again, giving him leverage to pound deeper. “That’s it… take it… let me feel you come all over my cock… let it go.”
The rhythm turned more rigorous, his thrusts faster, deeper, and more punishing, until Hermione shattered. “Draco… fuck… I’m… ugh… don’t stop!”
He followed seconds later, his hips stuttering, cock swelling impossibly thicker as he came with a pained roar. “Hermione… fuck… mine… so good!”
They collapsed forward onto the bed together, his arms wrapping tight around her waist, pulling her back against his chest as they fell to the sheets. He kissed her cheeks, then her lips in a searing kiss, his voice softer now, more reverent. “You’re not glass, love. You’re perfect.”
He pulled a blanket over them, hugging her tightly into his side as gradually their heavy breathes mellowed out, and they drifted to sleep together.
Notes:
Comment with how you think the talk between Theo and Draco will go in the morning?
Chapter 351: Flowers Talk
Notes:
Finally, reconciliation with Theo and Draco. Happy reading!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Theo stumbled through the floo just before nine am, looking wrung out entirely after a 12+ hour shift in the Potion Mishaps department, with exhaustion sitting heavy on his sagged shoulder. He pressed a kiss to Hermione’s temple, squeezed Draco’s shoulder tightly, and then disappeared down the hall to the bedroom, discarding robes, and shoes as he went down the hall.
“He’ll be out cold for hours,” Draco grumbled, watching him go with fond concern. “I’ll make sure the wards on this wing are quiet for him.”
They barely had time to finish setting the table when the floo flared alive again.
“Your favorite brunch buddies are here!” Pansy announced brightly, stepping out first with Cassian bundled securely against her chest. Blaise followed right behind her with a basket that smelled suspiciously of fresh pecan pastries. The baby was awake and alert, one tiny fist clenched in Pansy’s blouse collar.
Hermione smiled, “You’re just in time. Theo’s just gotten home from shift, so he won’t be joining us.”
“Good,” Pansy replied. “He needs sleep, and you both need a good spread.” She glanced meaningfully between Hermione and Draco, then grinned as Blaise set the basket down. “And Cassian needs to charm you some more I think too.”
Blaise leaned in to kiss Hermione’s cheek, then Draco’s, and nodded toward the hallway. “How’s he holding up?”
“Better,” Hermione said carefully. “Working a lot so he’s been rather tired. Still… working through things lately, but it’s much… better now.”
Blaise nodded once, understanding more than she’d said. “Aren’t we all always working thru something?”
They settled into an easy rhythm together, tea was poured, pastries shared, the elves plated them omelets and crispy bacon, and Cassian was passed back and forth between them while Pansy narrated every gurgle like a translator. Draco found himself laughing more than he had in a long while, surprising himself with how natural it felt.
“My mother’s contacts in Italy still haven’t turned anything up,” Blaise said casually between bites of rye buttered toast. “Nothing unusual in that seaside town. No disappearances, no odd shipments, heck not even weird comings and goings. Either Flint’s cousin is very clean… or very good at hiding things if there is something underfoot there.”
“Or both,” Draco answered. “Which I dislike immensely.” He frowned.
Before Blaise could reply, the window rattled loudly.
Hermione looked up just as a huge tawny owl swooped in, wings brushing the glass before it dropped a large bundle into her lap and flapped back outside again.
She read the card, ‘Love, Theo’.
“Oh… that’s sweet.” Her heart swooned a bit.
Pansy leaned over immediately reading, her eyes lighting up. “Ooooh. Someone’s got a dotting husband.”
Hermione untied the ribbon, and the scent hit her, unmistakable. Jasmine with glossy white blossoms tucked among deep red tulips made up a sizable bouquet.
Draco froze, blueberry spearer fork halfway to his mouth, slightly mortified on her behalf.
Pansy made an utterly delighted sound. “Oh that is scandalous.”
Hermione flushed with uncertainty. “What, it’s flowers?”
Blaise chuckled into his tea deeply amused, murdering “You don’t know about flowers, do you?”
“I… what…should I?”
Blaise took pity on her, “Flowers have a language. Every flower means something different. Purebloods are educated in the language of subtle flower giving from an early age.”
Pansy clapped her hands together, smirking wildly with glee. “Theo sent you fuck flowers.”
Hermione nearly dropped them. “He did not.”
“Oh, he absolutely did,” Pansy said merrily. “Red tulips… that’s burning desire, love, and longing. Jasmine is generally sensual attraction, or finding someone sexy. Flowers are basically pureblood shorthand notes. It’s very old-fashioned, but very direct and undeniable.”
Hermione’s cheeks were burning. “That cannot possibly be…”
Draco cleared his throat, eyes dark and amused. “It can… and it is exactly what he meant, I’m sure.”
She glanced at him, mortified and oddly pleased all at once. “You could have warned me this was a thing you know. Who knows how many flower message fauxpaus I’ve been involved in.”
“And rob us all of this moment?” Pansy grinned. “Never.”
Hermione tried to regain her composure, carefully arranging the flowers on the sideboard in a glass vase.
“That’s… very sweet of him,” she said finally. “And deeply embarrassing.”
Draco smirked at her, “He’s saying he wants you physically and that he loves you. That he’s very attracted to you.”
Before Hermione could respond, a second owl swooped in, with a similar sized bundle. It dropped another bouquet onto the table and departed without ceremony. The tag said, ‘For Draco, with Love, Theo’.
Draco stared hard at it, willing it to not be embarrassing. Blaise, was practically crying now with laughter. Pansy squealed, ”Merlin, could this morning get any better! Open it Draco or I will for you!”.
He hesitated, looking to Hermione who now was also paying attention, curious about it. She nodded reassuringly.
He opened it with careful fingers, pulling back the tape with care, and unfolding the paper, revealing the bouquet within.
Daffodils, pale and luminous, were nestled among blue hydrangeas so rich in color they almost looked violet in the morning window light. The room went dead silent.
Draco stood so abruptly his chair nearly fell over behind him. “Excuse me.”
He vanished fast into the kitchen. Hermione was on her feet immediately after him.
She found him gripping the counter tightly, trying to steady his labored breathing.
“Draco,” she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Is it.. are they… do they mean something bad?” she was hesitant to even ask.
He turned his head to her, eyes glassy. “Daffodils,” he whispered. “Mean forgiveness. Hydrangeas are love, and understanding.” He swallowed hard, a tear forming in each eye. “He’s telling me he understands. That he forgives me.”
Hermione stepped into him, arms wrapping tight around his middle. He broke then, quiet nearly silent sobs pressed into her shoulder, fingers clutching at the back of her sweater.
“I didn’t think… ” He shook his head in disbelief. “I didn’t think he would ever forgive me. Especially not yet. I can’t believe it.”
“He wouldn’t have sent them if he didn’t mean it,” she murmured. “Theo doesn’t do anything lightly, you know that.”
Draco nodded, breathing slowly evening out. “I know. I just… Merlin, I needed know we weren’t irrevocably broken. That I hadn’t broken this so bad, it was over.”
They stayed that way a moment longer before Draco drew one last shaky breath and straightened. “We should go back. Pansy will read my face like a book.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “She already has concluded, I’m sure.”
They returned to the table as if nothing had happened, though Pansy’s knowing look flicked between the flowers and Draco with open satisfaction.
“Well,” Pansy said breezily, bouncing Cassian on her knee, “that’s enough romance sorted for the morning. Blaise, don’t get me flowers when company is coming over please.”
“Yes, dear.”
Brunch wound down more easily after that. Cassian fell asleep against Blaise’s chest, and the conversation drifted to lighter things like summer travel plans, ridiculous Ministry gossip about a mail room clerk sleeping with a married goblin liaison officer, and whether Theo would ever forgive Pansy for the nickname “fuck flowers.”
When it was time for them to go, Hermione kissed Pansy’s cheek and brushed her fingers gently over Cassian’s downy hair one last time.
“Thank you for coming,” she said.
Pansy squeezed her hand, exchanging a look that spoke volumes. “Always.”
As the floo flared again and Hermione gathered her things for class, she paused, glancing once more at the two bouquets sitting side by side.
Desire. Forgiveness. She smiled broadly, wishing Draco a good day and left.
Draco watched Hermione disappear into the green flare of the floo with a soft, lingering ache in his chest, her kiss still warm on his cheek.
The manor felt peaceful, he let himself hover for a moment in the dining room, eyes drifting back to the two bouquets on the sideboard. Red tulips and jasmine in one vase. Daffodils and blue hydrangeas in the other. He exhaled shakily and turned away before he could emotionally spiral again.
An ancient Arabic text waited for him in the library, it’s thick parchment pages dense with looping script and marginalia that suggested it had passed through many hands. He’d been at it for hours already, but he forced himself to refocus, carefully examining the depicted runes, cross-referencing the idioms, and muttering translations into English under his breath.
There was a lot of fascinating stuff in it; traditional two person soul-bonds, mirrored pregnancy magic, things about divine resonance. But, nothing yet about triads.
The work was slow-going, rather frustrating, and required an almost harsh level of concentration. By the time the grandfather clock in the foyer chimed two, his eyes ached from squinting at the tiny writing and his shoulders were tight with tension.
He was halfway through a particularly convoluted passage when he heard the faint clink of ceramic, and the unmistakable hiss of a kettle charm activating in the kitchen. Theo was awake finally.
Draco shut the book, marking his place, and stood. His heart thudded harder with each step down the corridor, anticipation and nerves tangling together until he wasn’t sure which feeling was winning out even.
Theo stood at the counter in soft grey trousers and a wrinkled amusement park T-shirt, his hair still damp from a hurried shower, and dark circles still under his eyes from the overnight shift. He was leaning against the counter, coffee mug in hand, and blinking slowly like the world hadn’t quite come into focus yet.
Theo glanced up when he approached. “Food first,” he said croakily. “Then talking.”
Draco nodded at once. “Food first definitely.”
They moved around each other with a quiet familiarity, no touching, but no awkwardness present either. Theo laid out bread and turkey; Draco sliced cheese and summoned vegetables for a small side salad. Neither spoke much. Theo asked if Pansy and Blaise had stopped by with the baby after all. Draco filled him in about their friends, watching Theo’s mouth twitch upward at the mention of Pansy designing stain-proof burp cloths to sell in her home goods line.
They ate at the island in near silence, the only sounds the scrape of plates and the soft ticking of the clock. Until Theo eyeballed him suspiciously, “So, I was half asleep when I got in… but you and Hermione… the bond… it felt more settled I think?’.
Draco nodded with a small smile, “Yes, we had an enjoyable night.”
Theo paused eating, “She was ok…?”
“Probably, more than just ok,” Draco tried to lightly joke back. Theo relaxed a little at that and went back to eating, “Good.”
Draco waited, forcing himself not to rush the conversation, not to fill the space with apologies too soon.
When they both finished, Theo leaned back slightly, coffee cradled in both hands, and stared at the far wall for a moment in thought.
“I got the flowers,” Draco said finally quietly.
Theo’s eyes swung back to him. “You both weren’t supposed to get them until tonight.”
Draco let out a short, awkward laugh. “Well, they arrived during brunch. Pansy… explained to Hermione what hers meant.”
Theo huffed. “Of course she did.”
“She called them… ” Draco hesitated, then smirked faintly. “fuck flowers.”
Theo snorted despite himself, rubbing a hand over his face. “Merlin. I wasn’t trying to be subtle, but no one else was supposed to see them. Was she mortified?”
“Slightly, I’m not sure if it was more because she didn’t know flower language like we all do, or because of what Pansy said.”
Theo looked surprised, “Oh, I didn’t think about her not knowing… but that makes sense. We should pick up a flower dictionary for her in Diagon next time we’re out, I’m sure she’ll want to learn about it now.”
Draco nodded.
Theo looked uneasy, the bond felt more tense now than it had earlier. “So…” He began, but drifted off.
Draco’s smile faded, something heavier settling in his chest. “The daffodils,” he said softly. “And the hydrangeas. I…” His voice caught. “I think I understood.”
Theo’s expression shifted then, sharpening into something earnest and steady. “Good. Then maybe this will be easier.”
They moved to the small parlor off the bedroom quietly and with purpose. Theo sat on the edge of the sofa, not allowing himself the comfort of leaning back into it, and Draco took the armchair opposite him, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.
Theo spoke first after a small silence.
“I do forgive you,” he said, directly. “For leaving… for running that morning.”
Draco’s breath left him in a relieved rush.
“But,” Theo resumed, holding up a hand to stop him from saying anything, “I won’t forget it either. I don’t want to carry anger anymore, but I need you to understand how much that hurt. Not just me, but for Hermione too.”
“I do,” Draco said immediately. His voice trembled despite his effort to steady it. “I do understand that it was a selfish thing to do. I was… ” He grappled to find the right words. “I was back there again with Astoria. In the hospital room, with blood all over the sheets and floor, and her pale body. And so I panicked, I didn’t think it through honestly. I ran because I thought if I stayed, I’d break in front of you both and… I just… it was too much… you wouldn’t have loved me like that…”
“But, we needed you,” Theo said gently but firmly. “You didn’t need to be perfect or not breaking down, I just needed up at least there.”
Draco nodded, tears burning his eyes now. “I know, really. It was inexcusable to run like that. I’m working on it. I swear I am, even with the mind healer. I’m trying to stop believing I have to punish myself forever. The tattoo has really been helping to remind me what matters.”
“I can see that lately,” Theo said. “And I’m proud of you for it. Truly, I’m very pleased you’ve been making such a huge effort to better yourself and heal.”
Draco looked up, astonished by the confession.
“But,” Theo went on, his voice steady, “I can’t do that ever again. I can’t rebuild again if you ever leave like that when things get hard. I need you to be here… for her, and for me… even when it’s unbearable.”
Draco stood up abruptly, crossing the space between them. “I won’t,” he said intensely. “I won’t leave either of you again. Not like that. I promise you. I can be stronger, for both of you.”
Theo searched his face for a long moment. Then, quietly, “I still love you. I never stopped., even when I was furious.”
He reached for Theo, pulling him close, and kissed him slowly, and with passion. Theo groaned, a raw, broken sound, his hands fisting in Draco’s shirt, yanking him closer until their bodies slammed together, cocks already hard and straining through layers of fabric between them.
The kiss turned more desperate. They kissed like they were drowning, teeth clashing, tongues fighting for space, hands becoming tangled in each others hair. Draco’s hips rolled instinctively, grinding his cock against Theo’s thigh, the friction through his trousers electric, pre-cum already soaking the fabric. Theo matched him, thrusting back, hands dropping to grip Draco’s arse, dragging him harder against him.
“Fuck, Theo,” Draco gasped against his mouth, voice wrecked. “Missed you… needed you… Salazar, I’m so hard… ” Theo’s answer was a low growl, his own hips bucking back too, his cock grinding against Draco’s through their clothes, the heat between them and in the bond was scorching. “Missed you too… fuck, Draco, you’re throbbing… feel you through it…”
They rutted like teenagers as their tongues kept battling. It was frantic and clumsy, their cocks crashing together through fabric, pre-cum soaking both their trousers in dark, wet patches quickly.
Draco’s breath hitched, his thrusts turning erratic, a desperate whine escaping as his cock pulsed violently. “Theo… fuck… I’m… shit” He came with a choked cry, hips jerking hard, cum erupting his trousers, the wet heat spreading down his thighs. His body shook with tremors, but his face flushed crimson with embarrassment as he buried it in Theo’s neck.
“Fuck,” Draco gasped, absolutely horrified. “I… I came in my pants. Haven’t done that since I was bloody thirteen.”
Theo pulled back just enough to cup Draco’s face, eyes soft with love, not judgment, “Hey… look at me,” he whispered, voice gentle but still thick with arousal. “You’re perfect. Six weeks without touching you? My cock’s been aching for you. I’m half a second from cuming in my trousers too.” He kissed Draco slow and deep, tongue soothing the embarrassment away.
Theo flicked his wand with a soft “Tergeo,” the cum vanished from Draco’s trousers, leaving him clean and tingling. Draco’s breath caught, eyes darkening with renewed hunger. “Now,” he rasped, “get these clothes off me.”
They stripped each other with frantic, shaking hands, their shirts ripped open, Theo’s buttons scattering acrossed the floor, both their trousers shoved down, and boxers torn off in a rush of fabric and curses. Both of their cocks sprung free, equally flushed and leaking. Theo’s piercing glinted with pre-cum.
Draco turned around, bracing his hands on the back of the plush sofa, bending forward, his arse presented, and thighs spread wide. “Take me, Theo. I want you inside me… now… fuck me please.”
Theo’s groan was primal, his hands spreading Draco’s cheeks wider, summoned warm lube already in his other hand. He slicked his fingers and cock with fast strokes. “Fuck, love… your arse is amazing… gonna fill you so good.”
He pressed two lubed fingers into Draco’s tight heat, stretching him slowly, and curling to tease his prostate. Draco moaned, pushing back, voice frantic. “More… please… get me ready… need you.”
Theo added a third finger, scissoring, and stretching, his other hand wrapping around Draco’s cock, stroking unhurriedly, his thumb teasing the slit. “You’re so tight, love… fuck, taking my fingers… almost ready.”
Draco moaned, “Theo… now… fuck me… can’t wait.”
Theo aligned his cock, the blunt head pressing against Draco’s stretched entrance, and pushed in with excruciating gradualness as Draco’s arse swallowed him inch by inch, the outer ring of muscle clenching around the thick shaft almost painfully. Draco’s whimper was raw. “Theo… so big… stretching me… fuck, I feel everything… been too long.”
Theo bottomed out, his hips flush against Draco’s skin, he paused to let him adjust, one hand still stroking his cock, the other rolling his balls gently. “Draco… you’re so tight around me… fuck, I can feel you pulsing,”
He began to thrust, slow at first, the slap of skin on skin building slowly, his cock dragging over Draco’s prostate with every stroke, his hand stroking Draco’s cock in perfect sync. “Feel that, love? My cock fucking your arse, my hand on your cock—gods, you’re leaking for me so much.”
Draco’s moans kept escalating in volume, his cock throbbing in Theo’s grip. “Theo… more.. please... it’s so much.””
Theo’s thrusts lost their rhythm as he sped up, his hand stroking Draco’s cock fast and rough, still rolling his balls with just enough pressure to make him see stars. “Draco—your arse is milking me…Merlin it’s so tight and hot in there.. fuck.”
Draco’s orgasm shattered, sending shudders through his body, his cock pulsing in Theo’s grip, cum exploding and splattering the sofa in front of him, his arse tightening brutally around Theo’s cock like a vice. “Theo… fuck… can’t hold… I’m … Theo!”
Theo followed almost instantly, his hips crashing deep twice more, then cum overflowing Draco’s arse in scorching jolts, leaking out around his shaft.
They collapsed over the sofa, Theo still buried inside, kissing Draco’s neck. “Never again,” Theo whispered, voice serious now. “No more fighting. No more leaving.”
Draco nodded, tears falling, voice low. “Never, I won’t go anywhere.”
They stayed there, joined, and trembling for a few minutes before heading to the bathroom to clean up.
Notes:
Leave me a comment with your thoughts please.
Chapter 352: The Reference
Notes:
Sorry RL has bene very stressful and shitty lately. But, here's the next chapter :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Even before Hermione had fully stepped out through the foyer floo, she felt it.
The bond didn’t ache the way it had for over a month. It didn’t twist with hunger edged in pain or stretch thin with uncertainty. Instead, it felt more settled, flowing with relief, affection, and love.
“Oh,” she whispered, a smile blooming as realization set in.
She followed the feeling instinctively toward the parlor.
Theo and Draco were already there.
They weren’t doing anything dramatic, in all honesty it looked quite nearly how it had before she left, but it felt different. Theo was stretched along the couch with a book resting loosely against his chest, one arm draped along the back. Draco sat beside him, angled just enough that their shoulders brushed. They looked at ease.
Hermione stopped in the doorway, just watching for a moment, heart swelling joyfully in her chest. Draco noticed her first. His eyes lifted and met hers.
“There you are,” he said, voice welcoming. “I was starting to wonder if your professor had finally decided to just have you do all her work for her.”
Theo glanced up next, smiling in that quiet, grounding way of his. “How was the exam?”
“I think,” she said slowly, stepping into the room, “that I may have done well enough to shock everyone involved if that’s even possible any more.”
Draco smirked. “I told you, no sense to worry over things you know already.”
She crossed the room and dropped onto the couch between them without hesitation, curling instinctively toward Draco while Theo’s hand came to rest at her waist.
She sighed. Theo rolled his eyes, “That exhausted are you from writing a few pages of theory?”
Hermione laughed softly, then sobered, searching both their faces. “You feel different, both of you.”
Theo nodded once. “We talked.”
She raised an eyebrow.
Theo mumbled, checks pinking, “Ok… and maybe a bit more than just talk.”
Draco added quietly, “Finally.”
Her heart melted. “I can tell. It’s nice.”
Dinner was easy in a way it hadn’t been for a long time between the three of them with light conversation, shared smiles, Theo teasing Draco about nearly burning the sauce, and Draco pretending to be offended while Hermione rescued it with a wand flick. They lingered longer than usual over empty plates, reluctant to rush the evening away.
Afterward, Draco fetched a pot of tea and three cups, and they stepped out onto the back terrace together. The night air was cool but bearable in mid-May, the sky clear and expansive above them.
They sat close, Hermione tucked between them, wrapped in a fuzzy cardigan while Draco leaned back against the stone garden barrier.
“See that?” Draco said eventually, lifting his cup slightly toward the sky. “Just above Orion.”
Hermione squinted. “That cluster there?”
“Yes. That’s the Malfoy constellation… Serpens Custos. Guardian Serpent. My grandfather used to point it out every night whether I wanted to hear about it or not.”
Theo snorted. “He once tried to convince you it meant you were destined to become unbearably powerful”
Draco shot him a look. “Just once?”
Hermione laughed, then followed Draco’s pointing finger as he traced another faint pattern. “And that one there, that’s a Black star formation. My mother used to say it represented endurance and survival of the family line.”
Theo tilted his head, thoughtful. “There’s an old healer theory about planetary alignment,” he said after a moment. “Some believed certain constellations strengthened magical recovery, both emotional and physical. They’d aways plan rituals around solstices, and eclipses… moments when the sky and the earth were in conversation.”
Hermione hummed softly. “I like that idea. That everything is… listening to everything else.”
Draco glanced at her, something unreadable and tender in his expression. “Feels like the type of night, magic can happen.”
The bond stirred again, not sharp, not desperate, but slow and warming, like embers being coaxed back to life.
Hermione felt it before either of them even moved. Draco’s hand slid from the stone to her thigh. Theo’s breath warmed the side of her neck as his fingers traced a familiar path along her spine.
She turned her head, catching Theo’s gaze first, very questioning, and open. Then Draco’s, steady, and certain.
“Inside now,” she said softly, already rising. They followed without hesitation.
The terrace door closed behind them, and Hermione took Draco’s hand in one of hers, Theo’s in the other, tugging them gently toward the corridor. They didn’t make it ten steps.
Draco shoved Hermione against the wall first, his mouth on her neck, teeth grazing akin until she gasped and yanked his shirt open, buttons popping and skittering across the marble floor. Theo pressed in from behind Draco, hands sliding around him, under her blouse to cup her breasts through lace, his thumbs circling her nipples until they hardened and ached.
She moaned, turning her head to kiss Theo over his shoulder, deep and desperate, while Draco’s fingers tore at her skirt zipper, the fabric easily flowing down her legs to pool at her ankles.
“Off,” she demanded, pulling Theo’s shirt over his head, nails raking down his chest hard enough to leave faint red lines that made him hiss. Draco’s trousers came next, shoved down his hips along with his boxers, his cock springing free, already leaking at the tip. Hermione wrapped her hand around him, stroking up and down once, drawing a guttural groan from his throat.
They stumbled into the nearest room, which turned out to be the formal dining room. No one cared. Theo kicked the door shut behind them, then grabbed a heavy oak chair from the table and dragged it into the middle of the room. He sat down, pulling Hermione onto his lap, facing him, her knees straddling his thighs.
“Need you so bad,” she said, grinding down against his clothed cock, feeling the hard line of him through his trousers. Her blouse hung open, her lace bra exposed, breasts heaving with every breath. Theo’s hands slid up her back, unhooking the bra with practiced ease, letting it fall away so her breasts spilled free in front of his face.
“Gods Merlin, you’re so beautiful,” he rasped, cupping them, his thumbs brushing her nipples until she arched and moaned. He leaned forward, mouth latching onto one, sucking hard, his teeth grazing the peak as his tongue swirled. Hermione’s hands fisted in his dark curls, pulling him closer, her hips grinding down harder against him.
Draco watched from behind her, stripping off the last of his remaining clothes, his cock already hard and heavy in his hand. He stepped closer, pressing against her back, mouth on her neck, biting down gently as his hands slid around to cup her arse, squeezing the cheeks tightly.
“Lean forward,” Draco murmured against her ear, voice rough with need. “Let Theo have you.”
Hermione obeyed, bending at the waist, her breasts pressing closer to Theo’s face. He sucked harder, slow thrusts upward grinding his clothed cock against her clothed slick core while she ground down, the friction through fabric maddening for them both. Draco’s hands kneaded her arse, spreading her wider, his thumbs brushing her entrance from behind, feeling how wet she was already thru the cotton.
Theo’s hands moved to her waistband, shoving her knickers down her hips; Draco helped from behind, yanking them free with a tear until she was bare to them. Theo unbuckled his own trousers with frantic fingers, pulling them down his thighs enough to free his cock.
Hermione sank down onto him without waiting at all, facing him chest to chest, the wide, pierced head stretching her open in one slow, burning glide as she cried out his name at the give of her walls opening to him. They both groaned, her walls fluttering around the metal, the barbell dragging against her inner ridges with every inch. When he was fully seated, she ground down, chest to chest, breasts pressing against him as he sucked her other nipple, his slow thrusts upward meeting her downward grind.
Draco pressed her forward more insistantly, his hands on her back, bending her so her arse lifted higher. The new angle made Theo’s cock press deeper, the apadravya bar grinding against her g-spot, drawing a sharp cry from her throat that sodded half pleasured half pained.
Draco spread her arse cheeks wider. He leaned down, breath hot against her skin, then licked a slow stripe from her perineum up to her entrance, tasting her arousal mixed with Theo’s pre-cum.
Hermione cried out, grinding harder against Theo. Draco slicked his fingers with summoned lube, circling her rear entrance slowly, then pressing one in gently. She moaned, pushing back, the dual sensation of Theo’s cock in her pussy and Draco’s finger in her arse already overwhelming. He added a second finger, scissoring gradually, stretching her open while Theo’s slow upward thrusts made her breasts bounce.
“Feel us both?” Draco whispered, voice rough, his free hand stroking her back. “Soon it’ll be my cock there, love. Both of us filling you.”
“Yes… please… now,” she gasped, rocking between them.
Draco slicked himself generously, then pressed the head of his cock against her arse, pushing in slow, inch by inch, the stretch burning sweetly as he filled her from behind. Hermione cried out, the fullness was intense, with Theo’s pierced cock in her pussy, and Draco’s length in her arse.
They moved together, slow at first, trying to find a rhythm that didn’t overwhelm her. Theo’s upward thrusts met Draco’s forward snaps, their cocks rubbing against each other inside her through the thin barrier, the sensation making all three moan continually. The wet slap of skin echoed in the room, Hermione’s cries turning nearly feral as the pleasure built inside her abdomen.
Draco came first with a sudden groan, his hips slamming forward one last time as he spilled deep inside her arse, the heat of his release flooding her. He stayed buried, grinding himself through the aftershocks, whispering encouragement to the both against her back.
Hermione was close too, grinding down on Theo’s cock harder than before, the apadravya bar pressing her g-spot relentlessly. Theo’s mouth on her breasts sucked harder, his teeth grazing, but he was struggling to get there himself.
“I’m… close…” he gasped, “but I need… Draco… help.”
Draco eased out of her slowly, then reached around, his fingers finding Theo’s balls, he squeezed them gently a few times, then slide a hand up to stroke the base of Theo’s shaft where it entered Hermione. His other hand found her clit, rubbing tight circles.
“Come for her,” Draco whispered against Theo’s ear over her shoulder. “Let her feel you.”
Theo shattered, his hips bucking up hard, spilling deep inside her with a broken moan, the heat and pulse of him tipping Hermione over too. She came with a sated cry, her walls clamping down on Theo, and tears spilling as the pleasure rolled through her.
They collapsed together, sweaty, trembling, and laughing breathlessly, and having to do a quick repair charm on the chair whose leg had cracked.
The next two days and nights passed in a blur of need for all of them, getting reacquainted with each other all over the house between shifts, classes and meetings. No spot was safe from their frenzied desire for each other, and one elf was still traumatized hours later after walking in on Hermione and Draco going at it in the kitchen pantry, knocking pastas, pans, and a bag of sugar off the shelves in their haste. The bond felt very awake and content, love and desire flowing freely through it at all hours.
Two nights after the dining room debacle, the three of them had just finished up another round of debauchery together right after Theo had gotten home from his shift. Draco and Theo had just finished showering, and Hermione was just finishing up.
Draco was set up again in the main library, pouring over old texts, and articles still trying to find any references to triad magic bonds. Theo was sprawled a crossed the couch sideways, one hair running thru his still wet hair, as he reviewed some patient notes from his earlier rounds.
Suddenly Draco jumped up, his chair pushing back abruptly.
“Theo, what do you know about earth healing magic?”
Theo, shifted to look at Draco, ‘Not much, just some basics. We don’t really study it here, or in most of Europe. It’s been linked with tribal magics historically. Places like Africa, select parts of rural South America and Asia still dabble in it. They used to use it as their primary healing methods. It requires a large amount of environmental knowledge, and an innate ability to feel one with the earth and tap into natural magic. Why?”
“It’s a long shot, but… I may have found something.”
Just as he said it, Hermione walked in fresh form her shower, braiding her hair, “May have found what?” she inquired.
Draco took a deep breath, “It’s just a small reference, and maybe it’s nothing… but it sounds like there was a triad in Africa, more recently than any other ones I’ve come acrossed.”
Theo whistled, “We haven’t seen anything about in basically the last century and ahalf at least.”
Draco nodded, “It’s a lead, but I can’t say how promising. It’s just a few sentences saying something about an African triad often needing earth healing magic consultations. Ot, really much more to go on than that, but it gives a general geographic area, sounds like maybe rural Kenya or Tanzania.”
Hermione’s eyes shone brightly, “That’s a good start.”
Theo nodded, and looked expediently at Draco.
Draco ran his hand thru his hair and started pacing, “I think I need to go there and try to track down anyone who knows anything more about this.”
“And leave us here?”, Hermione looked a bit insulted.
Draco met her eyes and nodded, “You and Theo have already missed so many classes and shifts this past year already. I don’t think it’s wise to take another leave for a wild goose chase. We have no idea if it’ll yield anything at all or how long it may take.”
Theo was the voice of reason, ‘He’s not wrong Hermione, he has the most flexible schedule to try to pursue this.”
Hermione reluctantly nodded. “Fine, but send us updates every time you get a chance please.”
Draco agreed, “Of course, but it may be pretty rural where I go, you two will need to trust me to be safe and not worry too much.”
Theo rolled his eyes, but nodded. “When do you want to leave?”
“The sooner the better, I’ll arrange a porkey as soon as the Ministry opens in the morning.”
Hermione looked startled, “That soon?”
Draco looked sure, “I need to do this for us… so we can all move forward. I can’t wait around knowing there might be information out there for us.”
‘Fine, then let’s all get some sleep so your well rested for the travel.’ Hermione gestured to the hallway.
They slept that night in a tight huddle clutching each other long into the early morning hours. Draco rose with the sun, packing quickly with the elves help, and halfheartedly tucking Theo and Hermione back into bed together. He gave them both long, meaningful kisses before heading out the floo, with one final look back at them.
“Keep each other safe please, I’ll send word as soon as I can. I love you both.”
Notes:
Comment on what you think Draco will or won't find in Africa.
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