FIVE YEARS LATER
MARCH
The bar was packed; barely a breath of air between the bodies that had poured into the tiny pub now that the workday had ended. Seamus had opened The Rugger Bugger nearly half a decade before and while the Irish fare kept a decent crowd most nights; on Saint Patrick's day things got absolutely wild.
He kept a small table near the front window for his friends and as Hermione slid through the throngs of drunk witches and wizards pretending to be Irish for the day, she grumbled to herself. A pint 'o' the Black Stuff' (as it was listed on the menu) was shoved into her hands before she had even removed the scarf from her neck.
"'Mione!" Ron's burly arms swept her up in a bone-crushing hug and spun her around, nearly toppling to the floor and spilling the drink precariously clutched in her hands.
Hermione's eyes narrowed at her friend as she moved towards their table. "Ronald, you are positively pissed drunk."
The side of Ron's face pinched up unattractively as he chewed on the thought. "Quite possibly. But it's Saint Patrick's day—"
"It's Monday and you're British," she corrected with an amused twitch of her brow.
"Not today he's not!" Seamus chimed in, clapping an enthusiastic hand on Ron's shoulder and grinning. "Everyone's Irish today. This one's for me grams," he grinned, pouring a line of paddy's whiskey into glasses for the group. He pointed at her with a mischievous glint in his eye and gave her a wink before disappearing back into the crowd.
Someone bumped into Hermione's back as her pint sloshed over the side, spilling onto her shoes and she scowled over her shoulder as she shook her hand free of the spilled Guinness.
"Watch it!" she scolded only for her face to fall when it fell on the platinum blond wizard who'd run into her.
"Granger." Malfoy greeted her formally, accepting a shot from Seamus and tipping it back before Seamus had even properly finished his drunken ramblings about his grandma or Ireland, or whatever he was speaking on currently. "How're things?"
"Brilliant. You?"
"Brillant," Malfoy repeated, forcing a smile on his face only to press past her, his arm sliding on her waist as he slipped past her to greet his coworkers behind her.
Hermione felt his touch hot through her blouse and with a slug of her pint and a shot of paddy's for Seamus' gram, she ignored the flutter it caused in her belly.
APRIL
"Are you going to Malfoy's this weekend?" Harry asked over a cold cuppa, wincing as he took a sip.
"Yeah." Hermione's lips turned down into a sad frown and she felt the sting of grief in her sinuses. "I can't believe it's been a year."
Harry shook his head, his eyes darkening fractionally. Hermione could only guess his mind was with his own– very pregnant– wife.
It'd been five years since the fall of Voldemort and in that time they had buried many grievances. Once the rubble had been cleared it was just easier to forgive and start new.
Malfoy was now an Auror under Harry and while Hermione may not have been best mates with the blond, her heart had ached when they'd received news of his wife's death last April.
Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy was well loved in the wizarding community and the news of her passing had been mourned widely. She'd passed on her birthing bed, her lips barely brushing against her son's forehead before fading away.
"He finally seems like he's doing better. I swear I saw him laugh a few weeks back." One side of Harry's face pulled up into a sad, crooked smile and Hermione couldn't help but giggle.
"Doubtful," she argued. "But I'm pretty sure laughs were rare even before Astoria. He's not exactly the most cheerful of people on his best days."
Harry's tongue clucked between his teeth. "He's not so bad, Hermione. A little cranky… cynical maybe… kinda pretentious—"
"Wow, you speak so highly of him!" Hermione mocked with a grin tugging at her lips.
He barked out a laugh and regarded her with an arched brow. "Did you decide what you're going to do? December gets closer everyday."
The curly-haired witch stiffened in her seat, anger taking over as she thought about the red circled date on her calendar and the implications of it all. "I'm ignoring it."
"Hermione, you can't ignore it. You've got only a handful of months before they match you up with someone—" Harry was silenced by her glare.
"I can't just get married to someone, Harry. I can't just go to those ridiculous little mixers that the Ministry hosts and parade myself like a whore for sale."
Harry flinched as she spoke, but Hermione felt unapologetic.
December 31st.
That's when her age bracket was required to file their marriage license before the Ministry took action and made the decision for her. She still wasn't sure how they got here. The law was barbaric; forcing witches and wizards to procreate should be illegal.
But, it seemed that the decisions regarding her body would be decided by a room full of old men and women far past the age to bear children. For the last two years, she fought the law in every way she could, but it continuously fell on deaf ears.
Get married or forfeit your wand.
What a fucking joke.
"You're Hermione Granger," Harry said. "You'll figure something out."
Twirling the glass of champagne in her fingers, she stared at the roaming white peacocks with a curious pout.
"They're pretty magnificent, aren't they?" Malfoy's voice startled her from her reverie and she let out a sqwak as she jumped from her spot, scaring the ivory birds from their place in a flurry of unusable wings and feathers.
"Malfoy!" Her palm rested on her heaving chest as she turned to face him. "You scared the shite out of me."
As her breathing calmed, she studied the smirk playing on his lips and her frown deepened. She wasn't used to the very sudden proximity of Draco Malfoy and stepped back slightly.
"Sorry. Although, I find I'm more sorry for Gwen and Harlow." Draco's gaze lingered over her shoulder and her brow furrowed in confusion. "The birds you scared."
"No." She shook her head tersely, a few wayward tendrils tickling her cheek. "You startled them, by startling me."
With a scoff, Draco's smirk deepened. "I merely remarked on how lovely they were. You screeched like a banshee and started flailing—"
"I do not flail," Hermione growled, taking a sip from her empty champagne flute.
"I assure you— you flailed. I would reenact it, but, alas, Malfoy's do not flail." The specks of blue in his eyes seemed to flicker to life as he spoke, and Hermione couldn't remember ever seeing him quite so… well, pleasant.
"You're in a good mood considering—" The words died in her throat as shame colored her face.
"Considering its the anniversary of my wife's death, as well as Scorpius's first birthday?" His pale brows lifted high on his face as he looked down on her. "Do you want to know my secret?"
Hermione nodded, and when he leaned in to whisper it near her ear she felt a flutter rise in her chest. "I'm very drunk."
Her hand flew up to her lips to stifle the giggle that escaped and for the first time — ever — he laughed with her.
"Well, as the host I think it's quite acceptable." She caught her lip between her teeth and returned her focus to the sprawling party in the garden, snagging another flute of champagne from a floating tray.
Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever seen such an affair for a one-year-old. Tray services of crabcakes and prosciutto wrapped shrimp circulated constantly and under the giant white tent on the main lawn was a table stuffed with food and a three-tiered sky blue cake.
"It's kind of pretentious, isn't it?"
Hermione choked, bubbles of champagne floating up into her sinuses. "Stop doing that!" she chastised as she dabbed her mouth a cocktail napkin.
"Talking?" Malfoy peered down at her from the side of his eye.
Her eyes narrowed and she fought the urge to stick out the tip of her tongue at him. "No, startling me. I don't like it."
A smug smile played on his lips. "You always were easily riled. Made my job too easy."
Hermione was just about to scold him when a tiny voice called and Draco's attention left her instantly. "Dada!"
Her gaze fell on Narcissa Malfoy, quickly approaching them and cradling the small boy perched on her hip. Scorpius reached towards his father with a silly little laugh and she couldn't help but notice how sweet the pair of them seemed together. Narcissa didn't seem to miss it either; her eyes were boring into Hermione. The young witch gulped, her spine straightening out of habit, and she forced a tight smile on her face.
Hermione wouldn't consider herself a very maternal person by nature, but Scorpius Malfoy was a stunning child: white-blond hair, with blue eyes like his mother and cheeks that screamed to be kissed.
"There's my boy," Malfoy grinned, reaching for his baby and lifting him effortlessly in the air for a moment before hugging him close. "Are you hungry?"
Scorpius studied Hermione for a moment before lunging at her and nearly toppling out of Draco's arms.
"Oh! Hello there." Hermione stared at the boy in her arms and felt another strange flutter. This entire interaction made her wonder if the champagne might be spiked with something stronger, perhaps a hallucinogenic. Because here she was, holding Baby Malfoy, standing next to Draco and Narcissa Malfoy in the garden outside the room she was tortured nearly ten years ago.
Narcissa's lips quirked upwards in an almost smile. "I think he spied the cake. Maybe it's time we sing to him?"
"Is that you want, buddy? Time for cake?"
"Cake! Cake!" Scorpius danced in Hermione's weak embrace and then dropped his weight back towards his father, who scooped him up effortlessly.
"Then cake you shall have. Thanks for the laugh, Granger." Malfoy snuck her a wink as he retreated toward the tent and Hermione couldn't help but bite back a grin. That is until Lady Malfoy cleared her throat and brought the curly-haired witch's attention back to the fact that she was still in uncomfortable company.
"Miss Granger," Narcissa greeted with a keen eye, taking a few steps closer to her. "Lovely dress." Her voice lifted and while both it and her words were friendly, something else seemed to be brimming under the surface.
"Oh!" Hermione looked down at the floral little wrap dress she'd chosen for the day. "Um, thank you. Your robes are beautiful as well."
Opulent would be a better word to describe the robes donning the Lady of the Manor today; periwinkle satin with a ruched bodice and gilded with sparkling gems to match her grand diamond necklace. The hat, on the other hand, was just plain over the top. It looked like it belonged at a royal wedding and not a backyard birthday party for a one-year-old.
Narcissa's eyes flashed for a moment and her gaze flickered to the back of her son. "Such a bittersweet day."
Swallowing tightly, Hermione began shifting her weight. "Indeed. I feel so bad for both of them."
"They get on well enough, once Draco decided to return to the Manor that is. I believe before long the maternal edge to their familial triangle will be restored and all will be as it should be."
Hermione's jaw dropped open ever so slightly as Narcissa spoke about her son and grandchild. It was quite presumptuous to believe that Draco would marry again just to round out the family. Until realization dawned on her; that damned marriage law.
"Well, I'm still working night and day to get that law repealed. Hopefully by December—"
Narcissa's tongue clucked against her teeth. "Oh, you misunderstand me. Draco doesn't fall under the umbrella of the law."
The brunette's brows pinched together and she turned towards Narcissa as she spoke. "But he's not married."
"How very astute." Narcissa raised an aristocratic brow. "But he most certainly was, and he also had contributed to the magical repopulation efforts. I simply mean that I have an odd feeling that Draco may becoming interested in dating again. After all, he was just shamelessly flirting with you."
Hermione balked; spitting out the champagne in her mouth in a spray of poor etiquette. Narcissa watched with an amused expression as she attempted to regain her composure.
"Malfoy doesn't flirt."
"He does. He just did." Narcissa shrugged. "You'd not be a poor choice, all things considered. Educated and employed, very well regarded in society." The matronly witch seemed to be trying to convince herself more than anything else. "Scorp seems to enjoy your company well enough."
Hermione tucked a curl behind her ear and her cheeks flamed with a hot blush. "I think you're mistaken, ma'am."
That flash in the elder witches eyes returned and Hermione thought she almost looked… intrigued. "I rarely am," she allowed, followed by a beat of silence. "But, it looks as though we are about to cut the cake. Will you excuse me?"
"O-of course." Hermione's tongue felt useless and she nodded with eyes until Narcissa bowed her head and retreated towards the tent. When she was finally gone, Hermione mumbled under her breath. "What a weird fucking day."
MAY
Ten years. Gods, had it really been that long.
Her fingers traced the faint lines of age and too many sunny days that had begun to etch the corners of her eyes. She chuckled then, dropping her hand away and realizing how ridiculous it was to be looking for wrinkles when ten years ago tonight hundreds of people lost their lives. What they would do for wrinkles.
Her eyes caught on the garment bag hanging on the door to her closet and she eyed it disdainfully. Celebrating a victory felt wrong, especially when it still tasted like so much like loss.
Ten years.
She slipped her simple black gown on, mumbling a charm to manage the zipper and stood in front of her floor length mirror. Ginny had tried desperately to talk her into something a little flashier but Hermione insisted. If she was forced into toasting the dead over a too expensive dinner, she'd be doing so in black.
The sheathed fabric hung from her frame, exposing the curve of her spine and while normally she didn't mind buying a pretty dress for a good cause, something about tonight tasted like bile in her mouth.
Stepping through the Floo into the trophy room at Hogwarts, Hermione was accosted by flashing bulbs. Honestly, why would they do that? Surely the photographs they obtained from assaulting the party guests straight of the Floo couldn't be front page worthy.
"Miss Granger! No date tonight?"
"Any prospects on the horizon before December arrives? C'mon give us a hint, lass!"
Hermione very nearly growled as she stomped through the door and into the Great Hall, ignoring the blinding flash and running straight into a broad back.
"Sorry," she grumbled, blinking away the final spots in her vision. "Oh, Ron," she sighed in relief.
"There you are! Why are you scowling already?" Ron's eyes darkened as he studied her face.
She swatted him with the back of her hand and pursed her lips lovingly at her friend. "I'm not scowling, I just don't want to be here."
"It's the Victory Ball! Let's get you something to drink, maybe I'll spin you around the dance floor a time or two. Yeah?" Ron bent his knees to meet her eyeline and shook her shoulders a few times, shaking the bad vibes from her and she couldn't help but chuckle back at him.
Slipping her arm around his, she let herself be lead towards the bar, a smirk playing on the corner of her mouth. "Only if mine's a double."
Watching the merriment from the fringe of the party, Hermione felt a sad knot settle deep in her gut. She chased the last of her fourth glass of champagne but it, unfortunately, did absolutely nothing for her mood.
On the dance floor, Harry gently twirled a very pregnant Ginny around the dance floor and watching them, her resolve softened— slightly. As much as her cynical heart had hardened to love and all things related, watching two of her best friends fall head over heels for each other was pretty damn sweet.
Through the throngs of people, the Ministers brightly colored robes emerged, heading straight for her and she stiffened in her chair as the Kingsley stood proudly next to her.
"Miss Granger," he said in way of greeting.
Hermione couldn't manage more than a clipped nod in his direction and summoned a tray for yet another champagne.
"Are you going to stay mad at me forever?" His voice was soft, genuine, even.
Hermione swept to her feet, the train of her dress curling at her feet. "Are you still planning to force to me get married and impregnated by a man I'm not in love with?"
They stood, eye to eye, neither blinking for a few long beats before Kingsley's eyes hardened. With a curt bow of his head, he retreated back towards the party guests, his grin larger than before as he shook hands with his dignitaries.
Rage pulsed through her limbs and suddenly everything felt too loud; everyone felt too close. Her heart clambered in her chest and she felt a desperate need to escape. She stomped towards the large double doors, snagging a bottle of champagne from behind the bar and marched off in nowhere in particular.
Gods, the views from up here… there would never be a more beautiful sight: the rolling hills beyond the Black Lake, fringed with the darkness of the Forbidden Forest and outlined by an indigo sky and a smattering of stars.
The railing felt cool under her touch and as wind swept through the tower, she heard the door below slam shut and she let out a wild yelp.
Malfoy's dry chuckle filled the air and when he came into view, his face was bright in amusement. "Let me guess, I startled you again?"
"Yes. And surprisingly enough, I still don't like it." Her mouth twitched up in a half smile and she turned back towards the landscape. She hadn't seen him since their odd conversation at Scorpius's birthday party, but still, weeks later, a nest of nerves swelled in her belly. "What are you doing up here?"
Draco moved silently towards her, so quietly she almost startled again when he was suddenly leaning on the stone wall next to her. "Contemplating my life choices. You?"
"Plotting to bring down the patriarchy," Hermione said before tipping the bottle of champagne to her lips. She offered it to him next and he eyed it with a wary eye before accepting and slugging it himself.
He handed the bottle back to her and she relaxed against the wall, turning to face him. "I would expect nothing less," he said with a smirk.
"So, what? Got your knickers in a twist over the marriage law? When's your time up?" His brow arched in her direction and Hermione felt a blush spread over her chest as his eyes dipped to her cleavage and beyond.
Trying to avoid his roaming eyes and the way that made her feel in her belly, she turned her attention back to the scene outside the window. "December."
"Soon."
"Too soon," she agreed, swallowing a knot in the base of her throat. A change of subject would be best. "What kind of life choices are you contemplating?"
"Oh, all sorts." Draco moved to stand next to her, then promptly slid to the floor and reaching for the bottle. Hermione handed it over and joined him on the floor, their shoulders barely brushing. He took a long pull and looked over his shoulder at the oversized Orrery taking up the majority of the space. "The last time I was up here was ten years ago, you know."
Her stomach clenched and then plummeted, sinking like a stone. The Astronomy Tower.
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I snuck up here after everything calmed down. Something happened to me that night, I think. I knew I had to change everything around and I had no idea how." His eyes misted over as he turned to stare over the ledge. "Astoria really helped, I like to think. No one would have given me a chance but she was just so — so good." Hermione's jaw felt tight as she watched the grieving wizard speak so reverently about his late-wife. "She really showed everyone that Slytherin's weren't all bad." A lone tear slid down the curve of his pale cheek and Hermione's hand shot out instinctively to rest on the crook of his arm.
"I'm so sorry, Draco." The words felt tight and hot in her throat and something about bearing witness to such raw emotion filled her with a sense of longing.
"Yeah," Draco chuckled darkly, bringing his shoulder to his cheek to wipe the tears away. "I don't know what's gotten over me. Sorry," he mumbled.
Hermione shifted, rising onto her haunches and staring at his troubled eyes. "You don't have to apologize. You can talk about her— or anything with me. I really don't mind. Get's my mind off the patriarchy and all the burning I have yet to do." She attempted to lighten the mood and it worked briefly before the flash in his eyes returned. Hermione reached out, wrapping her arms around his neck in an uncharacteristic hug.
When he didn't immediately respond; she tensed, fearing she'd gravely overstepped. As she pulled away, his hands slid around her bare back, one hand resting at her waist and the other at the nape of her neck; his hot breath tickled the thin skin there. She felt his shoulders shake as he let out a labored breath, and his face buried into her curls.
Between them was grief and loss, anger and pain. It mingled in the air between them as the hug lingered on; his fingers tightening into the soft skin at her waist. Her breath hitched at the subtle touch and she slowly pulled back, their faces inches from each other.
Turning his face up to her, she lifted a trembling finger to his cheek, removing the evidence of the wayward tear. Silver eyes flickered to her parted lips and she swore that her heart began thudding like a trapped snitch.
She shouldn't kiss him. That was much was obvious. He was just crying over his dead wife and not to mention, he has a son. And besides that, he's Draco-fucking-Malfoy, and that is really reason enough—
But then his face inched towards her, their breaths tangling together as his hand slid to wrap around the base of her jaw; his thumb sliding against her cheek.
She shouldn't.
"Granger," he breathed against her lips, and with that, everything else fell away.
Her eyes fluttered closed as his impossibly soft lips captured hers, and she felt shock travel through her. With a tug, she fell into him, their chests crashing and they both broke out into a smile against the other's lips.
She pulled back to study him, no trace of grief still lingered and the intensity swimming in silver eyes made her feel weak.
He cleared his throat, his hand moving to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "I haven't— Not since before Astoria passed." Hermione watched in awe as the sharp point in Adam's apple bobbed and she felt suddenly horribly wrong for still wanting him.
"We don't have to do anything if—"
The 'if' seemed to be all he was waiting on and his mouth captured hers, his tongue slipping between her lips, tasting her. A soft whimper escaped as his fingers dug into her hip and ignited the frenzy between them. What was tender moments before, was now heated and desperate. Her fingers intertwined behind his neck and tugged him on top of her until she was laying flat against the cold stone.
Her legs fell to the side and his knee pressed against her core as his tongue plunged deeper inside her mouth.
Hermione's hands felt possessed as they roamed the planes of his chest and tore at the buttons of his trousers.
Draco was everywhere. His hands slid over the curves of her body with finesse and when he gripped the hem of her dress and slid it up to her waist she gasped at the sensation of the cold air kissing her thighs.
His mouth left hers, trailing kisses down the side of her jaw and along her throat. When her small hand wrapped around his cock, he let out a groan against her skin and she felt herself slicken at the vibrations it caused against her neck.
"Draco," she pleaded, pumping him once, twice, three times.
He shifted, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her soaked knickers. His digit hitched in the seam and pulled it to side. With a shimmy of his hips, his trousers fell marginally and he poised himself at her entrance.
His eyes found hers one last time, his lips bee-stung and pupils blow wide. "Are you su—"
She rolled her eyes and her hands settled on his hips, pulling him into her as her back arched off the stone. She keened softly as he filled her and his eyes never left her face, even as her lids fluttered shut in pleasure.
Draco slid in and out of her, earning breathy little moans every time he rocked his hips against her clit. He supported the weight of himself on one elbow just so he could pull at the straps of her dress and expose her chest, basked in the soft moonlight.
He mumbled something unintelligible as he curved his spine to pepper kisses on her breasts, running a flat tongue across her nipple before flicking it with the tip.
She cried out then, hitching her hips up higher and feeling the silky material of her dress slide further up. The same hand that was busy fondling her breasts, drifted between them to rub furiously against her clit as he quickened his speed.
Hermione could feel the quickening in the walls of her sex and clawed at him in way of warning. A hot coil tightened deep in her belly and then released; waves of pleasure rolling down her limbs, electrifying her fingertips and toes. She clung to him, trembling as he buried himself in her heat a final time, emptying into her and letting out a pleasured groan as he climaxed.
Her head rolled to the side, a post-coital, slightly drunk smile playing on her mouth.
There was a calmness between the two of them, as their breathing matched and slowed. But when he rolled off of her, laying on his back next to her, everything crashed down.
The witches face scrunched up in a horrified grimace as she realized she had effectively taken advantage of the poor wizard's grief in order to get laid. "Fuck," she mumbled under her breath, fixing her dress to cover her ravaged body. "I'm so sorry, Draco. I shouldn't have—"
She was on her feet quickly, her strappy heels now feeling wobbly after being hitched up over his hips.
Draco flustered in response, messing with his trousers until he himself was covered and carding a nervous hand through his tousled hair. "Granger, if I—"
"I'm really sorry. Okay? I'm a stupid, stupid witch," she chastised herself and felt hot shame cover every inch of her skin as she scurried down the stairs of the tower, ignoring the call of her name from behind her.