A/N: *awkwardly crabwalks in and yeets chapter at you like I didn't forget to post on Thursday*
Chapter 12
The next twenty-four hours passed in a blur for Hermione, but all that mattered was that she had Elara and Archer.
Both children were relatively unscathed except for Elara's skinned knee, which she swore she got while playing with the broom that Delphini had allowed them to bring from Harry and Cho's house.
Even with the reassurance, Hermione couldn't help but watch them both closely as Archer read and Elara quietly played with a stack of files abandoned in the corner of Kingsley's office. Draco and Hermione went over the events of the day for the twentieth time with the Ministry-appointed stenographer.
Kingsley had tried to convince her to leave the kids with one of the Aurors while completing paperwork, but Hermione wasn't about to let them out of her sight for the foreseeable future.
She hadn't even been able to sleep the night before for fear of something happening should she look away too long.
"Ms. Granger?" A quiet knock sounded at the door, and Hermione peered up into the face of the nervous Auror who'd taken Draco's memory—Donahue, she recalled. "Solicitor Parkinson will be here shortly to go over the press conference with you both since she's agreed to be your joint representative." His gaze ticked to Elara and Archer. "If you'd like, I could—"
Draco waved him away. "Thank you, Auror Donahue, but that won't be necessary. The children are fine here."
The other man pursed his lips when Elara sent a tower of paper crashing to the floor, but he didn't contradict Draco and ducked back out into the hall.
"Bloody hell, you'd think they'd get it after the hundredth time we declined the help." He scrubbed a hand down his face, rubbing absently at his cheeks.
For the first time all week, he'd shaved, clearing away the week's worth of stubble that had grown in the interim of their children's rescue.
Hermione hadn't yet tried to convince him that the beard was a good look, but...
There was time.
So much time, it seemed, that it stretched out before them in an unbroken line, full of promise that Hermione hadn't anticipated so eagerly in many years.
It was unusual, this new life that she could feel growing up before them. And she wasn't naive to the fact that they still had problems to work through. Theirs had been a rapid reconciliation, borne out of the fear that they both felt in their core at Elara and Archer's disappearance. Hermione had already begun researching marriage counsellors in the wizarding world, despite how antiquated the practice was there; surely there was a witch or wizard out there whose practice was derived from or informed by Muggle approaches that she'd feel comfortable spilling her many insecurities to.
She doubted they'd find a Muggle practitioner who would look past the fact that she'd married Draco thinking him another man.
Even still, it was frightening, the notion of being so vulnerable with someone she didn't know. She didn't even share those thoughts with Harry and Ron… but perhaps it was time she stopped relying on herself alone.
As she pondered, Draco rose from the table, crossing the room to kneel next to the children as they dutifully stacked the papers that Elara had scattered around the room. Archer was still wary of him, eyeing Draco over the top of his book, but Elara helped to bridge that gap between them.
"Look!" she crowed, waving her little hand in front of the stack of papers. As though she'd commanded it, the top half of it lifted from the bottom half incrementally then teetered and crashed to the floor.
Archer groaned. "Again? It's your turn to pick it up."
Laughing, Draco removed his wand and pointed it at the papers as he chucked Elara under the chin. "How about I help you out?"
Happily clapping her hands, Elara watched his wand swish and flick over the stack as it arranged and rearranged itself at his command, and Archer abandoned them to the task with a careful bookmark to denote his place. Though he tried to measure his steps, his destination was obvious, and he stopped in front of Hermione. "Mum?"
Bending, Hermione tried to ignore the weary crackle of her bones as she knelt to get to his level. After so many days of non-stop work, her body felt much older than it should for her age—perhaps another sign that she needed to take some time to heal. "Yes, Archer?"
His gaze flit back to Draco, and he chewed on his lip before asking, "Is he… is it really Dad?"
Sympathy panged in Hermione's chest, and she nodded slowly. "He's your father. He just… looks a little different, is all."
"Why?" Archer asked, his hand fluttering to his hair. In such close proximity to Draco, Hermione could clearly see their resemblance, and it struck her not for the first time that she should have recognised Draco in her son far sooner.
Pursing her lips, Hermione tried to choose her words carefully. "Your father has a complicated past, and it's not my story to tell. If you want to know, I think he'd tell you." She turned Archer to face her. "It's okay not to be sure right now—it's a really big change. But he still loves you and would do anything for you."
Archer nodded, his face still conflicted. "He doesn't feel any different. He just"—his nose wrinkled—"he looks like me. Or I look like him?"
Hermione had to stifle the chuckle that tried to escape her at her son's perplexion. "It's strange, isn't it?"
"Aunt Delphini said that he saw some scary stuff when he was my age," Archer stage whispered, but Draco's back straightened nonetheless, hyper-aware of the conversation they were having.
Hermione made a noise in the back of her throat. Hearing Archer refer to the Black witch as his aunt rankled something deep in her stomach, but she tried to bury the complicated knot of emotions it tangled in her. "He did—he had to hide because he was scared of what would happen to him and your grandmother. But he knew that you and your sister were too important to keep hiding, so he came to save you both."
Archer smiled, looking back at her. "So he's kind of like Uncle Harry, then? He's a saviour!"
Draco made a strangled noise across the room, and this time Hermione let her laughter escape. "He's kind of like Uncle Harry, yeah, you could say that."
"Only much better looking and far cooler than Harry Potter," Draco drawled, pivoting so that the small space between them was closed. His attention was focused on Archer, contrition evident in the furrow between his brows. "What do you say you help Elara clean up and I'll promise to tell you everything you want to know when we get home, yeah?"
Carefully, Archer nodded, though his usual hug for his father was noticeably absent.
Though Draco tried to hide his wince, his expression was pinched when he stood.
"It'll take some time, but he'll forgive you," Hermione whispered, watching the children work together to clean up their mess. "Just remember how much he hero-worshipped Harry when he figured out who he was—he'll do the same to you."
The teasing fell short of Draco as he pursed his lips. "I'll make sure he knows—the good and the bad. I don't want him to repeat my mistakes because I couldn't see past who I wanted my father to be."
Hermione curled into his side as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You're a good father, Draco. You'll get it right."
Before Draco could address the complicated mix of emotions that arose in him at Hermione's praises, Pansy entered the room, her briefcase clasped tightly before her. For the first time in days, Draco cracked a smile that had nothing to do with finally having his children home and no secrets between himself and Granger.
Pansy had dressed down for the occasion. Her usual sky-high heels were more demure kitten heels, and her pencil skirt didn't cling quite so tightly to her legs. Even her hair had been tamed out of its blunt bob into something that even the most senior of Ministry officials wouldn't find offensive.
"Pansy, don't tell me you dressed down on my account," he snarked, standing and crossing the room towards his old friend.
Her smile was biting. "Of course not, Draco. It's for the media; they take better to women who aren't so visually challenging. It's difficult work trying to dismantle the patriarchal system of the wizarding world when they treat high heels and short hair as an affront to their masculinity." The frown and roll of her eyes gave away her exasperation, but Hermione nudged between them before Draco could respond.
"Pansy, thank you." Hermione's face was pinched in a guarded expression that Draco knew well. The other witch made her nervous.
But Pansy shrugged. "Draco is family, even when he stopped acting like it." Her gaze cut to his, burning with accusation before it softened. "And that makes you family by extension. Besides, if Euan likes you, then you can't be too bad."
Hermione's grin was both relieved and warm. "Speaking of Merrythought—it makes sense, why he's so sharp all the time.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Pansy deflected, but Draco didn't miss the approving nod she shot his way.
Despite the levity in the room, Pansy's next words shattered the mood. "We ought to take a seat; there's a lot to go over before the media briefing."
Draco's stomach dropped. He'd known it was coming, but having to face the wizarding world as himself for the first time in over a decade was... not exactly his idea of a good time. "Pansy, can't this wait?" He fidgeted in his seat, familiar fear lodging in his throat at the thought of facing a sea of reporters intent on eviscerating him before the wizarding world.
Her expression slipped back into the stern, no-nonsense solicitor she was when she had reunited with Draco just days earlier. "Let me rephrase, then. It's non-negotiable. The wizarding world expects a joint statement from you and Granger confirming the safe recovery of the Ainsley... Granger? No, Malfoy? Whatever surname you're choosing to give the children. Elara and Archer," she finally settled on with a decisive nod.
"We'll have their names legally changed to Granger-Malfoy; I've already arranged to get the necessary paperwork from Kingsley," Hermione interrupted, clasping his hand in hers. She barely faltered as she glanced back at him. "I also took the liberty of having Kingsley arrange for the press to arrive in"—she checked the clock hanging above Kingsley's desk—"approximately ten minutes."
Draco was sure his heart was going to fall out of his arse. "Ten minutes? That's barely enough time to talk through what we're going to say and—"
"We'll be honest," Hermione interrupted him, her gaze fierce on his, "and tell them why we did what we did. You didn't have any part in the Death Eater uprisings, and Kingsley and Merrythought will corroborate that. They can't very well lambaste you when you've got two of the highest-ranking Ministry officials vouching for you."
Pansy nodded along with Granger. "Granger's right. The more honest you are, the less you'll have to worry about tripping up on anything. They're already sympathetic to you two as parents whose children were kidnapped. Lean into that, and explain why you left when you did."
Draco blinked slowly, trying to determine when Pansy had become wholly on Hermione's side. "But they're going to—"
"Some of them will push you to address exactly what happened during the war. Don't let them push you back into that space—the Ministry has found you innocent, and that's the end of it. As we speak, we've got the Quibbler publishing an article with verifiable quotes from the Auror Department and the Minister's office. With Harry Potter's seal of approval and the already widely-known fact that he had planned to testify for you before the Ministry, they can't go after you without good reason, which they won't be able to find."
The clock on the wall ticked as his head spun, and Hermione stood. "Well, we've got just enough time to make it to the Atrium. Parkinson, can we talk and walk?"
"After you." Pansy flourished her hand in front of her, gesturing her towards the door. To Draco, she leaned over and whispered, "I don't know how you got that witch, but she's much better in adulthood than at Hogwarts. Keep her around, yeah? I think we'd make good friends."
"Merlin help me," Draco muttered. He'd have whiplash from the conversation if he wasn't careful.
As they walked, the children careening down the hall before them under Hermione's watchful eye, Pansy talked. "We'll have Hermione lead with a quick thank you to the Auror Department and Ministry for their hard work in helping you locate the children—yes, even though it was mostly Granger's work that found them." Pansy waved away Draco's protests.
"Then, Draco, you'll address the reporters. Keep it brief but honest. Let them know that you'll make sure to provide a comment on your past at a later time, but you'd like to focus on the children and healing your family at this time." Pansy kept going, making notes of what he should say and what he should avoid, and before he knew it, the clicking of cameras echoed down the wide hall from the Atrium just beyond, Kingsley's unintelligible baritone interrupting the clamour.
Pansy paused, spinning Hermione towards her, and ran a quick wand over her blouse to smooth out the wrinkles, much to Hermione's irritation. "Sorry, Granger. There's a science to media appearances; we want you to look a little ragged, but not at the expense of appearing put together. You can make it up to me by helping me dismantle the archaic system later. Now go."
With a careful nudge and a gape from Hermione, his wife marched out onto the stage, children close behind her.
Draco watched Hermione speak to the reporters from the hall, poised and concise as she explained the circumstances to them. Flashbulbs blinked before them. A sea of reporters seemed to fill the Ministry Atrium despite that he could count their number on one hand. Perhaps it was the nerves, but his vision blurred as he stared out over them, sweat pricking the back of his neck.
He wasn't sure he could do this—not when he was sure they'd all look at him as though he were a bug beneath a magnifying glass.
But Hermione was there, squeezing his hand and grounding him, and he took a deep breath, pecked her on the cheek, and crossed the floor to the microphone.
"Good afternoon. I'd like to thank you again for coming." His voice echoed through the room from the Sonorous cast on the microphone. Briefly, he wondered what it sounded like on the tellies that had become so commonplace in magical homes over the years, but it was a passing fancy he couldn't indulge in. "As Hermione has already said, we would like to thank the Ministry especially for the mobilisation of the Auror Department to help us track down the individual responsible for the events of the last five days."
In the momentary silence after his statement, the reporters blinked back at him, and then clamour erupted.
"Malfoy, why aren't you in Azkaban?"
"What do you have to say for the uprisings that have been reported through the Wizarding World?"
"What has your role been in all of this?"
"Did you Imperius Hermione Granger?"
"Do your children know that you're a Death Eater?"
The questions overlapped one another, each more accusatory than the last, and Draco couldn't get a word in edgewise. Disgust with himself wrapped a thick knot of emotion around his throat, and for just a moment, he entertained the appeal of running from the microphones and back into the shadows of the atrium.
But Hermione's steady presence at his back steeled him, and he cleared his throat, waiting for the din to quiet.
Finally, after several excruciating moments of shouting, the reporters quieted, near identical looks of disgust and fascination on their faces.
He cleared his throat again. "The Granger-Malfoy children are safe, as you saw," he began, latching onto the easiest answer to the questions. "I did not Imperius Hermione. She fell in love with me as another man, and I with her, and we've a lifetime of navigating the nuances of this new reality together. We'd appreciate your patience as we determine what this means for our family." Pansy's advice echoed in his head as he tacked on, "I promise answers in due time, but right now we'd like to heal from the events of the past few days as a family."
A small, mousy girl with coke-bottle glasses tentatively raised her hand. The cover of her notepad was familiar, just the curve of a Q peeking out from behind her shaking hands. When Draco gestured to her, she nearly squealed. "Mister Malfoy, thank you. Eunice Fernsby with The Quibbler. Can you explain why you went into the Muggle world instead of retreating to another continent? Wizarding communities are largely insular; I doubt anyone would have recognised you."
Draco nodded, gripping the stand tightly when Pansy gestured for him to answer from the shadows. "Of course. After the war... my mother and I needed out, and we were offered an opportunity to disappear. To the magical world, we'd be considered good as dead."
The witch nodded, her Quick Quotes Quill flying along the page. "But why Muggle?"
"It was easier that way, even if it was the hardest thing I've ever experienced—had ever experienced until recently," he amended. "In the Muggle world, you don't matter. My name didn't matter to anyone—I had no past there. At least not one of consequence. And so we began again. We didn't know at the time that it was by design of the witch that helped us escape, but as Minister Shacklebolt has likely already explained, the issue has been resolved and the witch responsible has been taken into custody."
"Do you regret it?" the witch asked, chewing on her lip as sympathy shone in her eyes.
Draco thought for a moment, but the answer wasn't a difficult one. "Not at all. Do I regret that I lied to my family for years? That I do, yes. But I don't regret leaving a world that failed to see past the binary it had broken us down into already—Death Eaters and their sympathisers and those who weren't."
Another woman scoffed behind her, and Draco lifted his head to peer at her. She was older, but her eyes were sharp. "Ma'am?"
She bristled at the address, but lifted her quill anyway, squaring her shoulders. "Azalea Brown. Perhaps you knew my daughter, Lavender?"
Draco froze, staring down at the woman. He could see Lavender in her, the waves that cascaded down her shoulders and the fine lines of years of laughter. The pain, too, in her gaze was familiar. "I remember Lavender." Her prone body, pinned beneath the werewolf who had killed her, flashed through his mind. "I'm incredibly sorry for your loss. I wish I had done more—" His voice broke.
"Why Granger? She's one of the most prominent figures out of the second wizarding war," Mrs. Brown asked, her gaze sharp as she stared at Draco. "Was she your ticket to redemption?"
Shame flared through him, and Hermione stirred at his side, but he stopped her with a squeeze of her hand. "Hermione is—she has been the best part of all of this... for a very long time. Who I was before the war wasn't permitted to speak to the girl who I wanted to learn so badly. It was serendipitous of us to meet in the Muggle world, and poor judgement of me to begin a relationship with her under subterfuge, but I wouldn't take it back."
The woman stepped forward, her mouth open as though she was about to question again, but Pansy marched out of the shadows and stepped up to the microphone. "Thank you all for your time today. As the Malfoys have requested, they'll be taking a few weeks from the media to begin healing from the terrible ordeal they've been put through. They appreciate your understanding," she said, ushering Hermione and Draco towards the hall. "To the Apparition point. Don't stop or they'll corner you. When you leave, I'll handle the rest of their questions."
The reporters all tittered among themselves, jotting notes as they tried to follow them down the hall, but Kingsley stepped in front of them, barring the path with Pansy.
Flashbulbs and shouted questions followed them out of the Atrium. They didn't stop until they reached the Apparition point, guarded by several Aurors Draco didn't recognise, and Hermione dragged him towards her, his heart pounding in his ears as they gathered Elara and Archer to them.
"Are you all right?" she asked, her voice coloured with concern.
Draco shook, but he took her into his arms, squeezing her tight to him. "I'm okay," he whispered, though the shake to his voice belied the reassurance. "I'll be okay," he corrected.
He could tell that Hermione didn't believe him, but she leaned up and pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "The worst of it's over now. Let's go home."
It was the best suggestion of the day and Draco lifted Elara into his arms, carefully squeezed them together, and envisioned the cottage. With Elara on his hip and Hermione's hand in his own, Draco Apparated his family home.
Hermione wobbled on the cobblestones when they landed in the shadows of a building just down the street from theirs at a temporary Apparition point the Aurors had established.
"The house is in manageable shape; it shouldn't take much work to renovate at this point," an aristocratic voice said as soon as they landed, and Draco whirled.
"Mother!" Hermione could hear the relief in his tone, and he swept towards her, all pretenses of dignity discarded in favour of hugging her.
"You survived then?"
Hermione turned towards the other figure waiting for them, to whom Narcissa had been speaking, a grin crossing her face at the familiar voice.
Harry leaned against the wall, his wand held limply between his fingertips. He accepted her hug readily, a grin stretching across his face. "Good to see you too, 'Mione," he muttered, voice muffled by her hair. When he pulled back, his gaze cut critically to Draco. "Malfoy."
Draco's response was equally curt. "Potter."
Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. She'd expected the reception between the two of them, but that didn't mean she had to enjoy it. "The both of you had better get over this quickly considering you'll be seeing a lot of each other. It's not negotiable," she added, crossing her arms over her chest.
Draco was the first to break, a fact that was not lost on Hermione. "Look, Potter, I think we can both agree that there are bigger things to worry about than childhood rivalry."
With a sniff, Harry accepted Draco's outstretched hand. "I'm not happy that you lied to her for so long. Keep in mind that I'll always be on her side." After another extended silence, Harry stepped back, offering his crooked smile. "Get home. You guys deserve the rest; Cho made casserole so you wouldn't have to worry about dinner."
Gratitude warmed Hermione through, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thanks, Harry. You're the best."
He waved her away and they took off down the path, the children trailing behind when Harry called after them. "Hey, Malfoy!"
Draco stiffened but turned, his expression wary. "Yeah?"
"Weekly Quidditch next weekend. Now that I know you're a wizard and won't be daft on a broom, why don't you come? Starts at six."
Before either of them could respond, Harry Disapparated with a pop, and a tiny smile touched Draco's lips.
Perhaps they'd be fine after all.
The rest of the walk passed in relative silence save for the children's chatter, Draco's hand clasped tightly in hers as Hermione marvelled at the knowledge that they were home, all together and everyone safe, for the first time since this nightmare had started.
The peace the knowledge brought her was shattered, though, when they rounded the path to the front of the cottage.
The front door stood open just a crack, warm air whistling through the opening.
Immediately, she dropped into a defensive stance, whipping her wand out and positioning it between herself and Draco, who was still much slower on the draw.
"Should we send a Patronus to—" Draco started, but Hermione took off, fury fueling her.
Without a second thought, Hermione bounded up the steps and nudged the door open, firing off a successive round of shielding charms and stunners at a shadowy figure on the far side of the kitchen island.
"Oi! What in Merlin's name—?!" The figure ducked behind the cabinets, curses flying from lips in a familiar baritone.
Hermione froze, wand still trained on the cabinet that bore a singed hole clear through the wood. After a moment of silence, she called, "Throw your wand out and come out with your hands up."
"What—'Mione, are you serious?" Belatedly, a willow wand clattered between them, and Hermione spied a shock of ginger hair through the singed china in the cabinet. "Not exactly the warm welcome I was expecting," Ron grumbled, crab-walking out from behind the island.
The tension fell from her shoulders, and Hermione offered a disbelieving laugh and half-hearted shrug. "Shouldn't be showing up in my house uninvited, Ronald."
"Fucking Weasleys," Draco muttered, shouldering into the house and lowering Elara to the floor, Archer in his wake. "You're lucky it wasn't me that came through the door first. I'd have made sure the hexes hit first and asked questions later."
"Draco," Hermione hissed, eyes wide as Archer and Elara both laughed at the expletive. "Not in front of the kids."
Draco didn't offer anything but a laugh at the admonishment.
"Why don't you and Elara go play?" Hermione asked, crouching next to Archer. "Mummy and Daddy need to catch up with Uncle Ron, okay?"
Archer nodded, his gaze carefully tracking between Hermione and Draco. "Okay."
Hermione nuzzled her face in Elara's hair, basking in the warmth of her daughter's touch, the smell of her hair.
"I missed you, Mummy," Elara whispered, her hands gripping the back of her jacket fiercely.
"Oh, I missed you too, my dear." A sob nearly cut off her response, and she coughed to cover it. "What have you been doing the last few days?"
Elara smiled, bouncing excitedly. "Aunty Delphi showed me how to make my magic work! Instead of getting angry and just letting it"—she gestured wildly outward, a grin splitting her features—"explode out of me."
Something like sorrow filtered through Hermione. "Did she, now? And how did she do that?"
Sobering, Elara lowered her voice to a whisper. "Aunty Delphi told me that she didn't remember her mummy. She said to focus on what it feels like when you hug me—when I'm safe and warm. Then, when I feel safe, I can decide what to do with the magic."
Sympathy coursed through Hermione. Delphini had never known a mother's love, and even if Bellatrix had survived, she likely wouldn't have known it anyway. Her heart broke a little bit more for the strange woman. "And did that help?"
Elara nodded seriously. "It's like a warm blanket now. I only use it when I need it."
Tears broke from Hermione's eyes as she pulled her daughter into her side. "I'm glad it works."
"Me too." Elara pulled away, her tiny lips pinched into a frown. "Will we ever see Aunty Delphi again, Mummy?"
"I don't know, dear." Hermione sighed, smoothing her hair back as she peered between Archer and Elara. "I know Delphini didn't hurt you, but she still took you from home without Mummy and Daddy's permission, which was a very bad thing to do."
Archer nodded, his gaze glued to the floor. "Will I—" his voice broke off, and he looked away. "Will I still get to go to Hogwarts?"
The question startled a laugh out of Hermione, and she cupped his cheek, trying to bring his gaze to hers. "Of course, my love. Why wouldn't you?"
He refused to look at her. "You said before Mister Merrythought and Kingsley came to see us that you wouldn't let us go if we were bad."
"Oh, sweet boy." Hermione curled his frame into her, smoothing his hair soothingly. "You get to go to Hogwarts. I promise. In fact," she pulled away, surveying him, "why don't you take Elara upstairs to play for a while? When Mum and Dad are done with the Aurors, we'll take you to Diagon Alley and let you pick out any creature you want to take to school with you—as long as it's Hogwarts approved. How does that sound?"
A beam lit his face. "Even a cat? Like Cleo?"
"Even a cat," she agreed, turning him towards the stairs. "Go on, now." Archer grasped Elara's hand, pulling her behind him. "And no broom in the house!" Hermione reminded them.
Ron glanced suspiciously between Hermione and Draco. "Merlin, it's true then. I saw the papers when I was on the way back from visiting Charlie for dragon scales for the joke shop, but I was sure it was just Skeeter grasping at straws." He blinked for several long, slow moments as though Draco would disappear before he opened his eyes.
"It's true. I expect you guys to make nice," Hermione said crisply, slipping her wand back into her pocket as Archer ran forward to high-five his godfather. "The both of you," she added with an arched brow at Draco.
Ron worked his jaw for a few more moments before nodding. "Well, as long as he makes you happy—and I know he does, given—" he gestured vaguely towards where the children had exited.
To add insult to injury, Draco pressed a kiss to Hermione's cheek. "She's sure. We're working through it."
Screwing his face up, Ron studied the photographs on the mantle to hide the scrunch of his nose. "Gonna need a lot of Firewhisky to burn that image out of my head."
Hermione chose to ignore him, flopping onto the couch instead as Draco settled beside her. "Why are you here anyway? I thought you were out of the country for the foreseeable future. You and Gabrielle off gallivanting the countryside looking for ingredients for George and the shop."
"We were," Ron allowed, taking the seat opposite them. "But we had happy news and wanted to share it. I just didn't expect to come back to society and find it all up in arms about my best friend marrying Hogwarts' least favourite ferret."
Draco scoffed beside her, but Hermione nudged him.
A photograph, folded several times over, floated towards her and settled into her lap. She picked it up, eyeing the worn edges with a dubious lift of her brow.
"Well, go on, then," Ron prompted, leaning forwards onto the seat. He wrung his hands together, his lips pressed into a thin line as he watched her.
Hermione knew that nervous tick, and with a knot in her throat, she unfolded the image.
Staring back at her was a mostly black image with a white, quarter-sized circle in the midst of it. Tears sprung to her eyes as she jerked her gaze back up at him. "Is it—"
Ron nodded, a brilliant smile breaking across his features. "Six weeks now," he said. "We found out shortly after we found the ingredient George needed for the kid-friendly giggle water. A local seer in Romania pulled Gabrielle into her shop to tell her all about it. I didn't believe her, so we went to a Muggle doctor, and, well—it's true."
Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Ron, I'm so happy for you both! How is Gabrielle?"
"Nauseous," Ron deadpanned, shaking his head. "But excited. She's spending the day with Mum so I could come check in with you guys and see what all the fuss was about. Seems like we've both got something to celebrate." He sheepishly cut his gaze to Malfoy.
"Oh, this is wonderful news!" Hermione handed the photo off to Draco, who stared at it with a funny half-smile on his face. "And does Harry know?"
Ron grimaced. "Not yet—figured I ought to tell you first so you could have some time to get used to being a godmother all over again." Down the hall, they could hear the kids chattering and something fell to the floor, the tinkling of shattered glass following it. "How are they taking it?"
"About as well as can be expected," Draco answered, pushing to his feet. "I'll go take care of whatever that was." He started down the hall towards the children, but paused when he reached Ron's chair, staring down at his former enemy. "Congrats, Weasley. If you need anything—" With what appeared to be great effort, Draco extended his hand.
Hermione froze, watching the interaction with something like hope blooming in her chest.
Even Ron appeared taken aback as he stared at the hand before him with shock. Belatedly, he stood, accepting Draco's hand and giving it a singular firm shake. "Thanks, Malfoy. And—" He paused, blowing a gust of air out from his puffed cheeks. "You've done a good job with them so far, but... just keep taking care of them, yeah?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, biting back another retort that she was perfectly capable of protecting herself, but Draco nodded, cutting his gaze back to Hermione. "I've got them. They're the most important things in the world to me."
"Good." Ron dropped his hand, offering the other wizard a cheeky grin. "Cause you'll have to answer to me if you don't."
Hermione groaned as Draco walked away muttering to himself. "Fat chance, Weaselbee."
"She's right here, and she can take care of herself," she reminded both men, though her heart was lighter for the positive interaction between two of the most important people in her life.
Draco was still muttering to himself when he ducked into the room with the children.
Hermione studied Ron across the table as he smiled tenderly down at the ultrasound photo. "I'm happy for you, Ron. You get to start that family you've always wanted."
"Yeah," he said, glancing up at her. "We almost gave up—thought about adopting. Still will, most likely."
Hermione nodded. "There's lots of little witches and wizards out there that need families."
Ron's expression was pensive. "Yeah. I can't help but think about Harry sometimes. My mum and dad were his only family for so long—given the way the Dursleys treated him. No kid deserves that. And we're still not sure how the pregnancy will affect Gabrielle, so... we're cautiously optimistic, but we've already applied to adopt one of the children at St Mungo's."
Hermione started, but she covered her surprise by clapping her hands. "That's wonderful news! When will you know the process?"
Grimacing, Ron ran a hand over his face. "We start with a home study—the Ministry has adopted some Muggle practices so it's a much more formal process than it once was according to our Ministry-appointed advocate."
Hermione frowned. "But you don't have a—"
"A house? Well, that's another reason I stopped by," Ron said slowly. His gaze flickered to hers before trailing towards the door as though he was contemplating running.
"You're not—did you buy a house?" Hermione asked, her mind flying through the reasons he would be so sheepish with her.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Ron tried again. "Well, not technically. The Ministry still has to approve it."
Hermione tried to follow his line of thought.
"Well, you remember how the Ministry seized all the assets of those who were convicted for helping the Death Eaters years ago, yeah?"
She nodded.
"So I haven't technically seen Harry for longer than a few minutes, but he was talking with Narcissa when I did, and he did mention that you were potentially going to be moving," Ron started, drawling his words slowly. He refused to look right at her, instead affixing his gaze somewhere over her left shoulder and slightly above her ear.
Incredulity unfurled in her. "Is Harry trying to move you into my house?!"
Ron reddened. "Well, I mean it wouldn't technically be your house anymore if—"
"Ronald Weasley, if you say technically like that one more time—" Hermione started, levelling him with a glare. "Besides, just where do you think we'll go if you and Gabrielle move in here? Harry's house?"
"No, of course not!" Ron retorted, his blush growing deeper. "Harry mentioned that he's working with Narcissa to petition the Ministry to restore Malfoy Manor to Malfoy and his mother. Apparently the bloke has friends that continued Malfoy Enterprises in the shadows, so he's got quite the sum of wealth stowed away, and you both would be quite well off. Not that you're not doing well already," Ron stammered, floundering. "I just mean that—"
"Weasley, stop talking, for Merlin's sake," Draco interrupted, his voice floating over her shoulder as he re-entered the room.
"Did you know?" Hermione squawked, defaulting to the betrayal that reared its ugly head whenever confronted with the fallout of Draco's deception. The tone clearly hit home in Draco's flinch, and she tried again, softening her voice. "Did you have any idea that Harry and your mother—"
"None," Draco responded. His voice had taken on the pitch it often did when he was trying to mask his emotions, his face carefully blank. "I haven't spoken to Potter—other than a few minutes ago—since the kids— " Vague gestures seemed to be the nonverbal cue of the day, and he let the sentence hang unfinished.
Slightly assuaged, Hermione settled back against the sofa as though all the wind had been taken out of her sails. "So we're just to—what? Uproot the children and move into the home that you grew up in? It was a mess when we last visited!" Images of the destroyed table flickered through her mind, quickly chased by the book-filled library that had been so tempting upon their first visit.
"Not necessarily," Draco said slowly. "I assume the Ministry will have stipulations for moving—with all the wards dismantled, they'd be required to go through the home to rid it of any remaining dark artefacts. And we'd want those gone before we moved the children in."
"Never mind the dark artefacts—Bellatrix tortured me in the drawing room," Hermione retorted, immediately regretting the flippancy of her statement when Draco seemed to shrink into himself. She mentally added the incident to the list of things they'd work through with the mind healer they'd hire.
After a moment, he conceded, "I'm sure we could arrange for renovations. Weaselbee and his wife could wait a while to move in here—it would be a fresh start for all of us, and the children would have access to their birthright. We could teach them about where they came from... make sure they won't repeat the past."
Hermione was tempted to object, but she bit her tongue. It was important to Draco to teach them about the moral failings of his family's past—even if she didn't think the children would ever fall peril to it, she could see that he needed it.
"If—and this is a very strong if, mind you—I was to entertain this, then how do we even explain it to the kids? This is the only home they've ever known," she fretted, smoothing her hand over the sofa.
The walls of this home were where they'd grown together as a family. Archer and Elara's height ticks still marred the doorframe of the playroom. A sear mark denoted Archer's first bout of accidental magic when she'd taken away his Demiguise toy for playing too roughly with it. The steps outside had been the site of many morning cups of coffee and shared dreams with Draco—it was hard to give that up.
Draco settled beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "The kids will understand—we'll be together, and that's what matters." He cracked a grin. "And I don't think Archer will mind too much if I promise him that we can turn Father's old sentient plant field into a Quidditch pitch."
"My very own Quidditch pitch?!" Archer cried, zooming into the room with twin fist pumps. "Mum, can we please?"
Hermione turned, peering down the hallway. Elara peered around the doorframe, a cautious smile on her lips. "What do you think, Elara?"
A brilliant smile lifted her lips. "I think I'd like to visit the rose garden that I dream about sometimes.
Draco motioned her forwards. "I imagine Grandmother Cissy would be delighted to show you her famous rose garden—maybe you've got her magic touch for herbology along with her famous Black Seer lineage."
Elara turned big eyes on her mother, little lip pushed out in a pout. "Please, Mummy?"
Hermione's shoulders fell, aghast at being teamed up on by both her children, her husband, and one of her dearest friends. "Well, I suppose it's four against one. But it all depends on what Kingsley has to say about it. So don't get your hopes up."
Chortling, Ron said, "I don't think Kings will be too hard to convince, 'Mione. Not when it's the three of us asking."
Hermione huffed, but she allowed the conversation to drop, settling into the familiarity of an evening with her family.
Even as everything changed around them, Hermione felt a greater sense of peace than she had in years.
They were okay. And their family was growing and changing, learning new ways of being.
That had always been her favourite part of magic: the endless possibilities it presented, and perhaps she'd lost that as the years progressed. Control had been important to her for so long, until it had been wrenched from her fingertips.
Now, just like her work with art, she could see the beauty of it in the micro. All the minuscule changes hidden within the life-altering shifts of the past week, every minute difference, added up to an outcome she'd never expected, but one she'd needed all the same.
The adaptations that loomed before them were frightening, and part of her wasn't sure how they'd handle it all together, but with Draco's arm draped over her shoulder, the children chattering to their Uncle Ron and filling him on everything he'd missed in his months away, Hermione welcomed whatever would come.
A/N: Hiiiii sorry this is late! I got distracted by Thanksgiving and Christmas decorating that I totally forgot to post this! As always, I want to thank you my lovely alpha/beta team for all their work on this story and for not strangling me when my brain died and writing went to the wayside lol and thank you all for reading this! It's been a fun ride and I'm so glad to have you all with me on this story :) Just the epilogue to go and it'll be up as usual on Thursday (I promise; I set a reminder and everything lol)