Hermione's flat was situated above the accounting firm of Marsh and Finkle, which never received any visitors; she suspected Marsh and/or Finkle had passed years ago, but nobody ever came to check on the place and she paid her rent every month through the mail slot all the same. She had submitted her intent to vacate the same way, and received a short note the next day, thanking her for being a good resident. The building bore two doors, side by side, sheltered by a large, green awning with a faded logo for M&F Accounting; the right door was Hermione's. She always kept a wreath on the door, framing a lion door knocker. Today, she removed that wreath and packed it into a crate, along with her potted plants and a bag of decorations she used to change the wreath each season.
It had taken a few days, but the Grangers had found a perfectly lovely cottage for sale through their muggle realtor, so Draco had gone to Oxford for the day to take a look at it and make sure it would suit. They were hoping for something with three bedrooms, one of which would be Ermina's, and of course a garden fit for a multitude of ideas. The grey skies would prevent Draco from being too dazzled if the cottage wasn't suitable-he had told her before he left that a sunny day in Oxford was enough to find a public toilet agreeable. It was indeed a dreary day-soft rain had been falling all morning, but it gave Hermione a chance to pack her flat for their move without inducement to pop out on errands to enjoy the sunshine. She wore Draco's green jumper and cozy tracksuit bottoms.
In her trouser pocket, Draco's coin was warm.
She didn't think she had many things, but trying to pack it all into organized boxes was proving tricky. Apparently Draco didn't have many belongings, other than his well-curated wardrobe, for which he had an armoire with an extendable charm. According to Ermina, he was so simple otherwise as to be boring, and it was reflected in the utter lack of decorations in his Oxford rooms. Ermina seemed bothered by his simplicity, but it was comforting to Hermione that the joy he took from life wasn't derived from his possessions. And anyway, it would make her feel more comfortable about liking little chatzakis and owning an aging cat. Draco had assured her he was happy to have her make their new house feel like a home, whatever it meant to her. Or what it meant for them.
Had the Manor ever felt like home, for him?
Did Narcissa hang a funny painting in the loo to make her family laugh?
Did Lucius have a chair he always left a jumper hanging over, even when his wife complained?
Was there a corner Draco kicked his shoes into so he didn't track mud through the house?
Hermione's throat was tight. He had done so much work to be in a good place, but he needed a home. He would have it with her, if she had anything to say about it. He'd have a hook to hang his coat on, and a pillow to lay his head, and everything they put into their new home would come in pairs-his and hers. But first, she had to finish packing up her flat, including their recent gifts from the Weasley bunch.
The wedding gifts they had received at Harry and Ginny's house had been mostly practical-a collection of small muggle appliances from Molly and Arthur would give them no end of entertainment in the kitchen, while Harry and Ginny's present of a mapped image of their birth constellations was more dear, more sentimental. It would hang in their new bedroom, above her dressing table. Luna and Nevilla gave them seeds for their first garden, Charlie and Dougal gave them matching pairs of dragonhide boots from their beloved Harriet, a Antipodean Opaleye who had passed away last year, and the twins had given them 'erotic candies', which had mysteriously caught on fire the moment Hermione threw them into the trash. Bill and Fleur had given them a book dedicated to deciding whether or not having children was the right choice, and Hermione had already dog-earred it to death (she was leaning towards No at this particular moment, as she packed approximately fifty spoons-how does one woman accumulate so many spoons?).
She bumped into Demetrius' perch in the kitchen and nearly sent it crashing into the window; ever since Draco had moved in with his own owl, she hadn't needed him for anything, so her barn owl was being well cared for by her former assistant, Natalie. Draco's white owl, Angelique, spent her time in the spire of the church kitty-corner to Hermione's flat, where she could be enticed down with a treat if a letter needed sending.
Insistent knocking echoed through the flat. Hermione frowned. Who could it even be? Anyone she cared about would've come through the floo. Draco wasn't due back until dinner, and Ermina popped in and out at will. Hermione wiped her dusty hands on a towel and secured her messy top knot a bit more. She hopped down the stairs and opened the door to a soaked Ron Weasley.
"Hi," she peeped, clearing her throat.
He furrowed his brow. "Is this a bad time?"
"No, I… no." She crossed her arms.
Ron looked pointedly at her jumper and realization of who it came from passed over his face. Still, he persisted. "Can I come in?"
"No." Hermione looked down at the doormat, which reminded her she needed to pack it still. "I'm packing, the place is a disaster."
"So. You are moving." Rain sloughed off the end of Ron's nose; he had obviously been out in the elements for a long while.
Hermione closed the door and stepped out under the awning. "Yes. Only a matter of days."
"Where?"
"Near my parents," she said.
"Your parents? Are they..." He gestured towards his head to finish the thought. Did they know her? Were their memories returned? Did they have their wits about them? Or was she intimating a move to Australia, far beyond the reach of his manic outbursts… He could mean anything.
"More or less," she peeped.
"I'm glad. How did that happen?"
"Draco and Harry worked it all out. It was kind of a… wedding gift." She twisted the ring on her hand.
"I heard everyone got together. I wasn't invited."
"And that came as a surprise, did it?" Hermione snapped. "After you showed your arse on Christmas Eve."
Ron toed the ground. "Well. I should have liked an invitation, nonetheless."
"Bad enough you were at my wedding when nobody wanted you there." Her cheeks flushed immediately, but she didn't regret saying it. She hadn't wanted him to be there-all signs had indicated he wouldn't be supportive. And he wasn't. Quite the opposite. Still, she couldn't help but feel that total evisceration wasn't the answer to his ignorance.
"Right." He tried to put his hands in his pockets, but his trousers were too wet. "You're upset. I'm still trying to… wrap my head around that. Is he here right now?" Hermione shrugged. Ron nodded, taking that as confirmation. "Can you help me understand?" he asked softly.
"Understand what?"
Ron wiped his face on his sleeve. "It's the timing, Hermione. It's mental! After less than a week , you decided Fuck It! Let's get married."
"It's not that simple." She shook her head.
"Isn't it? Oh, do tell."
Hermione sighed. "Why can't you accept it's more complicated?"
"Because that was supposed to be me!"
"It's been eight years ."
" Yeah , but-" He crossed his hands on top of his head in frustration and turned away from her. He took a haggard breath and whipped around, arms flailing. "I thought you'd see that we'd been kidding ourselves all this time, thinking we weren't right for each other! And then the ring on your finger would've come from Me." He shook his head. He pointed to the upstairs window. "Instead, it's him . I still remember you screaming in Malfoy Manor, helpless to do anything, while his aunt tortured you. He was there! He didn't do anything to help you! He's a coward with a mark on his arm to prove it-"
Hermione stepped out from under the awning and slapped him. The sting crackled against his wet skin. Ron grabbed his cheek and looked down ashamedly. "I deserve that."
"Not that you care," she spat, "but Draco was a victim, too. He did what he could to keep his mother from danger and stay alive. It's what any of us would have done." She tried to go back inside but he grabbed her arm.
"So that's why you married him? Because you both have trauma?"
She held up a hand to silence him. "That's enough."
"I want to be friends, 'Mione, but I can't understand-"
"Tough!"
"Do you want me to beg for forgiveness? What?" He knelt down in the dirt and Hermione wrenched her arm out of his grip. She hauled him up by the front of his shirt.
"Merlin's sake, Ronald! Have a little bloody dignity. Go to therapy. Get yourself together." She released him and brushed her hair off of her face, where it was encouraging the rain to run down into her eyes. "Leave me alone ." She turned to go back inside, fists clenched.
"Wait, 'Mione!"
"Keep it short."
"Do you love him?" Ron asked.
"Ron-"
"Please. Tell me."
"I do." She sighed. "I don't care if it doesn't make sense to you-"
"It does. Make sense to me." He sighed. "I wanted to know. It means you'll be happy."
Hermione glared daggers at him. She whirled around to go inside and Draco stood in the open doorway, surprise evident on his face. "Hi," he said softly as Hermione pushed past him. "Is the drowning weasel coming inside?"
"No." She didn't look back at Ron and Draco secured the door behind her.
She stomped up the stairs. Draco followed, but slowly, as she barreled through the small flat. The kitchen cupboards flew open as she angrily ripped dishes out and clanked them on the counter. A water glass slipped as she set down, hitting the tile just right to shatter in her hands and cut her palm. "Shit!" She grasped her wrist and held her hand over the sink. There were small pieces stuck in her skin and she was bleeding.
Draco held his hands under hers. "Alright, calm down-"
"I am calm!" she spat, trying to pick out the glass. She was shaking too much. Draco grasped the back of her hand.
"Clearly." He pulled the pieces out one by one and Hermione winced. Once the glass was removed fully, she ran her hand under the faucet as long as she could stand it. Draco pulled out his wand. " Episkey, " he muttered. The cuts healed and Hermione immediately went to work moving all of the broken glass into the bin. She didn't look at him. "What did Ron want?" Draco asked.
"Same bollocks, different package," she said. She pulled out her wand to levitate the remaining pieces and Draco grasped her wrist gently.
"Love, can you put the wand down until we can talk a bit?"
Hermione's cheeks reddened. "What, am I too emotional to handle packing my own things?"
"You are obviously upset, and given the tail end of that conversation, I have no doubt the rest was equally upsetting." Draco coaxed the wand from her fingers and set his hands on her shoulders. "But you don't deserve to carry around all this anger, so if you want to talk about it, I'm here."
Hermione glared at him. "What did Ron say to you on Christmas Eve?"
Draco stepped back and gave her a gentle shake of the head. "I won't tell you, love. It was utter shite, and if I tell you, it means I am giving credence to it. If I keep it to myself, the lies die with me."
She poked him in the chest. "If it was about me, I deserve to know!" Draco took her face in hand.
"It wasn't. Take comfort in that." He kissed her forehead and stepped around her to help pull glassware out of the cupboard.
"What happened to talking about it?"
Draco smiled down at her grumpy face and chuckled. "Do as I say, not as I do."
"Draco, I'm serious!" Hermione tugged on his arm. "I want to know what he said to you. It matters to me; if you're hurt, I'm hurt."
He kissed her softly. "Sweet girl," he sighed. "You've already told him where you stand on everything; why would I want to hurt your feelings with more of his nonsense?"
Hermione curled her fingers into the front of his shirt. "It's my job to protect you-and I didn't. I took you to the Burrow, despite my gut telling me it was a bad idea, and you got hurt!"
"I'm not hurt. He can't touch me." Draco looped his arms around her waist and lifted her up onto the kitchen table. He stood between her knees and she wrapped her arms around him.
"Please. Summarize it, at least." Hermione rubbed the nape of his neck. Draco pressed his forehead to her shoulder and sat back enough to look at her.
"He mentioned my father," he said. "The trial. What should've happened to my mum and me, what he thought I did to get acquitted." He hugged her close again, to spare himself the utter look of pity on her face. "But he can't hurt me, Hermione. I promise. I-I have you, what could touch me, now?"
Hermione let out a long breath. "Why are you so bloody reasonable?" She rubbed his back.
"I went to therapy while I was in Oxford today, so that helps," he said with amusement.
"Did you?"
"Mmm. They could squeeze me in, it was a good opportunity to go. I did miss six months of appointments." Draco stepped back from her. "Now, shall we call a moratorium on any conversation about the weasel so I can tell you about our new home?"
"I'm still grumpy with you, but I suppose."
"Why?" he laughed.
"You don't have to bear anything alone anymore, Draco Malfoy! Don't keep things from me."
"What if I want to do something nice for you as a surprise, like a birthday party or something?"
"Don't! I hate surprises! I always cry."
"You're not crying, now."
"I'm too mad to cry."
"I see. Well, you look adorable in my jumper." He gave her a peck on the nose.
"Thank you," she huffed. "It's comfortable."
"Should I expect you to steal other items of my clothing?"
"Steal' implies you might recover them once I get my hands on them. This is my jumper now!"
Draco curled his fingers under the hem, tickling her waist. "We'll see about that. Please, I'm dying to tell you about our little cottage! I can't bear it anymore."
Hermione's eyebrow crooked towards her hairline. "And… that is contingent upon my removal of this jumper?"
"Madam!" he gasped in mock horror. "I would never insinuate such a thing!"
"Oh, well." Hermione hopped up off the table and padded towards the living room, crossing her arms over her waist and rucking up the hem of the sweater. "Just to be safe, though…" She pulled it over her head and shot him a daring look over her shoulder as she disappeared around the corner. Draco darted after her without a second thought.
Four and a half miles south of the flat of Helen and Mark Granger sat a georgian family home with five bedrooms ("Draco, that's way more space than we need! We can't afford something like that-" "Yes we can, and so what? We'll knock down a wall between two of them and build you a library.") and a large garden, which kissed up to the edge of a nature preserve. The shutters were hanging on by a nail and a prayer, and the trim was about ten years overdue for a refresh, but it had a lot of heart and a hearth in every room. Mark and Helen had a cleaning service in before they brought the first box through the threshold, and by the time Hermione saw the place, the windows were so clean that light came streaming through in sheets. The Weasley twins helped with the heavy lifting, while Helen and Molly helped Hermione decide which rooms needed which angle. Ermina was requested to choose her bedroom before anything more could be done; she chose the smallest room, which had a large bay window and built-in bookshelves.
For the main bedroom, Hermione chose a room with light teal flowered wallpaper with vines crawling towards the upper molding and a marble surround on the fireplace. Every bedroom had wallpaper, and she thought better of the red and green striped room, despite the footprint being slightly larger. Her dark wood headboard would look lovely against the teal wallpaper, and there was room for Draco's armoire in-between the windows. Hermione's vanity fit on the opposite wall, with their constellation print hanging above it as she had envisioned.
They didn't have much in the way of furniture, not enough to furnish every room; Draco's old bed went into the blue bedroom, their sofas faced off in the sitting room with Hermione's low coffee table between them and Narcissa's chiming clock on the mantle. Draco's small glass and metal bistro table set became their outdoor patio seating, and Hermione's farmhouse table would do as part island, part kitchen seating. The other rooms were a bit sparse, and they were sorely in need of bookshelves, but it was a good start.
As the sun set on moving day, Mark handed Draco a bag of italian take-out and a bottle of wine, Helen kissed Hermione's cheek, and the twins absconded, just overnight, with Crookshanks to give him a much-needed bath. Ermina escaped to her room and locked herself inside.
Hermione settled on the sitting room rug in front of the fire, while Draco searched out a pair of glasses for their wine. All he could find, temporarily, were blue toile teacups, but it was just as well. Hermione stoked the fire. The light from the flames danced off the tall ceilings.
"We need rugs," Hermione said, twisting a forkful of spaghetti. "This room begs a cushy rug."
"Is that your only complaint? We need some rugs?" Draco wrinkled his nose. "Look at this wonderful place, darling! This is our home now. Rugs be damned."
"I'm sorry! It's lovely. You did great." She leaned over and kissed him sweetly. Draco licked his lips shortly after and cringed.
"Mmm, spaghetti."
"Spaghetti kisses are all I've got! I'm ravenous. Nice of...Mark and Helen to feed us."
Draco sat back against the table and considered her. "Are you alright with that?"
"What? Not calling them my parents?" Draco nodded and she shrugged. "It's been some time since I could call them that. Molly and Arthur have been my parents more than they have, considering everything. I'm glad to have them around."
"It might be hard to shake them now," Draco laughed. "Mark is insistent that he help install our new shutters-after he makes them, and paints them, and power-washes the siding."
"He's persistent."
"Remind you of anyone?" He touched her chin. "My favorite of your qualities, Ms. Granger."
"Is it?" Hermione's head was swirling from wine and tiredness.
"Mmm. That and your barmy hair."
Hermione adjusted her poofy bun and laughed. "This is my party hair, I'll have you know! Merlin's ghost, Draco… what day even is it?"
Draco did the calculations in his head. "It's… the thirty-first. Cor-it's New Year's Eve, Hermione!"
"Cheers!" She held up her teacup and he clinked it with his own. They both drank deeply.
"Do you need a refill?" He held up the bottle.
Hermione held out her cup and he filled it to the brim. "Thank you, love." Draco kissed her and sat back again, forking lasagna into his mouth. He offered her his spare napkins when she spilled a bit of pasta on her tracksuit bottoms, and took the soiled paper back again, stuffing it into the plastic bag which had delivered their food. Hermione watched his motions and sighed, happily. She set her to-go container on the ground and closed it. "I have a theory about you-do you want to hear it?"
"Shoot."
"I think… and this is partially the wine speaking… you have felt, since the war…" She cleared her throat and reached for his hand. Draco offered his own and rubbed her fingers. "You've felt compelled to take care of someone else. And for reasons I still don't fully understand, you chose me." Hermione sat up on her knees and pressed her other hand to his heart. "I might need too much care, sometimes. I might ask for too much, I will forget teacups beside my bed. I haven't lived with someone consistently since I had the dorms at Hogwarts, so I don't know how to live with someone else-I'm bad at doing my laundry consistently-I mean, really bad! I have a lot of clothes, I can go eons without doing the wash and not run out of knickers-"
"Ermina will take care of that," Draco laughed.
"No! I don't want her to! She's important to you, but she's not my mother or my servant, Draco. I'm telling you this because you need to know I need comfort-being comforted is something I crave. You've spent the last… hell, week being my one source of comfort. And I'm scared you're going to wake up tomorrow with buyer's remorse about this lovely home because I forced you to marry me-"
Draco pressed his lips against hers firmly. He forced her to sit up on her knees and held her against his body. "Shhh," he urged her. "You don't have to worry. I could never regret choosing you."
"What if you do?" Her eyes were full of tears, born of equal parts exhaustion and anxiety.
He shook his head. "No. I won't. I may not have taken a formal vow to promise it, but I agreed to you. Buying this house for us was a dream come true."
"What if we just say it, now?"
"You want vows?" Draco held their clasped hands against his lips and Hermione nodded. "Alright. But you have to stand up in front of this fireplace with me, it's only right." Draco helped Hermione stand and he took both of her hands in his. "This will be extemporaneous, if it's all the same to you."
"It's better that way," she peeped.
Draco squeezed her hands. "Hermione Jean Granger," he began, mouth quirking into a smile as she immediately teared up. "How did we get here? My daft, beautiful witch. Once upon a time, I was a little snot-nosed boy with gelled hair, trying to emulate my father and fight my way through school, and the next thing I know… I'm married to the sexiest, smartest woman in the entire world. I would be the biggest fool to squander that gift.
"Hermione, I promise I will always support your impulses and drive. Your gut is never wrong. I won't let you forget it. I promise never to make you feel like an inconvenience or burden; I will never dismiss your feelings. We will talk through any problem we might face. I am on your side. Forever. Unless it comes to our bed, and I'll stick to my side.
"You will always be safe with me-intimately, you are my equal and your expression of the connection between us is important to me. I will worship you. Mentally, you are my equal. Your intellect is aspirational, and I cannot wait to work alongside you. Emotionally, you are my equal. You will teach me how to love better, and be loved, openly and without shame or fear.
"I love you. I promise to never let you forget it."
Hermione stammered, but nothing came out. She openly cried. Tears streamed down her face and Draco had to use both hands to wipe her cheeks. "Your turn?" he offered. She sniffled.
"I don't know if I can talk," she hiccoughed.
"Try, sweetheart."
She sniffed again and gripped his shirt. "Alright. Whew. I got this."
"You do. You're strong."
"Okay. Whew. Draco Lucius Malfoy," she began. "I have been alone for so long, and I've always… longed. For this." She tugged on his shirt for emphasis. "That when I reach out my hands, there's someone there for purchase. And not just anyone-someone who is reaching back for me."
"I am." He held her tight, arms folding her into his chest.
"I promise to help you remember that you have so much to offer this world," she said. "When the past presses down on you, I will shoulder the burden of memory. You will not be subject to shame in my house. Every meal we share, every memory we make is a count towards healing, even when we don't remember anymore why we needed it. I will help you process whatever you need. I will hold you if you need it, because you don't have to be strong all the time. I will love you as long as you let me. I have been hoping for someone to love me for a decade… but I've just been looking for you ."
The clock on the mantle chimed twelve times-Narcissa's clock. Midnight.
"Auld Lang Syne, and all that," Draco murmured against her mouth.
"Draco, give me your hand," she said. She held out her hand for his left, which he offered her immediately. Hermione cuffed his sleeve methodically, until his forearm was bared. His bare arm. Where once a dark, ugly mark had been. Draco's eyebrows knitted together and he buried himself in shoulder-he couldn't believe that his arm was bare. He had no Dark Mark to speak of. Draco was completely free.
"You are free," she said. "This is a new year, my love. You are completely free."