Surprise! I decided to drop this chapter early! I hope you all enjoy this spur-of-the-moment decision.
This chapter picks up right after the last one left off. Draco and Hermione go on their date. Shiloh is four and Eliana is just a few months old.
Ron was more than happy to come over and watch the girls. When Hermione dropped by his desk the next morning about taking care of them that Friday night, his eyes lit up.
"Shiloh is finally the right age to start learning chess. I'll bring my old set and see how she does."
He was so excited that Hermione didn't have the heart to tell him about her recent difficult streak. Ron would be lucky if he got through the instructions without her flipping the board.
But that wouldn't be her problem for a few, precious hours.
She and Draco were going on a date.
And that meant Hermione needed to be ready, not just because it was her natural tendency to need solid preparation, but because she knew she could reap the rewards if she prepared correctly. She had precisely three days.
On her lunch break that day, she brainstormed a list of potential date locations and activities, but everything she came up with seemed worse than the last.
Café.
Hiking.
Quidditch match.
Miniature golf.
Perhaps if she had the guts, she'd have suggested something that toed the edge of her comfort zone. Clubbing like so many of her friends. Or flying at the very least. She'd written the ideas down, but crossed them off a little more vigorously than intended.
As courageous as she had been when she was younger, motherhood had certainly made her more careful than she'd been previously.
Draco wanted to feel young and alive, and if Hermione was being completely honest with herself, so did she. They had given up so much to fight in a war and then raise a child. All their friends had gone out into the world in one way or another, free to go to amazing places and do fun things while she and Draco had raised their daughter—now daughters.
Hermione didn't used to think much of it. Not really. For years, she had no interest in doing the irresponsible things that teenagers did. Drinking. Partying. Snogging in broom closets. It all just seemed like a waste of time. Her one act of irresponsibility had landed her pregnant during a war with a little girl who recently decided it was quite fun to steal lipstick and paint her bedroom walls with it.
But Hermione wasn't a teenager anymore. At nearly twenty-three, she was probably more than capable of having a little fun without feeling shame.
A few of her friends had begun to settle down. Ginny had recently confessed that she and Harry were thinking of trying for a baby next year. They had all had their fun—or were still having it, and Hermione felt as though she had never really had any.
Going to a café?
What was she thinking?
Hermione tossed the parchment in her desk with a frustrated groan. She'd try again tomorrow.
On her lunch break the next day, she sat down with a parchment again. She was determined to think of an actually decent idea today. Quill poised to write, she stared at the blank space before her, determined to think of one fun thing to do with Draco. When nothing came to mind, she groaned and took a bite of her sandwich.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
"Oi, Hermione. You in there?"
She opened her office door with a flick of her wand to reveal a slightly disheveled Neville.
"Hullo, Neville. What can I help you with?" She dusted her fingers and stood, leaving the parchment atop her desk.
Neville, it turned out, had an odd request involving a creature requisition.
"So you're telling me," said Hermione after he finished explaining, "that if this department lends you a hinkypunk and you work with its essence and an Egyptian lotus plant, you'll be able to create an antidote for forgetfulness?"
Neville shrugged, his face growing slightly pink. "Well… yeah. That's the idea, anyway."
"Fascinating." Hermione whipped her wand to summon the necessary forms. "I'd love to see the results of your research. Let me see what I can do." She got to work, filling in the requisition form as Neville stood in her doorway bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Her dear friend had changed so much in the last few years. Although there was still an air of shyness about him, his confidence had grown exponentially. He seemed happier. Hermione rarely saw him without a smile on his face these days.
"What've you got there?"
Hermione looked up from the requisition form to follow Neville's gaze. She felt her cheeks heat up. He was looking at the parchment she had just been working on, with the words Date Ideas scrawled across the top and several crossed-off options below.
"Oh, well, that's—"
"Date ideas? Are you trying to think of something good to do? Is your anniversary coming up or something?"
Hermione lifted her quill from the form. "Well, yes. It is. But this…" She hesitated for a moment. Normally, she didn't like to appear like a fool in front of others. But this was Neville. What would he do with this information? "It's not for our anniversary. Actually, it's just for a regular date. The first one we've been on since Eliana was born."
Neville nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I see." He glanced back at the list and grimaced. "No ideas yet?"
Hermione checked off a box on the form and leaned back in her chair. "Not a single good one. Draco says that he wants to go wild. Let loose for once. And I'm just not good at that sort of thing. Every idea I come up with is… well, boring." She sighed and returned to the form. "Maybe I'm just not meant to be that sort of girl."
It was silent in her office for a moment. Embarrassment turned her stomach slightly. What was she doing, talking to Neville about all this?
"You know—" Neville's voice cut through the silence. "—I used to think I wasn't meant to be a fun bloke. All those Quidditch after-parties in the common room… the way people would dance and drink and lose all their inhibitions. I just wasn't cool enough to do something like that. But it turned out I was just scared of what people would think if I looked ridiculous.
"Then, I got together with Hannah, who's a social butterfly. And after Hannah, well… you know about Theo." Neville blushed scarlet at this, but kept going. "The two of them loved to go out and party and I always stayed behind. I told them clubbing wasn't my thing. But in reality, I was really jealous of them and angry at myself for being so self-conscious. Back at Hogwarts people laughed at me when I tried to be cool, and so I got this image of myself as this foolish, plant-loving kid who couldn't ever be like Seamus or the Weasley twins—effortlessly cool and the life of the party."
Neville shoved his hand in his pockets and leaned on the doorframe. "Theo saw me beating myself up and asked me what I would do if I wasn't scared. What I would do if I wasn't self-conscious or embarrassed by what others would think. And you know what? I told him I wanted to go with him and Hannah. So, Hermione, let me ask you: What would you do with Draco if you weren't scared? If you knew that you could let loose?"
Hermione blinked.
What would she do?
She wanted to do everything—be everything for Draco. If he wanted to be young and care-free, that's what she wanted to do for him.
Her mind still buzzing, she mindlessly signed off for the hinkypunk and handed the form to Neville.
"Good luck on your date, Hermione."
By the time she turned around, Neville had gone.
Hermione stared down the menu of specialty drinks offered by the Wizarding club Tarantallegra and felt more than a little lost. It wasn't that she hadn't had drinks before. Ginny made a mean gin & tonic whenever Hermione came over to her house. On hard days she sometimes drank a small glass of Draco's Firewhisky, though she wasn't overly fond of the way it burned her throat.
This menu, though, was extensive. She had no idea what a Flaming Dragon Tail or a Biting Doxy was, and the descriptions underneath did little to help.
"You look a little lost."
Hermione's head snapped up from the menu to find Draco wearing his signature smirk from across the small table.
"Like you know any better. You've hardly had anything that you didn't steal from Blaise or from your father's liquor cabinet."
"Touché."
They went back to staring at their menus.
Hermione had followed Neville's advice and tried to get out of her comfort zone to try something new with Draco. Well… going to a club wasn't exactly new. The last time they had gone out to a place like this, they'd ended up leaving within a few minutes and heading to the Irish pub in Ottery St. Catchpole. The idea of going to a club had never appealed to her because she was supposed to be a buttoned up witch whose sole focus was studying. And when she became more than that, it was only to be a mother. And for either of those roles, fun wasn't exactly a necessity.
It was about bloody time she had some fun, so she suggested the club. It's what everyone else was doing, and for once, Hermione wanted to try something that was normal. Draco had raised his eyebrows, but the spark of mischief on his face gave his giddiness away. And so they had dressed up and come to this place—Tarantallegra, the hottest club in town for wizards and witches in their twenties to relieve stress through dance, drink, and the chance of sex.
And that's exactly what they needed.
Hermione shifted on the stool, adjusting her dress. It was not the sort of thing she usually permitted herself to wear. Strappy and tight-fitting, it was the complete opposite of the crisp, pressed, and professional robes she usually wore to the Ministry or the heavily-stained leisure wear that accompanied a baby on her hip or at her breast. In this dress, she felt… pretty. Womanly. Attractive. Dare she say it, sexy.
At least that's how she felt under Draco's heated gaze. In recent months, he'd looked at her with love and adoration through exhausted eyes. But tonight felt different. He'd dressed up, too, in a lightweight sportcoat and trousers that were tight enough to make Hermione rub her thighs together in anticipation.
She was excited to go out and about with Draco, yes, but more than that, she was itching to get him alone at home and undress him. Last time they had done this—gone on their first date after Shiloh, there had been a sweetness that lingered in the air the whole night. Draco had outright romanced her on that beach. She felt like a goddess.
This time around, she didn't need the bubble bath or the champagne or the luxurious tent by the sea.
She just wanted to have a couple of drinks, flirt with her husband, and then take him to bed.
They both ended up ordering ridiculous cocktails that bubbled and frothed and tasted far too delicious to be alcoholic. By the time Hermione felt the effects, she had a smile that rivaled a Cheshire cat's and was swaying back and forth to the beat of a catchy tune she vaguely recognized from the wireless.
She felt vaguely fuzzy, and the longer she sat there, the more she had to fight her desire to find a dark corner of this place and have her wicked way with her handsome husband.
"Let's dance."
Hermione's thoughts swam back to the moment, where music pounded across her sternum. She heard herself agree to Draco's request, and they both stood, his hand on the small of her back, his fingertips dancing lightly over the skin there.
It was as though a fire was igniting within her—a fire that had been lying dormant just beneath the surface for months, squashed by sleep deprivation and near-constant feedings. But now, the flame was alive, sparking and dancing across her veins. Hermione felt a shiver ripple across her skin. It started where Draco's palm brushed against the dip in her spine and radiated up her back to the nape of her neck and straight to her centre.
By the time they got out onto the middle of the room, Hermione was already aflame with desire. The crowd around them jostled, pushing their bodies flush against each other. The flames grew, licking at her curves as Draco's hands began to wander them.
Hermione wasn't sure what was more intoxicating: the drinks she had just consumed or the feel of Draco's knee pressing deliciously into the apex of her thighs.
His eyes never left hers as they danced. The music around them felt far away—muffled, even. She felt the bass thumping in her chest. Or was that her heart?
Heat from the crowd created a thin sheen of sweat across her skin. Draco must have been warm, too, because his hands left her side only for a moment to roll up his sleeves, pushing them past his elbow.
Somehow, the sight of his forearms only made Hermione want him more. The second his hands returned to her sides, she pushed her chest against his, forcing their bodies together again.
Hermione could see the lust in his face—the way his pupils dilated, his lips parted slightly, and his brows drawn together in concentration.
She could kiss him right here, right now in the middle of this crowd. There would be no interruptions. She could let him drag her off to a quiet corner—perhaps by the restroom. Cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm. Shag him senseless against a wall.
They always seemed to come back to that position.
It all seemed possible, and every inch of Hermione tingled at the very thought.
"Hey, Death Eater Scum."
Everything turned to ice.
Hermione watched the moment sink in on Draco's face. Lust had evaporated, leaving behind shock and resentment in its wake. His lip curled in a snarl, nostrils flaring. The hands that had caressed her so lovingly balled into shaking fists.
"Easy, Draco…"
She heard herself try to soothe her husband, despite the presence of her own rage, simmering just below the surface.
"Types like you shouldn't be allowed in a place like this." The nameless, faceless wizard in Hermione's peripheral vision spat more vitriol. "You belong in Azkaban, rotting in a cell!"
Draco's hand flew to his forearm, covering the exposed Dark Mark.
The same forearms she found entirely sexy. The ones that wrapped around her and held her tight after a long day of work. The ones that supported their daughters' tiny bodies so gently and lovingly.
Hermione pulled away from Draco for a moment to reach into her beaded bag.
It was just where she always left it.
Pulling out her wand, she didn't even look over her shoulder as she aimed it at the idiot and fired a Bat Bogey Hex that would have made Ginny proud.
As the wizard stumbled away, flailing as he tried to drive away the bogey bats, Hermione wrapped her arm around Draco and led him away from the crowd and out the front door, onto the streets of Diagon Alley.
It was relatively deserted at this hour, the winding cobblestones shining in the scare lamplight. Stragglers hung outside the club. As Draco and Hermione passed by, a few of them were trying to argue with the bouncer about aging potions.
Hermione paid them no mind as she held Draco close. She could feel him shaking against her side, and she watched as he clawed at his left forearm, fighting to cover it up with his rolled-up sleeve.
Reaching around his back, Hermione tried to offer him as much comfort as she could, given the circumstances. She placed her hand over his—the one desperately trying to erase his Dark Mark. It wouldn't do much, holding his hand, but it would have to be enough until she found a quiet place to offer him real comfort.
When she finally found a dark, silent alley beside Flourish and Blotts, Draco sank down to the ground, tucking his knees to his chest and burying his face in his hands.
It wasn't exactly how Hermione had pictured dark corners featuring in her night, but this wasn't the time for such thoughts. Instead, she knelt down beside her husband and placed a gentle hand on his knee.
From behind his hands, she heard a sniff. "Why can't I—" Draco's voice was muffled and strained. "—Why can't I just have a normal fucking life? Why can't I ever get away from this?" He pulled his hands from his face, his eyes trained on his left forearm.
Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but nothing was good enough.
"I thought it was finally behind us. All of it. I thought we could finally move on. But I guess I was stupid to hope that I could ever forget. That everyone else would forget. But it's going to follow me—follow us forever, isn't it?" Draco was spiraling now, his whole body shaking as he continued to stare at the Dark Mark.
"And you don't deserve this, Hermione. You and Shiloh and Eliana—you're always going to suffer because of my mistakes. I mean, Merlin, we can't even go on a date with my wife without somebody reminding me of my worst memories." Draco raked his hands across his face and looked up at Hermione with red-rimmed eyes. "Tonight was supposed to be fun and romantic. I just wanted to kiss you and have a good time, but this mark ruined everything. Like it always—"
Hermione never heard the end of Draco's sentence. She surged forward instead, diving into his arms and holding as tightly as she could. The sudden movement must have stunned him a bit, because he gave a little, "Oof!" and said no more.
Hermione eased Draco's knees down and crawled into his lap. He was pliable, as though his will had simply faded into the darkness of the alley. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, pressing soft kisses there.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled into her hair. "I wish I could give you more. You deserve someone who can take you dancing without causing a bloody scene."
"I deserve someone who tries every single day to be a good husband and father. Someone who has been to hell and back and came back a stronger, better person." Hermione drew back from Draco, brushing fringe from his forehead. Her hand trailed past his eyes and down the side of his face, continuing until she held his left forearm in her hands. Her fingers caressed the Dark Mark there. Draco flinched.
The scars on Hermione's own forearm sat just beside Draco's, illuminated in the lamplight from the street. The lasting reminders of suffering long passed.
Perhaps it was time to put that suffering to rest.
It dawned on Hermione all at once what they needed to do tonight. It wasn't something she would have ever thought to do for a date night and it certainly wasn't something she ever considered doing before. There was a stigma surrounding it. At least, it wasn't something that studious girls like her ever did.
But looking at their scars, she knew it was time to follow Neville's advice.
Hermione couldn't stop staring at her forearm. It had taken a little convincing to get Draco on board, but by the time they exited the tattoo parlour a couple hours later, he was practically giddy. They hadn't hemmed and hawed over the design. After just a minute or so of flipping through a binder, they settled on a matching floral pattern of daisies and daffodils. After a brief talk with the tattoo artist, they were able to arrange for the image of a single peony to be nestled amongst the other flowers on each of their forearms.
Where scars and marks had caused pain, flowers now blossomed up their arms in identical designs, covering old wounds and making room for beauty to take its place.
As they walked out of the shop hand in hand, with plastic wrap taped over new ink, Hermione felt lighter than she had in months.
This was how their night was supposed to be.
Just the two of them making new memories. Moving on with their lives, together.
This time, when they stepped into the dark alley behind the tattoo parlour to Apparate home, there were no distractions or hesitations when Hermione closed the gap between their lips.
How they got home, Hermione couldn't quite remember. Perhaps she had Apparated them, or perhaps it was Draco. But that wasn't important. Not when her brain screamed to feel his skin against hers.
By the time they landed in their living room, Hermione had already managed to undo Draco's belt, and she found that the zip of her dress was already halfway down her back. The two of them giggled as they tiptoed past Ron, who was thankfully fast asleep on the sofa, an old black and white movie playing on the telly.
Hermione felt like a teenager, sneaking around her own house, and the thought only propelled her faster toward their bedroom.
Between the door and their bed, a river of clothes fell in a steady stream of linen and satin. Boxer briefs and knickers pooled at their feet as they pressed into each other, naked, for the first time in months. Hermione savoured the sensation, trying to catalogue the exact sensation of Draco's lips tugging on her nipple, his thigh dragging languidly against her cunt. She shuddered with pleasure, her fingers trailing down his spine, holding him close.
Why had they waited so long to do this?
Milk dripped down her chest as if to remind her of exactly why, but it seemed Draco wasn't one to be distracted. He lapped it up and kept his tongue on a downward journey, kneeling in front of Hermione as if to worship her. When he finally reached his destination, he got to work, tongue and lips pressed into her centre, his hands gripping her arse.
She keened under his efforts, head thrown back, eyes shut, jaw slack.
Inside her, a thread was growing taught, pulling tighter, and tighter, and tighter until—
"Mummy? Daddy?"
Never had Hermione's senses come back to her so quickly. Her almost orgasm evaporated in an instant, leaving her panicking as she threw their duvet over her exposed body. Draco's face was almost comical, wide-eyed and tense as he covered his considerable hard-on with the nearest discarded clothing item he could reach—her dress by the looks of it.
Hermione tried to properly process what she was seeing. It seemed they hadn't cast a locking charm, because Shiloh stood, droopy-eyed and pajama-clad in the doorway, her plush dragon hanging limply in her right hand.
"Are you home, Mummy and Daddy?"
Hermione cleared her throat. She needed to keep her tone light. Make this quick. Prevent Shiloh from coming any closer. Beside her, she could see Draco's face burning.
"Yes, darling. We just got back and were just going to bed. Shouldn't you be in bed too, Pixie?"
The little girls' face scrunched up for a moment as she processed Hermione's words. "Uncle Ron put me to bed." She offered this up as an explanation.
"Then it's back to bed for you."
Yawning, Shiloh nodded. "Okay. Mummy. You can go back to playing with Daddy."
Hermione's eyes went wide as the four year-old retreated back toward her bedroom, her dragon dragging on the floor behind her.
A moment later, Shiloh's bedroom door clicked shut.
Diving for her wand, Hermione waved it to shut their own. For safe measure, she cast a locking charm.
Then, things were oddly silent.
Until Hermione burst out into a fit of giggles. When she looked up at Draco, he had the decency to look mortified for a half second more before joining her.
Their laughter melted into something softer as Draco pushed inside her for the first time in months, the flowers on their arms creating a garden as they laid side by side on the sheets.
Since the very beginning of outlining The Gift of Joy, I have always known that Draco and Hermione would get matching tattoos to cover their scars. It just seemed right. And when it came to pick the kinds of flowers, that part just filled itself in. The peony is for Scorpius. It's the same flower they planted in the orchard at The Burrow.
I hope you are continuing to enjoy this extended happy ending. There are only three chapters left, and they have pretty big time jumps between each chapter.
Also, I just really love the headcanon of Neville coming out of his shell after finishing Hogwarts in an unexpected way.
To all of you who have been along for the ride since the beginning, I cannot describe how much you all mean to me. Until next time. xoxo Biscuits