"Do you ever feel weird...you know...when they talk about your dad?"
Hermione is trying not to hover. Lyra is sending her warning glances every few seconds, but she can't help but eavesdrop.
"Why would I feel weird?"
"Well, he like...was evil."
She watches as Lyra rolls her eyes - they look so much like Hermione's.
"Did you even listen to the lesson? My father wasn't evil." The snark is Draco's; she could recognize it a mile away. "No wonder you're failing history class, Isabel."
Isabel shrinks away from Lyra, and Hermione fights the urge to smile. Lyra might have her eyes, but she has her father's tongue.
Hermione knows she should probably reprimand her daughter, but she doesn't. Instead, she gathers her bag off the ground and turns to Lyra. Isabel is gone, wounded by Lyra's need to defend her father.
Hermione can't blame her because she feels that same burning need most of the time too.
"Are you wanting to come home for the weekend?"
"Yeah. I told Dad I would. Just let me pack my stuff."
And then she's gone, and Hermione is alone in her classroom. It has been exactly three weeks since Hermione took the position at Hogwarts. It hasn't gone great. She's struggled to hold the attention of most of her students, who seemingly care more about the upcoming quidditch match than any information regarding the dark arts.
She wonders if she has made a mistake. It wasn't the first time she had considered that option. She had never really dreamed of being back at Hogwarts, especially as the defense against the dark arts professor.
Outside of Lyra, she's never really been great with kids. Sometimes she even struggles with her own daughter. But when Minerva had shown up on her doorstep, Hermione had felt a pang of nostalgia, the familiar urge to please the woman who had practically raised her, who always believed in her.
They had discussed the details over tea, the Headmistress explaining that no one could do a better job than Hermione, and as always, Hermione had soaked in the validation. The next day, she had put her notice in with the Ministry and was now Hogwarts' newest (and most inexperienced) professor.
And the students knew it. They talked loudly, were late to class, and enjoyed passing notes when she wasn't looking.
But still, there was something about working in the hallways, the place that she simultaneously experienced her childhood and had it taken away, that made her feel like she was doing the right thing.
A gentle knock on the door pulls her out of the thought, and Minerva stands in the doorway. Hermione smiles, beckoning her inside. But the older woman doesn't mirror her smile. In fact, her face is grim, lips pressed together, lines gathering between her furrowed brow.
"Hermione."
It's the way she says it.
It's too familiar. Reminiscent of the days she used to roam these halls with Harry and Ron. It was the way she had said her name when she had asked her to help identify the dead after the war. The way she had said her name when trouble was on the horizon — the way she said it before delivering the worst news.
"What's wrong?"
It's all she can muster, and she's doing what she can not to unravel. She hates that the simple tone of the woman's voice can cause her to spiral like this, but there's some trauma you can't outgrow no matter how much time has passed.
She stares at the Headmistress, and suddenly, she feels 15 again. 15 and terrified, backed against a wall with darkness creeping from every corner. 15 and the weight of the world on her shoulders. She blinks, trying to clear the black spots in her vision.
She's not exactly sure how she knows something is wrong, but she has had enough practice to know trusting her intuition is the best thing she can do. And currently, her intuition is telling her to run.
But instead, she follows Minerva to the two armchairs that reside by the wall of windows in her classroom. She had planned to use this setup to talk to students one-on-one about their grades, their personal life, whatever they may need. She had never intended to be the one on the troubled side while in these chairs.
Out of control once again at Hogwarts — the thought leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.
That taste only grows when Minerva reaches out for her hand, taking it gently. And Hermione worries she's going to throw up all over the woman's expensive robes.
"I don't know how to tell you this."
The words ring in Hermione's ears, and she feels the world tilt. Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong. And she knows this moment is about to change her life.
She stares at the woman, but Minerva doesn't meet her eye — studying something on her dress.
"Minerva, please. I can't - this is too reminiscent. Just come out with it."
The Headmistress clears her throat and finally meets Hermione's gaze, and that familiar feeling of dread only grows. Because Hermione knows that look - she knows it all too well actually, and she hasn't seen it in years. Not since the war. Not since everything went to hell.
And despite the spiral taking place in her mind, she knows. She knows what Minerva is about to tell her because Hermione is many things, but dumb isn't one of them. She uses simple logic, the woman's body language, the glint in her eye, and she knows.
She knows because it's nearly a replica of what she looked like years ago when she had delivered the news that the war was here. It was the same look she wore as she awoke the stone soldiers of Hogwarts, directing them to protect the castle.
"They're back, aren't they? Death eaters. They're rising again?"
"Yes," Minerva replies, nodding. "There's been whispers about a possible uprising of pure blood supremacists."
"But nothing confirmed?"
"No, but Hermione, we know the whispers are confirmation enough."
Hermione doesn't argue because the woman is right. The pureblood front had been silent since the war 15 years ago. Any and all whispers, hints, or mentions would be taken seriously - at least by them. They refused to make the same mistakes the Ministry had made years ago.
"And the Ministry? Are they aware?"
"They are aware, but…."
"Nothing has changed. They won't take the threat seriously until there's concrete proof like a Death Eater bloody murdering someone in front of them."
Minerva tries to smile, but it comes off more like a grimace, and Hermione shrinks into the chair, her brain trying to process it all.
"Have you called Harry? I can tell him if you haven't. He's due to visit next weekend, though, so I wonder if it would be better to wait until we're in person. I should probably floo-"
"Miss Granger ...Malfoy." Even after all these years, people are still getting used to the addition of her last name. "There is a reason I came to you before anyone else."
Hermione stalls because that's a very valid point she hasn't even considered. She wasn't the chosen one, she wasn't the boy who lived, she wasn't the first person they called when these sort of things happened. She was a sidekick, the brains...but she wasn't Harry.
She's expected to keep Harry safe, though, always has been. So, it makes sense she would know first. Maybe they want her to pull together a plan before they alert Harry to this mess.
"I will keep Harry safe. You know I will."
"Harry Potter is not the target of these whispers."
Oh.
Minerva isn't looking at her, and Hermione isn't sure what to say. She tries to arrange her thoughts, hoping to get a hold of her emotions.
She reminds herself that logic rules all, so she tries to sort through it all with that thought in mind.
She highly doubts she's important enough to care about these days. Sure, she was the type of person they detested, but she wasn't out leading rallies or living in the spotlight. And Ron Weasley didn't really make sense either. He was in and out of the country playing quidditch anyways. If Harry wasn't the target...could it be Ginny? His wife?
That would be a way to wound Harry without him being the target.
Her eyes wander over to the bookshelf, and she notices a book is out of place and she makes a mental note to fix it before she heads home.
Minerva clears her through, and Hermione returns her attention to the woman in front of her. And at that moment, she sees it— the strain in her eyes like she would rather be anywhere else. Like she'd rather choke than say what she's about to say. She had only seen her wear it once - when she had informed Hermione that her parents needed to be protected and drastic measures would be taken to ensure their safety.
She only wears that look when Hermione's whole heart is about to be broken.
And there's really only one way to break her heart these days.
"No," is all she can get out. Her voice thick. "No. You - it can't be."
"Hermione…"
"No. You've heard wrong. They - there's - no. You've received misinformation."
She feels lightheaded - like there's not enough oxygen in the room, and she stands up, trying to force up the old windows in her classroom. She hits the glass, willing it to budge, but it doesn't, and she can feel the panic building. She needs fresh air; she needs to get out of here. She grits her teeth, pulling up on the window, but her hands are clammy, and they slip away.
She rubs her hands over her face.
"No. No. No."
She's up and trying to figure out her next move, black spots once again filling her vision, and she stumbles backward.
"Hermione. You have to listen to me. You have to hear this," Minerva is in front of her, but Hermione refuses, reaching for her bag, desperately needing out of her classroom.
She's nearly done packing her things when she feels the woman's cold, frail hands land on her shoulders, forcing Hermione to face her.
Hermione's lip wobbles, and she bites down, trying to not give in. Trying to fight back.
"Listen to what I'm about to say. You have to listen to me, Hermione," Hermione nods, trying to keep the woman's gaze. "They're focused on Draco Malfoy. Lyra's name has been mentioned as well. We will keep your family safe — but we have to start making plans now."
It's a weird sensation to realize that everything about your life has changed in one simple moment, and Hermione stares at the floor, trying to process it. For a moment, the world slips away, and she wonders if she has passed out.
But she can still feel the panic in her chest, it's growing and consuming her, and she tries to catch her breath. Eventually, her vision comes back, and she can see Minerva in her beautiful purple robes, and she wonders if this has all been a psychotic break. If she's having an episode or a bad dream and she can't wake up. But behind the woman's shoulder, she can see a glimpse of blonde curly hair.
"Mum? Who has mentioned my name?"
Fuck, this is real.
The last thing Hermione does is reach out for Minerva before the world fades to black.
"Hermione. Wake up."
She feels a cold hand on her face, and her eyes shoot open. Minerva looks pale, staring down at her like she's unsure what to say or do next. That was so out of character for the woman Hermione wonders if she will pass out again.
She sits up, trying to process it all.
They're focused on Draco Malfoy. Lyra's name has been mentioned as well.
The conversation rings in her ears, her vision blurring. But then she sees Lyra near the door, her face wet with tears, and Hermione feels it. The love for her little girl overrides all the panic threatening to consume her.
She smiles, stands up, and walks over to Lyra, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"You promised me you would start reminding me to eat."
Lyra laughs and wipes away a few tears.
"You're the mum. Isn't it your job to tell me what to do?"
"You're right, but I never said I was perfect," she turns to look at Minerva and gives her the same strained smile. "Looks like my busybody ways finally caught up to me. Can we continue this conversation on Monday? It seems like it's past time for me to eat."
Minerva's eyes dart to Lyra, then back to Hermione.
"Of course. Enjoy your weekend. Lyra, make sure your mother eats."
She exchanges a glance with the older woman as she exits her classroom, Lyra tugging her bag.
"Here, let me have your bag."
"Thanks, mum." Lyra is quietly staring off. "Who has mentioned my name?"
Hermione knew the question was coming. Lyra was always inquisitive, but it still caught her off guard in a certain way because she really wasn't sure what to say.
She does know one thing for sure — being honest with her daughter isn't even an option. She refuses to put that weight on Lyra's shoulders. Hermione had been forced to carry threats her entire childhood and would not allow Lyra's childhood to be taken away by adults playing foolish games with foolish agendas.
"Have you done something to get your name mentioned?"
Lyra averts her eyes, and Hermione smirks to herself — a rare parenting win.
As they near the staff floo, she studies her daughter and smiles to herself. Her sweet daughter with her honey-colored eyes and blonde curls. Hermione had never really expected to have a child — much less a daughter, but she can't imagine a world without her.
She recalls how she had felt when she realized she was pregnant, unsure, and scared, but then she had told Draco, and to this day, she still remembers the smile he had given her. She remembers how his hands felt as he picked her up to spin her around. She remembers how they had both sobbed when Lyra took her first breath, though it was more of a scream.
And now, she was 13 years old who didn't always want to be seen with her mom. But still, she was everything Hermione could have imagined and more. The perfect balance between her and her husband.
As they step into the floo, Hermione can sense Lyra's nervous gaze. The girl clearly still thinking about what she could be in trouble for, and Hermione decides she's played the game long enough.
"I heard what you said to Isabel today." Lyra pales even more. "Next time, remind her that it was her father who refused to fight in the war at all."
Lyra's laughter echoes off the walls of the floo, and for a moment, Hermione forgets Minerva's news.
"Granger-Malfoy Manor."
They stumble into the main room, nearly falling flat on the floor. Lyra was still adjusting to the floo, and she tripped up her companion often. This time was no different, and as soon as they landed, her leg had become tucked around Hermione's, both of them struggling to stay upright.
"There's my girls," she hears his voice ring out, and she turns to see Draco standing near the door. "I was wondering when you would be home."
"Sorry about that. I had to...chat with Minerva."
They exchange a look, one Lyra never notices. Later is all it says.
He nods just before Lyra nearly tackles him.
"Dad!"
Draco's smile. It was something Hermione wishes she could bottle up and for her worst days. She tries to memorize it every time it happens. Every time Lyra calls him that and throws her arms around him. It's a smile so unguarded, and he looks so...beautiful. He catches her eye and winks, and she knows what he's thinking. They argued about it often.
She loves me most.
Hermione rolls her eyes and throws her hands in the air. She had carried Lyra for nine months. She had suffered from morning sickness and aching joints, but yet, when she saw her father, it was like her entire world stopped.
"My favorite girl," Draco whispers in her hair, kissing her on top of the head. "I was afraid you had forgotten about me."
"Dad, everyone stays at Hogwarts on the weekends. I -"
"Lyra, I'm joking. I never came home when I was at Hogwarts. Neither did your mother."
"How would you know that? We never talked in school." Hermione snips playfully.
"Because I would see you in the library with your stack of books and hair pulled back like you were trying to learn the entire curriculum in one weekend."
"So, you noticed me?"
"I've never not noticed you, Hermione."
Lyra gags, and they both laugh, and Hermione studies the scene in front of her. Her heartbreaking and expanding at the same time.
Their focus is on Draco Malfoy. Lyra's name has been mentioned as well.
She wonders how long she has.
Hermione is clearing the plates off the table when Whimsy stumbles in.
"Miss Hermione - Whimsy will take care of that."
"Oh Whimsy, why don't we work on this together? I need something to distract my mind."
Whimsy gives her a look of understanding.
"Would Miss Hermione like to talk about it?"
"Just got some bad news at work. But everything always has a way of working out in the end, doesn't it?"
"Yes, Miss Hermione. It does."
The elf says it with so much conviction Hermione almost believes it - but then Lyra's laughter floats down the corridor. The sounds a harsh reminder that she can't rely on old beliefs of goodwill and karmic balance. No, she had tried that when she was younger, and it had almost gotten them all killed.
Whimsy must see the look wash over her face because she gently takes the plates out of Hermione's hands.
"Go join them, Miss Hermione. Whimsy can take care of this."
Hermione gives the elf a grateful nod before heading towards the lounge where they keep their giant ivory piano. She closes her eyes as she listens to him play, his fingers running over the keys playing one of her favorite melodies — the same one he likes to play as she reads.
She stalls as she enters the lounge, doing what she can not to break up the moment in front of her.
Lyra is seated on the piano bench next to Draco, and she's staring at him like he hung the moon in the sky. Her husband's fingers are moving so smoothly over the keys, his shoulders relax, his eyes flickering over to his daughter every so often.
And Hermione finds herself once again wishing she could capture this moment - tuck it away to admire on the hard days. Her mind is just not capable of doing it justice. She remains in her place admiring it as long as they'll allow it, though.
Draco finally peeks over his shoulder and catches her eyes. He grins and his hands slow, the music giving way to a softer melody, and by the first note, she knows precisely what it is.
The same song she had walked down the aisle to in the garden behind their home. Draco had cried the entire time she made her way down to them — Blaise and Theo sobbing quietly behind him.
Pansy had caught the bouquet, and Theo had asked her to marry him three weeks later.
It was everything. The song always brings back some of her fondest memories. But today, it felt different — like a cold reminder that at any moment, it could all be ripped away. The thought brings tears to her eyes, and she turns away quickly before he sees it.
But when she turns to face him, he's holding her gaze. Eyes narrowed, a worried look settled on his face.
"Take this one over. I want to hear you play," he whispers to Lyra, and she smiles at him, picking up exactly where he left off.
He gets up quickly and heads towards Hermione. He pulls her into him, taking her hand, and they begin to dance.
To the left, twirl, back to him.
He's leading them through their wedding dance. Step for step like no time has passed at all. Lyra smiles at them, rolling her eyes as she plays. But Hermione knows that even when she doesn't admit it, Lyra loves how much her parents love each other.
Hermione returns her eyes to Draco.
"What's wrong?"
His voice is low. Low enough that Lyra can't hear it, and he pulls her in tighter as the music picks up, and he swiftly moves her across the floor.
"Later, Draco."
"No," His tone was gentle but clear. "You've been acting strange since you came home from work. What's wrong?"
"This isn't some quick conversation we can have. Especially not in front of Lyra."
He spins her out, her curls flying around, and brings her back in even closer.
"Give me something."
She looks up at him and can see how worried he is, and she sighs.
"I talked to Minerva. There's been a development."
A solemn look passes over his face because he knows how serious this must be even without the details.
"Later," he finally says, teeth gritted.
"Later."
He kisses her on the cheek as the song ends, and he gives her one last look before heading back to Lyra.
"Okay, since you're such a pro - let's see you try this."
His hands tear across the keys, and Lyra throws her head back, laughing, and at that moment, Hermione realizes something.
It's something she has always known but never really thought she'd have to face.
She was no longer just Hermione Granger, the golden girl.
No longer just the brightest witch of her age. No longer just Harry Potter's best friend, a part of the infamous trio.
No.
She was a mother.
A wife.
A woman with so much to lose.
And there isn't a single thing she won't do to protect those she loves most.
She watches from the doorway as Lyra hugs Draco tightly. It was well past her bedtime, but they had been enjoying their time together so much, Hermione had let it slide even as the clock ticked away in the corner. And truthfully, she has no idea when they will feel that type of innocent bliss again.
So, she had savored it until Lyra's eyes were drooping, desperate for sleep.
Lyra finally lets go of Draco and meets Hermione's eyes, and she smiles. Hermione nods, respecting Lyra's space and teaches for the light, but then Lyra's arms are wrapping around her tightly.
"I love you."
"I love you too, Ly. So much."
Lyra gives her a final squeeze before stepping back into her room and shutting the door.
Draco and Hermione walk in silence down the long hallway that leads to their room. He gently takes her hand in the darkness, and she leans against him, but they don't speak. Not yet. Not until they're behind closed doors where little eyes and ears can't hear their whispers.
Once in their room, he still doesn't speak — just wraps his arms around her and holds her tightly. Despite her best efforts, she can feel herself fracturing, crumbling, breaking in two. A desperate sob escapes her throat. A sob so feral and broken, but he doesn't pull away.
He holds her. She soaks his expensive shirt.
He holds her. They slide to the floor.
He holds her. The world doesn't stop. The threat doesn't slip away. But he holds her, and it's enough.
Eventually, the sobs turn to silent tears, and he unwraps his arms, carrying her to bed. He unbuttons her dress, slipping her into one of his worn shirts, and grabs her an extra pillow. And then he crawls beside her and pulls her in tightly.
Silence follows. Neither of them speaks. She can hear his erratic heartbeat, but he doesn't rush her. And for a while, they lay there. Their breathing the only noise in the room.
"There are whispers," she finally says, her voice hoarse.
He pulls her closer, burying his head between her shoulder blade, and places gentle kisses on her back.
He doesn't ask for more details because he knows exactly what she means. He knows because this has always been their worst fear. A resurgence. They've talked about it plenty, but deep down, they never thought it would…actually happen. At least not this soon, anyway.
"We will figure it out."
"No, Draco," she turns to him, their faces inches apart. "It's different this time."
In the dark, she can feel him tense. She imagines his furrowed brow, his lips pressed into a thin line. She needs to see him.
"Lumos."
A ball of light floats above them, and he looks exactly how she expects. Worried, handsome, and a bit sleepy. His gray eyes are alert, though, burning with hundreds of questions.
"What do you mean?"
His voice is quite - strained. His eyes carefully probing her, searching for answers.
"Harry... he's not the target."
Realization. That's what washes over him next, and she moves closer, wrapping her arms around him. She can't look at the devastation on his face.
"They no longer simply want control, do they?"
Hermione is crying, burying her head against his shoulder. He sighs.
"They want revenge; they want me to pay for what I did."
Hermione sobs harder.
"Lyra has been brought up too," she chokes out.
Draco stiffens, and she pulls away to look at him. The realization has given way to fierceness. It's morphed into the burning need to protect his only child.
"No."
"I won't let anything happen to either of you," She whispers, and he kisses her on the forehead.
Fifteen years ago, Draco Malfoy would have laughed. He would've placed a long slender finger over her lips, shushing her - making it clear that he was the protector. That she shouldn't worry. But not these days - he knows they are a team. And as much as he will keep her safe, she will do the same for him.
And that's one of the many reasons why she loves him so much.
"And I will protect my girls with my life, you know that."
"I know."
"Me and you against the world, Granger."
"Granger-Malfoy," she tries to keep a stern tone, but she can't help but laugh.
"Just going for a bit of nostalgia," he shrugs. "I love you, Hermione Granger-Malfoy."
"And I love you."
Me and you against the world.
His promise rings in her ears. But as she lays awake that night, a feeling she can't place continues to claw away at her.
But after some time passes, she knows.
It's acceptance that morality might not win. The right thing to do might not be what is needed.
And that night, she knows. She knows what she's willing to do.
Their focus is Draco Malfoy.
Lyra's name has been mentioned.
She'll kill anyone who touches them.