Is that—"
"Merlin, I didn't believe it was true!"
The whispers follow them as they make their way through the Ministry, Draco's non-dominant arm curled protectively around her back.
She can't help the laugh that escapes her; all these people are surprised already—if only they knew the reason for their presence at the ministry in the first place.
They garner more than one glare on their trek: those who don't believe that Draco's truly been on their side all along, or the non-Death Eater blood supremacists still in lauded positions in society. Frankly, Hermione doesn't really care why; this of all days the opinions of strangers don't matter in the slightest.
They'd gone out of their way to schedule the appointment confidentially, wanting to already be home and behind the wards when the news eventually broke.
(as they both knew it would.)
Ginny and Blaise had pitched a fit about not being allowed to come, and Hermione knows all the rest will as soon as they find out, but. No amount of anger from anyone else could change their minds.
They don't want to wait any longer, and they don't want it to be a spectacle, or a memory anyone else was present for.
It's just the two of them—always has been.
Percy smiles from where he stands next to Kingsley's desk as they enter having offered to be their witness and tell no one save his wife that he'd been present.
"I really appreciate this, Kingsley," Hermione thanks him profusely. "I know you're Minister of Magic now and have plenty of other things to do, and especially with all the things that have collapsed or gone wrong and need to be dealt with in the wake of the war's end…"
Kingsley shakes his head. "That's exactly why I'm so glad you asked me too. If we let rebuilding efforts stop us from doing what brings us joy, then he's won. If we don't take the time to do the things that make life carry meaning, then what was the point of it all?"
Draco's eyes widen as the words hit him. "Well put, Minister. Thank you."
"Regardless of me not knowing you were the spy, we were in a secret society we almost died for together for years, Draco. I think you can call me by my first name."
He checks that they're both ready and then goes forward with the introduction.
It's brief, and then they move on to vows.
"You have to let me go first," Hermione blurts, cheeks flushed. "He's much better at mushiness than I am and if I go after him mine will pale in comparison."
Draco chuckles, squeezing her hand in his. "Baby, you know I'll love anything you say. You're voluntarily binding yourself to me forever."
"I still want to go first so I'm not too anxious to focus on what you're saying."
He gestures for her to do so, and she reaches into her pocket for the paper that's worn from the many times she's unfolded and refolded it.
"When you came into my life," she begins, and she can already feel how much she'll sob before she's finished, "I was ten years old, and felt so alone. It was the worst time of my life. And then suddenly, this stranger was around to talk to, and it…it changed everything.
"You made everything so much more bearable, made me feel like I mattered, and just…you were the first person to show me what it was like to be loved. And you have been ever since. I promise to spend the rest of my life trying to do the same."
Draco's eyes smolder.
Then it's his turn, and she's regretting that they agreed to do these during the ceremony—she doesn't want witnesses to the emotional wreck she knows she'll be as soon as he opens his mouth.
"Juliet," he says softly, the corner of his lip upturned, "you make me so fucking happy, every day. I love seeing how much you love everyone around you, the way you give whatever you can without hesitation, the way you manage to be so optimistic despite it all. I'll never know why the universe thought I could possibly be worthy of you, but I'm ever grateful it did all the same. There's nothing in the world I want more than the life and the family we've worked so hard to build together. I can't wait for forever with you."
Tears are sliding down her cheeks still, and she knows him well enough to know he has plenty more to say—plenty more he will say when they're alone, and he can spend hours singing her praises where only they can hear.
But for now, this is—perfect. This is everything.
Kingsley continues the script, eventually indicating for them to exchange rings and eventually pronouncing them husband and wife.
"Congratulations to you both. You deserve this happiness—and so much more." Kingsley smiles, turning his gaze to Hermione. "If you intend to change your name, we can go ahead and get those proceedings started."
"Actually," Draco intercedes, "We both do. We'll be changing our surname to Black."
Percy's eyebrows shoot upward with surprise, but he beams at them both nonetheless. "Brilliant!"
For his part, Kingsley just sighs. "Sirius is going to be insufferable, isn't he?"
/
"Ready?" Hermione asks gently.
Her soul mate snorts, pressing his face to their daughter's hair as she babbles in his arms. "As I could ever be. Definitely going to sob, though."
"I'd be more concerned if you didn't."
Cedric's voice is gentle even as it rings out from the doorway.
Hermione smiles softly as she moves to hug him. "It's good to see you. Despite the circumstances."
"Not really despite," Draco promises, knowing more than anything she's treading carefully for his benefit. "This is…well, it'll be painful, I know that. But it's a good thing. The fact that it's hard to say goodbye shows that the person still matters, you know?"
Cedric nods in understanding. "The love isn't gone even though they are."
"Exactly."
Draco understands why Andy didn't come with them—understands that she hasn't fully come to terms with it, yet. The loss affects them in different ways; as a child, he'd always known there would come a day he'd have to go on without his mother—this day is just unbearably soon. For Andy, on the other hand…well, she'd never planned for moving on in the wake of the death of her baby sister.
(After she'd finally escaped Lucius at last; it feels especially unfair.)
"So what's the policy, Cedric?" Hermione asks, hoping to allow Draco the time to work through the complicated feelings he's experiencing
"Well, firstly, everyone gets one immediate, first-come first-serve visit; I figured that would be fair anyway, but especially with the war. It's impossible to rank people's loss, or their need to see the ones they've lost. Then, if someone has already gotten their initial turn but would like to go on the waiting list for a second, they can; that's where things like having a fatal illness will give some priority.
"Also, one of the other main policies is that on my end, this is a part time job only. That one was Theo's idea; he saw the toll the first few days of doing this work took on me and knew it wasn't sustainable, particularly without my primary career to provide a grounding point and keep me from drowning in the emotional labor this job requires. So there are seven of us that do one day a week, and I think there needs to be a cap on how long you can do it for, but I honestly haven't figured the specifics of that bit out yet."
Hermione smiles softly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "Brilliant. I knew you would be perfect for this. You're doing an amazing job."
"I don't know about that, but…I'm trying."
They make their way inside. Hermione sits on the couch provided, but Draco remains standing, far too antsy to be still for even a moment.
"Here. Time starts as soon as I step outside." Cedric reaches to set the stone in Draco's free hand and then makes his way back through the front door, which Hermione knows without asking is warded against theft.
Draco sucks in a deep breath before turning the stone over in his palm.
"Hello, darling."
He knew exactly what they were here for, but—somehow it still rattles him, the sound of his mother's voice after all these months trying and failing to get used to her absence. "Mother. I—" he stalls, at a loss for words.
"Oh, stop with the sad eyes. I made the choice I did knowing full well it would mean my death; it was a sacrifice I was more than willing to make for Dora's life, and one that felt more than appropriate given my years of seeming inaction on the war front. I am proud that my death came from protecting family and firmly cementing my legacy to the side I was on all along. You have the rest of your life to mourn me, let's do something else with the brief minutes we have together, yes?"
Draco lets out a teary laugh; Narcissa isn't visible to Hermione, of course, being that she's not the one with the stone in hand, but she's heard enough about her late mother in law over the years to imagine just what she has to say.
Her soul mate's gaze catches on their daughter and a sigh escapes him. "I wish—I wish she could see you. I know she's far too young to remember anyway, but. You're the only good grandparent she'll ever have, and she never got to know you."
"Because I am a benevolent woman I won't tell my cousin you said that," Narcissa replies slyly, before her own expression goes misty. "I wish she could too, little dragon. I spent many moments during the war holding onto the hope of knowing her when it was over. But I got to meet her, which is more than I ever thought I would get. And I'll watch over her from where I am."
"Which is where, exactly?"
"Draco, darling, you know better than to think I'd answer that. Some mysteries are meant to define the human experience."
"Had to try," he mutters, looking bothered by the uncertainty.
She speaks for a few more minutes—stories from her past or his own childhood, recommendations for Lyra's upbringing, odds and ends she'd always meant to tell him but never quite gotten around to.
Eventually, Hermione gently murmurs, "One minute," and Draco swallows heavily.
"Do me a favor," Narcissa says, voice kind but firm. "My favorite portrait? Put it near Lyra's room, when she's older. It's not quite me, but it carries enough of my memories and personality to substitute, under the circumstances. That way she'll have a chance to—ask for advice, the questions she doesn't trust her parents to answer honestly, and the like."
"Of course." He presses a kiss to the child in question's forehead as she babbles up at him, clueless to the gravity of the moment. "I love you, Mother." There aren't words for all the things he wishes he could say, so it'll have to do.
"I love you, little dragon. I am so very proud of you every day. Tell Hermione I said thank you, and I'll be watching over her as well." She smiles at him, and for the first time in his memory she looks—peaceful.
/
"I can't believe we're here."
Darrow's wife squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. "Me either. Not that I didn't believe you and Pansy, but hearing a place like this exists versus seeing it for yourself…"
Hermione smiles. "I can more than understand that. When Professor McGonagall came to tell me I was a witch, I wasn't surprised at all—it made more sense than the ways my outbursts of accidental magic had been explained away by far. But even still, it took a solid year or two before I stopped questioning whether or not I would wake up from whatever dream it had all been."
She watches the slightly older woman nod, looking more soothed by this than anything—if the capable witch before her felt this clueless once, her own confusion seems much more bearable.
Pansy relaxes at her side, and Hermione gives her a hip bump of encouragement.
She's been looking forward to this moment—not just getting to see Darrow again, but being able to bring him back into their world, able to live outside of the dangerous shadow of their parents at last. Being able to see him here, in this world that has always been his, too.
It's one of the injustices that frustrates Hermione the most, probably because it's the one no one talks about; they just pretend it doesn't happen, as though ignoring it and rewriting history while leaving out the bad parts makes it all go away. There needs to be a change; she's been thinking about it for ages, but she's just started forming a concrete plan.
She knows better than anyone that if you're going to suggest change in the wizarding world, you'd better already have a roadmap and all the kinks worked out.
So she simply watches, helps explain some wizarding things to Darrow's wife in muggle terms, asks Darrow a few questions about certain wizarding practices that had always confused her as a muggle.
And later, when they're back at Pansy's apartment, and Hermione's about to head out to give her friend some much needed alone time with her brother, she tries to keep her hope under wraps.
"Darrow? If you have time, I'd love to pick your brain over coffee sometime," she starts, full of trepidation. "I've been thinking it would be helpful to have some sort of—introduction program. One that would help muggle-borns learn about the magical world, and squibs learn about the muggle world. No worries if you're not interested, but if you are…well, I have some ideas."
And Darrow smiles, slowly at first until it's a full blown grin. "I've had a lot of years to think about it all; I have some ideas, too. Never thought they'd matter, but if you're already working on this, I'm on board a hundred percent."
And it's a small thing, and she knows there will be so much push back. This isn't even her wheelhouse—she's a healer in training, for god's sake.
But this life, this war, they've given her a certain amount of influence, and shown her so many perspectives.
(She'll be damned if she doesn't do anything about it.)
It's not a sure thing by far, but…it's a start.
/
"I hate you, Potter."
Harry snorts at the derision Draco throws his way as the two of them work together to prepare dinner. "Listen, I'm sorry, we can't all spend two years leading a secret teenage militia."
Oliver raises an eyebrow. "Why, exactly is Draco mad about that?"
"Well," Fred begins with a grin, "to become a teacher you have to do a year-long internship—muggles refer to it as student-teaching. Draco's three months into his, but McGonagall said Harry's work with ASA would count as his, being that he spent all that time teaching the subject he intends to teach now."
"Bullshit, I tell you," Draco mutters under his breath. "Didn't even have a mentor teacher when you did it."
"You just said yesterday you've learned so much from her and you're grateful for it," Hermione snitches from where she's reading on the loveseat.
"Juliet, my love, how could you hurt me like this?!" he demands dramatically. He looks down to where Lyra is strapped to his chest. "You'd never betray me, would you, little one?"
"She absolutely would," Harry assures him, sliding a pan into the oven. "I'm her best friend—right, LJ?"
"I think Uncle Harry needs a bludger to the nose," Draco mutters, though he can't help but smile when his daughter laughs as her godfather makes faces for her entertainment.
Fred leans up against the counter, sipping from his drink. "You know, Harry, I find it's ironic someone who hated school so much decided to spend the rest of their life there."
"You just had to point that out, didn't you? Mione, stop smirking!" He pegs an olive at her, earning an outraged gasp. "Listen, it's different being a teacher. And the whole job is—I mean, a lot of being a therapist, to be honest, but also a lot of getting to try to do things better. Make the parts I hated suck less, and all that. It's not the same as continuing education, like some crazy people."
Hermione rolls her eyes without looking up from her book. "Yes, yes, I'm certifiably insane for going into healer training, you've mentioned. You'd better I hope I never start agreeing with you and quit, given the number of times you and Draco have injured yourselves in impromptu Quidditch matches."
"Also, if you convince her to quit you'll face the wrath of Pansy," Draco reminds him, shuddering at the thought.
Harry grimaces. "Yes, well, there's a reason I've never succeeded. I may be daft but I'm nowhere near that level of self-destructive."
"Honestly, I'm mostly just surprised they allowed people so young to lead subjects at Hogwarts," Oliver comments. "I mean, I suppose it would've been difficult to tell two recent war heroes no."
"That," Harry agrees, "And the fact that it's an underpaid and overworked profession that already had a shortage of interest even before the war."
The fireplace flares green, and then Percy climbs through, Teddy in his arms.
"Where's Tonks?" Fred asks with a frown when the floo doesn't fire up again.
"Hi, Fred, it's so nice to see you too," Percy responds drily. "She's working late with the trainees. I think she's taken a shine to Neville, and Hannah of course—she's thrilled to have another 'Puff around."
"Down?" Teddy asks, tugging insistently at his father's shirt. "Down, Dad?"
Percy rolls his eyes even as he acquiesces. "I know, I know, I'm chopped liver when your godmother is around. Go on, then."
The toddler runs across the living room, knocking over a glass and sending two cat toys and a rattle askew as he does.
"Just like your mother," Hermione snorts, hurrying to mark her place before setting the book aside as he approaches. She smiles fondly when he finally clambers onto her lap, easily embracing him as he snuggles into her chest. "How's my best guy doing?"
Draco rolls his eyes, unsurprised. "Can I get you a drink, Percy? Tea, wine?"
"Tea, please. What've I missed?"
"Not much," Harry promises. "We've just been catching up and discussing Draco and I's first year teaching, and all."
"Yeah. Which, you're really not worried about the curse?" Fred waggles his eyebrows humorously, but beside him his husband looks legitimately worried.
But Harry just shrugs. "Nah. Either it wasn't real, which Hermione thinks, so I'm inclined to believe it, or Voldemort cast it, in which case the curse would unravel now that he's dead. Besides, the last time I worried about something spooky and absurd like this, the Grim everyone insisted foretold a gruesome death turned out to be my long-lost godfather. So from where I'm standing, bad omens seem to work out very in my favor."
"Fair enough. Don't let Mum hear you say that though, she always insists we're descended from some powerful Seer. Course, Georgie and I've always said if that were true someone would've put that power to use and won the lotto for us, don't you think?"
Draco's expression morphs to an uncharacteristic look of confusion. "Are you not aware that Ron has prophetic abilities?"
The whole apartment goes quiet.
Hermione gives her soul mate a scathing look, like he's betrayed her by acknowledging the mere existence of divination, but he's too disturbed by the surprise in the room to make a face back.
Percy and Fred exchange shocked glances, but it's Harry who finally speaks up. "What the hell do you mean, he has prophetic abilities? I lived with the guy for seven years, I think I'd know if he'd been going all Trelawney, blurting out prophecies when the mood struck!"
The blond rolls his eyes. "Well you wouldn't, seeing as he doesn't give prophecies, does he? He makes sarcastic remarks that end up coming true."
"Tell me you don't actually believe this," Hermione demands, deadpan. "How long have you thought this?"
"Well, when you told me he had offhandedly suggested that Riddle murdered Myrtle it seemed like an uncanny coincidence, but I didn't really start seeing that it was a pattern till the Triwizard Tournament. He'd been watching plenty of people enter, but only when Cedric put his name in did Ron make a snarky remark about the odds he would be champion; and not a month later, when he was mad at Harry and sniped at him about having a photo shoot in the morning the night before he got Skeeter sprung on him."
Percy shakes his head, eyes wide. "That's—that's got to be a coincidence. Hasn't it?"
"Once is an accident, twice is an coincident, but three times is a pattern," Harry murmurs.
"And believe me," Draco adds, "It's happened far more than three times over the years. Especially since he and I didn't start interacting as friends till fifth year—the examples have only multiplied."
Lyra begins babbling, then, used to contributing to conversation when her father is speaking.
Teddy perks up in Hermione's lap, looking for the sound. "Ly?"
"You want to sit in the kitchen and see her?" she asks with a smile, laughing when he nods so hard he nearly falls off the chair. "Alright, then, go ask Uncle Harry to help you over the gate; the stove is on, mind, so you have to stay in the chair, okay?"
"Okay, Mi!" He races to look up at Harry with an innocent smile.
He sets teddy in a seat at the table, and Draco removes Lyra from the sling to set her in her high chair, where she babbles excitedly at the sight of her friend.
"Hi, Ly!" Teddy exclaims. "Missed you!"
"These two are going to be so much trouble when they're older," Harry chuckles.
Draco snorts. "Yeah, and you're going to enable them. I've told you you're a horrible influence."
"I would never be a bad influence to my goddaughter!"
"I caught you telling her about the time you smuggled a dragon when you were eleven last week."
"She's a baby, it's not like she'll remember."
Fred cocks an eyebrow at Hermione. "Do you ever silence them to make it end?"
"Nah, I tend to go muffliato," she grins. "Then they have no idea, and if they try to rope me in they think I'm just absorbed in my book. I've mastered altering the spell so I can hear Lyra but not their bickering."
Before he can reply, a silvery form gathers in the room; the horse patronus opens its mouth, and Ginny's voice emerges. "911—Came home from an exhausting match and accidentally let slip that Blaise and I are moving in together soon but have no plans to get married. Might've accidentally said something about us 'fucking like bunnies either way', it's all a bit of a blur, to be honest. Coming to hide out at your place till Mum doesn't resemble a Hungarian Horntail."
Her brothers cringe at the thought. "Right, then—note to self, avoid the Burrow for at least a month," Fred mutters.
Oliver looks to Draco, like he's expecting him to complain about the impromptu guest, but Draco merely snorts. "Merlin, that witch. I'll get the whiskey."
/
A tawny owl swoops down through the window, and a bittersweet smile fills Hermione's face as she reaches to accept the envelope it carries.
"That another letter from Katya?" Ginny asks, from where she's allowing Luna to use her as a model for the organic scarf she's attempting to craft.
"Yes. She insists they're still doing well, though we might need to visit and make sure she's telling the truth."
"Who's Katya?" Astoria asks. She's been a fixture in their lives since she became Ginny's agent three months prior. Her soul mate is in the kitchen, where she and Harry can occasionally be heard breaking into laughter as they attempt to teach Draco and Blaise to cook.
"Viktor Krum's younger sister," Ginny explains. "He…his family depended on him a lot, so Hermione and Harry have been trying to help them out since the war."
It kills her, the way so much pain can be so succinctly summed up. A friendship, a life, a family destroyed, and yet it will never be anything but a footnote in someone else's story, a loss Quidditch fans bemoan for his potential without real feeling.
Hermione clears her throat before nodding. "I arranged for them to receive the reparations stipend, and Harry took care of finding a high-quality home and care for Viktor's parents so that his siblings can focus on school the way he always hoped for them to be able to."
"Well, don't worry about visiting," Luna tells her offhandedly. "Harry's coming with me to visit Charlie at the dragon sanctuary during Hogwarts's Easter break—he can easily pop from Romania to Russia and check in on them."
"I still think it's weird that you're friends with my brother," Ginny grumbles.
Luna raises her eyebrows, uncomprehending. "I have been friends with the twins for several years."
"Yes, but—"
"Ronald and I exchanged Christmas presents this year."
"You know that's—"
"I go to game night at Percy's place every week."
"Lu," Ginny groans, covering her face as exasperation seeps into her voice. "You're right, I know, it's just weird because my friends have barely ever even met Charlie, let alone started hanging out with him. I'm still getting used to it. Don't you have a crumple-horned snorkack expedition to tell us about?"
"I know you're trying to distract me but I'm going to allow you to succeed because I do want to tell you about it."
Ginny beams at her friend. "I expected nothing less."
/
"I can't believe she did it," Draco says softly, breath taken at the sight of the newspaper's headline.
They knew last night, of course, as soon as the legislation passed in the Wizengamot, when Remus had sent Howlers to scream the announcement to everyone.
But still—knowing and seeing it in the very same publication that a year prior had spouted nothing but hate-filled bigotry and propaganda are very different things. Hermione can't help the delighted chills and wonder that fill her as she reads Landmark Lycanthropy Legislation: Delacour's Bill for Werewolf Rights Marks Legendary Progress for Part-Creatures.
"She's so fucking incredible," Susan replies, admiration evident on her face. "I can't believe she's letting me work with them."
"You remember the part where she's going to be your sister-in-law in a few years, love, don't you?" Ron reminds her teasingly as he moves an arm over her shoulder.
"Yes and that doesn't make her any less of my idol."
"S'pose I should just be glad it's not your crush on Percy that stuck," he mumbles.
His soul mate rolls her eyes. "You'll never get over that, will you? You can't blame me, I didn't have the self-awareness to realize dating someone as academic as me was the opposite of what I needed first-year, and for someone wanting to go into government and activism he was an incredible role model. Also, you constantly talked with food in your mouth."
"Oi, and I've worked on that, haven't I?"
"We wouldn't be dating otherwise," she replies sweetly.
"I can't wait to see what she does in the future," Hermione murmurs, eyes brimming with joyful tears and hope.
(The hope that everything they've done has truly meant something—that the better world they've dreamed of and wished for all this time is at last on its way.)
She makes a mental note to mention her idea to Susan when she brings it up with Fleur; if she can get the two of them, and Darrow, and Neville together, they can really start making strides…
"I've been speaking with her about potentially taking steps in the direction of goblin rights next," Susan explains, nerves evident. "Leaders within the community have conveyed dismay at never having received apology or compensation for the many stolen treasures taken from them, just like all the Egyptian artifacts claimed to have been 'discovered' as though we weren't blatantly thieving them from the countries that created them and exploiting them for profit. I'd like to works towards replicating and returning many of the goblin-made artifacts, and achieving reparations for the Sword of Gryffindor and other objects procured under duress."
Hermione's eyes light up as the other woman speaks, and she sighs contentedly. "Susan, you are so cool, how were we not closer at Hogwarts?"
"The castle couldn't have withstood the two of you and Pansy having your heads together at once, I reckon," Ron speculates, only half-joking.
"More like you couldn't have withstood it," Hermione tells him with a mock scowl. "As close as you were with us both and never bothered to meddle?"
"You ought to tell me every embarrassing thing he's ever said in front of you to punish him for it," Susan suggests, expression entirely serious.
Her soul mate groans. "Can't believe I ever thought Hufflepuffs were nice."
"Did you?" Hermione's face goes curious. "Hm, I don't remember that. I only recall you referring to them as 'fuddy-duddy pushovers'."
"Traitor! Where's Draco, I have to find him and tell him about your crush on the muggle prince and Professor Lockheart."
/
They're in the middle of Sunday dinner when it happens.
Instantly, Harry's breathing grows shallow, and within thirty seconds he's mid panic attack, while the rest of the family tries to figure out what has him nearly catatonic.
"Oh merlin—why can I still speak it? Does this mean…what if he's not really gone? I thought the ability came because of the—"
"Harry. Breathe," Remus reminds him, meeting Hermione's eyes with a familiar exasperation.
"How can I, when Riddle might still be—"
"He is dead, Harry," Hermione promises.
Harry opens and closes his mouth several times, visibly shaking from the adrenaline now coursing through his veins. "But—but I just spoke Parsletongue. I thought—Dumbledore said, second year, that I could do it because of my connection to Vodlemort. If it was the horcrux—"
"It wasn't. God, there never cease to be new reasons why I hate that man," she mutters under her breath. "Harry. Does Aaliyah have a horcrux attached to her?"
He frowns. "Well, no, but her parents are from the Congo, where there are a ton of species of snakes, so the ability is more common, and…" he winces with understanding. "Oh."
Remus snorts. "Yes, oh."
Tonks raises her hand. "I still don't understand."
"Two of the places with THE greatest number of species of snakes are India and Australia."
The metamorphagus blinks, still not comprehending.
"Harry's father's family was Indian, and his mother's was of Australian descent—Evans is literally the most popular Australian surname."
"So my parsletongue ability had literally nothing to do with him the whole time?" Harry clarifies.
"Nope," Sirius confirms, looking more and more relieved with every breath Harry takes. "Your dad would be really fucking jealous though—Prongs was always pretty sore not to have the ability."
Harry gives a shaking smile; then, after thinking about it, the furrow between his brows goes smooth. "I—it's nice, actually. That no matter how long it's been, these things keep happening; pieces of me I didn't even know come from them."
"Never really gone," Sirius says in agreement, voice thick with emotion.
/
She's in a shimmering gold dress, long sleeved to hide she and Draco's scars; it's far more eye-grabbing than she would like to be, but she doesn't get to be herself today—today, she's an international symbol of victory, as are Harry and Ginny.
Both of whom had refused to speak point-blank, traitors that they are.
At the time, she'd agreed it was for the best, knowing both of their linguistic abilities and tendencies to say things quite different than what they meant, but as she braces for her public address she contemplates sending a hex or two their way.
She's glad she decided on an updo, though; Draco had frowned, hoping she'd leave her natural hair down to look more like herself, but in this moment she's thankful for it being kept up off her neck, the fresh air flow to the top of her spine keeping her from seeping in sweat.
(Not to mention she's caught Draco's gaze locking on her neck and collarbones more than once.)
They'd agreed early on to keep Lyra out of the public eye, away from the likes of Rita Skeeter and anyone else, so she's at Tonks Manor under Andy's supervision along with Teddy, much to both toddlers' delight.
"How are you feeling about your speech?" Minerva asks, offering a proud smile before she takes a sip of her champagne.
"Too sober," Hermione mutters, before flushing. "Sorry, Professor."
"You're not my student anymore," the Headmistress reminds her, looking amused. "You're allowed to reference alcohol in my presence."
"Right. Still getting used to that, I suppose." She fidgets, repeatedly spinning her wedding band as she contemplates the question. "I suppose I'm feeling…underqualified, mainly. About the speech."
It's not something she'd admit to most people; Hermione is well aware anyone else would roll their eyes and demand to know how the proclaimed "Golden Girl" and "Brightest Witch of Her Age" could possibly be underqualified, and what that implies about everyone else.
But she's always trusted McGonagall—knows the older woman understands her in a way few others do.
"Just…I'm a Healer. And not even, I'm still in school for four more years! I get that I'm considered a war hero, and a muggleborn one so I'm considered to 'have a deeper understanding' of the issues, because somehow all the years of discrimination and prejudice gets me is the obligation to do more mental and emotional labor for people who will never truly have to consider what it would be like not to be part of the dominant group. But beyond that…" She bites her lip. "Part of me wonders if this isn't part of the problem—that we give our heroes such a platform, that their opinions become non-negotiables and their perspectives are given such a pedestal that it becomes un-patriotic to criticize them. Doing good things in a war doesn't make someone a good person, and it's dangerous to assume it does."
McGonagall nods in agreement. "You're thinking of Albus."
"How could I not? The damage he wrought, the harm he was able to cause with the powers and amplification he was given…there's always a power vacuum left after war. We're more vulnerable than ever to someone like him swooping in and molding the new society that's evolving into their own liking."
"I think," the headmistress says carefully, "the very fact that you are considering all of this is exactly what makes you the right person to speak today. Only those that don't want power should truly have it, after all, because only they will hesitate to exercise it when unnecessary. To me, what you've just said demonstrates that you will be willing to admit flaws, accept the opinions and expertise of others, and above all, yield power; I would argue that is precisely the leadership and influence we need to combat precisely that power vacuum from uplifting Albus 2.0."
"But I'm just a healer," she whispers.
"And I'm just a teacher," McGonagall replies. "Funny how there is no 'just' at the end of the day, isn't it? No profession or title could every truly make someone worthy of speaking at an event like this—and you know that, and are remaining humbled by it. And that is what makes all the difference."
Hermione nods to acknowledge that she hears what her former teacher is saying, that it's hitting home—because it is, truly, the words are sinking in. But she just can't help the anxiety alight throughout her.
Minerva's voice is firm when she addresses her again, gaze meeting hers to resolutely hold eye contact. "Hermione. I have taught thousands of students, and fought in two wars, and bore witness to a third. I have lived a long, long life. So believe me when I say that something about this feels different, and when I say I trust the two of you speaking tonight to do so above all others who have every been my pupils."
She feels lightheaded as the magnitude of the praise sinks in. "Thank you, Professor."
"Right, then. You're nearly up, and I have to make sure none of the students in the room have had too much of the spiked punch I as headmistress, of course, have no clue is present." A fond look of exasperation overtakes her. "I look forward to everything you will say. And speaking not just as your Order mentor or former professor, but also as the one who delivered your Hogwarts letter…I am so very proud of how far you've come."
Pressure—there's pressure behind her eyes as they begin to water, McGonagall thankfully whirling away before the tears can make an appearance and Hermione would be forced to come up with an explanation other than the lifelong lack of parenting she's received and its impact on her emotions when authority figures compliment her.
A ministry official comes to shepherd her backstage, where she has five minutes to breathe and settle herself and winds up pouring another flute of champagne directly down her throat before they give her the signal.
It's fine, as soon as she's speaking; she's practiced this recitation so many times in the last month she could likely do it backwards, though only Lyra has witnessed any of her practice sessions. But public speaking has never been something that makes her nervous, even knowing the number of celebrities and press outlets that are in the audience; putting on a different expression and saying the words she's supposed to has long since been second nature, and it's gratifying, putting the skills she's gained from such horrible moments to use for something she cares so much about.
She's never been one for the 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger' and 'everything happens for a reason' bullshit, of course; it's not that it feels fated for her to be here, after all she's been through, but that she's here in spite of it, using the very things that tried to kill her as her own defense yet again.
(It feels like victory, at last.)
"And it's not just you, and it's not just this—it's in everything." she adds, voice soft. "It's in the way we regard house elves, the way we speak about centaurs and giants. It starts with one; the moment we decide one creature is entirely different, is lesser, it becomes easier to say another is, as well. We say it's not a big deal, but it normalizes that kind of discrimination until we don't bat an eye when people say an entire category is less important, is not nonhuman but subhuman. And then we don't bat an eye when they're oppressed, when they're entirely dehumanized such that we don't care about them at all. And then it's not such a big jump to think there's that same difference between a typical wizard and one with lycanthropy, or one who was born to muggle parents."
She can feel it—a few of the people around her rolling their eyes, murmuring that she's being dramatic. Murmuring that she's making these small things something that they're not.
Even after everything they've just been through—some people still can't fucking see it.
But that's okay; some of them can't see it, but some of them will, and that makes all the difference in the future they're creating.
Beside her, Neville steps up to say his piece. "Many of you know me—I was born to parents who both came from long lines of powerful witches and wizards. But I was never much good with magic, when I was young; my earliest memories are of the outlandish things various family members did in their attempts to draw accidental magic out of me. My grandmother loves me to pieces, always has, has only ever wanted the best for me—and her greatest fear, for years, was that I wouldn't have any magic at all.
"Obviously, I eventually presented with magic. But even then, I never had a very good handle on it; from the time I first cast till I was a fifth year, I was told over and over by enemies and family alike that I was 'practically a squib'. It was hurtful, of course, but also…it was an insult that never sat right with me. And it made it clear that, had I not presented with magic, my family wouldn't care for me the same way—wouldn't have considered my worth nearly the same.
"When I arrived at Hogwarts, and saw how Mr. Filch and Hagrid were treated—and don't get me wrong, there was absolutely some anti-giant prejudice and elitism involved there as well—despite being the two people who actually ensured the school functioned? The way everyone from students to headmasters looked down on them, even unconsciously, despite relying on them? I couldn't understand how it was commonplace for them to believe those things. And then I saw the treatment of muggle-born students around me, and realized—of course it was easy for so many people to believe squibs were nothing. They had to, otherwise they'd be confronted that wizards aren't different from muggles at all; they'd be confronted with the realization that wizards are capable of having non-magical children just as easily, that coincidence of birth was what they'd built their superiority on. Squibs are the proof that magical people are no more special or important than muggles—and so they're shunned, that the rest of society may avoid the cognitive dissonance that would result from confronting that truth."
Darrow had given his permission for his sister's soul mate to mention his own experiences in this speech, but Neville had turned him down; said his story held too much weight to be shared on this day, when it would be overshadowed by the memorial, by the "Golden Trio", by the revelations and drunken admissions sure to arise.
They'd had an appointment with the Wizengamot, the two of them plus Hermione and Fleur, and they're set to announce it tonight. To give Darrow's story the weight it deserved, he'd given an interview for an article Luna is set to run in a few weeks.
Hermione steps up, gesticulating as she speaks so that no one notices the way her hands shake.
(She wants this to work—needs this to work so badly, otherwise it'll be like the rest of it never mattered: her suffering, Darrow's, the lives lost in the war against this same beast of bigotry that never fucking dies.)
(It needs to matter.)
She spots Sirius in the audience, and he nods when his eyes meet hers, encouraging and supportive and—
Proud of you, he mouths, Remus smiling beside him. The sight settles her, the reminder that she has a family she found for herself, and she'll never understand how they can possibly love her but they do, and that is all that matters.
"That is why," she announces, voice betraying none of the desperation she feels as she awaits the crowd's reaction, "with the help of activist Fleur Delacour, and a non-magical friend who was born to a magical family who has kindly agreed to partner with me, I am spearheading the One World initiative to foster a future in which the magical and muggle worlds are considered not opposites, but two ends of the world's spectrum, along which those who are not merely magical or muggle exist where they may rather than being wholly locked into whichever one our society decides they belong in."
She pauses, worried at the lack of response—and then is overwhelmed with the applause that rises, drowning out her fears.
(There are haters in the crowd, of course, she can see a few; but they are outnumbered, and god, does it feel good to see the bigots all alone in their hatred.)
After a moment, she gestures for the crowd to quiet, and continues speaking. "Our first goal is the upcoming 'Integration Induction Program', which we have designed to ease the integration of muggleborn children to magical society, and squib children to non-magical society. We will be piloting this program throughout the upcoming summer, and plan to prepare these children for their first introductions to the new societies in which they will begin taking part with the arrival of next school year. I cannot begin to convey how much this program means to me—especially to be standing before you today, knowing this is everything Riddle believed he would stamp out.
"This—to me, personally, this feels like victory; like us continuing to build the world we fought so hard for the chance to create. I know so many times in years past it felt hopeless, and even as we celebrate the anniversary of our victory we mourn all that we lost along the way, none of it fair. But we are here, and so much good has been done in the last year, and I imagine how much more our children will be able to seek whatever life may have to offer them…and it's like at last, I can bear the thought of what might come next. I can believe it will be better than what came before, and I am so relieved, and glad, and proud, to see what the future will hold."
"You were incredible, love."
Her whole body relaxes at the sound of her soul mate's voice, leaning into him. In a muggle suit he purchased for the occasion that garners more than one widened eye, he's all in black except for a brilliant gold tie that precisely matches her dress, and more relaxed than she's seen him in public possibly ever.
She thinks this is largely due to the public thank you McGonagall had extended him at the beginning of the event for his years spying on behalf of the Order, the older woman's willingness to reveal that she'd served as his handler having worked wonders for the number of people no longer glaring at him.
"Are you still bitter that I wouldn't let you read it beforehand?" she teases gently, fingers sliding up and down his tie.
"Naturally. But I'm glad. Going in blind, experiencing it for the first time tonight…it meant so much more, being here, feeling the loss and hope in the air here. It couldn't have been more perfect."
Her teeth tug at her lip, unsure. "Are you sure? I'm sure plenty of people think I'm just some naïve girl who reads her books and doesn't understand the real world, think it's a hopelessly optimistic goal."
"Well, those are the ones you should look forward to watching grovel at your feet when you prove them wrong, just like you have those before them."
He pulls her close, pressing a soft kiss to her mouth—less soft when she encourages him to keep going, perhaps more than she might in public had she not ingested quite so much champagne.
Draco pulls away, laughing at the glare she sends him. "We can't, love. You told me to force you to mingle until at least one fourth of the attendees have left, no matter how much you pleaded that you need an introvert escape."
"But I'm not suggesting an introvert escape, I'm suggesting an escape to fuck in the RoR like old times."
"Doesn't matter, I follow sober you's orders because I don't feel like having you be cross with me in the morning. Besides, we're already going to be in the headlines beyond just your speech, we don't need to add fuel to the fire."
Hermione sighs, leaning her head on his chest in defeat. "Very well. I suppose this is the first time we've attended an official event together. And McGonagall introduced me as Hermione Black, which has been in the papers for ages, but still."
"That," Draco agrees, "and I may have gotten annoyed and popped off on a reporter while you were being converged on right after the announcement."
"Oh, of course you did," she snickers, not accusing but entertained. "And here you've been warning me not to let my anger get the best of me when facing the press for the last year. 'Hot-headed Gryffindors' my ass."
"They were insulting you," her soul mate protests. "I heard them laughing about how you're like every other bleeding-heart with lofty ideas and no way to bankroll them, and one of them went 'bet you haven't thought of where you'll get the money for that, have you sweetheart?' in the most condescending way."
She subdues a smile. "And in response, you said…?"
"I gave them my most charming smile and reminded them you are the matriarch of the wealthiest wizarding family in Europe, and unlike them, you have no need of thinking about where you'll get money for anything for the rest of your life."
A whole-hearted laugh escapes her as she buries her face in his chest, forgetting the lipstick she wears and then remembering, relieved the black of his clothes hides any stain.
"And then," Draco continues, "they made some remark about how asking your husband to pay for your pipe dream was just as pathetic, and I saw fit to make clear that you don't ask me to do anything with our money, and that who knows, perhaps one day we'll empty our entire vault into the initiative's coffers, as we're more than happy living off your healing salary, and as I'm a teacher we get free housing here in the castle, anyway."
She loses it completely, laughing so hard her eyes water and she can practically hear Astoria saying I told you so about the water-proof mascara.
"Well, I certainly hope all of that is in the paper tomorrow morning." She reaches up to wrap her arms around his neck, staring into his eyes, amazed even after all this time at how little the rest of the world ceases to matter when he's around. The idea of this night, of publicizing the initiative, of the anniversary itself—all of it has been stressing her out for months, and within a minute of being at her side, she goes from anxiety ridden to entirely at ease. "I am so very in love with you."
"Thank merlin for that," he smiles softly. "Come dance with me, love. I've been waiting for the day we could be together in front of the whole world for quite a long time."
And even though Hermione hates dancing, she does, because he's right—there was a time she never thought they'd get this moment.
She had joked about their forbidden love story, all those years ago; about how they would find a way to be together anyway.
They'd had no clue, then, what they would go through to get here.
(She's never bothered to let herself believe their story will end well.)
Despite it all they're alive—they've lost so much, but somehow they're both here, and alive, and when they get home they'll stare at their daughter as she dozes safely in her crib.
There's nothing else in the world that matters.
(their happier ending begins.)
Notes:
chapter title from long story short by Taylor Swift
we made it to the end. My god. I have no words.
thank you always for your love and support for this story.
epilogue to come as soon as I finish it up! all my love.
Chapter 55: epilogue
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"I'm so glad we're finally doing this."
Hermione reaches her free hand out for him to take, replying, "Me too," with a small smile.
"Nervous?" the artist asks as she sets up the ink, already having gotten an okay on the indigo stencil now gracing Hermione's arm.
She hasn't asked once about the scars her art is meant to cover up—not a single question about the awful word, or why it was ever there in the first place; Hermione already loves her for that alone.
"A bit, just because I've never gotten one before," Hermione replies honestly. "But I have a pretty high pain tolerance so it's not that I'm worried about—I can't imagine it could ever hold a candle to labor." The last bit is hastily added on; true, but nonetheless not what she was thinking of when she spoke.
(Because that hurt, but it wasn't the pain that made her numb; that was the pain that made her feel.)
"Damn straight," the artist nods.
Draco meets her eyes, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I still think Harry's going to kill you for not telling him beforehand."
"Ah, but you're working under the assumption he'll notice—you know better than to think he's that observant. Besides, it's not him we need to be afraid of, Tonks is the one who will never let us forget it. "
Her husband waves away her concern. "She's a Hufflepuff—and no, I don't mean that as an insult, but once we remind her why we needed them in the first place she'll stop being mad and just be glad for us."
"I suppose."
Draco watches intently as their artist starts up the tattoo gun, captivated as ever by muggle technology. The attention to detail, the way slowly but surely the harm that was wrought on his soul mate begins to disappear beneath the piece she's chosen to instead grace both of their arms.
(Not hiding it, she'd reminded them both that morning, but moving forward, building better atop of the ruins.)
Eventually it's finished, a swirling pattern of flowers and vines in black and white shading all along her forearm, so carefully done there's not a hint of the cursed scar left behind.
They break for lunch, and then it's his turn.
Both of them have done hours upon hours of research ahead of time, so he has no reason to worry—but even still, he can't help the feeling that something will go wrong, that somehow, it won't work despite it all.
The worries are unfounded; line by line, he watches as the needle leaves behind swollen skin and new art, and most important of all, not a trace of the Dark Mark beneath it.
(For so long, he never thought this day would come; never thought there would be a moment he could look at his arm again without feeling anger and sadness.)
(And yet here they are, and all he can see when the tattoo is done is the picturesque silhouette of constellations that's replaced what came before.)
It's evening by the time they leave, beaming and teary eyed, hand in hand.
/
"Here you go," Draco says as he hands Harry the red mug he keeps in the staff lounge.
They've been in there chatting over tea for twenty minutes, but now others begin to trickle in.
"Thanks, mate. Also, I have an idea."
Draco starts rubbing his temple instinctively. "Do I even want to know?"
"Staff meeting bingo!" When Draco doesn't react, Harry carries on explaining. "Imagine it: a square Trelawney yelling, McGonagall giving my dad a look like he's got detention, Slughorn falling asleep, someone sending an inappropriate patronus…"
"I admit, that could be fun," Draco acknowledges. "But what do you get if you win?"
Harry cocks his head. "Loser buys the other person a firewhiskey?"
"Fair enough. I suppose I'm in, then."
"Brilliant, because I may or may not have already made up the cards." He grins as he passes Draco one, tucked into a notebook so McGonagall won't catch on and murder them in their sleep. "And don't worry, I randomized them and made sure there were some that didn't overlap so we won't both 'win' at the same time, or anything like that."
"Alright, everyone, let's get started," the Headmistress announces once Hagrid has arrived. "First order of business: some Weasley merchandise has unsurprisingly made its way into the castle once again."
Harry has to hold back a laugh at the way the headmistress's eyes land on him as she says this, accusing even though he has nothing to do with it.
(This time.)
"While I have negotiated with the inventors in question to ensure their products will not be dangerous, they have naturally refused to disclose what the newest product line entails, so keep your eyes peeled for any patterns of odd behavior, especially if it interferes with lessons. If it becomes seriously disruptive, we will be putting Mr. Potter in charge of the task force responsible for cracking down on joke store items."
"Oh, come on! Why me?"
McGonagall is unfazed. "Because most people in this room remember your antics as a pupil and it seems a fitting comeuppance."
"She's not wrong," Draco snorts, grunting a moment later when Harry elbows him in the side.
"Thank you poppy for all of your work with our healing intern program, and for your efforts with the Mental Illness Awareness club—I have already received notice from many students and teachers of the positive impact it's had thus far.
"And then our last order of business is the upcoming miniaturized version of the Yule Ball—thank you Pomona and Rolanda for taking the lead on making preparations for that. We will of course need two other teachers to attend and supervise; I apologize for the imposition, I know it's no one's favorite, and it's not as though I enjoy these events either."
"Having been taught to dance by you I would argue that's a blatant lie," Harry pipes up with a snicker.
"Yes, thank you for that commentary, Mr. Potter, I'll be sure to keep it in mind when I'm making up the nighttime on-call schedule for next term. That being said, I believe next up on the chaperone rotation are Horace and Draco."
Draco groans, looking as though he's been asked to eat live slugs. "Headmistress, why do you hate me?"
"You know perfectly well that I don't, Mr. Malfoy, everyone has to take a turn."
"But the chosen one is my brother-in-law!"
McGonagall levels him with an unamused look; meanwhile, Harry delightedly flips to his game card. " 'Draco tries to use my status to get out of something'—that makes bingo!"
/
Hermione's blushing and beaming as they force her to sit through their rendition of "Happy Birthday", the twins dragging it out dramatically, of course.
She hadn't wanted to make it a big deal, just a small gathering of the people she loves and red velvet cake and call it a day, but it turns out even the most minimized list of people she loves is too long to consider "small".
Remus, Andy, and Percy are discussing something or other with Blaise, Sirius looking bored to tears beside them. The twins have mercy on him and pull a new prototype out of their pockets—and with that Hermione makes a mental note to keep an eye out for smoke in case they need to evacuate any time soon.
Baby Alice's lip starts to tremble, and Hermione can see the way Pansy and Neville both sigh with exhaustion knowing what's to come.
"Don't worry, I've got this," Ron promises with a wide grin that Hermione knows automatically means trouble. Beside him, Susan rolls her eyes before returning her attention to the paperwork before her, Ron rubbing her back with one hand all the while.
He pulls out the deluminator and clicks once with a practiced hand, and the entryway chandelier goes out, its five orbs of light zooming towards him. He doesn't let them inside the lighter, though, closes it just shy so the twinkling lights are forced to hang there, slowly spinning above them. Alice's impending tears are instantly a thing of the past, her wide eyes caught on the lights as she begins to babble and reach out as though they're near enough to catch.
"Ronald, remind me to get you a hefty Christmas gift this year," Pansy tells him with a relieved smile. "How did you know that would work?"
"I mean, I've been a stay at home dad for five years now. You learn some tricks in the desperation," he grins, looking proud of himself. "The deluminator does electric appliances, too, which is pretty nifty."
Hermione smirks. "Dumbledore would hate that that's all it's used for now and that alone makes me love it even more."
The gentle chatter at their table is broken up by Ginny and Draco's re-entry of the room as they yell back and forth animatedly.
Ginny scowls, drawing her wand with a flourish. "I'll duel you for it!"
Neville sighs exasperatedly. "Please don't, I'm off duty and I can't claim plausible deniability when it's my own child you two are fighting over."
"What are zey arguing about now?" Fleur asks, pulling up a seat next to Hermione and sipping on champagne, eyes occasionally flitting to where Victoire giggles with Teddy and Lyra.
"They're Ali's godparents," Hermione explains, rolling her eyes fondly at two of her favorite people. "And they disagree about who should get to hold her next, who gets to plan her first birthday party…it's absolutely ridiculous."
"Thanks for the support, love," Draco calls. "Don't worry, I think I'll win this one."
Ginny practically growls at him. "Hermione, I'm sorry but I'm about to make you a widow!"
/
"Come on, Uncle Harry! By the time we get there all the pumpkin muffins will be gone."
"LJ, you're acting like I'm moving at turtle speed," her godfather says with an eye roll. "Just because I'm not careening down the block like you two heathens doesn't mean I'm going too slow."
Teddy scoffs. "That's exactly what it means!" He speeds up to catch up with Lyra, the two children giggling but knowing better than to get out of sight.
"So much for hoping he'll take after Percy," Harry mutters to himself.
He speed walks to appease them, snorting at the way they peer through the destination's window bursting with curiosity, despite the fact that Lyra comes here weekly.
"…my grandmother's favorite place," Lyra is explaining happily, "your grandmother's sister. Dad and I have been coming together since I was a baby."
"I always forget we're related—thank merlin, or people would make jokes about us getting married one day." Both children shudder at the thought.
"That would be weird. At least once we find out our soul mates they'll stop," Lyra replies with a laugh. "I can't wait to talk to her, whoever she is."
Teddy nods in agreement.
Caught up at last, Harry waves the two forward and they shriek with glee as they rush inside.
/
"I'm retiring."
Both of them stare at her with wide eyes.
"No," Draco says firmly. "Are you batshit? Absolutely not."
Harry's expression grows concerned. "Is someone trying to make you? In the ministry, or something?"
"You're right, Potter—go on then, who was it? Is it the Wizengamot? I will go there today and pay or threaten whoever—"
Harry nods in agreement. "I'll go too, I can play the Chosen One Card or remind the Minister he owes me a favor and—"
"Quiet!" McGonagall orders, and all three of them fall silent. She offers a bemused smile. "I appreciate both of you and your willingness to help me, but the fact is I don't need any help. No one is making me. I am simply an old lady who is ready to relax for my remaining years until I kick the bucket."
"Professor!" Harry cries indignantly.
The older woman rolls her eyes at the title. "Harry Potter, we have been colleagues for as many years as I taught you, please call me by my name. Now, I assure you this is not a decision I take lightly. However, the very fact that the two of you are so adamant in response and so ready to take up arms in my defense only assures me I am leaving the school in good hands. Which brings me to the reason I called this meeting."
"Technically, you didn't call a meeting," Harry mutters under his breath, "Draco and I were having tea in the staff lounge and you ambushed us."
The Headmistress raises an eyebrow, and he's instantly silent, spine stiff as when faced with the same expression as an eleven year old.
"I called this impromptu meeting," she continues, as though he hadn't spoken, "to ask which of you is going to be my replacement."
Harry and Draco both feel their jaws drop, uncomfortable silence settling around them.
McGonagall scoffs. "If only I'd known it was this easy to make the two of you go quiet when you were teenagers."
Draco scowls at the barb, before turning to Harry. "You know, you would be a fantastic headmaster."
"I have literally zero desire to do that."
"Just think, Luna would love unmitigated access to the library—"
Harry cackles, green eyes bright with mirth. "Oh, we're bringing up spouses who would love library access, are we? And here I thought you were smart!"
The blonde groans hopelessly. "Why us, Minerva? Wouldn't Remus be a better choice?"
"He and I discussed it," she admits, "However, given his work with Mrs. Delacour and the time commitment it requires, in addition to his necessary regular leave, we felt it best that the position go to one of you."
Draco crosses his arms with narrowed eyes, anger simmering, all personal concerns forgotten. "That sounds a bit discriminatory to me. Just because of his condition, when he would still be a fucking incredible headmaster, and any adept deputy could assist once a month to—"
"Mister Black," Minerva interrupts, twinkle in her eye at his staunch defense of his mentor. "I assure you, it was not I who made that call. I offered the position to him, point-blank, without even mentioning it; it was Remus who felt it would be unfair to colleagues and students who depend on the Headmaster being accessible when needed. Additionally, he quite frankly didn't want to deal with the backlash of a werewolf being appointed Headmaster. He could, and he would be wonderful, we all know it, but it is an unnecessary stressor he does not want nor is obligated to take on."
Chewing on his lip, Harry pipes up. "You know, I think Professor Binns would be—"
"Potter."
"Worth a try, wasn't it?" He sighs, turning to Draco. "Let's rock paper scissors; loser has to do it."
McGonagall sighs, palm to her face. "I swear to Merlin, this is why I'm retiring."
Draco snorts as he rolls his eyes, raising his fist to do so. "Best two out of three or not? Speak now so I don't know you're trying to evade consequences as soon as you lose."
Harry nods, and then holds up his hands in the familiar position. He wins the first round, but loses the second, then howls when Draco's scissors mime slicing his paper in the third. "But I can't!"
His brother in law levels him with a raised eyebrow. "Go on, then, give me one good reason, why not; one solid reason it should be me instead of you."
"I have a goddaughter to take care of!"
"Yeah, my kid, as in I have to spend a lot more time taking care of her!"
"But—but the creatures! Think of all the creatures Luna brings home—when would I have time?"
"While Luna is tending to said creatures, obviously."
"Well, what about—"
"Harry," McGonagall says, leveling him with a look. "I know why you're resisting, and I understand the nervousness, but you will be a fantastic headmaster."
"But I'm not—"
"Ah, not another word. You think you know better than me, Mr. Potter?" She raises her eyebrows as if daring him to say as much.
He sighs with a frown, knowing where this is going. "No."
"I thought so. And I am telling you, that I have complete faith in your ability to take on the job with the necessary dedication, compassion, and leadership. I will be accessible any time you need advice, especially for the first year or two, and of course Draco will be your Deputy—"
"What?!"
"Thought you'd dodged it by pawning it off on me, did you,?" Harry says with a wicked grin.
"—so you will have a strong support system behind you. You can do this."
He takes a deep breath before meeting her eyes. "Okay. I suppose it's the right call. I—I do appreciate you thinking of us for the position. And—I'll do my best to make you proud."
He doesn't think he's imagining the extra shine in her eyes, like she's trying not to tear up.
Beside him, Draco beams, and then a moment later bursts out laughing.
"Something funny, Mr. Black?"
"Oh, Headmistress, it's just," Draco says, unable to stop laughing mid-sentence. "Can you imagine my wife's reaction when she finds out?"
/
"Hurry up, Dad! Hugo and Ali are already nearly there!"
Hermione holds back laughter at the way Dudley sighs as his daughter beseeches him. It's still new, seeing him in the wizarding world rather than just Harry and Luna's place or out and about at muggle establishments, but he's taking on the challenge like a champ.
"We're coming, little love," he calls back.
"Not quickly enough! We're going to lose them!" Evangeline cries, anxiety written into every line of her face.
Her heart goes out to the little girl, the one so eager to learn about this new world, so desperate to find a place that she's on the verge of tears, now, as though catching up to her new friends is the most important thing in the world, when that's not it at all.
(God, does she remember what it was like.)
She starts to move toward Evangeline, ready to comfort her—but Lyra beats her to the punch.
"Evie, I know this is all still new and it feels like it might slip from between your fingers. But the magic isn't going anywhere—it's inside you, same as it's always been."
Hermione sucks in a breath, trying not to let them know she's listening but stunned to hear the very phrase she'd used when Draco had brought her a first year muggleborn student having an emotional breakdown mid-term just the year before, when Lyra was allegedly asleep.
"As for Hugo and Ali, I promise they're not going to leave you behind." Lyra's expression is all serious as she says it, Prefect badge pinned to her chest.
(Though her mother is well aware her daughter takes after her rule-breaking tendencies where that's concerned, to Draco's chagrin.)
"But what if they don't," Evie whispers, lip caught between her teeth.
"Well if they don't, those wouldn't be friends you want anyway," Lyra says without hesitation. "Friends worth having you never have to worry about. But, I know that won't make you feel any better right now, so do you want to know a secret?"
Evie nods rapidly, and Lyra stage whispers, "they'll be waiting no matter what, because Ali is madly in love with Teddy."
"LJ," Teddy groans from a few feet behind her. "She's six years younger than me, and not my soul mate—if you get her hopes up and she's crushed her mother is going to kill you."
"No she won't," Lyra chirps cheerfully, "Aunt Pansy loves me."
He scowls at her as though she's not his best friend in the world, looking to Victoire at his side. "A little help, here?"
"No way," Victoire laughs, "I learned long ago never to come between two members of the Black family in an argument."
Hermione nods, jumping into the conversation. "It's true. Only way to survive dating one."
"Say what you want, but you've literally been a Black for almost sixteen years, Mum," Lyra replies with an eye roll before turning her gaze to Victoire, "and you'll be one soon enough."
Her soul mate blushes at the offhanded reference to their future, ever in awe at its mention no matter how certain it is.
"Ask Remus for advice," Hermione advises. "Or Percy. They can help you more—I got the mostly sane one."
"Oi!" Teddy exclaims. "Are you saying my mother isn't sane, Aunt Mione? Because I resent that!"
"Your hair turning red as you say that is not helping your case, Teddy, my love."
"If I'm not sane, it's on you," Lyra reminds her.
Hermione chuckles, heart ever full with each of these interactions.
(Wishes her younger self could see her now—could see all the joy they came out with on the other side.)
/
"I can never decide what surprises me more: the fact that Diggory and Theo raised a Gryffindor, or the fact that they're going to wind up as Tonks's in-laws one day."
Hermione holds back a snort. "Yes, love, you've mentioned that several times since Viv and Teddy started dating."
"Well can you blame me?"
"Personally," another voice chimes in, "what I find the most unbelievable is that they saw fit to sic a child with such a godawful name as Vivienne in the first place. Had to become a Gryffindor to defend myself to survive such a pretentious name, didn't I?" Vivienne offers a look of disdain, despite her fathers' insistence in the beauty of her name.
"Fair enough," Draco concedes easily. "Where are you lot off to?"
"Pride festival in muggle London!" Victoire chirps, very clearly dressed for the occasion in a dazzling pastel rainbow dress. Her hand intertwines with Lyra's, who wears more subtle orange and pink. "We're meeting Teddy and his mum for lunch and then heading that way to meet up with the rest."
Her soul mate's father frowns. "Do you want us to come?"
Lyra laughs before moving to embrace him. "I love you for offering, and for going with me the last seven years, but you hate crowds, Dad, you and Mum both. You've spent enough time making yourselves miserable on my account. I promise we'll text or patronus when we get there and when we're on the way home."
"You know who's going to pitch a fit about you going without them?" Hermione asks with raised eyebrows.
Her daughter makes a mock-offended face. "Tell me you don't think I'm so stupid as to go to a gay parade without inviting Granddad. I'd like to live long enough to see twenty, Mother."
"It's a fair point," Victoire mutters. "Can you imagine? Sirius would literally never let you hear the end of it."
/
"No matter how many times we do this, his affinity for karaoke never stops surprising me," Ginny whispers to Hermione, amusement lining her face. Beside her, Pansy raises her glass in agreement.
"You should hear him in the shower," Hermione replies conspiratorially.
"Babe!" Draco calls out from next to the stage, voice tender despite their being in public as it tends to be when he's in this just-past-tipsy state. "You can't look until the lyrics start—it's a surprise."
Hermione rolls her eyes fondly. "Whatever you say, Draco."
He beams at her, the smile so genuine her heart swells.
She sits forward attentively when he's on stage, closing her eyes as directed until the first line of the song starts.
It's not really clear why he'd made such a fuss, as the first verse seems like a standard muggle boy band pop song, but her soul mate looks entirely too gleeful for there to not be something coming.
Draco leaps dramatically towards her when the chorus begins, belting out "I think, you're fine—you really blow my mind" so authentically she wishes she had thought to tape it for Harry and Lyra to watch later.
She's laughing along with his absurd dancing, taking a sip of her drink that she almost immediately spits all across their table when he meets her eyes for the line, "I just want you to know—I wanna be your Romeo. Hey Juliet!"
"Oh, that wizard," she mutters, half rolling her eyes and half tearing up at how mushy and thoughtful he is in even the smallest of moments.
He meets her eyes and her mind flashes back and forth between all the versions of him she's known: 30 and endlessly teasing, making it his mission to keep her and Lyra laughing.
24 and joyful at the never-ceasing wonders of the muggle world, barraging her wish daily revelations.
19 and overprotective of Lyra, three mind-healing sessions a week, learning how to be a couple without the hiding and fear and pain.
15 and scared but full of overpowering love even as the world around them falls apart.
12 and hiding his terror and compassion behind a façade he hated all the while, relieved beyond measure to have a friend.
10 and faceless, just a stranger who makes her smile and understands her unlike any other.
She doesn't know what's next; heaven knows there have been plenty of surprises and road bumps since the war.
But she doesn't let herself dwell on things like that, anymore; she's done waiting for the other shoe to drop, looking for the inevitable catch.
(They went through hell to get here, and this happiness isn't coincidence, it's one they've built in spite of it all.)
(She's allowed to enjoy it.)