The research Hermione had uncovered about the Death Chamber and the Veil was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. The Veil, it seemed, predated everything—the Ministry, the Wizengamot, and even the earliest records of wizardkind in the area. It had existed for thousands of years before any wizard had even thought of founding the Department of Mysteries. No one knew who created it, or if anyone had created it at all. It was a mystery that stretched back to the dawn of magical history, its origins lost to time.

What fascinated her most was the connection between the Veil and the Peverell brothers. From the obscure references in the Potter library and the Department's records, she pieced together an astonishing theory: the Peverell brothers had been Unspeakables, scholars in the early 13th century who had studied the Death Chamber and created the Deathly Hallows using materials from the Veil itself. The Cloak of Invisibility had been woven from the very fabric of the Veil; the Resurrection Stone, a polished fragment of the archway; and the Elder Wand, infused with a Thestral hair core, linked to the creatures that were said to come from beyond the Veil.

The deeper she dug, the more chilling her discoveries became. Mastering the Hallows wasn't just about possessing all three artefacts—it was about fully accepting death. Hermione realised she had done just that when she faced Voldemort in 1978. In that moment, she had surrendered herself to fate, armed with all three Hallows. That, in theory, had made her the true "Master of Death."

And with that mastery came incredible power... but also great responsibility.

The records hinted at an even more daunting possibility. As the Master of the Hallows, she was connected to the Veil in ways no one had ever been before. It explained why ghosts had been drawn to her, why she could help them pass on to the afterlife. But there was more: theoretically, if she possessed all three Hallows, she could step into the Veil itself—and return from it. The idea sent shivers down her spine. She could cross the threshold into death and come back... if the theory was right.

But if the theory was wrong, stepping into the Veil meant certain death.

And that was why she now stood in front of the Death Chamber, staring at the ancient, whispering archway that had claimed so many lives. The Hallows were with her: the Cloak around her, the Stone on her finger as a ring, and the Elder Wand in her hand. But her courage wavered.

Could she really do it? Could she test this ancient theory? If she was wrong, there would be no return.

Hermione clenched her fists, her heart pounding in her chest. She was here, in possession of the most powerful artefacts in wizarding history, standing before the gateway to the unknown. But still, she hesitated.

"I'm the Master of Death," she whispered to herself. "But what does that truly mean?"

The Veil's soft murmurs beckoned her, its eternal mysteries calling out to her curiosity and her courage. And yet, despite everything she had learned, despite everything she knew—she couldn't bring herself to step through.

Not yet.

Leaving work had become a dreaded ritual for Hermione. She had taken to arriving early, using the quiet hours before dawn to avoid the persistent throng of reporters who, despite the Department of Mysteries' statement, seemed unable to leave her alone. Each day felt like a new headline waiting to happen, and it had given her a new understanding of what Harry had endured in her original timeline. The constant scrutiny, the relentless attention—she loathed it. She couldn't sneeze in public without there being commentary about it in the next day's Daily Prophet.

What she found even more frustrating was how this circus affected her personal life. She craved the quiet moments with Remus, the stolen hours in a life that should have been calm, content. But leaving work late enough to dodge the press like she did in the mornings wasn't feasible—not when she longed for any sliver of time with him.

As she hurried through the Atrium, hoping to reach the Floo before anyone could corner her, she noticed there was quite a line. Hermione was already internally sighing, preparing herself for the inevitable, when she suddenly felt a hand grab her arm. Her first instinct was to jerk away, but when she turned, she found Draco Malfoy standing there, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Don't look so startled, Granger," he drawled, his familiar tone laced with sarcasm. "If you keep standing there like a rabbit in headlights, they're bound to find you."

Hermione blinked, still processing the fact that Draco—of all people—had caught her in the middle of her covert escape. "Malfoy?"

Without further explanation, Draco steered her through a side corridor and back down to Level 9, going past the Department of Mysteries and Courtroom 10, into his Wizengamot office. She hadn't even realised he'd taken up the Malfoy seat until now, but it made sense. He had the family legacy to uphold, even if his father's reputation still cast long shadows.

"Private Floo," he said, gesturing towards the hearth at the back of the room. "You're welcome, by the way."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, torn between suspicion and gratitude. "Thanks, I guess?"

Draco rolled his eyes, falling into one of the high-backed chairs behind his desk with practised ease. "You're quite the celebrity these days. It's amusing, really."

"I can't imagine what's so amusing about it," Hermione muttered, crossing her arms.

"Well, the great Hermione Granger, academic rival extraordinaire, turns out to have been Mina Delacour all along. Forgive me if I find that a bit... ironic."

Hermione couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips. "So, you're telling me you're not upset I was always three steps ahead of you in school?"

Draco scoffed. "Please. I'm over it. I have bigger fish to fry these days."

He leaned back in his chair, a flash of something that looked almost like awe crossing his face. "I'll admit though, Granger—finding out you're her. That's something. Didn't think anyone would outdo me in surprises this year."

She shrugged, feeling strangely lighter. "Life's full of them."

Draco watched her for a moment, his trademark smirk softening into something more genuine. "You know, I always thought there was something about you—something... different."

"Did you now?" Hermione said, her tone half-teasing.

"Maybe not as obvious as it is now," Draco replied, tilting his head thoughtfully. "But still, knowing that you're Mina Delacour—well, it does explain a few things."

"Like what?" Hermione asked, a curious smile playing at her lips.

"The fact that I could never catch up to you in class," Draco said, sarcasm fully returning. "Turns out, you've had two lifetimes' worth of practice."

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Malfoy, but this version of me—Mina Delacour, Hermione Granger—it's only been the same person since May. So whatever inadequacies you might feel are not because of two lifetimes of experience on my part."

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Hmm, was it when you were hospitalised before our little potion competition?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, it was."

He hummed thoughtfully, folding his arms as if it all made sense now. "That explains a lot, actually. One day you're brilliant but human—then suddenly, you're untouchable. And quite a bit scary as well."

She couldn't help but laugh at the way he phrased it. "Untouchable, really?"

"Academically, of course," Draco added with a smirk. "It wasn't just me, Granger. Everyone knew you were a force to be reckoned with—two lifetimes or not."

"Glad to know I made an impression," Hermione replied, sarcasm lacing her words.

Draco gave a small, genuine grin. "Always did. Still do."

"Thank you. For the private Floo access, I mean."

"You're free to use it anytime," Draco said, waving it off casually. "Just knock, you know. Make sure I'm not in the middle of a meeting or something."

Hermione rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile. "As if I would ever barge in without knocking."

Draco chuckled. "You never know. It wouldn't be the first time someone's interrupted a meeting in a rush. Though I suspect you'd have the courtesy not to."

"You suspect correctly, Malfoy," Hermione shot back with a smirk, already moving toward the Floo.

Draco watched her for a moment, an amused glint still lingering in his eyes. "Safe travels, Granger."

Hermione offered him a small nod before disappearing in a swirl of green flames, thankful for the fact that she had made friends with this Draco.

That weekend, an unexpected invitation arrived at Potter Manor, courtesy of Molly Weasley. It was addressed to all of them—Harry, of course, but also Remus, Teddy, Hermione, Lily, James, Sirius, Marlene, and even the twins, Cas and Leo. The invitation itself was simple but warm, calling them over for an afternoon at the Burrow. Harry had been to the Weasley household plenty of times over the years, though his recent falling out with Ron after his ill-chosen words at Harry's birthday left things a bit strained. The fact that the invitation extended to the adults, though, piqued Hermione's curiosity. She had a sneaking suspicion that Fabian and Gideon had something to do with it.

One by one, they arrived at the Burrow by Floo. First came Remus, with Teddy clutching his hand, eyes wide with excitement. Hermione stepped through right after them, brushing off the Floo powder from her clothes. Behind her, Lily and James followed, their usual bright energy filling the room. Harry, Mina, Sirius, Marlene, and the twins Cas and Leo came shortly after, rounding out the unusually large group.

The Burrow was just as it always was—welcoming, chaotic, and utterly full of life. The familiar smells of cooking wafted through the air, and Molly bustled about, greeting them all with hugs and warm smiles. Arthur was already sitting by the fireplace, excitedly talking to James about a new Muggle contraption he'd come across.

Hermione caught Fabian and Gideon exchanging a knowing look across the room, confirming her suspicions. She gave them a small smile of gratitude, silently appreciating the lengths they had gone to in order to orchestrate this reunion.

Before she could go over there and talk to them, Ginny swooped in, eyes wide with excitement, grabbing her by the arm. There was a palpable sense of hero worship radiating off the younger girl, and Hermione quickly realised why. Of course, all these kids had grown up on stories about Mina Delacour—the mysterious witch who had saved the wizarding world and disappeared. Now that the secret was out, they were all eager to know everything.

Hermione couldn't help but smile, though it felt a little strange to be on the receiving end of such admiration. Ginny led her over to a corner of the room where the younger Weasleys had gathered, all of them practically buzzing with curiosity.

"So, Mina—Hermione," Ginny corrected herself, looking a little sheepish but too eager to let it slow her down. "What was it like? Time-travelling, saving the world—twice! You've got to tell us everything!"

Hermione laughed softly. "I'm not sure where to even start," she said, feeling the weight of all their expectant eyes on her. But before she could dive into any stories, she noticed Ron hanging back, his face flushed with embarrassment. He wasn't sulking exactly, but it was clear that the things he'd said at Harry's birthday still lingered in his mind. Hermione caught his eye, and for a moment, they shared a quiet understanding. He looked as though he wanted to apologise but didn't quite know how.

Just as she considered walking over to him, the Weasley twins burst into the conversation, their grins wide and mischievous.

"Well, well, well," Fred said, slinging an arm around George as they sidled up to Hermione. "The great Hermione Granger—time traveller extraordinaire!"

"Yes, and we've figured it out, haven't we?" George added, eyes gleaming with excitement. "You're the reason we're successful!"

Hermione blinked, taken aback. "What?"

Fred nodded sagely, a mock-serious expression on his face. "Oh yes, it all makes sense now. You, dear time-travelling Hermione, must've given the Marauders some kind of hint about us in the past. It's the only explanation! You planted the seed, and now here we are—Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, thriving thanks to your clever intervention."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head. "That's… not exactly how it worked."

"Well, we prefer our version," George said, smirking. "But now that you're here, you've got to tell us—did we come up with any brilliant products in your timeline that we haven't thought of yet? You've got to give us the inside scoop!"

The twins' excitement was infectious, and Hermione found herself swept up in their enthusiasm. She smiled, feeling a little overwhelmed but also deeply amused by their twisted—yet not entirely incorrect—logic.

"Well," she said, "there may have been a few things... but if I tell you, you can't take all the credit."

The twins exchanged gleeful glances. "Deal!" they said in unison, already pulling out quills and parchment, ready to take notes.

And so, for the next several minutes, Hermione found herself comparing a few ideas of what she remembered, and what they currently had, while Ginny, Fred, and George hung on her every word. Every now and then, she caught a glimpse of Ron still lingering at the edge of the group, clearly feeling out of place. She knew they'd need to talk eventually, but for now, she let herself enjoy the company of the Weasleys, the hero worship, and the easy laughter that filled the Burrow.

As the Weasley twins continued jotting down ideas with an almost comical level of focus, Hermione smiled at the chaotic energy that had always been so uniquely theirs. She couldn't help but feel a strange sense of nostalgia, even for the bits of their past she'd never experienced in this timeline.

Molly Weasley appeared at Hermione's side, her hands on her hips, eyes soft with gratitude. "Thank you, dear," she said warmly. "For everything you did back then—for looking out for Fabian and Gideon. They've told me so much, and I can't tell you how grateful I am."

Hermione smiled, a little touched and a little embarrassed. "I didn't do anything special," she replied modestly. "They've always been remarkable wizards. I just... made sure they got home in one piece when they pushed their luck a bit too far."

Molly chuckled, her eyes twinkling with motherly fondness. "That sounds about right." She gave Hermione's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before getting swept away into the whirlwind of preparing tea.

Just as Hermione turned back to the twins, she noticed Ron clearly working up the nerve to speak. His usual bravado seemed muted today, and there was a tension in his posture that Hermione hadn't seen in a long time. When he shuffled awkwardly in front of her, Hermione remained composed, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. He cleared his throat again, the tension palpable between them.

"Hermione… I know I already said sorry, but… I mean, really, I'm sorry. For everything," Ron muttered, not quite meeting her gaze. Hermione wanted to scoff. He hadn't said sorry at all up until now. Also she had a feeling Molly Weasley had something to do with this. Either way, it was nice to hear. "Not just the birthday thing—though that was bad—but for… well, how I treated you. Back at school, and everything after that."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, her face softening just a little, though her guard stayed firmly in place. "You mean for the years of ostracising me? For acting like I wasn't worth the time of day just because you didn't understand me? Yes, Ron, I remember all of it."

Ron winced, the weight of her words hitting him. "Yeah… that. I was a prat. It was stupid, and I've been thinking about it since everything with Harry and the others blew up. After the news hit the papers, I started hearing bits from Harry. About what you've been through—well, the little he's told me, anyway. I can't pretend to understand, but... I know I was wrong."

Hermione studied him carefully, her expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, with a calm voice, she said, "You know, Ron, it wasn't just about the insults or the comments. It was the way you acted like I wasn't even worth your respect. Like I was beneath you because I wasn't like the others. And what hurt more was that I had no idea why you felt like that. I'd done nothing to you—nothing except exist. And all I got was... this wall of disdain."

Ron's face flushed with embarrassment and shame, but he said nothing, letting her words sink in.

"I don't expect you to understand what my life's been like. Not the real reason behind it all," she continued, her tone still firm but no longer harsh. "But the way you treated me... it left a mark. And I've realised now that whatever version of friendship we might have had in my memories... that's never going to be a possibility here. We can be civil, Ron. Maybe even friendly one day. But we'll never be close."

Ron nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Yeah... I figured that much. I get it, Hermione. After hearing from Harry about... well, the stuff you've been through, I knew I'd messed up. I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I didn't understand, and now... well, I don't expect you to forgive me. But I am sorry."

Hermione's expression softened, but she didn't offer forgiveness. She gave a small nod, acknowledging his words. "I appreciate the apology, Ron. It doesn't change the past, but I can respect that you've made an effort."

Ron let out a small sigh of relief, though it was clear he understood her stance. "Yeah. Thanks for hearing me out. I'll... I'll leave you to it."

With that, he turned to go, awkwardly excusing himself from the conversation. Hermione watched him walk away, feeling a strange mix of emotions. Part of her was relieved to have finally heard those words, but another part knew that this was simply the end of something that had never begun.

Ron had barely turned the corner when Gideon and Fabian approached, clapping their hands on their twin nephews' shoulders, but it was Hermione they were addressing.

"Well," Gideon began, a mischievous glint in his eye, "you did tell us these two would be terrors."

Fabian grinned, nodding in agreement. "Seems you had some insider knowledge after all, love."

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle, the tension from her conversation with Ron easing a little. "I might've mentioned it once or twice," she quipped, her eyes dancing between Fred and George, who were pretending to be deeply offended by the comment.

Fred clutched his chest dramatically. "Terrors? Us? I thought we were pioneers of innovation and humour!"

George followed suit, adopting a mock-solemn expression. "You wound us, truly. And here we thought you were our biggest supporter."

Hermione rolled her eyes playfully. "You've never needed any help terrorising people, that much is for certain."

The twins exchanged exaggerated looks of disbelief, but before they could respond, Fabian cut in, grinning as he ruffled their hair. "Well, you clearly knew what you were talking about. But hey, you've got to admit—they've done all right for themselves, terrorising and all."

Hermione smiled warmly, feeling the camaraderie of the moment. "That they have. I always knew they'd make something incredible out of their antics. It was just a matter of time."

Fred and George exchanged proud glances, puffing up their chests in mock triumph. "Hear that, everyone? Mina Delacour knew we were destined for greatness!" Fred declared, his tone full of theatrical flair.

"Oh yes," George added, "and we've only just begun."

Fred leaned in closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Can we have your official endorsement in writing? We'll hang it up on our shopfront."

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, absolutely not. I'm not giving you two any more ammunition than you already have."

"Oh, come on!" Fred protested dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "Think of the sales, Hermione. A stamp of approval from the legendary time traveller herself?"

George nodded solemnly. "We could even make it look all fancy. Framed and everything. Mina Delacour's seal of greatness."

Hermione rolled her eyes, though the smile on her face gave away her amusement. "I'll think about it—after you tell me what else you're planning to do with it."

Fred gave her an exaggerated wink. "Oh, you'll love it, trust us."

"Trust you? Now that's asking for a lot," she teased, but her tone was light, and it was clear she was enjoying their antics.

George grinned. "Can't argue with that, but you'll come around. You always do."

As the twins bantered back and forth, Hermione felt a warmth spread through her. It was moments like this—amidst all the teasing and light-hearted chaos—that reminded her how much these people had become her family.

Remus approached with a sleepy Teddy resting against his shoulder, the boy's tiny fingers clutching his father's shirt as his eyes drooped with the last remnants of wakefulness. He gave Hermione a soft, knowing smile. "So," he asked quietly, his voice gentle, "is this everything you hoped it would be?"

Hermione looked around, taking in the bustling warmth of the Burrow. The Weasley twins' relentless banter, the distant laughter from the other rooms, Fabian and Gideon hovering nearby, keeping an amused eye on their nephews. She glanced back at Remus and smiled, her eyes softening at the sight of him with Teddy.

"It's more than I ever expected," she admitted quietly. Her gaze lingered on Remus for a moment longer, warmth filling her chest. "I didn't know I could feel so... at home again."

Remus shifted slightly, adjusting Teddy. "It suits you," he said softly, his thumb brushing against her arm. "This... all of this."

Hermione smiled, the weight of everything she'd been through feeling lighter in that moment. "It really does, doesn't it?" she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Remus leaned in, his voice a low murmur, "And you suit us. Teddy and I... we're lucky to have you."

Hermione's heart swelled at his words, her hand instinctively reaching out to brush her fingers through Teddy's hair. She chuckled softly, a warm blush spreading across her cheeks. "I think I'm the lucky one."

Remus' smile was tender as he kissed her temple, and for a moment, the world outside didn't matter. In this cosy corner of the Burrow, surrounded by family, she realised that this—this life, this love—was what she had been fighting for all along.

Hermione had removed the monthly cycle blocking spell after sending Voldemort onto his afterlife, thinking that it was finally time to let her body return to its natural state. But now, as she dealt with her first period in who knows how long, she was sorely regretting that decision. She had forgotten just how bad the cramps could get. The dull, twisting pain in her lower abdomen made it difficult to concentrate on anything, and she found herself wincing every few minutes. And of course it would hit on the worst possible night, when she had a date with Remus.

Still, she wasn't about to let it ruin her plans. She and Remus had planned to go out for dinner that evening, and Hermione was determined to go through with it, period or not. The thought of spending time with him, even if she wasn't exactly comfortable, was far more appealing than staying home and wallowing in pain.

When she arrived at the Lupin cottage, Remus greeted her with a warm smile that faltered almost immediately. His brow furrowed as he approached her, and Hermione could see the recognition in his eyes even before he spoke.

Remus's nostrils flared slightly, and she could tell he had picked up on the faint scent of blood, his heightened senses as a werewolf making him more attuned to such things. Especially with the full moon just a few days away.

"Sorry," he muttered, looking a bit embarrassed. "I can't help it... heightened senses and all."

Hermione couldn't help herself; she smirked, deciding to tease him a little. "You pay close attention to every woman's monthlies? Is that a... kink of yours?" she asked playfully, raising an eyebrow.

Remus flushed, his face going red as he stammered, "What? No—no! It's not—it's just—bloody hell, Hermione." He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly flustered. "It's not something I usually notice, I swear. But with us being... well, close... and the full moon, I'm just more attuned. It's a mate thing, I suppose. Sorry for bringing it up."

Hermione chuckled despite the pain, amused by his awkwardness. "It's fine, Remus. I was only teasing."

But then a sharp cramp hit, and she winced, groaning as the pain flared up again. Remus noticed immediately and stepped closer, concern overtaking his embarrassment.

"You're in pain," Remus said softly, his voice filled with concern.

Hermione sighed, offering him a small smile. "I'm fine. Just... first period in forever. I kind of forgot how awful it can be."

"Come on," he said gently, guiding her toward the sofa. "We're not going out tonight. Let's just stay in. I'll take care of you."

Hermione started to protest, but another wave of cramps shut her up quickly. She allowed Remus to help her settle onto the couch, and within moments, he had spelled a pillow to self-heat, placing it gently on her lower abdomen. Then he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her, tucking her in with such care that it made her heart swell.

"See?" he said softly, sitting beside her. "This is much better than any dinner date. And don't worry, I'll cook for you instead. How does soup sound?"

Hermione leaned back into the cushions, the warmth of the heating pad slowly easing the tension in her muscles. "Soup sounds perfect," she murmured, already feeling more comfortable.

Remus kissed her temple, his gentle presence soothing in a way that no painkiller could ever be. As he stood up to head to the kitchen, Hermione smiled softly to herself. She was grateful for him—his care, his kindness, and his ability to turn what could've been a miserable evening into something comforting and sweet.

As he busied himself in the kitchen, the sound of pots clanging and soup simmering filling the cottage, Hermione realised just how much she loved these quiet moments with him. It wasn't just the big, romantic gestures that made their relationship special. It was nights like this—when he put her comfort first, even in the most mundane of circumstances—that made her heart feel so full.

Remus returned a few minutes later, holding a pain potion in one hand and a bowl of steaming soup in the other. He set the bowl down on the coffee table and handed her the potion, his eyes full of warmth and concern.

"Here you go," he said softly, watching as she took the small vial from his hand.

Hermione smiled, feeling the love in the simple act. She downed the potion in one go, the bitter taste making her wrinkle her nose, but the relief would come soon enough. "Thank you," she murmured, handing the empty vial back to him. Then, with a soft chuckle, she added, "See, it's not just me taking care of you on a monthly basis from now on."

Remus laughed lightly, a small smile tugging at his lips as he sat beside her again. "I suppose that's only fair, isn't it?" he replied, his tone playful. "You've certainly had your hands full with me around the full moon."

Hermione reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers, and sighed contentedly. "We'll take care of each other," she said quietly, the sincerity in her voice clear. "That's how this works."

Remus squeezed her hand gently, leaning in to kiss her forehead again. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Hermione stood before the Veil again, a little after the full moon, her hands gripping the Hallows as she listened to the eerie whispers filtering out, beckoning her closer. The familiar pull, that strange thrumming connection to the artefacts, hummed through her fingertips, as if daring her to step through and return. But this time, something felt different. She hesitated, her steps faltering as doubt crept in.

Why was she doing this again? What was the point of testing whether the Hallows truly allowed one to step through the Veil and come back? What would she gain from risking her life like this?

She wanted to live, to be with Remus, with Teddy, to have a future. The voices called her closer, but the more she listened, the less enticing the idea became. She didn't need to prove anything to anyone. Not even to herself.

Just as that thought solidified in her mind, something snapped. The connection between her and the Hallows—one that had been so constant, so strange, ever since she'd mastered them—abruptly stopped. The thrumming sensation disappeared, like a severed thread. The call of the Veil dulled, and in its absence, clarity rushed in. She wasn't accepting Death anymore. She didn't want to be the Master of Death.

And apparently, the Hallows knew that.

"Well, good grief," Hermione muttered, stuffing the Hallows into her bag as if they were nothing more than old relics. She spun on her heel, marching out of the Death Chamber with newfound determination. She headed straight for Saul Croaker's office, her pace quick and her mind clear for the first time in days.

She didn't wait for an invitation when she reached him. "I'm resigning," she said firmly, not even pausing to hear his response.

Croaker, bewildered, opened his mouth as if to protest, but Hermione was already out the door. She wasn't looking back. The Department of Mysteries could keep its secrets and its Veil.

When she Flooed back home to the Lupin cottage—Home. Geez, since when was she calling it that? She had never officially moved in, but she hadn't been back to her own apartment in ages. The thought made her smile.

She entered quietly, feeling a deep sense of relief. The weight of the Hallows, the Veil, the Department—all of it had fallen away. Now she could focus on what truly mattered.

As she stepped into the living room, she found Remus fumbling with something at the table, clearly startled by her early return. He quickly tried to hide whatever it was behind his back, but the look of surprise and slight panic on his face was unmistakable.

"What's that?" Hermione asked, her curiosity piqued.

Remus sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, this is not exactly how I planned to do this…"

Hermione tilted her head, a teasing smile forming on her lips. "Do what?"

Remus glanced at her, then at the small object he was attempting to hide, and finally let out a soft chuckle, stepping forward. "I had a whole speech planned," he said, pulling a ring from behind his back and presenting it to her. "But I guess there's no time like the present. Will you marry me, Hermione?"

For a moment, Hermione was speechless. She stared at the ring, her heart swelling with a warmth she hadn't fully realised was possible. This—this was what she wanted. Not the Hallows, not the mysteries of life and death. She wanted this. She wanted him.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice catching as tears pricked at her eyes. "Yes, of course, I'll marry you."

Remus let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, a wide smile spreading across his face as he slipped the ring onto her finger. They stood there for a moment, wrapped in their own little world as they embraced the future they would build together.

The day had arrived, just three months after the proposal, and though Hermione and Remus hadn't planned a grand affair, the simplicity of their wedding only made it more intimate and special. It was a quiet, understated celebration of the life they had already built together. No need for elaborate displays or extravagant gestures. This was about them—about their love, their shared experiences, and the unshakable bond they had forged through time and trials.

Of course, true to form, Hermione was running late. To her own wedding. She burst into the room appointed for bridal preparations at Potter Manor, cheeks flushed, breathless from having rushed through the door.

"Sorry, sorry! I got stuck in a meeting with the House-Elf Relocation Office!" she exclaimed, clearly frazzled.

Lily, who had been waiting with her arms crossed, sighed but smiled at her friend's predictability. "Seriously, Hermione... only you would be late because of house-elf rights on your wedding day."

After quitting the DoM, Hermione had dived head-first into her foundation right along with Remus, expanding the scope of their activities to other magical creature rights. Starting with the house-elves.

But without wasting another moment, Lily sprang into action, grabbing the Sleekeazy Hair Potion and smoothing out Hermione's curls, expertly applying makeup, and helping her into her dress—a simple, elegant satin mermaid gown that hugged her figure beautifully. A cape-like veil, trimmed with lace, cascaded over her shoulders, adding a soft, ethereal touch.

"Let's get you married," Lily said, securing the veil in place and standing back to admire her handiwork. "You look stunning."

The small bridal party was perfect. Teddy, looking absolutely adorable in his tiny suit, was the ring bearer, while Mina twirled around excitedly as the flower girl. Harry, her Man of Honour, stood beside her, offering a supportive grin as they prepared for the ceremony. Sirius was, of course, Remus's Best Man, already waiting at the altar with a mix of pride and mischief in his eyes.

James and Lily had graciously opened Potter Manor for the occasion, the sprawling grounds offering a peaceful, picturesque backdrop for the ceremony, transformed into a winter wonderland. Magical snow and fairy lights twinkled in the late afternoon sun, casting a warm, golden glow over the dais, warming charms in place to stave off the real winter just outside of the circle.

As the music began, Hermione felt her father's arm loop through hers, grounding her. Though their relationship still felt delicate, her parents had come to understand, or at least accept, that their daughter's life had been shaped by forces they could never fully comprehend. They didn't understand why she had to marry someone twenty years her senior—Remus, a man who had been through his own share of suffering—but they had agreed to set aside their concerns for the sake of her happiness. And for that, Hermione was grateful.

The moment she stepped into the aisle, everything else faded away. Her eyes locked on Remus, who stood waiting for her with that familiar, calm smile that never failed to make her feel safe.

As she approached him, Remus shook his head slightly, lips curving into a smirk.

"Late to your own wedding," he murmured, clearly amused.

She grinned back at him. "You know me, either fashionably late…"

"Or twenty years ahead of your time," he quipped quietly, his eyes glinting with humour.

Her heart swelled. "You know me so well."

But just as the words left her lips, she noticed him stiffen ever so slightly. His eyes darted downward for the briefest of moments, then back up to meet hers. Something had caught his attention, though he was quick to mask it, his expression smoothing over.

"What is it?" she asked, brow furrowing slightly in concern.

Remus hesitated for a split second before offering her a soft smile, his hand tightening gently around hers. "I'll tell you after the ceremony," he whispered, his tone affectionate yet a bit distracted.

Hermione's curiosity piqued, but she trusted him. She gave a small nod, deciding to push aside the strange moment, focusing instead on the love and warmth that filled the air around them. They would have time to talk later. Now was for them. For this moment.

They stood before each other, surrounded by the people who had become their family through time, love, and shared battles. They recited their vows, words that were simple but full of depth, promising a life together that would be filled with love, respect, and devotion.

"I promise to love you for as long as time allows," Hermione said softly, her voice catching slightly with emotion. "You're my partner in every way—my past, my present, and my future. Through all the trials, all the joys, I'll be there."

Remus, ever steady, gazed down at her, his own voice filled with quiet strength. "You've given me more than I ever thought possible, Hermione. You brought light into my life when I didn't think there could be any left. I will love you fiercely, every day, for as long as I live."

As they exchanged rings, Teddy waddled up, proudly presenting the small box that held them, and the crowd let out a quiet chuckle. Mina scattered a few last-minute petals from her basket, clearly enjoying her role.

The ceremony had been simple, full of love, and deeply meaningful. When the officiant declared them husband and wife, Hermione's smile was radiant, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears as she leaned in to kiss Remus, sealing their vows with a kiss that held everything they had been through and all the hope for what was still to come.

As the night moved forward, and they were seated for dinner beneath the marquee, Hermione leaned in toward Remus, her curiosity from earlier still gnawing at her. "So, will you tell me now what that was about?" she asked, her tone light but insistent.

Remus smiled knowingly, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Do you know you're late today in more ways than one?"

Hermione blinked, confused for a moment. Then her thoughts trailed back, trying to make sense of his cryptic comment. Since cancelling the spell on her cycles, she hadn't exactly been tracking it too closely. Her cycle hadn't been consistent since she removed the charm; she'd only had one since then. And it had been... quite a while ago, hadn't it?

"Are you... sniffing me out again?" she asked, shifting in her seat with slight embarrassment, assuming he meant her period might be starting soon.

Remus chuckled softly, leaning in closer. "If it were only that," he whispered, tapping his ear. His heightened senses, always attuned to her, were now picking up something entirely different. Another heartbeat.

It hit her then, the realisation falling into place like the final piece of a puzzle. "I'm pregnant?" she asked in a hushed, almost breathless voice.

"I think so," Remus replied softly, his hand squeezing hers reassuringly. "We'll check after the night's over, alright?"

Hermione glanced at the champagne glass in front of her, the bubbly drink suddenly feeling like it carried the weight of the world. "I'd better get this exchanged," she whispered to him with a small smile, standing up from her seat. As she made her way over to the drinks table to swap the champagne for something non-alcoholic, Lily's sharp eyes caught her.

"Everything alright?" Lily asked, concern flickering in her expression.

Hermione smiled warmly, her heart nearly overflowing with the secret she was now holding. "Yes," she said softly, "Everything is wonderful."

Remus rushed through the halls of St. Mungo's, his heart racing faster with each step. He'd received the message that Hermione had gone into labour at work, but by the time he arrived—held up by having to settle Teddy with Andromeda—she was already deep into the throes of giving birth.

Bursting into the delivery room, he was met with the sight of Hermione, sweaty and exhausted, but her determined gaze immediately locking onto him. "You're late," she huffed between pushes, her voice a mixture of frustration and relief.

"Almost," he replied, his tone light as he moved to her side, though the weight of the moment made his voice tremble slightly. "Imagine if I was twenty years early to this," he teased lightly, trying to bring a bit of humour into the tense moment.

Hermione gave a breathless laugh despite herself, though it quickly turned into a grimace as another contraction hit. "You'd better be careful, or I'll make you twenty years late," she retorted, her voice tight with the effort.

Remus chuckled softly, squeezing her hand. "I wouldn't miss this for the world," he murmured, bending down to kiss her forehead gently.

The contraction intensified, and her focus shifted back to the task at hand. Remus slipped his hand into hers, squeezing gently as he bent down close. "You've got this," he whispered, his voice calm and full of encouragement. "I'm right here."

Hermione's grip tightened, her knuckles turning white as she bore down with all her strength. Remus stayed beside her, offering quiet words of comfort, though his heart was racing as fast as hers. Moments later, the room was filled with the unmistakable sound of a baby's first cry.

The healer carefully placed the newborn in Hermione's arms, and both parents stared down at the tiny, wriggling bundle with wide eyes.

"She's beautiful," Remus whispered, his voice catching as he looked between his daughter and Hermione, overwhelmed by love and pride.

Hermione, exhausted but beaming, let out a small laugh. "We did it," she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes.

"What should we name her?" Remus asked softly, though the answer had already been discussed many times over.

"Elena Hope Lupin," Hermione said, her voice barely above a whisper. She smiled up at him. "After both of our mothers—Helen and Hope."

"And Hope because... well, we never stopped believing in it," Remus finished, his voice filled with emotion as he gently touched his daughter's cheek. "Welcome to the world, Elena Hope."

They both sat there, gazing at their newborn daughter, the weight of the moment settling in. It wasn't just a name—it was a legacy, a tribute to the love, resilience, and hope that had carried them through everything.

THE END