Chapter 25

The Prophecy

"There is nothing on this earth more to be prized than true friendship"

— Thomas Aquinas

HERMIONE

Draco's room remained as he'd left it, a sanctuary of muted greys and cool silvers, where every sharp edge seemed gentled by the flickering glow of candlelight. Hermione stood by the window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her nails digging faint crescents into her skin. She kept her gaze on the gardens below, but her thoughts were on the door behind her.

She left Draco with Narcissa, allowing them a quiet moment to reconnect without her hovering. One of the hardest things she'd done since the war ended was walking away from him and towards his rooms.

He's here. He's back. And no one is taking us away from each other this time. A mantra she repeated in her mind, trying to force herself to believe it.

The door opened with a quiet creak, and she turned.

Draco stepped in, his movements slow, almost hesitant, as though he wasn't sure he belonged here anymore. His posture was rigid, his face drawn with exhaustion more profound than the sleepless weeks. He paused in the centre of the bedroom, his eyes finding hers with an intensity that stripped her of words.

Her breath hitched. She wanted to speak—to ask if he was truly here—but the words tangled in her throat. Before she could untangle them, he crossed the space between them in two long strides and pulled her into his arms.

The force of his embrace stole the air from her lungs, but the desperation in it shattered her. His chin brushed her temple as he buried his face in her hair, and his hands trembled against her. The scent of cheap soap clung to him, cutting through the familiar notes of Draco she'd memorized.

It was a harsh reminder of where he'd been, what he'd endured.

She let herself fall into him. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his robes, pulling him closer as if to erase the weeks that had stretched like years. Her mind raced, fighting the fear that this moment might slip away—that he might slip away.

Draco's voice broke against her ear, rough and frayed. "I thought…" He exhaled shakily. "I thought I'd never be here again. Never hold you again."

"You're here now. We're here." And she never wanted to let him go again. She'd be content to lock themselves in this room forever, away from the world that had tried so hard to tear them apart.

But life didn't work like that, and unfortunately, neither did she. She sighed and pulled back, though her hands lingered on his arms.

His grip loosened slightly, and he searched her face, his grey eyes shadowed but earnest. "And I'm still yours. If you'll have me."

"I've always had you." Her lips curved in a faint smile. "And you've always had me, Draco. No matter what. Even when you tried to get rid of me."

His hand moved to her cheek, the calluses of his fingertips grazing her skin. "I never truly wanted to. I let you win far too much for that."

"Let me win?" She scoffed, though a hint of a smirk tugged at her lips. "That's not how I remember it. Admit it, you'd be lost without me."

"Completely." His voice lowered, sincere. "And I don't ever want to be lost again."

Draco's hand slid to cradle her cheek, his thumb caressing it. His touch was tender and reverent, as if grounding himself in her presence. The room felt suspended in time, a fragile bubble of solace amid the storm they'd endured.

Hermione exhaled shakily and stepped back, her fingers lingering on his arm before she broke contact. She swallowed hard, steadying herself. "Speaking of lost," she said, her tone softer now, laced with a hint of something almost playful. "I have something of yours."

Reaching into her pocket, her fingers found the small object she'd carried with her every day since his trial began. Her thumb brushed against its worn surface, a symbol of hope she'd refused to let go of. "I brought it along with me to the trial for good luck. Just in case you needed it."

Draco tentatively reached out and accepted his wand, his movements slow, almost hesitant, as though he feared it might vanish when his fingers touched it. He turned it over in his hands, the familiar grain of the wood grounding him in a way nothing else could. His breath hitched, and his grip tightened as if the wand might slip away again.

"You…?" His voice cracked.

His thumb traced the intricate carvings along the handle, a subtle stir of magic inside sparking against its touch, like an old friend welcoming him home.

"Harry gave it to me," she said. "It belongs to you. Always has."

Draco swallowed hard. He looked up at her, his grey eyes bright with something raw and unguarded.

"I thought I'd never see it again," he murmured, his voice thick. "I thought… I thought I'd lost it. Like everything else."

"You haven't lost everything." Hermione's hand found his, her fingers brushing lightly against his. "Not this. Not me."

His gaze dropped to their hands, the wand still clutched between them, and for a moment, he couldn't speak.

"No, I didn't. Because you saved me."

"Yes, I did." She smirked, and despite the sincerity of the moment, it was an opening she couldn't resist. "You want to know how? Through the power of friendship."

Draco froze, blinking, before letting out a bark of laughter that caught both of them off guard. It wasn't just a chuckle—a deep, genuine laugh made his shoulders shake and his head tilt back, the sound rich and unrestrained. Hermione couldn't help but join in, her laughter bubbling up in response, filling the room with warmth.

"You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Absolutely not," she teased, her eyes sparkling. "I plan to remind you of it at every opportunity."

Draco smirked, his thumb absently brushing against the wand still in his grip. "I'm starting to regret ever saying it."

"I bet," she countered, her tone light but affectionate. "Because the power of fucking friendship worked, didn't it?"

He rolled his eyes dramatically, but couldn't suppress the lingering smile. "You're insufferable."

"And you love it."

"I do," he admitted quietly, the humour in his expression softening as his gaze held hers. "Merlin, help me, I do."

"And I love you. Which is why I got you another present, too." She reached into her pocket, then opened her palm toward him, revealing a simple platinum band.

His lips parted in shock, a faint flush creeping up his neck. "Are you proposing to me, Mrs. Malfoy?" The ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips.

"About time, don't you think?" she teased. "It's not every day a girl gets to propose to her husband."

He chuckled, low and soft, the sound rumbling through his chest as his mouth claimed hers. His kiss was unhurried, tender but deliberate, as if savouring the moment and all it meant.

"I'll have to think about it." The words brushed against her lips, warm and teasing. "It's such a major life decision. I shouldn't just put on any old ring I stumble across."

Hermione tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at him even as a grin tugged at her mouth. She drew back and smacked his arm, though the force was more playful than annoyed. "I can always give it to Theo. Or Ron…"

Draco's expression instantly shifted, mock offence flickering in his grey eyes before he reached out with lightning reflexes. He snatched the ring from her hand and slid it onto his finger with a triumphant smirk. The silver band gleamed, snug against his skin, as though it had always belonged there.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Mrs. Malfoy," he said, his voice taking on that rich, drawling tone she knew so well.

The way he said it made her stomach flip, the moment catching her off guard despite the playful exchange. Hermione reached for his hand, her fingers grazing the cool metal encircling his finger.

"Well, if you don't shower, you're not getting into bed with me, Mr. Malfoy," she teased, though her nose crinkled slightly.

The faint, unfamiliar scent still clung to him, a reminder of the weeks he'd spent in custody. Whatever soap or detergent they'd used, there was sharp, acrid, and utterly not him. It was jarring and wrong, and she wanted it gone. Whatever they used should be purged from existence.

Draco raised a brow, his smirk returning with full force. "Care to join me?" he asked, his tone low and laced with invitation.

Without waiting for a reply, he reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it carelessly to the side. The fabric landed in a heap, forgotten, as Hermione's gaze fell on his lithe, athletic frame. The faint lines of his abs caught the light, his pale skin marred by faint bruises and a new scar near his ribs, but it only added to the raw magnetism he carried so effortlessly. His trousers hung low on his hips, the V of his pelvis drawing her attention before she could stop herself.

Her mouth went dry. Sahara-level dry.

Draco stepped closer, the room shrinking with every step of his tall, commanding frame. His movements were unhurried and deliberate, his lips curling into a knowing smile as he caught the way her eyes trailed over him. He stopped mere inches away, tilting his head to meet her gaze. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, a gesture so subtle yet so charged that her pulse quickened.

"Well?" he drawled, nodding toward the bathroom with an air of casual arrogance that only he could make so infuriatingly appealing.

Hermione swallowed hard, her brain struggling to catch up as her body acted instinctually. Before she knew it, her feet moved, carrying her forward. She followed him, almost on autopilot, her heartbeat thrumming in her ears as he led the way toward the bathroom.

Draco unfastened his trousers, letting them fall to the floor, and Hermione's brain screeched to a halt.

Holy fuck, he was commando.

The briefest thought of how he managed that all day flickered through her mind before the sight of him obliterated it. He moved without a hint of self-consciousness, utterly at ease in his skin, as he reached to turn on the shower. His back muscles flexed with every movement, the water beginning to steam as it poured over his outstretched hand.

Hermione couldn't tear her eyes away. Every line of him—every scar, every plane of muscle—was familiar and achingly missed. He stepped beneath the stream of water, tilting his head back to let it cascade over him. She watched through the glass, the droplets clinging to his skin, trickling down the length of his torso. Then he turned, quirking a finger at her in a gesture that was both cocky and inviting.

Summoning me, she thought, her lips twitching. He may as well say Accio, wife.

Her pulse quickened as she stepped forward, pulling off her top, and shimmied out of her tailored trousers. Piece by piece, her clothes hit the floor until she was bare. Then she stepped inside. She barely had a second to register the hot water hitting her body before Draco's arms were around her, pulling her flush against him.

His mouth claimed hers, the kiss deep and demanding, fuelled by weeks of longing and years of terror. The water slicked their skin, intensifying the intoxicating blend of heat and sensation. His hands roamed her body, sliding over her curves, reacquainting himself with every inch of her as if committing her to memory all over again.

A moan escaped her lips as his hands cupped her breasts, his fingers teasing her nipples until they hardened beneath his touch. She clutched at his shoulders, her nails digging in as he pressed her back gently against the cool tile.

Draco broke the kiss, his lips trailing down her jaw to her neck. He lingered there, sucking lightly at the sensitive skin until she gasped before continuing downward. He kissed along her collarbone, his breath hot against her wet skin, and when his mouth closed around one nipple, she let out a soft cry. He sucked gently, the sharp edge of his teeth grazing her, sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through her.

Hermione's hands tangled in his hair, her fingers gripping tightly as he lavished attention on her. Every touch, every movement, felt like a rediscovery—like they were stitching themselves back together, one kiss, one caress at a time.

Draco moved her against the wall, the cold tile making her gasp as he pressed against hers. She felt his stiff cock against her thigh, and she ground against him, letting out an involuntary moan. He grinned, reaching down, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing circles around it and driving her wild.

Legs shaking, she moaned against him as she came closer to the edge.

It had been so long since they'd been like this. She needed him like she needed her next breath. Needed him like rainfall during a drought.

Then he pulled away. She let out a whimper, her body leaning towards his as his lips curled into a smirk. Dropping to his knees before her, like a sinner praying to their god, his eyes met hers as he spread her legs. He placed one leg on his shoulder, giving him better access, then leaned in, his tongue darting out to taste her.

Hermione cried out, her hands gripping the shower wall as he licked and sucked her clit. He was so fucking good with his tongue that there had to be a Slytherin analogy she was missing, but as soon as she grasped it, the thought slipped away again.

She was so close, so fucking close.

And then she crested the mountain and exploded. Her body shook with the force of it, Draco lapping at her and drinking her down as she came back down.

Draco rose, holding her against him to steady her. "I think I've missed the way you taste most of all. At night, I would lie awake craving you. Remembering the way you come on my tongue."

She flushed impossibly hotter as her body rode out the aftershocks.

Draco tsked. "Let's get clean and into bed."

He scrubbed his hair and body using his products while Hermione watched him leaning breathlessly against the shower wall. Her clit throbbed, nipples so hard it hurt from her voyeurism and the after-effects of her climax. She shifted, need rising in her again and pooling in her belly.

Draco grinned, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

And then he was washing her, teasing her. There was almost too much sensation as she started to climb again.

The water was turned off. Draco stepped out of the shower, drying himself off before wrapping a towel around his waist. Grabbing another, he pulled her out and briskly towelled her dry, taking special care to have the towel brushed against her aching core more than once.

She was dripping for him.

"Come on, love," he said.

Hermione followed him, her body trembling with need.

She was done with teasing, done with the foreplay. Hermione needed her husband so badly that it was a physical pain not to have him inside of her. Part of her.

Draco climbed onto the bed, his towel falling away as he settled between her legs.

"Draco, please," she begged, her nails digging into his shoulders. "I need you."

He didn't make her wait. In one swift motion, he was inside her, filling her completely. A groan tore from his throat as he buried his face in her neck, savouring the feel of her wrapped around him. She gasped his name, her legs wrapping around his waist, urging him deeper.

Their movements were desperate, almost frantic, as if trying to make up for all the lost time. Hermione clung to him, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as every thrust brought her closer to the edge. Draco's pace quickened, his hips driving into hers with a fierce urgency.

"I've missed you," he repeated, his voice breaking. "Gods, I've missed you."

He thrust, his hips slapping against hers. She wrapped her legs around him, her heels digging into his ass as she urged him on. He reached down, his fingers finding her clit. He rubbed circles around it, driving her wild.

Hermione came undone, her orgasm ripping through her like a freight train. She screamed, her nails digging into the bedsheets as she came. Draco followed, his cock twitching inside her as he filled her. They lay there, their bodies entwined and slick with sweat, as they caught their breath.

"Welcome home, Draco," Hermione whispered, her lips meeting his in a gentle kiss. Draco smiled, his eyes meeting hers.

"It's good to be home," he replied, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin.

And they lay there, their bodies entwined, as they drifted off to sleep, their hearts beating in perfect harmony.

The large courtroom loomed, its cold marble walls and austere design doing little to soften the tension in the air. Hermione sat beside Draco, her hand resting lightly on his knee, grounding him as they waited for the Wizengamot to deliver their verdict. Lucius stood rigid before the council, his expression impassive, though the slight tremor in his hands betrayed his nerves. Narcissa sat on Draco's other side, her face carefully composed, but her gloved fingers clenched her lap tightly.

The ruling was what they'd hoped for—mostly. Lucius was sentenced to five years of house arrest at Malfoy Manor, stripped of his wand for a year, and required to submit to regular Ministry inspections. It was a mercy, given the charges levied against him. He wasn't going to Azkaban, which was a victory in and of itself. The Malfoy family rose to leave, their heads held high despite the low murmur of disapproval rippling through the gallery. Hermione caught a few sneers as they exited the room, but she was used to it.

The following day, the Daily Prophet was unavoidable. The front page bore a large photograph of the Malfoys making their way through the crowd outside the Ministry. Lucius led the way, his chin tilted up in defiance, followed by Narcissa, her face a porcelain mask of poise. Draco and Hermione trailed behind, their expressions drawn as they navigated the hostile sea of onlookers. The headline read: "The Malfoy Redemption: Justice or Privilege?"

The article wasn't kind. It speculated on bribes, backroom deals, and powerful connections that might have influenced the trial's outcome.

Which wasn't strictly untrue. But still, it seemed a lot more salacious in print.

A particularly pointed section focused on Hermione, labelling her the new Mrs. Malfoy and implying that her reputation as a war hero had been used to soften public opinion about the family.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she set the paper aside at breakfast.

"They'll move on to something else soon," she said, her tone dismissive. "People always need someone to point the finger at and gossip about. Today it's us."

Draco didn't respond. He sat stiffly across from her, his fingers gripping his coffee mug so tightly that she thought it might shatter. His jaw worked silently, his gaze fixed on the table as if lost in thought.

"Draco," she prompted gently, touching his hand. "It doesn't matter. It's just noise."

His grey eyes lifted to meet hers, a tempest of frustration and self-reproach churning within them. "It's not just noise, Hermione. They're right." He stood abruptly, the scrape of his chair against the floor loud in the study in his rooms. "No matter what I do, they'll always see me as a Death Eater. A Malfoy. They'll see us that way."

"Draco—" she began, but he was already walking away.

DRACO

The follow-up article the following week hit even harder. It accused Lucius of dodging justice entirely and insinuated that Hermione's influence had been the linchpin in securing the lenient sentence. It painted her complicit in a campaign to rehabilitate the Malfoys' image for personal gain. It may have also implied, in more than one section, that she was a gold digger.

He curled the paper into his fists and hurled it into the fire.

Draco didn't wait for breakfast that morning.

He left before Hermione awoke, leaving a brief note: I need to clear my head. Don't worry. I'll be back.

Theo found Draco in the library at Nott Manor, nursing a drink and staring at the fire. His posture was slouched, but his jaw was set, and his fingers curled tightly around the glass. Theo pulled up a chair and sat across from him.

"Hermione owled me. Thought I might find you here," Theo said, his voice calm, even. He poured himself a drink and settled back. "Nothing like a brisk drink at nine in the morning on a Wednesday."

Draco snorted but took another long pull from the glass in his hand.

"What's eating at you this time?" Theo set his own drink down on the small table beside him.

Draco glanced at him, his expression weary. "You've seen the Prophet."

"I have. And?" Theo raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Draco let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "And? It's never going to stop. I don't deserve her, Theo. They're right—I'm tarnishing her by being with her. You saw all the vile things people think about us, about her. Merlin, they did a fucking poll about it."

"Don't be an idiot." Theo's voice was sharp, but not unkind. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You think Hermione didn't know what she was getting into? She's the smartest witch alive, remember?"

"Of our generation," Draco corrected wryly. "But I think I agree more with your assessment."

"Look, you've spent your whole life thinking your name defines you. That your past defines you." Theo sighed. "But we survived Draco. That means we get to choose what comes next. We get to choose what actually defines us. Fuck everyone else."

Draco let the words sink in slowly, as if he were afraid to believe them. He wanted to believe Theo, to trust the simplicity of those words, but his history coiled tightly around him. The articles, the whispers, the endless rumours—no matter how hard he tried, the world would only ever see the worst in him.

"It's not that easy." Draco ran a hand through his hair, his wedding band catching on a piece and pulling. He savoured the sting. "I don't give a shit what they say about me. But when they go for Hermione, it makes my blood boil. It makes me believe what they say about me because I would do terrible things if it meant protecting her."

Theo sat back, studying him for a long moment. "No, it won't be easy. Nothing about your life has ever been easy, Draco. But easy doesn't matter. What matters is that Hermione sees you. She sees through all that shit—the name, the past, the headlines, the Mark. And what she sees is worth fighting for."

Draco's throat tightened. Hermione had always looked at him like he was more than the sum of his worst moments. Her belief in him had drawn him out of the darkness and made him want to be better, to do better. But even now, even after all they'd endured together, the doubts still festered beneath his skin.

"You want to be worthy of her?" Theo continued. "Then stop wallowing in what you think you are and be the man she sees. She's chosen you. That's not something people like us get often, so don't waste it."

Draco stared into the fire, the flames reflecting in his stormy eyes. He clenched his fists, the tension thrumming like a live wire. The articles had cut deep, dredging up insecurities he thought he'd buried. But Theo was right. Hermione had chosen him, flaws and all. She had seen his broken pieces and hadn't flinched. She deserved more than a man who cowered under the weight of public opinion.

Theo was right. Fuck everyone else.

Slowly, he exhaled, as though releasing the tangled mess of self-loathing and doubt that had gripped him for so long, at least for now. The knot in his chest loosened, leaving behind a tentative clarity. If he allowed the world's judgement to dictate their lives, he would only prove the naysayers right.

And Hermione Malfoy deserved a partner who fought for her, not against his own shadow.

"You're right," he said. "If I let them separate us now for nothing more than slander and rumours, what was it all for?"

"Damn right, I'm right." Theo grinned, standing and clapping him on the shoulder. "Now, finish your drink and get back to your wife before she comes here and hexes you for leaving her behind. And me, just because I happen to be here when she's furious."

Draco huffed out a laugh. He downed the rest of his drink, setting the glass aside. "Thanks, Theo."

"Anytime, mate." Theo leaned back, watching as Draco stood and straightened his coat. "And Draco?"

He paused at the fireplace, floo powder in hand, glancing back.

"Don't fuck it up."

Draco gave a wry smile. "I'll try not to."

HERMIONE

The Golden Trio sat around a small table in the corner of the Leaky Cauldron, tucked away from prying eyes. The pub hummed with quiet chatter, but their conversation created a bubble of tense silence. Hermione sat with her hands wrapped around a mug of butterbeer, jaw clenched tight as she ground her teeth together. Across from her, Ron fidgeted as he stared down at the newspaper lying between them. Harry leaned back slightly, his arms crossed, observing them both with an unreadable expression.

The headline blared: "The New Mrs. Malfoy: Redemption or Betrayal?"

This had driven Draco to flee early in the morning, leaving only a hastily scrawled note behind. Hermione had a strong suspicion he'd gone to Nott Manor and sent a note to Theo, asking him to look after Draco.

She had told Draco time and time again that she didn't care about the headlines, about the venomous articles dripping with sensationalism and lies. And it was true. The Triwizard Tournament in the fourth year had numbed her to the tabloid-like garbage the Prophet spewed. She had learned to shrug it off, to dismiss their cruel exaggerations and laughable "sources."

But it was different for Draco. The words tore at him, carving fresh wounds where scars had barely begun to form. That—Hermione could not and would not abide. Her anger simmered just beneath the surface. A quiet, dangerous thing.

She glanced at the headline again, her fingers curling into a fist. For a brief, satisfying moment, she entertained the thought of walking down Diagon Alley and setting their printing press ablaze. She imagined the sign warping and melting in the fire, the building—that hive of malicious propaganda and skewed truths—reduced to a smouldering pile of rubble. The thought brought a small, devious smile to her lips.

It would certainly be a statement. One that would undoubtedly circle back to the Malfoys, landing squarely on Draco's shoulders. She sighed, releasing the fantasy, and took a deep drink of her butterbeer, wishing for something stronger.

Ron broke the silence first, his voice low and clipped. "So, is it worth it, Hermione? All the grief they're giving you? Do you ever wonder if they're right?"

"No, Ron, I don't wonder if they're right." Hermione held his gaze, her tone firm yet composed. "They've never been right about me, about us, about anything that matters. Draco and I know what we've fought for. Everyone who matters knows the truth."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in the booth, glancing between the two. "Look, the Prophet's always been full of shit. We know that better than anyone. This…" He gestured at the paper on the table. "This isn't about Hermione, Ron. Or even Draco, really. It's about keeping people divided. They'll twist anything if it sells papers."

Ron's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. Instead, he leaned back in the booth, his expression sour. "I get it, alright? I'm just… It's hard to wrap my head around, that's all."

"You know we're married, Ron. You've known it for a while." Hermione's tone was measured, her words careful. "And I knew what I was getting into when I made this decision."

"But did you really?" Ron pressed, his voice sharp with disbelief. Harry shifted in his seat, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his glass, but he stayed silent. "You admitted it started as a mistake, an accident. You've always fought for justice, equality, and everything his family stood against. How can you just… stay?"

Hermione took a deep breath, her fingers tightening briefly around her mug. "Because Draco isn't his family, Ron. He's fought against what they represented. He's chosen to change, and I've seen it firsthand. That choice wasn't easy for him, but he's doing it because he wants to be better. That's what I see in him."

Ron's brow furrowed, his skepticism plain. "And that's still enough for you?"

Hermione leaned forward, her patience fraying. "What we went through—the war, the fight against Voldemort—was for this. People should have the chance to change, to be better, and to live without being defined by the mistakes of their past or the families—the blood—they were born with. If I don't believe in that, what did we even fight for?"

Ron opened his mouth, but the words faltered. He closed it again, glancing away as her conviction settled over him. Hermione continued, her voice quieter now. "Draco's not perfect, and neither am I. But I've never been more certain of anything in my life. This is what I want, Ron. I'm at peace with it."

Ron let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I still don't like him," he mumbled.

"You don't have to," Hermione said, her lips curving into a faint smile. "You just have to accept that I do."

He nodded reluctantly, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Yeah, all right. Just… don't expect me to start calling him 'mate' anytime soon."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Hermione replied, her smile growing. "Draco might actually perish if you did."

Ron paused, his head tilting as though he were considering it. For a fleeting moment, his lips twitched, and a slight grin broke through.

Harry cleared his throat, finally breaking his silence. "So… Malfoy's really trying? You're sure about him?"

Hermione nodded. "I'm sure. He's not the boy we knew, Harry. He's trying to unlearn everything he was raised to believe, and he's letting me help him. Even Lucius and Narcissa are trying. That's all I can ask."

Harry studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Alright. If you're sure, and you're happy, that's good enough for me. I won't ask about it again."

Hermione's shoulders relaxed as her lips curved into a grateful smile. She reached across the table to briefly touch Harry's hand. "Thank you."

She took another drink of her butterbeer, fortifying herself for the real reason she'd asked Harry and Ron to meet up with her. "Speaking of Draco, there's something I need to ask. I'd like you to come to Malfoy Manor later this week. We promised Draco and Theo we'd explain about the horcruxes, especially Hufflepuff's Cup. I could use some support."

Ron's frown returned, and he shook his head. "Not a chance. Sorry, Hermione, but I'm not setting foot in Malfoy Manor."

"Ron—" she began, but he held up a hand.

"I'm glad you're happy," he sounded resolute. "I am. But it's not you or your… husband. It's that place… I can't. Not yet."

Hermione remembered how hard it had been for her to return to the Manor after the war. Walking through those halls, haunted by memories of screams and fear, had taken all the strength she had. It took her weeks to step inside without flinching, to stop expecting shadows from the past to creep out from every corner. She couldn't hold it against Ron for feeling the same, for needing more time to face a place that had left scars on both of them.

"I get it. I won't push."

Harry leaned forward. "I'll come. It's important, and if it helps them understand, then I'm in."

Hermione's smile brightened. "Thank you, Harry."

Ron stood, stretching. "I should get going. Thanks for the butterbeer." He hesitated, looking at Hermione. "Just… don't let him mess this up, yeah?"

"I won't." She met his eyes, studying his ginger hair and flushed, freckled face.

He'd grown so much since they were scrawny eleven-year-olds fighting off a troll together. And since he'd returned after he abandoned them on the horcrux quest, he'd managed to keep a tight lid on his temper. Even a year ago, this conversation would have gone entirely different.

Hermione tilted her head, waiting. "What is it?"

Ron sighed, his hand dropping to his side. "I'm glad you're happy. And I… I know I've been a bit of a prat about all this. But you're my best friend, and I'll always have your back, no matter what."

A warm smile spread across Hermione's face, her eyes shining. She crossed the distance between them and pulled him into a tight hug. "I know, Ron. And you'll always be one of mine."

He hugged her back for a moment before pulling away. "See you later, Hermione."

"See you, Ron."

Ron disappeared into the crowd, heading towards the door and into Diagon Alley.

Harry leaned back in his chair, his gaze lingering on Hermione. He studied her, his expression thoughtful. "You sure you're ready for the explanation you want to give to Nott and Malfoy?"

"I don't think I've ever been ready for most things life throws at me." Hermione met his eyes, her posture straightening slightly. "But I've never let that stop me either."

Harry's lips curved into a faint smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Yeah, you're right." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You'll manage. You always do."

Hermione glanced at him. He'd been unusually quiet today. "Enough about me. How are you doing, Harry?"

Harry's fingers tapped lightly against his mug, his gaze dropping to the half-finished drink. He hesitated, his shoulders tensing.

"I, uh… got back together with Ginny," he said finally, his tone uncertain.

Hermione's brow furrowed as she studied him. "That's… good news, isn't it?"

Harry shifted in his seat, fidgeting with the handle of his mug.

"It's… complicated." He avoided her gaze, focusing instead on the swirling foam remnants in his cup.

She waited for him to continue, her gaze steady, but his posture made it clear that was all he was ready to share.

Hermione tilted her head, but she didn't push. "When—and if—you feel like talking about it, no matter what's going on in my life, I'll be here. You know that, right?"

Harry looked up then, his expression softening as a small, grateful smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah. I know."

Hermione gave him a reassuring nod, her smile lingering. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the chatter of the Leaky Cauldron filling the spaces between them. It felt like a rare pause in the chaos of their lives; a brief moment simply to exist in each other's presence.

Harry finally broke the quiet, his voice lighter this time. "You've come a long way, you know, Hermione. From that know-it-all girl with her hand always in the air to this…" He gestured vaguely, but the admiration in his tone was unmistakable. "This version of you who takes on the world and somehow keeps it spinning."

Hermione chuckled, the sound soft but genuine. "I've had good friends to help me along the way. Couldn't have done it without you and Ron."

"No, that's definitely the wrong way. We couldn't have done it without you. I couldn't have," Harry said, leaning back in his chair. "Draco's lucky. I hope he knows that."

"He does." Hermione grinned wickedly. "And I remind him whenever he forgets."

Harry raised his mug in a mock toast. "To remind the people we care about why they're lucky."

Hermione clinked her mug lightly against his, her eyes warm. "To the power of friendship."

As they drank, the moment felt like an anchor, grounding them amid the shifting tides of their lives. They knew they'd face whatever challenges lay ahead—together, as they always had.

Hermione worried her hands in her lap, sitting in her favourite chair in Draco's study. Draco sat stiffly in his armchair, his jaw tight and arms crossed. Theo sprawled on the chaise, but even his usual nonchalance was tinged with an edge of apprehension. Harry leaned against the fireplace mantel, arms folded, his presence a grounding comfort for Hermione.

"As you know, Harry and I need to share something." Hermione took a steadying breath. "I promised I would explain later, and I think it's time we explain what happened at Hogwarts."

Draco's silver eyes narrowed. "The Hufflepuff Cup?"

"Yes." She glanced at Harry, who gave her an encouraging nod.

Hermione proceeded to give an overview of what she and Harry had uncovered over the past year. She explained the diary, the first Horcrux they encountered, and how it had almost killed Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets. She detailed Dumbledore's discovery of the ring, its destructive curse, and how Slytherin's locket had driven Ron to abandon them during their hunt. Finally, her voice faltered as she described Nagini and Harry's horrifying revelation—that he carried a fragment of Voldemort within him, an unintentional Horcrux that had to be destroyed for Voldemort to die.

Each story was met with varying reactions—a flicker of unease in Draco's eyes, Theo's incredulous glances, and Harry's quiet nods, affirming her every word. By the time she finished, the room had fallen into a heavy silence, each man processing the scope of what she had shared.

"A diary." Harry shot a glare Draco's way, putting up a finger with each item he listed. "A ring, Slytherin's locket, Hufflepuff's cup, Ravenclaw's diadem, Nagini, and… me."

Draco and Theo exchanged uneasy glances as Harry finished his list. Theo sat up, his brow furrowed.

"Wait, hold on." Theo raised a hand. "Are you saying you were walking around with a piece of Voldemort this whole time? And you're just… fine now?"

"It wasn't exactly fine." Harry's jaw clenched, his eyes steady and resolute. "But it was destroyed when Voldemort killed me—or tried to kill me—in the forest. It's… a long story."

Draco looked down at his forearm, his expression twisting between horror and disgust.

"And you think this—" he gestured to the Dark Mark seared into his pale skin—"is like that? A piece of him?"

Hermione inclined her head, a coil of tension building within her. "Not exactly a Horcrux, but similar. The Dark Mark contains a fragment of Voldemort's magical signature. It's how he controlled his followers and ensured his presence was always with them."

Draco fixed his gaze on his left arm as if expecting it to betray him. He shifted it away from himself, keeping it at a wary distance. "So, I've been walking around with a part of him inside me? All this time?"

"Welcome to the club." Harry took a deep drink of the bourbon Draco offered when he arrived. "We should get t-shirts."

"I have a great slogan for it, too," Theo smirked. "I've Voldemort inside me, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt."

"Ew, Theo, please." Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose as Draco and Harry managed a choked chortle each.

Harry stepped in. "We didn't know about horcruxes until Dumbledore told me almost right before he died. If it helps, Malfoy, the Dark Mark, isn't nearly as potent. It's more like a magical tether than a full Horcrux."

Hermione's gaze darted to her husband. His silver eyes remained fixed on his arm, his face ashen. "The magical tether connects the bearer to Voldemort's will. That's why it's so invasive, so—"

"Violating," Draco finished with a low breath. He looked at Hermione, his eyes sowed with a pain she couldn't ignore. "It makes sense now. The way it felt whenever he summoned us, like a hand gripping my insides."

Theo looked horrified, his sharp wit silenced. "I thought it was just some twisted loyalty brand."

Draco's gaze darted back to his wife, his expression hardening as he fixed her with an intense stare. "That's why you focused on isolating the magical signature from the cup."

"I theorized, yes," Hermione admitted. "But I didn't want to say anything until I was sure. I thought I could remove the Dark Mark—and I know it's possible."

Draco's expression darkened as Hermione rolled up her sleeve, revealing a faint scar where the cursed 'M' had once marred her skin. He hadn't noticed it before, too preoccupied with her presence.

"Especially now, since I've successfully tested it on myself, I believe—"

Theo sat upright, his posture rigid, and Harry pushed off the mantel, his expression shifting to alarm.

"You—you tested it on yourself?" Draco's voice was dangerously quiet, but his eyes burned with fury. He stood abruptly, pacing the room with sharp, clipped movements. "And you did this alone?"

"Draco, I needed to be sure it was safe," Hermione said, her tone calm but imploring. "I couldn't risk—"

"You couldn't risk someone else, so you risked yourself?" Draco cut her off, his voice rising. "Do you have any idea what could have happened? You should have told me. I would have—" He stopped, running a hand through his hair, visibly struggling to keep his composure.

"I did it while you were at the Ministry. I'm fine," Hermione said firmly. "And it worked. I needed to know it would work before I put you through it."

"Bloody hell, Granger." Theo stared at her wide-eyed. "You've got more guts than sense sometimes, you know that?"

"For what it's worth, Hermione, you're braver than any of us." Harry crossed the room, standing beside her.

Draco's gaze snapped to Harry, his jaw tightening. "Brave or reckless?"

"Both," Harry frowned. "Bravery can be a double-edged sword. Draco's right. What you did was reckless. How often must we tell you that you're not alone, Hermione? You could have called me. You could have called Theo."

Hermione bit her lip and looked down at her hands. "I was afraid one of you would try to stop me."

"Damn right, they should have!" Draco was launching across the room again, pacing frantically as he drew his hands through his hair.

Hermione refused to look away from him. "I need you to trust me," she said softly. "I've tested everything I can."

"It's not a matter of trust." Draco's gaze lingered on her for a long moment before he exhaled, the tension easing slightly. "I trust you with my life, with the lives of everyone here implicitly." He strode over to her and knelt before her. "It's your life, and I fear you don't value it enough."

"I couldn't risk you."

His nose flared, and he breathed deep, the realization dawning that this was more than a conversation. Her deep-seated need for self-sacrifice would be something he'd need to counteract their entire lives.

He stood, shaking his head as he tried to take in the information rattling around in his brain. "So, I've got a piece of Voldemort festering inside me all this time?" He rubbed at his temples.

"Hey, don't look at me," Theo muttered. "I didn't sign up for Voldemort's posthumous party tricks."

Harry snorted, surprising everyone. "Could be worse."

Theo shot him a look, his lips twitching despite the tension.

"The fragment is dormant, a tool, not a consciousness," Hermione clarified. "I figured out that part when I learned about Lucius' potion, how it interacted with the Mark."

Theo sent Hermione a pointed glance. "Your husband's a lucky man, Granger. Not many people would wade into Dark Magic and soul fragments for their other half."

Harry glanced at Draco, his expression serious. "Yes, he is lucky. We all are."

Hermione's cheeks warmed as she turned back to Draco. "I need you to trust me. I've tested everything I can."

Draco hesitated. Of course, he wanted the Dark Mark gone. The vile brand tethered him to a life he despised, to a group and a man whose shadow he could never fully escape. It wasn't just a mark; it was a chain, a constant reminder of the dark choices forced upon him and the line he had walked during a war that had drained him of everything human. Every time he caught a glimpse of it—inked and dark against his pale skin—it dragged him back to the sleepless nights, the screams, and the shame he wore like a second skin.

But Hermione's actions unsettled him in a way he couldn't ignore.

She had tested everything she could. What did that mean? How many sleepless nights had she spent pushing herself to the brink for him? How much of herself had she sacrificed, her relentless drive compelling her to find a solution to a curse that was his burden, not hers? How many more times would she experiment on herself to perfect this process before allowing him to submit to it?

A flash of anger, sharp and bitter, rose in his chest—not at her, but at himself. She shouldn't have to bear this. It was his Dark Mark, his shame. The scars on his soul should remain his alone to carry. And yet, she stood before him, her determination unwavering, her faith in him unshakable. That faith cut deeper than the brand ever had.

His gaze flicked to her face, searching for some sign of doubt, some hesitation he could latch onto to justify saying no. But there was none.

Instead, he found that look. That look that always unravelled him. The quiet trust in her eyes, the certainty that he could do the right thing, that he deserved this chance to be free. It staggered him, leaving him exposed in a way he only allowed himself to be with her.

A terrible thought gnawed at the edge of his mind: what if this went wrong? What if her plan failed, and she suffered for it? Would the Dark Mark's dark magic lash back at her, wound her, because of him?

He'd watched her endure so much already—her pain, her sacrifices, all for the people she loved. For him. The idea of adding another scar to her already burdened heart made him sick.

And yet, a selfish part of him—a part he despised and longed to suppress—wanted her to keep looking at him like that. That trust, that unshakable belief, was something he never thought he'd deserve, yet it was hers to give freely. It terrified him how much he wanted to hold on to it, to her.

He would endure any spell, any risk if it meant keeping her faith in him intact.

Draco's hand tightened into a fist, the nails biting into his palm. He had spent so much of his life letting this Mark define him, but maybe it was time to fight back. If she believed he could be more than what the Dark Mark represented, perhaps he could believe it too.

He exhaled slowly, the tension ebbing away as resolve took its place. "I want this thing off of me," he said, his voice low but steady, a quiet fierceness threading through his words. "As soon as possible."

Hermione's shoulders relaxed slightly, but her eyes stayed locked on his. Draco held her gaze, the storm inside him finally giving way to something he hadn't felt in years: hope.

Hermione squeezed his hand. "Then we will."

From the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed Theo moving towards Harry, nudging him.

"So, Potter," Theo said. "Did you ever think we'd all be here, having a cozy chat about horcruxes and Voldemort's magical leftovers?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. "No. And I never thought I'd hear you call anything cozy."

"I'm full of surprises." Theo shrugged, leaning in slightly as his grin widened. "Haven't you noticed?"

Draco caught the exchange, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, and they shared a knowing look—a silent acknowledgment of whatever was brewing between Theo and Harry.

Clearing her throat, Hermione refocused. "The important thing is, the horcruxes are gone. The Cup, the Diadem, Nagini… all of them. That chapter is closed. And now, we can also remove the Dark Mark, the last remnant of Voldemort staining our world." Hermione paused for a moment. "The removal has worked once before. We'll come up with a plan."

Draco let out a breath that was almost a laugh, though it carried no real humour. "You do realize your track record with plans usually involves some catastrophic detour or near-death experience, right?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. "I'll have you know, my plans work perfectly fine. It's the company I keep that complicates things."

"Ah, of course," Draco drawled, leaning back and attempting to smirk. "It's all Potter's fault. Your record is flawless. Your concepts of plans are works of art. I'm sure this will all go swimmingly."

"Or it fails, and you're screwed." Harry shrugged.

Theo snorted, leaning casually against the table. "And not in a fun way."

Harry's eyes flicked toward Theo, a subtle challenge flashing in his gaze.

Theo caught it immediately, his smirk deepening as he tilted his head. Theo cleared his throat dramatically. "You know, Potter, if you keep staring at me like that, people might start to talk."

Harry snorted, shaking his head. "I'm more worried about what you might say."

"Merlin, what have I done inviting you lot here?" Hermione groaned, hiding her face in her hands while Draco let out a dry laugh.

"A disaster, clearly," Theo quipped, flashing a grin. "But at least it's an entertaining one."

Harry leaned back against the mantel, shaking his head. "You know, Malfoy, it is the first time I've been here and not had to fight for my life."

"Give it time, Potter," Draco replied, his smirk finally genuine. "The Manor has at least three cursed suits of armour that haven't been activated in decades. You could still end up duelling for your life by dinner."

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't stop a smile from creeping onto her face. The tension began to dissolve, replaced by something lighter, something hopeful.

The laughter that followed filled the room. Something Hermione would never take for granted again.