Chapter 8

The Hundredth Day

Each day of the hundred-day separation had been a test of patience and faith. Hermione immersed herself in her work, tirelessly pushing forward with the legislation for house-elf rights. It became her refuge, a necessary distraction from the emptiness left by Lucius's absence. Yet, every evening, as she set aside her parchments and quills, her thoughts drifted back to him. What would these hundred days reveal? Would he return unchanged? Or worse—would he not return at all?

For his part, Lucius occupied himself with reorganizing the Malfoy family businesses, ensuring that his children's legacy remained protected. But no matter how deeply he threw himself into his affairs, every evening, alone in his study, his mind inevitably wandered back to Hermione. He wondered what she was doing, if she missed him as much as he missed her, and—above all—if their love could endure the weight of uncertainty.

Lucius had embarked on this journey to confirm his feelings, to be certain that his love for Hermione was genuine and not the product of a miscast spell. As the days passed, one truth became evident—no matter where he traveled, no matter how much distance lay between them, he could not stop thinking about her. The letters they exchanged had been a comfort at first, a lifeline between them, but as the days wore on, he noticed a troubling pattern. Hermione's letters, once frequent and filled with warmth, grew fewer and shorter, her words more distant.

At first, she wrote every two days. Then once a week. Then… almost nothing.

A sliver of doubt crept into Lucius's mind.

—Has she changed her mind?he wondered.Has she decided that our love was nothing more than a mistake?

Yet, despite his growing unease, he remained steadfast in his decision. He would see this through to the end.

On the morning of the final day, Lucius returned to the manor with his heart pounding. His mind swirled with possibilities—relief, joy, dread. Would she be waiting for him? Or had she already decided to leave?

The moment he stepped inside, a sense of unease gripped him. The house was silent. Too silent.

He called her name. No response.

His chest tightened as he strode through the manor, checking the sitting room, the library, the dining hall—each room eerily untouched, as if Hermione hadn't been there in days. His steps quickened as he climbed the staircase, his pulse racing. Their bedroom door creaked open under his touch, and his stomach dropped. The bed was perfectly made, as though no one had slept in it for some time.

Panic flared in his chest. Did she leave me?

He rushed through the corridors, searching frantically, calling her name louder now. The manor, which had once been a sanctuary, suddenly felt oppressive.

Finally, a thought struck him—the gardens.

He pushed open the glass doors leading to the orchard, his heart pounding in his ears. The golden light of dusk stretched across the vast grounds, and then—he saw her.

There, near the peach trees, Hermione stood on a wooden ladder, plucking fruit from the branches, dressed in a simple linen gown. For a moment, he simply watched, relief washing over him. She was still here.

But then, she moved too quickly, lost her balance—

Lucius surged forward as she tumbled, catching her just in time. He pulled her close, his breath ragged, his arms tightening instinctively around her.

— "Are you hurt?" he asked urgently, his voice rough with worry.

Hermione, dazed but unharmed, shook her head. But as he steadied her, his hands brushed over something unexpected—

A slight roundness beneath her dress.

Lucius froze. His hands trembled as he pulled back just enough to look at her properly.

And then he saw it.

Her belly.

His heart stopped.

Hermione, her cheeks flushed with emotion, swallowed hard. Her eyes darted to his, filled with nervousness and uncertainty.

Lucius, still kneeling before her, hesitantly placed his hands over the small curve.

— "Hermione..." His voice was barely above a whisper, a mix of wonder and disbelief.

Tears welled in her eyes.

— "I wanted to tell you, Lucius... but I was afraid," she admitted.

He looked up at her, his expression unreadable.

— "Afraid?"

She nodded, voice trembling.

— "Afraid that if your feelings were only because of the spell... you'd feel trapped. That you'd stay only because of the baby."

A silence stretched between them, filled with unspoken fears, unvoiced hopes.

Then, without warning, Lucius bowed his head and pressed a reverent kiss against her belly.

Hermione gasped, tears slipping freely down her cheeks.

When he finally looked back up, his silver eyes were bright—not with hesitation, not with doubt, but with something undeniable.

— "Hermione, this is the best news I could have ever hoped for." His voice was thick with emotion. "Not only do I love you, but now we are creating something together. A future. A family."

Hermione let out a shaky laugh, relief crashing over her.

— "I wanted you to be sure," she whispered. "To come back of your own free will before I told you."

Lucius rose to his feet, cradling her face between his hands.

— "I was sure long before these hundred days were over," he confessed. "And now, more than ever, I know there is nothing in this world that could make me leave you."

Hermione's breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers with a tenderness that made her heart ache.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting them in golden twilight. The orchard, once a place of solitude, became their sanctuary—a silent witness to the love that had been tested, strengthened, and now, reborn.

And as they stood there, entwined beneath the whispering leaves, both Lucius and Hermione knew—this was only the beginning of their forever.

Lucius could still feel the warmth of Hermione's skin beneath his hands, the delicate swell of her belly pressing against his palm. A child. Their child. The realization settled over him like the final piece of a puzzle he hadn't known was missing. His chest tightened—not with fear, but with something deeper, something fierce and unshakable.

He had lost so much in his life. His reputation, his certainty, his carefully built world. And yet, here she was. Hermione. The woman who had turned his life upside down. The woman who had made him want more, feel more. And now, she was carrying his child.

He had never wanted anything more than he wanted this moment to last.

A cool breeze rustled through the orchard, the golden light of dusk wrapping around them. Hermione trembled slightly, whether from the lingering shock of her fall or from the emotions between them, he wasn't sure. He steadied her, his hands sliding to her waist, grounding her.

She exhaled a shaky breath.

— "Lucius…"

He looked at her, drinking in the uncertainty in her gaze, the vulnerability she rarely let show.

— "You disappeared for a hundred days," she whispered. "And I told myself I would be strong. That I could do this on my own if I had to."

Lucius felt something inside him twist at the thought of her going through this alone.

— "But I didn't want to." Hermione's voice wavered. "I wanted you to come back because you wanted to. Not because you felt bound by duty or—"

He cut her off gently, tilting her chin so she had no choice but to meet his gaze.

— "I came back because I love you."

A soft, almost disbelieving sound escaped her lips, something between a sob and a laugh.

— "I was so afraid you wouldn't."

Lucius traced his thumb along her jaw, memorizing the softness of her skin, the way her breath hitched at his touch.

— "I was afraid too," he admitted. "Afraid that I'd return to find you had moved on. That I had taken too long to realize what was right in front of me."

Hermione swallowed hard, emotion shining in her eyes.

— "I could never move on from you."

Something in him cracked at her words, at the raw honesty in them.

Lucius bent his head, pressing his lips to her forehead, then to her temple, trailing soft, lingering kisses down to the corner of her mouth.

— "Let's go inside," he murmured against her skin. "You need rest."

Hermione sighed, nodding as he led her back toward the manor, his hand firm but gentle against the small of her back.

The warmth of the manor wrapped around them as they stepped inside, leaving the twilight behind. The flickering glow of candlelight illuminated the grand hall, casting long shadows on the marble floors. The familiar scent of aged parchment and lavender filled the air, comforting in its familiarity.

Lucius guided Hermione toward the sitting room, where the fireplace crackled softly, chasing away the evening chill. Without a word, he gestured for her to sit, then disappeared briefly, returning moments later with a glass of water and a silk throw, which he draped around her shoulders.

Hermione watched him with quiet wonder.

— "You're fussing," she said with a small smile.

Lucius arched a brow as he took the seat beside her.

— "You're carrying my heir. I believe I'm entitled to a certain level of fussing."

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "Heir? Really, Lucius, it's the twenty-first century."

His lips curled into a smirk. "Old habits die hard, darling."

She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder.

For a while, they sat in silence, the weight of the last hundred days settling between them. There were still so many questions left unspoken, so many things they needed to work through. But for now, Lucius was content to simply hold her, to feel her warmth beside him.

Then, Hermione spoke.

— "What happens now?"

Lucius inhaled slowly, considering her words.

— "We move forward," he said simply. "Together."

She shifted slightly, sitting up so she could face him properly.

— "Lucius, I need to know something." Her voice was steady, but there was hesitation in her gaze.

He nodded for her to continue.

— "That spell. The one that supposedly tied us together. Do you think… do you believe it still affects us?"

Lucius exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

— "No," he said finally. "I've thought about it endlessly. At first, I questioned everything. But after all this time, I know this much to be true—" His fingers brushed over her belly, reverent. "Magic can influence, but it cannot fabricate something that wasn't already there."

Hermione's breath caught.

— "You truly believe that?"

He cupped her face, his gaze fierce.

— "I know it."

A tear slipped down her cheek, but this time, it was one of relief.

Lucius caught it with his thumb, then leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, lingering kiss. She melted into him, her fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring herself to him as he poured every unspoken promise into that single moment.

When they finally pulled apart, Hermione rested her forehead against his.

— "I love you," she murmured.

Lucius felt something in him settle, a warmth unfurling in his chest like the first light of dawn.

— "And I love you."

For the first time in longer than he could remember, there was no hesitation, no fear, no doubt.

Just them.

And the life they were about to build together.

As the fire crackled softly beside them, Lucius pulled Hermione closer, pressing a hand to her belly, feeling the faintest movement beneath his palm.

— "We should set a wedding date," he said suddenly.

Hermione blinked at him in surprise.

— "You're sure?"

He chuckled, tilting her chin up so she could see the certainty in his eyes.

— "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

She smiled, bright and full of promise.

— "Then let's get married, Lucius. Let's finally start our forever."

And in that moment, as the firelight danced across their faces, Lucius knew—his life, once governed by duty and regret, had finally found its purpose.

And it was her.