Chapter 9

The Bonds That Hold Us

The days following Lucius's return passed in a golden haze, filled with quiet moments of rediscovery and the unspoken promise of a future neither of them had dared to dream of before. Yet, beneath the surface of their newfound happiness, a question loomed over them.

Their wedding.

It had been postponed time and time again—first by hesitation, then by circumstance, and later by the burden of doubts neither of them had been able to voice. But now, with their child growing inside her, Hermione knew they could no longer delay.

And so, one evening, as they sat in the warmth of the manor's drawing room, she placed her hand over Lucius's.

—"It's time, Lucius."

He looked up from the fire, his silver eyes meeting hers.

—"Time for what, my love?"he asked, though something in his expression suggested he already knew.

Hermione took a steady breath.

—"To set a date for our wedding."

A flicker of something unreadable crossed Lucius's face. He leaned back slightly, running a hand along the bridge of his nose.

—"You're certain?"

—"Aren't you?"she countered gently.

Lucius exhaled, then reached for his glass of firewhisky, swirling the amber liquid inside before answering.

—"I was ready the moment I returned to you. But Hermione, we must be realistic. The moment we announce it, the scrutiny will be… intense."

She knew what he meant.

Their union had already been the subject of relentless speculation. Whispers in the Ministry. Disapproving glances in Diagon Alley. And now, with her pregnancy…

Hermione squared her shoulders.

—"Let them talk."

Lucius smirked, a glint of admiration in his eyes.

—"You do love scandal, don't you?"

—"Not as much as you do,"she teased, giving his hand a squeeze.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest, but then he sobered, his expression softening as he looked at her.

—"Then let's do it properly. No more delays, no more excuses."

Hermione's heart swelled with relief.

—"What did you have in mind?"

Lucius tilted his head, considering.

—"A winter wedding,"he said after a moment."Snow falling over the manor grounds. Candlelight, music, warmth despite the cold outside."

Hermione smiled.

—"It sounds perfect."

Word of their impending wedding spread faster than wildfire. Within a week, invitations had been sent, and responses flooded in—some enthusiastic, others laced with barely concealed judgment.

Molly Weasley, much to Hermione's delight, insisted on overseeing some of the arrangements, though she still shot Lucius skeptical glances whenever she thought no one was looking.

Draco, ever the pragmatic son, simply arched a brow when his father informed him of the wedding over dinner.

— "Finally decided to make an honest woman of her, did you?" he mused, sipping his wine.

Lucius gave him a pointed look.

— "Do be careful, Draco. I could still change my mind about the guest list."

Draco smirked but said nothing more.

But not all reactions were lighthearted.

Three days after the announcement, a letter arrived by owl, written in a hand that made Hermione's blood run cold.

— "From the Ministry," she murmured, unsealing the envelope with careful fingers.

Lucius leaned in beside her as she unfolded the parchment, his jaw tightening as he read.

A formal summons.

The Wizengamot was requesting their presence.

The pretense was clear—their marriage, and by extension, the growing influence of their union, had raised concerns. It was a political maneuver disguised as protocol, an attempt to remind Lucius Malfoy that, despite his recent redemption, he would never truly escape the shadow of his past.

Hermione met his gaze.

— "They mean to test us."

Lucius folded the letter, slipping it into the pocket of his robes.

— "Then let them."

The entrance to the grand hall of the Wizengamot loomed ahead, its towering doors lined with intricate runes that pulsed faintly with protective magic. The moment Lucius and Hermione stepped inside, all conversation ceased. The sea of officials, dressed in deep plum robes, turned their eyes toward them, scrutinizing their every move.

Hermione walked with her head held high, her fingers resting lightly on Lucius's arm. He, in turn, carried himself with an air of composed indifference, though she could feel the subtle tension in his frame. They had both known this was coming—this thinly veiled interrogation disguised as a formal hearing.

A political maneuver.

A power play.

A reminder that neither of them was truly free from the weight of their pasts.

At the center of the chamber, Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt sat on an elevated dais, his expression unreadable as he observed them. Hermione respected him deeply—he was fair, measured, and had been a key figure in the post-war reconstruction of the Ministry. But today, he was not just an ally. He was the authority they would have to answer to.

The official who had summoned them, a gaunt-looking wizard named Edwin Fawley, cleared his throat and began.

— "Lucius Malfoy. Hermione Granger. You stand before the Wizengamot today under concerns regarding the political implications of your impending marriage."

Lucius arched a single pale brow, his smirk barely concealed.

— "How fascinating," he drawled. "And here I thought love required no legal approval."

A ripple of murmurs spread through the assembled officials. Some chuckled; others stiffened.

Hermione pressed her fingers slightly against Lucius's wrist in silent warning—Don't antagonize them yet.

Stepping forward, she addressed the room in a steady, unwavering voice.

— "If this is about my work at the Ministry, then let's discuss it openly. But if this is merely a veiled attempt to challenge my personal life, I suggest we not waste anyone's time."

Fawley's thin lips pressed into a tight line. He did not like being called out so directly.

— "Miss Granger, your position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has granted you considerable influence. Some believe your union with Mr. Malfoy could create… biases."

Lucius let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

— "You fear that my wife will bend the law in my favor? I do hate to disappoint, but Hermione's morals are infuriatingly intact."

A few scattered laughs echoed through the chamber, but Fawley's frown deepened.

— "This is a serious matter, Mr. Malfoy," he snapped. "Your family name still carries significant weight, and there are those who question whether your reformation is genuine."

Lucius's silver eyes sharpened. The easy amusement in his demeanor cooled into something more dangerous.

— "You question my reformation, yet you stand here under the leadership of a Minister who deemed me fit to reenter society. Or is Kingsley's judgment no longer trusted within his own Wizengamot?"

A sharp intake of breath swept the room. Kingsley raised a brow but remained silent, watching how the confrontation unfolded.

Fawley's face darkened.

— "No one is questioning the Minister's judgment," he said through gritted teeth. "But given your history, it is not unreasonable to ask why this marriage is being rushed."

Hermione stepped in before Lucius could respond, her voice calm but firm.

— "I see. So this is about the timing?" She folded her arms. "It's curious that this Ministry, which prides itself on progressive ideals, would take such an interest in when a woman chooses to marry."

A witch with sharp, gray-streaked hair—one Hermione recognized as Delphina Rowle, a lingering remnant of the old pure-blood aristocracy—spoke next.

— "You must admit, Miss Granger, this… partnership is an unusual one."

Hermione met her gaze without flinching.

— "Because I was once a Muggle-born student, and he was once a Death Eater?"

Rowle didn't answer immediately, but the message was clear.

Lucius took that moment to step forward, his tone deceptively smooth.

— "Perhaps we should stop dancing around the matter and speak plainly," he suggested. "What is it that truly concerns you? That my past is irredeemable? That a Malfoy should not be permitted a new future? Or is it that Hermione Granger—whom you all hailed as a war heroine—has made a choice that does not align with your expectations?"

Silence fell.

Hermione's heart pounded. Lucius had laid the truth bare.

And the Wizengamot did not like it.

Another official, this time a younger wizard with dark curls, cleared his throat.

— "We have no intention of interfering in your personal affairs, but… there is also the matter of the child."

Hermione tensed.

Lucius did not.

Instead, he tilted his head ever so slightly, his expression unreadable.

— "Ah. So now we reach the heart of it."

More murmurs.

Kingsley finally leaned forward, interlocking his fingers.

— "Is it true?" he asked, his voice even.

Lucius turned his gaze toward Hermione.

For a moment, she considered lying. Pretending they weren't yet expecting, that this had nothing to do with their choice to finally wed. But what good would that do? It would not change the truth.

So she nodded.

— "Yes."

The admission sent another wave of voices rippling through the hall. Some in shock. Some in disapproval. Some… simply intrigued.

Fawley scowled.

— "And you expect us to believe that this was not part of some… strategic arrangement?"

Lucius moved before Hermione could.

— "How little you must understand love, Fawley, to assume that our child is anything but a gift."

His voice, though calm, carried a lethal edge.

The room fell into a hush.

Kingsley observed them for a long moment before finally speaking.

— "I see no laws being broken here."

Fawley inhaled sharply, as if about to argue, but Kingsley raised a hand.

— "This hearing is adjourned. And my congratulations to the both of you."

Just like that, it was over.

The assembled officials rose, some muttering among themselves, others shooting unreadable looks toward Lucius and Hermione as they dispersed.

Hermione let out a slow breath, her fingers unclenching from where they had been curled into fists at her side.

Lucius smirked.

— "Well. That was rather amusing."

Hermione shot him a sideways glare.

— "You really don't know when to hold your tongue, do you?"

— "Where would the fun be in that?"

She huffed, but as they stepped out into the sunlight of the atrium, she realized something.

No matter the scrutiny, no matter the whispers, no matter the attempts to shake them—

They had stood their ground.

Together.