The Weight of Their Name
Hermione’s POV
She knew something was wrong the moment the owl arrived.
It dropped the parchment with more aggression than necessary, shaking the frost from its feathers before vanishing into the gray sky above the Ministry atrium.
Hermione read the seal. Her stomach twisted.
Department of Magical Oversight and Integrity.
How formal. How conveniently timed.
She opened it with steady fingers.
You are summoned for an in-person review regarding your recent political affiliations and their possible influence on your professional decision-making.
There were no names. No accusations. Just suggestion and suspicion—masked in parchment and pretty ink.
She folded the letter, her jaw tight.
And walked straight to Draco’s office.
He was standing behind his desk when she entered, flipping through a file with an expression that said bored, but lethal.
He looked up. Instantly alert.
“What is it?”
She dropped the letter in front of him.
Draco read it in silence, mouth flattening. “Bastards.”
“It’s a ‘review,’” she said. “Nothing serious.”
He looked up, eyes sharp. “Nothing serious? They’re investigating your integrity.”
“Because I’m married to you.”
“Because they’re afraid of you.”
She didn’t answer.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
They argued about it that night. Quietly, but fiercely.
She didn’t want him coming.
“They’ll think I’m hiding behind you,” she said, pacing. “That you’re manipulating the narrative.”
Draco sat in the armchair, his hands clenched. “They already think that.”
“I can handle it.”
“I know you can,” he said tightly. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
He stood. Crossed the room. “The point is, you shouldn’t have to. You shouldn’t have to face it alone.”
Hermione stared at him, chest tight.
And whispered, “But I always do.”
Draco’s POV
He didn’t sleep.
Not because of the Ministry.
But because of the look on her face when she said those words—quiet and raw and too damn familiar.
But I always do.
The next morning, she left early. Alone.
He let her go.
But only so he could arrive later, precisely when the meeting began, and take a seat at the back of the Ministry room without warning.
The heads turned. The whispers started.
Hermione looked up and saw him. Didn’t flinch.
But the way her mouth softened told him everything.
She was glad he was there.
Even if she wouldn’t say it.
The questioning was civil.
Pointed.
But Hermione held her own like steel wrapped in velvet.
“No, my relationship with the Malfoy family does not influence my professional work.”
“No, I have not accepted bribes, favors, or promises.”
“No, I am not naive. I am very aware of who I married.”
That got a few raised brows.
But she didn’t blink.
Draco had never wanted to kiss someone in the middle of a government hearing so badly in his life.
Hermione’s POV
The questions ended.
The room emptied.
Draco stayed seated.
She crossed to him, heels echoing on the floor.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she murmured.
“Too bad.”
She stared at him for a long time.
And then her voice cracked. Just a little.
“I hate that I have to prove I’m not compromised. Like marrying you means I gave up my mind.”
Draco’s jaw flexed. “They’re fools.”
“They’re afraid.”
“So let them be afraid.”
She shook her head. “It’s not just about them. It’s about me. About how it feels to keep having to earn space I already carved out with blood and brilliance.”
Draco stood slowly, his voice lower than before.
“What if I gave it up?”
Hermione blinked. “What?”
“The name. The legacy. The empire. The money. All of it.” His tone didn’t waver. “Would it make your life easier if I wasn’t a Malfoy anymore?”
Her heart thudded. “You’d do that?”
“I’d burn it all down if it meant you didn’t have to defend yourself for loving me.”
Silence.
Breath.
Then her hand reached up, curling at his collar.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Because you’re not the one who needs to disappear. They are.”
Draco stared at her like she’d just re-lit something in him.
“You’re terrifying,” he said softly.
“And you love it.”
He smirked. “I love you.”
She smiled. “I know.”
That night, back at the Manor, he caught her standing at the mirror, fingers to the emerald on her necklace.
She turned, eyes tired but clear.
He walked to her slowly, wrapping his arms around her from behind.
They stood like that in the mirror—together. A united front. A future.
“What if it never gets easier?” she asked softly.
Draco pressed a kiss to her temple.
“Then we get stronger.”