The Legacy They Chose
Draco’s POV
He held the letter like it might burn through his skin.
It wasn’t the words.
It was the implication—the violence behind the ink, the cruelty behind the calm.
A target on your back. A child with your eyes.
He hadn’t known real rage until that moment.
Not in the war. Not even when his name had been dragged through mud.
But this? This was different.
This was her.
And the ghost of a future they hadn’t even dared speak aloud.
Hermione sat across the room, silent.
Not because she was afraid.
Because she was done being afraid.
Draco dropped the letter into the fire, the flames licking it into ash.
“They’ll regret that,” he said, voice a growl.
Hermione looked at him, the emerald necklace catching the firelight.
“They already should,” she replied.
He crossed to her slowly. “I can put a team on it. We’ll find out who it was. I’ll make them disappear.”
“No,” she said, standing. “We’ll do it together.”
He stilled.
“You don’t have to protect me from the storm,” she added softly. “You can stand in it with me.”
Draco reached for her hand, threading their fingers together.
“I’m not afraid of storms,” he whispered. “Not anymore.”
Hermione’s POV
The Ministry hearing was public.
It was meant to be.
Meant to test her. To shame her. To remind the wizarding world that a Mudblood had married into a sacred bloodline and dared to hold power.
Draco stood beside her, dressed in black, his silver tie understated but sharp. His expression was carved from stone.
They were fire and frost, standing side by side.
And Hermione—Hermione was ready to burn everything down.
They questioned her integrity. Again.
They questioned her objectivity. Again.
And she answered each one with the precision of a knife and the poise of a queen.
Until one wizard—an older, narrow-minded official with too much power and not enough sense—asked, “Do you believe, Madam Malfoy, that you can truly serve the people when your allegiance is so clearly aligned with one family?”
Hermione smiled.
Not politely.
Not sweetly.
The kind of smile that said you have no idea what I’ve survived.
“My allegiance,” she said, “is to truth. To justice. To peace.”
She turned to look at Draco, then back at the room.
“And to anyone who’s ever been told they don’t belong.”
She placed her hands on the table, her voice strong.
“I didn’t marry into legacy. I married into choice. And I’ll keep choosing it, no matter how many rooms try to remind me of the name I was born with.”
Draco’s POV
He didn’t say a word during the hearing.
Not until the end.
When the floor was opened for closing remarks, and all eyes turned to him.
Draco stood slowly.
Let the silence stretch.
Then said, “I’ve spent most of my life wearing a name that meant power. Fear. Influence.”
He looked at Hermione.
“And I used to think that was enough.”
The room was still.
“But then I met someone who challenged me. Who made me question everything I was taught to believe. Who never once asked me to be less. Who taught me that love isn’t about protection—it’s about standing beside someone even when it’s terrifying.”
He stepped closer to her.
“This isn’t about my name,” he finished. “It’s about hers. And how, if this world has any sense at all, it’ll start listening to it.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.
It was awe.
They left the Ministry hand in hand.
Untouched. Unshaken.
Unstoppable.
Final Scene – Shared POV
The Manor was quiet when they returned.
No owls. No letters. No fear.
Just them.
Hermione curled on the divan, legs tucked beneath her, the fire casting gold over her skin.
Draco watched her from the doorway.
“Staring again?” she asked.
“Always.”
She smiled softly. “You said something today.”
He stepped closer. “I said many things.”
“Something about love not being protection, but partnership.”
He nodded.
She placed a hand over her chest, fingers brushing the emerald.
“You don’t have to keep giving me things, Draco.”
“I know.”
He reached into his pocket.
But I want to.
He held out a new bracelet. Silver. Minimal. Elegant.
And on it—three charms: the emerald phoenix, the Malfoy family crest, and a single blank disc.
“For you,” he said, clasping it around her wrist. “For me.”
She stared at the blank charm. “And this one?”
He looked at her. “For whoever comes next. When we’re ready.”
Hermione’s breath caught.
She stood, pressed her forehead to his, whispering, “You surprise me every day.”
“Good,” he whispered back. “I plan to keep doing that.”
They stood there for a long time.
Wrapped in warmth. In memory. In promise.
Until she pulled back, looking at him with a smile that mirrored the one he fell for.
“You don’t have to pretend anymore, you know,” she teased.
He smiled—soft, sharp, utterly hers.
“I stopped pretending,” he murmured, “the moment you called me yours.”