More Than A Memory

It had been an unremarkable afternoon at the apothecary. She was brewing, Theo was lounging around with a cup of coffee - all usual, standard behaviour. Then Theo had opened his mouth.

“You wouldn’t want a proposal in public, would you?” He asked casually. She jolted, almost losing her wand to the vibrant purple potion she was stirring.

“Proposal?” She repeated, her chest clenching in panic. 

Theo’s smirked turned positively feral. “Marriage, weddings, matrimony. Proposals.” He clarified. “I just feel like doing it in public is rather tacky.”

“I…I suppose.” She stammered. Had Draco gotten him to ask her this? Was he doing recon for his friend? They’d only been together officially for four months - it was way too soon to think about anything like that. Wasn’t it?

Before either of them said anything else, Draco wandered in, flipping through the shop’s inventory notes, entirely unfazed by the conversation he was walking into. He didn’t even look up at her as he asked his question.

“What’s your ring size, Granger?”

She choked so violently that Theo had to pat her on the back as she sputtered into her sleeve. Draco finally glanced up, one pale brow arched in amusement. He smirked like he’d just planned her reaction to the very second.

“J.” She managed to squeak, and all she got in response was a single nod. He didn’t explain himself, didn’t acknowledge the crisis he’d sent her spiralling into. He simply turned the page in his notebook and kept reading, as if he hadn’t just casually dropped the biggest, most relationship-altering question of all time into the middle of an otherwise normal Monday.

"Oh, this is delicious." Theo murmured. Because he knew, just as well as Hermione did, that Draco Malfoy never asked questions without reason. He didn’t do anything without careful planning. "Merlin, it’s happening.” Theo placed a completely unnecessary yet deeply theatrical hand over his heart as Hermione sat frozen in her chair, eyes wide, brain short-circuiting.

Draco Malfoy was going to propose.

And she was absolutely not ready for it.

Hermione woke up the next day to the distinct and alarming sensation of being watched.

She cracked one eye open, and sure enough, Draco was propped up on one elbow, just looking at her. Softly. Thoughtfully. Was that a knowing look? Was that a marriage look?!

She inhaled sharply, sat up too fast, and whacked her head on the headboard.

“Granger-?” Draco frowned, reaching out.

“Fine. I’m fine.” She waved him off, already scrambling out of bed. “Completely fine. No reason to worry.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t worried until you said that.”

Hermione ignored him, marching to the bathroom and closing the door. Then she gripped the sink and stared at herself in the mirror. She was being completely ridiculous.

Unless she wasn’t. Draco had asked for her ring size, and now he was looking at her like that.

She brushed her teeth aggressively, as if she could scrub the insane thoughts from her brain.

At the apothecary, things only got worse. Theo and Blaise were smirking at her. Not just any smirks, either. Smug, knowing smirks. The kind that suggested they were in on something. The kind that suggested they were waiting for something to happen.

Every time she walked into a room, conversation shifted. Every time she asked Draco a question, he deflected. Then he left early. Again. He’d been doing that more and more recently, and she had no idea where he was going. What if he was meeting with vendors? Organisers? Planners?

Hermione attempted to be rational. He was an important man with responsibilities and she loved him dearly for it, but it didn’t help that when she asked what he was up to, he just smirked, kissed her on the cheek, and said- “Nothing interesting, love.”

That evening, Hermione stopped by the Leaky Cauldron, hoping to clear her head. Maybe talk to Pansy, who always had the annoying ability to see through her bullshit, but as she approached their usual table, she heard their conversation.

Pansy and Theo were discussing wedding venues.

“As long as it’s not outside. What if it rains?” Pansy said. Theo shrugged.

“Draco’s going to be insufferable no matter where it is-”

Hermione’s stomach dropped through the floor, as both of them froze the moment they spotted her.

“Oh, Granger! What are you doing here?” Pansy smiled, covering a little too smoothly. Too quickly.

“What are you doing here?” She replied.

Theo shrugged. “Nothing! Definitely not talking about weddings. Haha. That would be ridiculous. Seeing as neither of us are engaged, you know.”

Hermione didn’t know whether to laugh or throw up. She turned on her heel and walked right back out, ignoring them calling after her.

Lying in bed that night without Draco for once, Hermione came to one single, inescapable conclusion as she stared at her ceiling. It was definitely happening.

Hermione was halfway through cataloging a shipment of imported moonflower extract when a patronus came careening into the room. She frowned, wiping her hands on her robes as it began to speak. Well no, that isn’t what it did. Ron, in a voice so high and frantic that it barely sounded like him at all, screeched at her.

“MIONE, PADMA’S HAVING THE BABY!”

She burst into the waiting area of the maternity ward fifteen minutes later, still in her stained brewing apron, out of breath, clutching a paper cup of tea she had no memory of buying.

Ron was pacing - unraveling. His hair stuck up in every direction, as though he’d tried to pull it out. His clothes were wrinkled like he’d changed in a rush. His face was pure panic, hands flexing at his sides like he wasn’t sure whether he needed to punch something or pass out.

“Mione.” He whipped around to face her, eyes wide and wild. “I- She…”

“Breathe.” She abandoned the tea and grabbed his forearms, forcing him to stop moving. “Tell me what’s happening.”

He took a shaky breath. “Her waters broke a few hours ago. She was so calm, like, eerily calm. I was the one running around like a headless hippogriff - do you know how many bags she packed?! Why does a baby need five bags?”

Hermione bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. “Because she’s Padma.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” He whispered, and for the first time, he actually looked terrified.

Hermione softened, squeezing his arms. “Yes, you do. You love her. You love this baby. That’s all that matters.”

Ron exhaled through his nose, nodding. “Right. Yeah. I can do that.” He straightened, righting himself somewhat. Then he visibly began to panic again. “Oh, Merlin, I’m going to be a dad.”

Hermione grinned. “Yes, Ronald. That’s usually how it works.”

The next few hours were a blur of waiting.

Theo, Harry, and Ginny all arrived. Pansy was at Neville’s place, utterly useless when contacted, because she was drunk on elf-made wine. Of course. 

Hermione had sent a patronus to Draco to let him know where she was. He’d wished Ron and Padma all the best, and promised he and Blaise were holding the fort at the apothecary.

Then finally, finally, a healer stepped into the waiting room.

Ginny shot up. “Is she okay? Are they okay?” 

The healer smiled. “She’s perfect. They both are. New dad is asking for Miss Granger and Mr Potter.” 

Hermione let Harry pull her through the hospital door, the sterile, citrusy scent of St. Mungo’s maternity wing sharp in her nose. She still wasn’t entirely sure why she was nervous - it wasn’t like she was the one who’d just had a baby - but something about this felt huge.

Ron was a father. Ron had a daughter. The reality of it was still hitting her in waves.

Inside, Padma was nestled against the pillows, looking exhausted but serene, her dark hair spilling around her shoulders in a way that made her look almost ethereal. She smiled at them sleepily, shifting slightly to reveal Ron, who was sitting beside her, arms full of something tiny.

Hermione stopped breathing.

There, cradled in Ron’s arms, wrapped up in a soft yellow blanket, was her. She was impossibly small, barely the size of one of his Quidditch gloves. Tufts of ginger hair peeked out from the top of the blanket, and her tiny hands twitched slightly as she slept.

Ron looked up. “Come on, then.” He nodded toward them, his voice rough but so full of something Hermione couldn’t quite name. “Don’t just stand there.”

Harry moved first, stepping closer, his green eyes wide, almost reverent. “She’s so… bloody hell, Ron.”

Ron grinned. Hermione finally managed to unfreeze, stepping up to the other side of the bed, peering down at the tiny, perfect little girl. “She’s beautiful.” Her voice cracked just a little.

Padma’s smile was soft. “You can hold her, if you want.”

Hermione’s stomach dropped. “Oh, I-” She wavered. “Are you sure? I don’t want to-”

Ron snorted. “Mione, you faced down Voldemort, but you’re scared of a baby?”

She glared at him. “They’re fragile, Ronald.”

Padma just laughed. “She’ll be fine, Hermione. Go on.”

Carefully, Ron shifted forward and placed the warm, squirming little bundle into Hermione’s arms. She froze, terrified of doing something wrong, but the baby just sighed softly, scrunching up her tiny face before settling back into sleep.

Hermione exhaled, something tight loosening in her chest.

“She’s so small.” She whispered, awestruck.

Ron smiled at her. “Yeah. Weird, huh?”

Harry peered over Hermione’s shoulder, looking like he wasn’t sure whether to grin or cry. “She looks like you, mate.”

“Poor kid.” Ron smirked, but his voice was thick.

Padma rolled her eyes. “She has his hair. But the rest? Definitely me.”

Harry chuckled. “Good. The world doesn’t need two Ron Weasleys.”

Ron huffed a mock offense, then paused, rubbing the back of his neck in that nervous, telltale way Hermione had seen a thousand times before.

“Uh, actually…” His voice was lower now, uncertain in a way that made Hermione immediately focus on him. Ron glanced at Padma, who gave him an encouraging nod, and then he sighed. “I wanted to ask you both something.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

Ron shifted, sitting up straighter, his eyes flicking between the two of them.

“I- well. You two are my best friends. You always have been. And Padma and I talked about it, and…” He swallowed, suddenly serious. “We’d like you both to be her godparents.”

Hermione’s breath caught. For a moment, everything in her spun.

She looked down at the baby - the tiny, innocent new life in her arms - and felt something vast and consuming lodge itself deep in her chest.

She’d always loved Ron, but this was something else. This was trust. This was family.

Harry beat her to it, stepping forward and clapping a hand on Ron’s shoulder. “Are you kidding? Of course, mate.”

Ron grinned, some of the tension melting from his shoulders. Then, hesitantly, he looked back at Hermione.

She finally found her voice. “Yes. Obviously, yes.”

Ron exhaled, looking relieved and a little emotional, and Hermione suddenly understood - this was a big deal for him, too. Because after everything, the war, the loss, the pain, they had all somehow ended up here. Together. Alive. Moving forward. And if that wasn’t something worth holding onto, she didn’t know what was.

Finally, she looked at Padma, whose eyes were bright with emotion.

“What’s her name?” Hermione asked softly.

Padma smiled, reaching out to run a gentle finger over her daughter’s tiny hand. “Aanya.” Hermione blinked, warmth blooming in her chest at the sound of it. Padma’s expression turned fond. “It means ‘grace’ or ‘limitless’ in Sanskrit.” She looked up at Ron, then back to Hermione and Harry. “She’s going to be loved by so many people.”

Hermione swallowed down the sudden, overwhelming emotion, pressing a soft kiss to Aanya’s tiny forehead.

“Welcome to the world, Aanya.” She whispered.

Hermione had seen Ron happy before. She’d seen him victorious. She’d seen him in love. But she had never seen him look at anything the way he looked at his daughter. Like she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Like she was his whole world.

Padma, exhausted but glowing, reached over and pushed a bit of ginger hair from Ron’s forehead. She smiled at him, her voice hoarse from labor but so full of love.

“I love you, Ron.”

Ron didn’t hesitate. “I love you too.”

Hermione felt it then as she passed Aanya back to Padma. A sharp, horrifying realization in her gut.

Her friends were moving forward. Growing. Becoming parents and partners and building families. And suddenly - terrifyingly - she wasn’t sure if she was ready. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

She thought about Draco. About his smirks and his floo calls and his secrets. What if this was too fast? What if they burned out?

She needed to slow things down. Immediately. Fuck, she wasn’t ready.

She had executed a perfect getaway. The second she’d felt Draco shift beside her in bed, the moment he’d groaned sleepily and reached blindly for her, she’d moved. A swift, silent accio for her clothes. No time for a shower - just a few desperate freshening charms and a quick detour to the kitchen to pretend she was making tea before making a break for the Floo.

By the time Draco fully woke up, she was gone.

It wasn’t her proudest moment, but it was necessary. The fact that she was actively avoiding her own boyfriend did not feel great, but what if he really was planning a proposal? She shook her head, practically sprinting down Diagon Alley, determined to avoid thinking about it.

By the time she made it to the apothecary, Hermione was on edge. Draco had floo called her twice, and she had ignored him twice. A vaguely harried looking Aquila was delivering his notes - ‘Where’d you run off to, love?’ ‘Missed you this morning. Hope everything is ok.’ ‘Dinner at that Italian place tonight? I’ll pick you up at 7.’. 

She’d replied to that last one with a horribly flimsy excuse of helping Blaise with a potion - an excuse he’d immediately seen straight through and called her out on. 

‘You know I can always tell when you’re lying, Granger. I hope you know that you can tell me anything.’

She prayed idly that he wouldn’t just floo into the shop and interrogate her in person. It was perhaps only by the grace of Morgana herself that he did not.

That night, she was accosted by the two of her friends that had the least respect for boundaries.

“You’re running from your own boyfriend.” Pansy deadpanned, crossing her arms as she leaned against Hermione’s kitchen island.

“I am not running.” Hermione huffed, stirring a completely unnecessary cauldron of absolutely nothing just to keep her hands busy.

“Oh?” Theo raised an eyebrow. “So you didn’t sneak out of bed this morning like a criminal?”

Pansy nodded. “Didn’t dodge his Floo calls? Didn’t cancel dinner under the world’s worst excuse?”

Hermione groaned, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I just… I just need some space.”

Theo snorted. “From what? A good relationship?”

Pansy sighed, watching her closely. “What’s actually going on in that ridiculous little head of yours, Granger?”

Hermione bit her lip, staring at the cauldron, avoiding their eyes. “What if we’re moving too fast?”

Theo blinked. “Oh, you are insufferable.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Have you met Draco? The man overthinks everything. He wouldn’t push for marriage when your whole thing with Goldstein was so spectacularly messed up. He’s not stupid. He’s happy. You’re happy. And yet here you are, being an idiot.”

Theo nodded solemnly. “Classic Gryffindor self-sabotage.”

Hermione scowled. “Excuse me?”

“You love him, he loves you, but because everything is actually going well, you’ve decided to manufacture a crisis.” Theo gestured at her dramatically. “A self-inflicted existential crisis! Groundbreaking, truly.”

Pansy pointed at Hermione with a bored expression. “You’re scared.” Hermione froze. Pansy smirked, sensing victory. “You are. You’re scared that if it’s real, if you let yourself believe it’s real, then it means the future is actually here. And you can’t stall anymore.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue - then closed it. Because they were right.

“Not all of us are as smugly settled as you two.” Hermione shot back, aiming for distraction. “You’ve already skipped the terrifying relationship stage and gone straight to domestic bliss.”

Theo, utterly unbothered, grinned. “It’s because I’m very loveable.”

“And Harry lets him get away with murder.” Pansy added, rolling her eyes. “Did you know Theo still doesn’t know how to do laundry? Potter does all of it.”

“Why would I need to?” Theo blinked, clearly perplexed by the idea of washing his own clothes. “Harry gets weirdly aggressive about laundry, like he’s competing against the soap.”

“I just…” Hermione sighed. “I just don’t want to mess things up.”

At that, Theo’s teasing eased, and he gave her a rare, sincere look. “You won’t.” He said. “Because you’re not in this alone, Hermione. Draco’s there, too. He’s not Goldstein. He’s not McLaggen. He actually sees you.”

Pansy gave a half-hearted smirk. “Draco’s been whipped for you since eighth year, Granger. You could tell him you want to live in a cave and he’d probably start drafting blueprints.” Hermione’s breath hitched. She wasn’t ready to think about that. She needed more time. “I know it’s hard. You might think you’re the only one feeling like this, but you aren’t. You’re just…vulnerable a bit more loudly.” Pansy’s fingers were twisting the ring Neville had given her, and suddenly, Hermione felt quite selfish.

“You know, for someone lecturing Hermione about fear, you seem a little tense yourself.” Theo murmured.

Pansy’s jaw tightened. “I don’t get it.” She admitted after a moment. “Neville’s perfect. He’s kind, he’s good, he loves me, and somehow I’ve got all this.”

“But?” Theo prompted.

“But… what if he wakes up one day and realises I’m not good enough for him?”

Theo blinked. Then, with no hesitation, he grabbed a quill from Hermione’s sideboard and threw it at her forehead.

“What the fuck, Theo?!” She shouted.

“You’re an idiot.” He deadpanned. Even Hermione snorted at that.

She scowled and he smirked. “Welcome to the club. Apparently, we’re all a bit terrified of being loved properly.” He said. 

After an hour of relentless teasing, well-placed insults, and an impromptu therapy session courtesy of Theo and Pansy, Hermione felt better.

Not entirely better. Not fixed. But better in the way that having people who knew you too well could make things feel less terrifying. She wasn’t alone in this. That counted for something.

Still, as she thought about Draco, her stomach twisted. The memory of him asking for her ring size flashed through her mind. The way he’d looked at her over dinner last week, his expression soft, like he had something important to say.

Was it marriage? Was it children? Was she ready for either? She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. What the hell was she even going to say to him?

Tomorrow. She’d figure it out tomorrow. For tonight, she’d simply pretend she hadn’t been acting weird, and hope he didn’t notice.

Hermione had spent the entire week spiraling, and it had led her here - standing in Draco’s sitting room, hands clammy, heart pounding, preparing to break up with him.

She didn’t want to. But she had to.

Because Draco was clearly ready for more than she was. He was buying rings. He was making plans. He was expecting something bigger, something faster, something she wasn’t ready for.

And Hermione couldn’t let herself be the reason they fell apart later, when he realised she was holding him back. She had a speech prepared. It wasn’t good, but it was something.

She inhaled deeply-

Something crashed in the next room.

A massive, drooling, absolute unit of a dog came barrelling in through the doorway, all paws and chaos, skidding on the hardwood floor and nearly taking out a chair.

Hermione yelped. The dog barked once, excitedly, and launched itself at Draco.

Draco grunted under the weight as he caught the beast like this was completely normal.

“What-” Hermione choked on air.

Draco blinked at her over the absolute mountain of fur currently trying to smother him.

“…This is Myrtle.” The dog wagged her ridiculous, table-clearing tail and attempted to lick Draco’s entire face. “Her nickname’s Tilly.” He added.

Hermione was still trying to process the situation. She had walked in here ready to end things and instead she was watching her boyfriend wrestle with a sentient fur coat the size of a sofa.

“…Malfoy.” She managed weakly, eyes still wide. “Why do you have a St Bernard?”

Draco, still pinned under at least twelve stone of dog, grimaced. “I…um… might have impulse adopted her.”

Hermione opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again.

“What-” She swallowed, reeling. “I don’t- why?”

Draco exhaled, shoving Myrtle (Tilly?) off of him and raking a hand through his hair.

“Well, I went to the vaults to handle some of my investments.” He began, looking suspiciously shifty. “-and then I saw some rings.”

Hermione felt her soul leave her body. Her stomach plummeted so violently she might actually be sick. Oh, Merlin, she was right. He had been looking at engagement rings. He was actually about to propose. She had spent the whole week freaking out for a reason.

Draco was still talking, oblivious to her spiral. “They weren’t wedding rings, just- rings. Ones I thought you’d like. And then I thought about what it would mean if you were wearing one of them and I panicked.”

Hermione nearly blacked out. He had thought about it. It was happening. She forced herself to stay calm, even as the air turned to static around her.

“And then somehow.” Draco continued, still completely unaware that she was actively dying. “I ended up at a shelter and now I own Myrtle. That’s…basically what happened.”

Hermione couldn’t breathe. She didn’t hear anything after the word ‘rings’. Her throat was closing up. This was it. She had to say it.

“…Draco.” She said, voice unsteady. “I love you. You know I love you.”

Draco’s brow furrowed. “I- yeah?”

Hermione squeezed her hands into fists.

“But I think we might be moving too fast. And I don’t want us to-” She swallowed, forcing the words out. “I think we need to slow down, before it’s too late.”

Draco blinked.

“…Wait. What?”

“I just don’t think we should rush into anything,” Hermione rushed on, ignoring the way her vision blurred. “And I’m scared that we’re going to-”

“No.” Draco cut her off, looking exasperated. Hermione jerked back, startled. “Granger, what the hell are you talking about?” He demanded, running a hand over his face.

Hermione stared. “I- what do you mean?”

Draco gestured wildly. “You’re breaking up with me?” He asked, sounding deeply offended. “Because I looked at some rings?”

She hesitated. “And because you adopted a dog.”

“What the fuck does Tilly have to do with anything?”

“She’s a commitment!” Hermione burst out, voice shrill. “And you’ve been acting suspicious all week and you keep leaving work early and talking about rings and-”

Draco suddenly went very still. Then he sighed heavily, like he was in physical pain.

“Granger.” He said, far too carefully. “Did you think I was going to propose?”

Hermione’s stomach flipped. She did not answer.

Draco just stared at her for a moment, and then, to her absolute horror, he started laughing. Hermione glared.

“You absolute lunatic.” He snorted, shaking his head. “I wasn’t proposing. I was going to ask you to move in.”

Hermione’s face burned. She had spent a week losing her mind over an engagement that didn’t exist. She buried her face in her hands.

Draco wasn’t smirking anymore when she finally looked up again, his expression serious, apologetic.

“I didn’t mean to let you spiral.” He admitted, voice lower now. “I should’ve just talked to you. I know marriage is…” He hesitated. “Complicated for you. After Goldstein.” Hermione swallowed, throat tight. “And I know everyone’s been on about weddings because of Potter and Theo.” He shook his head, exasperated. “Theo found an engagement ring in Potter’s sock drawer and now suddenly everyone’s obsessed.” Hermione let out a weak, breathy laugh. She hadn’t known that. She hadn’t known that’s why everyone was so wedding focused. “But that’s not us.” Draco continued, stepping closer. “We’re not them. And I wouldn’t - I won’t - push you into something you’re not ready for.” Hermione bit her lip. “I just wanted you to move in.” He added softly. “That’s all.”

She took a shaky breath. Then, finally, she smiled.

“Okay.” She said. “I’ll move in.” Draco exhaled in relief. Hermione glanced down at Myrtle, who was chewing on Draco’s shoelace. “And I suppose I can live with the dog.” She added wryly.

Draco smirked. “You suppose?”

“I suppose.” She repeated, rolling her eyes.

Then she sighed, stepping into him, pressing her forehead against his chest. Draco’s arms wrapped around her without hesitation.

And, after a long week of panic and miscommunication, Hermione felt at peace again.

“We’ll get better at this. At communicating properly.” Draco murmured into her hair. She nodded.

“I promise.”

That night, as the day wound down and the world settled into a quiet kind of happiness, Draco had his arms wrapped around Hermione, her back pressed against his chest as they lay tangled together on the sofa. 

She let out a long breath, staring at Tilly, where she had flopped dramatically over Draco’s feet, snoring like a troll.

“I was ready to break up with you today.” Hermione admitted softly, the weight of the words strange in her mouth now. Draco tensed beside her, but she turned to him before he could interrupt. “Not because I wanted to. Because I thought I had to. That we were moving too fast, that I’d ruin everything by not being ready for-” She waved a hand vaguely. “-all of it.”

Draco was watching her carefully, his face unreadable, but there was no fear there- just quiet patience. This was what they needed to do. Talk, communicate. Do it properly.

“But the truth is…” She sighed, running a hand through her curls. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be the type of person who feels ready for things before they happen. I wasn’t ready to love you, and yet, here we are. And I wasn’t ready to fall into a life with you, but every time I imagine my future, you’re already there.”

She turned fully to face him now, resting a tentative hand against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart under her palm.

“So, no, I don’t want to get married yet. And yes, I panicked about moving in. But not because I don’t want to- I do. I want you, Draco. Every day. Every ridiculous, overthinking, over-planning, dramatic part of me wants this.” She huffed a small, almost embarrassed laugh. “But if I have to get in my own head about something, I’d rather it be while we’re in the same home, eating takeaway in bed, with your stupid dog drooling all over my books.”

Draco’s lips twitched. “She’s our stupid dog now, actually.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Of course she is.”

Draco tugged her forward, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her lips before murmuring against her mouth.

“You’re already home.”

Hermione sighed, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on Draco’s wrist. 

She felt safe. And loved. And perhaps just a little bit stupid for her antics, but she supposed love made fools of everyone, her included.

And maybe, just maybe, she’d been running toward this her whole life without even knowing it.

***

First Year

Draco hadn’t been expecting much from the train ride to Hogwarts. His father had given him a speech about the importance of making the right sort of friends, his mother had fussed over his robes, and Theo had already claimed the window seat in their compartment before he could even sit down.

But then she walked in.

Frizzy-haired and bright-eyed, standing in the doorway like she owned the train. Like she belonged there.

"Have either of you seen a toad?" She asked, hands on her hips, the picture of an irritated prefect despite being only eleven years old. "A boy named Neville has lost one."

Theo, who had been about to toss a chocolate frog at Draco’s head, paused mid-throw. Draco just raised an eyebrow.

"A toad?" He repeated with disdain. "Who brings a toad to Hogwarts?"

"That’s what I said!" She exclaimed, throwing her arms up in exasperation. "Honestly, I don’t know what he was thinking. I’ve been reading Hogwarts: A History, and there’s absolutely no reason to bring a toad when you could have a cat or an owl-" She stopped suddenly, her eyes narrowing as she took them in. "You do go to Hogwarts, right?"

Theo choked on laughter. Draco scowled. "Obviously." He muttered, crossing his arms. "Who else would be on this train?"

She hummed, then her gaze snapped to the book resting on the seat beside him - Quidditch Through the Ages.

"You like Quidditch?" She asked, curious.

"Who doesn’t?" Draco replied automatically, sitting up a little straighter.

"I don’t see the appeal, personally." She admitted, wrinkling her nose. "But I suppose it’s a little interesting."

"A little interesting?" Draco echoed, scandalized. "A little interesting?" He turned to Theo in outrage. "Who is this girl?"

Theo just grinned, utterly delighted.

"I’m Hermione Granger." She said, lifting her chin proudly. "And I think it’s ridiculous that people spend hours obsessing over a game when they could be learning actual magic."

Draco didn’t know whether to be offended or impressed. "Actual magic?" He repeated, crossing his arms. "Quidditch is magic."

She scoffed, exasperated. "Flying is magic. Throwing a ball through a hoop isn’t exactly groundbreaking spellwork, is it?"

Theo cackled, kicking his legs up on the seat.

Draco huffed, but there was something fascinating about her - the way she knew she was right, the way she held herself like it didn’t matter if two pureblood boys thought she was wrong.

He found himself wanting to argue with her. To prove his point. To win. He also found himself kind of…liking her. He hoped she was the right sort of witch, like his father had said.

"Well." Hermione said, adjusting the strap on her satchel. "If you see a toad, try not to hex it. I’ll be back later to check."

And with that, she marched away, no-nonsense and determined, her hair frizzing around her like a lion’s mane.

Draco stared after her for a second too long. Theo stared at him.

Then, with a slow, knowing smirk, Theo drawled, "Merlin, mate. She’s perfect."

Draco, still watching the spot where she’d disappeared, muttered under his breath, "I know."

***

Draco pressed a kiss to the crown of Hermione’s head, dragging her closer.

"Have I ever told you-” He murmured against her skin. "-that you were the most annoying person I’d ever met?"

Hermione, half-asleep, huffed a quiet laugh. "Mm. I bet Theo would argue he’s more annoying."

"He’d be wrong." Draco muttered. "You lectured me about Quidditch five minutes after we first met."

"And yet you still fell in love with me." She smirked, eyes fluttering open.

Draco exhaled sharply, as if the weight of the truth settled over him all at once.

"Yeah." He admitted, his voice softer now. "I did."

And really, he supposed, he’d never had a choice. Looking back it was almost funny how long it had taken them. How they’d fought against something that had always been so obvious to everyone else. 

But maybe that was the point. Maybe they’d needed to go through all of it - the years of animosity, the uneasy truce, the late-night conversations, the quiet acts of care neither of them had fully understood at the time. It made no difference - they were always headed here. 

They’d walked different paths, made mistakes, taken detours - but in the end, they’d found their way back to each other. It had never been about where they started, it had only ever been about where they were meant to end up. 

Here, in the warmth of their shared space, with the weight of everything they’d been through settling comfortably around them, they knew one thing for certain. 

They were exactly where they were supposed to be.