Hermione Granger slumped in the battered arm chair she sat in, armed to the teeth with the largest coffee that a barista was legally allowed to give her.
No one in the Muggle world knew that Hermione knew this magical life hack — Hermione was a witch, after all. The coffee would flow freely, replenishing itself and keeping itself warm as she plowed through paperwork, glamored so that the ordinary people of Greater London wouldn’t wonder why she was writing new legislation for werewolf rights on arguably the prettiest day of the year so far.
London was blanketed with snow. Children and adults alike were participating in what Hermione thought had to be the largest snowball fight she had ever seen. Muggle Christmas lights twinkled as the sun set. It was only half four — not that the time was going to stop Hermione from her work.
A voice broke her out of her thoughts. “Penny for your thoughts, Minister?”
Green eyes met hers, a mess of curling chocolate hair nearly obscuring his eyebrows.
“How did you find me, Theodore?”
“Your secretary cannot resist my charms,” His eyes twinkled. He studied her for a moment, eyes roving up and down. “She also is clearly blind.”
Hermione blinked at him, “I beg your pardon?”
“That won’t be the only thing you are begging for,” He couldn’t help himself. “Theresa said you were holding your own.”
Hermione held back the urge to splutter. She was the Minister for Magic, for Christsake. “Theo, hold your tongue. Besides, I know your partner would not appreciate you speaking to me in that sort of tone.”
“He never minds,” Theo waggled a brow, “in fact, he quite prefers it. But that is neither here, nor there, sweetheart. We are due back at the flat — or did you forget you promised us dinner?”
Hermione had in fact forgotten.
“Let’s go,” He pushed, gently stacking all of her papers into a neat pile and clipping them for her. “Drake made your favorite, anyway.”
Hermione had to stop putting herself in this position. Draco Malfoy cooking for her weekly was slowly weakening her resolve. “And if I said I was tired and wanted to go home?”
“Home we go, princess.” Theo threw an arm lazily over her shoulder. “To Draco and lemon pasta.”
Hermione’s head was pounding and at the mention of lemon pasta, she once again had to stifle the urge to burst into tears in front of Theo. “Nott, how will I ever find a husband who lives up to the standards of my two best friends?”
Theo said nothing, the look on his face slightly diminished. In recent years, Hermione noticed when she brought up ending her perpetual singledom, Theo was often wordless on the subject. Silence on Theodore Nott was highly unusual.
He took her arm through his, preparing them for side-along apparation. “I have wine,” Theo stated, voice lofty. “I have so much wine.”
Drink away the thoughts of a husband, she thought. Hermione shook her head and sighed, “Let’s go home, then.”
_______________________________________
Theo had to roll his shoulders to hide his pleasure when Hermione said let’s go home, then. It was getting harder and harder for him to hide the way he felt about the witch.
Not that Drake minded. He knew that Theodore Nott had a lot of love to give and that Hermione Granger might have been the most deserving of such love. He knew that his partner had been the first recipient of the unending love and support of one Theodore Nott and counted his lucky stars for it.
Draco himself saw the way that his partner looked at the witch and understood his partner’s feelings. She needed someone to care for her — someone to care about her. To not just have expectations about greatness and cleverness.
It hadn’t taken Draco very long to feel the same way about her — and the pair of them could not wait any longer to do something about this miserable flirtation (no, obsession) with the Gryffindor Princess.
And so — the great plan to charm the brightest witch of their age began.
_____________________________________
Hermione knew deeply that she was not herself. The bags under her eyes had set like bruised half-moons. Her hair was sentient, setting off sparks when she was annoyed and snaking into the air like Medusa’s snakes to let someone know that she was pissed off. At this point, her curls needed their own postcode. In the years following her election as Minister of Magic, she filled out, swelling at the breasts and hips and thighs. Not that there was anyone in her life to complain (or to admire). There was nothing wrong with weight gain, she knew that.
Everyone did it — well, except for Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy. Those Slytherin bastards. The two of them had only shot up taller and built out. Theo remained lean and Draco’s broad shoulders and thick arms did the heavy lifting (literally).
Hermione often felt that the public discussed her in two different ways — obscenely or judgmentally. After a few ungenerous Witch Weekly articles, her curves were well disguised under glamouring charms when she spoke at public events and attended Ministry galas — it wasn’t that she was ashamed of her body — that was not it at all. She did not appreciate the wandering eye, the lingering look down the front of her dress or the smirk at her backside. She was a political figure, not a model.
Besides — random older wizards ogling her wasn’t thrilling the way it was when she caught Theo staring. Not that it mattered, he was taken. Just because he was a brazen flirt didn’t mean anything.
She sighed, following Theodore into the modest townhome that he and Draco shared in a surprisingly queer neighborhood in Muggle London. She never did expect for the two of them to settle in her old stomping grounds.
Following the war, Hermione spent weekends (when she allowed herself to) dancing, drinking, and fucking out the pain and sorrow from her soul in this very neighborhood. She swallowed, remembering a version of herself that no longer existed, and tried to push the feeling down.
Hermione could immediately place the scent of scallops and lemon. Draco was in the process of opening a bottle of white wine when he noticed their entry. Hermione couldn’t help but try and school her face.
He looked good enough to eat.
His hair was on the longer side, but still neatly manicured — no split ends in sight. He was dressed in fine trousers, Italian leather shoes, and a button shirt. He had rolled the sleeves up his arms, the muscles bulging as he twisted the corkscrew in the bottle. She wasn’t sure why he didn’t just magically open the bottle, but Hermione wouldn’t complain. The dragon tattoo that engulfed the majority of his arm peaked out, covering the ink of the Dark Mark.
“Granger,” Malfoy drawled, “nice of you to finally join us.”
Hermione pulled her curls back into a messy bun, sticking her tongue out at Draco.
“Dragon got your tongue?” Theo murmured, pressing a kiss to Draco’s cheek.
Hermione felt her cheeks grow warm and averted her glance.
She was not embarrassed or ashamed or disgusted by the affection — it was quite the opposite, in fact. She wanted to be on the receiving end of things and that filled her with jealousy. Shame flooded through her chest.
“Get out of your head, Granger.” Malfoy set a glass of chilled white wine in front of her. “You aren’t paid nearly enough to still be thinking of work.”
Hermione was not thinking of work.
“Especially when in such fine company,” Theo mocked from the stairs. She hadn’t even noticed the green silk shirt and slim fitting trousers he was wearing when he came to pick her up from the cafe. He unbuttoned another button, fingers deftly working as he loosened the neck.
Theo was shameless.
Hermione looked away from the intensity of his gaze. She wanted it to be true so badly that she was willing to invent smoldering looks from one of her best friends. Anxiety creeped in, worrying at the recesses of her mind. She picked up the glass and nearly drained it.
“Easy, tiger,” Theo teased, “you’ll be smashed and asleep on our couch before dinner is finished at that pace.”
Hermione spluttered on the wine that Draco already refilled for her.
“Or maybe that’s my plan,” Theo whispered in her ear, “I love having you around, princess.”
Hermione needed a cooling charm. She couldn’t discern the tone in Theo’s voice, unsure of his meaning.
Draco watched the two of them quietly while he spooned scallops and sauce in shallow bowls, twirling the noodles delicately around a fork before gently placing the little pasta nests into the bowls. He dressed the pasta with flaky salt, pepper, and cheese. Hermione watched him as he squeezed the lemon with his fingers and looked away from his gaze, towards the windows of the townhouse.
From the outside, the home was similar to No. 12 Grimmauld Place — quiet, unassuming. Normal windows and normal doors. On the inside, the windows were floor-to-ceiling French-cut glass. Almost like a cathedral window and a whiskey tumbler were combined together.
Hermione wondered if the wizards thought she had some sort of blushing disorder. She felt like her face was permanently red around them. “Still trapped away in your mind, Granger?” Malfoy asked, watching her. She wondered what he thought about their relationship. He was still the more reserved of the couple, but Hermione had grown to love him over the years.
“Always,” She replied.
“I guess we should count ourselves fortunate that you aren’t working away at paperwork right now.”
Hermione would never admit it, but she was over being Minister of Magic. The paperwork seemed never-ending. It was difficult for her to enact any real change. The ‘gamot would push back on legislation and eventually, the piece that Hermione put hundreds of hours into, was unrecognizable.
She knew that the causes she charioted were worthy — to speak for those who were unable was the greatest honor she could carry. That didn’t stop the late night worry and the exhaustion. She worried herself sick, her thankless job growing harder to shoulder by the day.
The loneliness stung, too. Ginny and Harry were married — for nearly fifteen years now. Ron and Lavender were expecting a fourth child. Neville and Pansy Parkinson (of all witches and wizards) were married and had a ten year old son. Unexpected to the outside world, Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy had paired off together after the war.
For a time, they travelled the world together. In their mid-twenties, they returned to Wizarding London. Draco was the sole proprietor of a small wizarding investment firm and Theo worked for the Department of Mysteries (when he bothered to show up).
Hermione was surprised by how much she enjoyed the company of the wizards. On one of her last nights out before her decision to run for Minister of Magic, she bumped into them in one of the queer clubs she frequented in SoHo.
It was when she decided to stop frequenting the clubs.
While Draco and Theo kept her secret, she fretted what the general wizarding population would think of the candidate for Minister that spent her weekends chasing Muggles for nights of casual sex. The men, women, and other people she chose to spend her nights with were her secret to tell. She found that she grew lonelier the longer she spent with Theo and Draco with no real outlet for her feelings.
She missed the nights of the pink and purple flashing lights and music turned up so loud it was rearranging her atoms on a physical level. She missed the act of being chased and kissed and fucked senselessly. She was hungry for something more than what she had — a cold, empty flat and mountains of paperwork.
Other than a few random Ministry officials she had taken as dates to various events, no one had seriously dated Hermione Granger in a decade and a half. She wasn’t sure if it was the way she hid herself, casting Notice-Me-Nots on her greater assets and promoting her run for Minister in the most clinical of campaign strategies.
Hermione wondered if she spent too much time living for others and not for herself. She had already done a great service to the wizarding world — so why is it that she felt the need to continue to prove her worth to a society that only half-accepted her? While it was less about her blood status, and more about the fact that she was the youngest female Minister to ever serve, it was still a hard pill for her to swallow daily.
Draco wordlessly floated the bowls and wineglasses across the kitchen and into the dining area. He walked around the kitchen island and situated himself in front of Hermione. He gently took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Hermione couldn’t help but blush (she would blame it on the wine, as always). “Dinner?”
Hermione turned to see Theo already at the table, waiting for her.
She nearly exploded with want, the hunger she felt was no longer for the meal Draco prepared. “I can’t do this,” She spluttered. The barstool tipped over as she got to her feet and she rushed towards the Floo. “I have to—,”
Draco stood in front of the fireplace, the jar of floo powder out of her reach. “Hermione,” His eyes were warm, knowing. She had never seen him look at her quite this way. The warmth was smoldering. Did he just call me Hermione? “You need to take a break.”
“When was the last time you slept all the way through the night?” Theo asked, voice soft and the usual flirt in his voice gone. “Ate a full meal? Rested for longer than thirty seconds?”
Hermione fidgeted with her fingers.
Draco reached a hand out gently, cupping her cheek. “What is bothering you?” He asked softly, “I have never seen you this worked up.”
She couldn’t even look him in the eyes. She was at her breaking point, flooded with desire at the attention from both of them. In combination with the shame she felt for wanting them, she swallowed a heady cocktail of regret.
She felt a gentle brush behind her as Theo wrapped his arms around her. “Darling girl,” He murmured into her hair. “We just want what is best for you.”
“What’s best for me?” She snapped, sentient hair crackling with magic. “I need to get out of here and away from you both.” She felt as if something was lodged within her throat. “I genuinely cannot take it anymore.”
“Take what, Granger?” Draco hadn’t removed his hand from her cheek, the skin. If she thought his eyes were molten before, they were lightening hot.
Her voice was not the roar she expected when she opened her mouth, “The two of you,” she nearly whispered. Hot tears threatened to fall from her honey-soaked eyes.
She didn’t expect to feel the warmth of Theo’s lips on her neck, kissing the vulnerable skin below her jaw. She shut her eyes, holding back a moan. This was torture. Her mind was creating this illusion. Theodore Nott was most decidedly not kissing her neck. She must be drunk. Or dreaming. Maybe she had died. That was the only logical solution. She was dead and this was her version of hell. Lonely and tempted into sin by the only two friends who had time for her anymore.
Hermione wasn’t sure what to think.
When she opened her eyes and found that nothing had changed from the previous moment, she elbowed Theo softly in the ribs. Just to prove to herself that she wasn’t dreaming. She felt the warmth of his skin radiating through the thin silk of the shirt.
Draco’s eyes were still on hers, watching her. “Say the word, Granger,” Draco murmured, “and we will walk away and pretend like this never happened.”
The sound of Theo popping his lips behind her startled her. She turned towards him, green eyes blown wide. “It will be incredibly hard to walk away from you,” Theo’s voice was desperate, “I have been waiting for this for so long.”
Hermione felt dazed. Her eyes were cloudy, her mind muddled. She was so confused by her hesitation. Perhaps it was because she wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t. What did he mean by that?
“Let us take care of you,” Theo whispered, pulling away from her. He must be confident that she wasn’t about to storm past him towards the front door.
Or he was willing to give her the space to make that decision.
“At least stay for dinner,” Draco murmured, releasing his grip on her. “If you need to take some time away from work—,”
“I can’t,” Hermione couldn’t help the whine in her voice. “Who will run the wizarding world in my absence?”
“Someone else.” Theo chimed. “You have an undersecretary for a reason — let him watch things for a few days. Hell, a week. How can you care for the state of our great wizarding nation if you yourself are wearing yourself thin, snapping at us like we are Potty and Weaslebee.”
Hermione didn’t care to mince words with him about whether or not she was feeling particularly thin or if she was, in fact, snapping like she had when she was with Harry and Ron. She felt a hand at her hip, gently guiding her towards the plush leather couch. She looked up at Draco. His eyes were guarded again, she saw the walls of his occlumency as he shut himself off to her.
It stung. She knew she shouldn’t feel hurt by this protection of himself, but she wasn’t sure why he felt the need to hide himself from her. Perhaps this moment was ending the wrong way? What had he expected? What had he planned?
Hermione looked at Theo. Bless him, she thought. He looked like he was in pain, too. She had not stormed out the door or even made it to the floo. She was sitting on their couch, for crying out loud. She did not say no—
But she also didn’t know what they were truly asking for. If they just wanted her to take a break, she was sure she could manage that. But it wasn’t clear that that was what they were asking for. The walls Draco put up, the pain in Theo’s expression. What was it that they wanted from her?
Theo sat on the couch with more than a cushion’s distance between them. Draco tinkered in the kitchen, starting a washing-up charm and refreshing the stasis charm on their dinner. Against her better judgement, Hermione found herself scooting over, closing the gap between her and Theo. She laid her head gently on his shoulder and closed her eyes.
He hummed softly, stroking a hand through her hair. All of this was the same platonic touch that she was used to from him. Theo was always soft with her —with everyone, really. It was a wonder Draco didn’t get jealous.
When she opened her eyes, she found Draco’s grey gaze on them. He didn’t appear jealous. I guess he must be pretty used to it. She looked up at Theo. His eyes were closed and he kept running his hand through her curls. Hermione was surprised he wasn’t getting caught on little tangles.
Hermione leaned up, pressing her lips to his cheek. His eyes opened slowly.
She didn’t think she had ever done that — not to him. It always felt like toeing an invisible line, even if he felt comfortable kissing her cheeks and hands and knuckles.
His hand stopped moving.
And for a moment, Hermione’s anxiety landed hard in the bottom of her stomach. It felt like an iron weight crushing her. She began to pull herself away from him but he stopped her, placing a hand gently on the skin above her knee.
“Just talk to me,” Theo whispered. “What is troubling you? I know this isn’t about work—”
How did she say this kindly? You and your damnable husband? They were making her insane. They were driving her crazy. She didn’t even care that they weren’t technically married, at this point, they might as well be—
“Hermione,” Draco said. He strode across the room and sat down in the armchair across from them. She wondered if it was taking all of his effort not to use legilimency on her. She was sure she was confusing them. Draco hated mysteries just as much as he hated to wait. Draco changed tactics, looking at Theo, “Love, let’s just tell her.”
Theo’s face flushed. As if they were having a silent conversation between themselves, Draco and Theo stared at each other. Perhaps they were having a conversation in each other’s minds.
“Hermione,” Theo said after a long moment, “I don’t want to insult you by asking you this, but I couldn’t…stomach your judgement…”
Hermione was quiet, thoughtful. She remembered how hesitant Ron had been when he came to her about Lavender. How quiet Harry had been for the month after Ron left them in the Forest of Dean. She had never meant to come across as judgmental or shrewd — but perhaps her professional image and the ghost of the girl who walked Hogwarts Halls before the final battle still lingered.
As if she hadn’t finished off the drowning of her old self all those years ago in SoHo.
“There is almost nothing you could say to me that would change the way I feel about you,” Her voice was clear and her eyes were genuine as she looked at Theo. She took his hands in hers. Draco looked taken aback for a moment before completely hiding his emotion from his face.
“I want you,” Theo’s eyes were downcast, his tone earnest. “I have wanted you for so long, it hurts to be around you and unable to kiss you, unable to care for you. I have wanted you from that moment we saw you in that club in SoHo. The look of pure freedom, bliss, and ecstasy I saw on your face was enough for me to have stopped you right there in that moment and taken you home with me. I wanted to be the one kissing you and touching you.”
Hermione blinked, unsure if she was actually dead or not. If she woke up in the Janus Thickey ward tomorrow, she wouldn’t be surprised. After a moment, she said, “Theo, you and Draco have been together nearly fifteen years. That night I saw you was almost nine years ago.” Her mouth was dry, her lips were open, and she couldn’t say anything more.
“You’re torturing us, Granger,” Malfoy said, dryly.
Hermione gaped at him. “W-what?”
“As if you have never noticed,” He quipped, eyes searching hers. “You couldn’t possibly be that absorbed in your work.”
Hermione thought back to all the moments that she thought she was hallucinating over the last decade (nearly). She knew Theo was a flirt, but she never really read into it.
The way that Theo was always touching her, the way that Draco always asked her at least once a gala to dance, the way that Theo reacted whenever she brought up her fears about being alone forever.
Hermione remembered the first time that she came over for dinner at the flat. It was a summer night. They ate scallops and lemon pasta and drank wine made from the finest grapes in all of Italy. The back patio was covered in twinkling lights and candles and she had been so confused — but maybe this was how they entertained guests? Theo looked mouthwatering, dressed in a black silk shirt and Draco was wearing something silvery and unbuttoned scandalously low. The low hum of music and chatter as they caught up about their lives and future plans. Hermione was running for Minister of Magic — she decided she was ready to take on the task.
The witch remembered the first Christmas she spent with Theo and Draco. Something about the Burrow was too hard for her and her parents still had no recollection of who she was — she had never been able to reverse the damage she did to them. The glittering ring that she wore on her right hand — a London blue topaz set in platinum, with little sprigs of metal shooting out from the setting, carved with ornate botanical patterns. She had not taken it off for even a moment after she received it.
Hermione recalled the forth ministry gala she attended as Minister, nearly five years ago now, with Viktor Krum on her arm . Theo had been so drunk. There was something off about him that night. Hermione remembered seeing him for the first time as someone who needed protecting. She had been glad for Draco that night, who pulled his partner together and helped him to the washroom, a sober-up and a pepper-up in tow. But what had set Theo off?
She thought back to dancing with Viktor and suddenly remembered something she had locked away so deeply she nearly forgot. The proposal. Viktor Krum proposed to her that night. He pulled her aside and dropped to one knee, asking her to be his wife. Hermione told him what she had told Ron when he said he wanted to get married one day, “I am honored, but I am not available to be your wife.”
Theo and Draco were in the garden that evening, Theo was throwing up into the garden hedges. Draco was patting his back and keeping his hair out of his face.
Oh.
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Hermione all but whispered. Nine years.
Theo answered her, “We weren’t sure what you would say — how you would react.”
Hermione didn’t understand what he meant. “Expecting me to be judgmental, then?” The hurt stung, red swelling on her cheeks and down her chest. She was misunderstood by the people she expected knew her best—
“No,” Theo’s voice was hoarse, “I couldn’t take the rejection.”
After a moment of silence, Draco spoke. “I was afraid you would want Theo and not me.” She had never heard such an earnest tone to the Malfoy heir’s voice. He couldn’t meet her eyes. “It was hard enough to watch you want him and not be sure how you felt about me, about both of us.”
Hermione never had heard such a ridiculous notion. “Draco, you paid your debt to society long ago, I forgave you before your trial even began.”
Draco sighed, “I was not worried about that, Granger, more…I was worried that you didn’t want us both. Not because of the things that happened in the war. Not because of who I was to you at Hogwarts. I knew things were different about you that night we met again ten years ago. I knew you forgave me. But did you want me? It’s clear as day that you want Teddy—,”
Hermione didn’t think her cheeks could get any redder.
“—I am more reserved, quieter, obviously I look different from Theo,” Malfoy continued, “I wasn’t sure if you fancied me.”
“Who wouldn’t, darling, you’re quite fit,” Theo interjected. “But I understand the hesitation.”
“I fancy you both—,” Hermione’s eyes burned with intensity, she wasn’t sure how long she could keep herself sitting so close to Theo, or being watched intently by Draco. “But what I don’t understand is…how could we make this work? How will the wizarding world accept us?”
Draco moved to the couch, sandwiching her in between the two of them. “That, darling, is entirely up to you. Do you want society to know? We can try this for a time and if you decide you want to publicly come out and say something about it, we will.”
“And—,” Hermione hesitated, “is this a one time thing? Because if it is…if you just need to get it out of your systems—,”
“No,” Draco and Theo interrupted at the same time.
“Not a one time thing,” Theo murmured, one hand holding the place where her thigh meet her knee and the other still holding her hand. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the top of it gently.
“Unless that is what you want.” Draco added. He was still reserved, barely touching the witch.
Hermione leaned over and gently cupped Draco’s jaw, pulling him in for a kiss that savored the softness of his lips. Hermione felt him hum into her, the warmth of his skin radiating out from underneath the pressed fabric of his shirt.
She could feel Theo shuffle behind her, leaning towards her and pressing a kiss to her neck.
Draco released her from the embrace, “Jealous, darling?” He asked Theo, smiling faintly as Hermione turned to Theo and met his gaze (green and hungry).
“Just impatiently waiting my turn,” He quipped, leaning in to kiss their witch.