Mirror Image

Anton Dolohov, for all that he could be a patient man, was growing tired of the slow moving process of change. It hadn’t been long ago that he’d realized what great fortune and opportunity they all had nearly fifteen years since their Dark Lord had been taken from them, and he’d mobilized fast. Barty Crouch Jr. and Peter Petegrew, two of the old guard, were all too eager to help.

Bellatrix, Rodolphus, the others - they had been key parts of the plan.

But in recent months, things had been difficult. They should have been kneeling at the foot of their resurrected master, but that was before Wormtail had gone missing. Before the body of their master had gone missing. Before Barty was discovered, before the Order of the Phoenix was revived. Before they’d lost men in the Ministry attack.

There were rumors. Quiet things that whispered and taunted of the Dark Lord’s return. He’d been in contact - notes on ragged parchment and sealed with the sign of the Dark Mark. Anton himself had verified the notes as authentic, the scrawling handwriting familiar, the distinct mark of his magic tainting the very paper.

Communication from the Dark Lord wasn’t regular. He didn’t answer questions, and he didn’t take direction. For all that Anton was working to make the man proud, to make this world one that would welcome his Master back with open arms. No matter how often Anton begged a meeting with the Dark Lord, or how often he asked after Wormtail, the Dark Lord was staunchly secretive. There were no answers about Wormtail, nor any indication they would be having any face-to-face meetings. It was as though the Dark Lord didn’t want to see Anton, despite Anton’s hard work. It was as though he didn’t see the importance in Anton’s position. He wasn’t impressed enough yet.

That was okay. There were other ways Anton could make an impression.

~~~

The engagement party was well on its way by the time Hermione and the boys joined their guests in the dining room. Narcissa and Lucius were gracious and welcoming hosts - the long, mahogany table was set for the dozens of guests, and where Lucius normally sat during meals, there were three settings for Hermione and the boys. To their direct left, Narcissa and Lucius sat at the hosting family, then the other Slytherin families. To their right, Fred and George, Angelina and her parents, the other families invited from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff.

Hermione had been right in her picks for her engagement dress. Deep, emerald green velvet was draped across one shoulder and into a tunic-style dress. It was backless, accented with strands of silver filigree that looked like spider web caught in the light. Her hair was up in a twist, not unlike the way she had worn it when they first settled their agreement, and she wore silver clips throughout her curls.

The boys were, true to their word, in all black. Theo had taken a more reckless approach to the dress code and wore a green undershirt - a last-minute charm when he saw what Hermione was wearing - and a green pocket square. Draco was in an all black suit, with his button-up left open in a delightfully scandalous way.

They were welcomed to dinner with a polite round of applause. As they sat, Lucius stood, his goblet of wine held high.

“Friends, thank you for joining us tonight to celebrate our son’s engagement. We could not ask for a better man than Theodore to join our family, nor a better witch than our Hermione. While Narcissa and myself have had over a decade to get to know Theodore, we only met Hermione a few years ago. And yet, despite our only just getting to know her, she’s become such a key part of our lives and our family.” He raised his glass, and around the table their guests did the same. “To the happy triad. My gorgeous daughter-in-law, my mischievous son-in-law, and my brilliant son who brought them to our home and into our families.”

“To the happy triad!” Everyone cheered and there was the sound of clinking glasses, and then the food appeared. Plates and plates of game hen and vegetables, fresh bread and risotto, salads and pasta dishes. The caterer had done a phenomenal job, and the House Elves served it with flair and sophistication.

The sounds of chatter started up, and Hermione beamed at Lucius for all of three seconds before someone pulled his attention away and Hermione turned to nod at both Fred and George. “Boys.”

“Hermione,” they said at the same time. “Wonderful party,” Fred continued.

“And such an exquisite guest list,” George added. Beside him, Angelina jumped and looked back at George, who was smiling.

“Don’t pinch me,” she said. “Or I won’t invite you for a nightcap.”

George rolled his eyes and leaned over to press a kiss to Angelina’s cheek. Hermione bit her lip in amusement. She gave Fred a look. “Since when was this a thing?”

“Since we all went to the Yule Ball together,” he answered honestly. “Twins share a magical core. We can’t have any arrangements separately, our magic won’t accept them. Angelina is more than enough for both of us, though.”

Hermione nodded. “I see. Have you come to terms for a formal arrangement, then?”

Fred shook his head. “Angelina doesn’t want to be married right out of school. We’ll likely discuss an arrangement when we’re ready to be engaged, closer to our 18 or 19th birthdays.”

“Ah,” Hermione said. Narcissa and Lucius had told her that most people were waiting to get into formal arrangements. She looked back down the table to Angelina. “Thank you for being here,” she said to her classmate. Angelina nodded.

“I was surprised,” she said honestly. “But you fit in. And you have these boys wrapped around your finger.”

She nodded to Draco and Theo, who had each served Hermione’s plate before preparing their own. Hermione blushed. “They have done so much for me,” she said. “I think I’m just as wrapped around their fingers as they are mine.”

“Do tell everyone the story,” Toma cut in from where he was seated beside Lucius. “Of when you snuck into Hogsmeade to get sweets for the boys and had them delivered to their dorm in the middle of the night.”

Hermione’s blush intensified, now more of a red than a pink, and she shot Toma a betrayed look. Toma only laughed, and Theo leaned in to give Hermione a kiss on the cheek.

“She bribed a House Elf to get her presents into the dorms,” Theo announced to the table. “A bucket of sugar quills each, a case of chocolate frogs, those apple suckers that Draco loves so much, and a gallon of Butterbeer. We told Blaise they were from Narcissa, but he always thought we were hiding something from him!”

“And I was right!” Blaise called from down the table.

“Sneaking out, bribing House Elves,” Pansy said, swirling her wine and staring into Hermione’s face. “How terribly we’ve all misjudged you, Miss Granger.”

“Hermione is fine,” she said. “I think you’ll find me to be quite different from my reputation.”

Toma laughed, loud and bright and so much fun. “Hermione here is a delight,” he said. “She ran a secret ring for magic lessons during Umbridge’s time at Hogwarts, and I think she taught the other amicable lions all about Natural magic.”

Hermione tensed, but when she looked to Toma, his face was open and honest. She forced a smile, reaching down deep for that familiar feeling that everything was okay, that she could trust Toma. It didn’t take as long as it had in the past to find it.

“I’m sure her parents are very proud,” Pansy bit out, and Hermione felt the boys at her side tense.

“Miss Granger.” Hermione turned her head to find Mrs. Abbott, a tall woman with tight, sharp features. “I can understand the Nott family being absent from this celebration-” Theo’s hand went white around his fork. “-but where are your parents? Shouldn’t they be here, even if they are Muggles?”

Hermione smiled politely and found Theo’s hand under the table. “My parents are, unfortunately, passed.”

Both Fred and George choked beside her. Lucius and Narcissa, too, looked a little bit shocked at the admission. In retrospect, Hermione might have told the Malfoys she was going to change their current cover story for where her parents were. But it was done now, and in all fairness, it had been a sudden decision made by Hermione and the boys over cocoa late the night before.

“My condolences,” Mrs. Abbott said, hand clutched to her heart. “You poor dear.”

Hermione waved a hand. “It happened last summer. If the Malfoys had not been so kind as to open their home to me, I likely would have had nowhere to go, and I likely would never have found my way into Draco and Theodore’s hearts.”

The guests shared condolences and cries for the poor orphaned girl who had been left alone in this world, and Hermione and Toma shared a look. It was for the best that they didn’t leave any breadcrumbs behind about her family, least of all when Toma was getting ready for Draco to take the Dark Mark. The cover story provided by Narcissa was only going to last for so long, and Toma had been the one to suggest Hermione begin telling people that while in Australia, her parents had died. It wasn’t a perfect story - anyone who checked with the Muggle government in Australia would know it was a lie, but they were all confident no one at the Ministry would do such a thing. And really, the transition from her parents’ convenient business overseas leaving Hermione alone, to the new story of their untimely deaths also provided for a perfect reason as to why Hermione might be even more open to an arranged relationship. Or why she spent less and less time with her friends at the Burrow. Narcissa and Lucius would understand the change, and they recovered beautifully. Fred and George not so much.

“When did this happen?” George cried. “You never said!”

Hermione only gave him an understanding, near-pitying look. “Of course I didn’t!” she said. “If I had told your mother what happened, she would have insisted I stay at the Burrow, and you have enough on your plate with family without having a Mudblood to take in, too.”

George’s eyes blew wide, but Fred had the good sense to stomp down on his twin’s foot before he said anything else. All around the table, there were murmurs of understanding, and not one of their guests seemed particularly shocked by Hermione’s use of a perceived slur. They were all Purebloods in the room - even the Weasleys who seemed more enraged than uncomfortable - and not one of the families around them seemed to be upset by the term being thrown around.

“If I may cut in.” Everyone turned to look at Severus Snape, looking as he ever did with his own all-black outfit and his face withdrawn. “I am curious to hear what Miss Granger has to say about teaching non-verbal casting. Draco tells me you’re rather skilled in that regard.”

“Draco flatters me,” Hermione said. “Both the boys and I have been practicing our non-verbal casting, but Toma is truly the master of the house.”

Snape regarded the teenager down the table from him. “Really?”

“Why do you ask?” Hermione asked.

“I’ve been given the Defense Against the Dark Arts professorship,” Snape said. Congratulations rang around the room, and he inclined his head in thanks. It was news to Hermione, who had not heard of Snape’s new role and hadn’t been to an Order meeting all summer. “I am considering reinstating non-verbal magic to the curriculum.”

Hermione clapped her hands. “Oh, that would be wonderful. Natural magic is such an undervalued and misunderstood branch of magic, and it’s a shame how far out of fashion it has fallen. I’m sure Toma would be interested in helping you develop the curriculum if you’d like. He’s much more advanced than I am.”

Toma smiled. “I’d be happy to help in any way, Professor. Do forgive Hermione’s excitement, she sometimes volunteers help that hasn’t been asked for.”

“On the contrary,” Snape said, regarding Toma. “I do believe Miss Granger is correct. We should discuss the curriculum for the coming year. Perhaps Miss Granger would be interested in tutoring some of the younger students?”

Conversations ebbed and flowed, striking up and down the table. It was more fluid than Hermione would have imagined, even between the Slytherins and the other families at the table. Then again, Draco and Theo had been pretty intentional with their invite list. These weren’t blood purists, and they weren’t Order members. These were the pragmatic, thoughtful families of witches and wizards who didn’t see blood or House as the reason for segregating one another. Hermione found Fred and George’s eye in a moment of quiet lull, and she smiled. George leaned into her space, over his twin and Theo’s plate, and he leveled Hermione with a glare.

“You’re stooping to their level now? I thought I would never see the day Hermione Granger used a slur.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s not a slur,” she said, lifting her napkin to dab at her lips. Thank Gods for sticking charms of her lipstick would stain the white cloth. “It comes from Greek mythology. Read a book, Georgie.”

“I’ve read books!” he defended. Theo snorted.

“It’s about the creation myth of man,” Theo said. “About man being made from the clay of the Earth. It doesn’t surprise me that your family never taught you what Mudblood really meant.”

George was stunned into silence, his mouth hanging open and his eyes staring without seeing. Fred elbowed him in the ribs. “Sorry, mate,” he said to Theo. “My brother and I may be Pureblood tossers with a lot of blind spots, but we genuinely didn’t know that.”

Theo waved a hand. “It’s not offensive to me when wizards ask questions. It’s offensive when they suggest, albeit indirectly, that my witch is somehow a bigot.”

It was the kind of threat Theo could make that never seemed to work for anyone else. His dismissive nature wasn’t synonymous with apathy - he cared a great deal about those he loved. He didn’t believe in fear by might. He didn’t believe that his father, so feared because he was bigger and meaner, was any braver or any more right than a school yard bully. Theo was never imposing. He was never bigger or meaner, he could lean on Toma to be cruel and Draco to be cold. No, Theo wasn’t big and mean and powerful through fear alone.

He was just very good at making people feel watched. Monitored. Lucky to be alive because the powers that be - Theo - allowed them to be.

George and Fred both inclined their heads at the same time, a silent nod that they understood and they weren’t disregarding Theo’s threat.

Dinner went on. It was strange in the best way, and it pushed boundaries. Hermione loved this strange group of people she didn’t know. She loved the Pureblood knowledge that meant she could talk about her arrangement and she could cast wandless magic across the table without having to explain to anyone. She loved how easily Fred and George fit in when she couldn’t imagine they would. She loved how Theo and Draco relaxed with their friends and how Toma cracked jokes and how easy it was to be around these people.

The party continued through dinner and cake - chocolate and vanilla - and then the entire dining room of guests were ushered into the Library, where Narcissa and Draco had charmed the bookshelves from the center of the room to make a spacious dancefloor. Once the guests were settled, waiting with punch, Lucius cleared his throat once more.

“And now, formally introducing the happy triad of Messers Malfoy and Nott, and their beautiful bride, Miss Granger.”

The doors of the Library sprung open, and there was Hermione in her dress, Draco to her left and Theodore to her right. The guests cheered and clapped, and all around the happy triad there was music. Up-beat and fun, something Hermione didn’t recognize from the Wizarding radio she and Theo liked to listen to.

“What is this?” she called over the noise. Draco ducked his lips to her ear.

“Muggle pop music,” he said. “Mother and I thought you might enjoy a little bit of your childhood here with you, even if your parents can’t be.”

~~~

Hermione fell into bed late - the early hours of the morning breaking dawn over the hills across from the Manor just as she passed out. She slept in late, too, missing breakfast and lunch. It’s not like she is the only one - Draco and Theo are just as tired and sleep in as well.

When Hermione finally got up, dragging herself out of bed with her hair still half-pinned from the party and her pajamas mussed, she wandered directly into Draco’s room. He was still in bed, white-blonde hair starred out over the pillow and his legs tangled in the sheets. Theo was there, too, curled against Draco’s waist with wild hair and the loudest snore Hermione had ever heard. She smiled.

These two men were hers. The way they fit together even sprawled out and tangled in bed was hers, the way they looked in those soft moments was hers, the way they both moved together, responding to the dip in the bed, was hers.

Hermione nestled into Draco’s other side, holding onto his slim waist and taught muscles with gentle fingers. Her nail polish - deep, emerald green - was stark against his pale, pale skin. She hummed into his chest, breathing in the scent of pine soap and cinnamon.

“‘Rning,” he slurred, his lips dry and sticky. He smacked them a couple times. “Mya.”

“Good morning,” she whispered back. “Don’t wake Theodore.”

“Never dream’d of it,” Draco whispered back, and he pulled a hand around Hermione’s shoulders to squeeze.

They woke for dinner, Tilly’s prodding fingers and the smell of food enough to rouse them. At some point between Hermione getting into bed and dinner, she’d somehow migrated to the middle of the bed, Draco on one side and Theo on the other. The boys’ hands were clasped where they sat over her hip, and Draco’s other arm was under Hermione’s head as a pillow. It was stuffy and hot, too many people crammed together in the July heat, and Hermione kicked the blankets off with a kind of frantic energy and then she groaned.

Tilly was still staring at her from beside the bed. “Misses need to wake the masters. They sleep hard.”

Hermione nodded. “We’ll be there,” she said. Tilly twisted on her foot and disappeared, and Hermione flopped backwards. Her head should have hit the pillow, but instead, it hit Draco in the arm and he yelped. Theo shot awake at the sound of Draco’s pained noise and turned, his forehead smacking into Hermione’s.

“Ah!”

“Theodore!”

Hermione’s hands flew to her forehead, and Theo rushed to reassure her and check she was okay. Beside them, Draco laughed.

“What’s so funny, hot stuff?” Theo asked teasingly over Hermione’s head. Draco just smiled.

“We’re not very good at sharing a bed,” Draco said.

Hermione smiled at Theo first, and then back at Draco. “We have the rest of our lives to get better at it,” she said.

“Are you okay?” Theo asked, pulling Hermione’s chin around so he could look at her face. His eyes wandered over her forehead. “Does it hurt?”

“It was a knock, I’m fine,” she said. “But we should get up. Dinner is on the table downstairs.”

She stretched and got out of bed, climbing over Theo’s legs. She was still in her pajamas, which had been Draco’s Quidditch jersey and a pair of grey panties, but it was so late in the day that getting dressed seemed pointless. Instead, she poked her head into her room and grabbed her robe, slinging it over her pajamas and tying it shut. It would have to do.

The boys seemed to be in a similar mind, as they also threw robes on over their pajamas and together, the three of them headed for the dining room.

There was a heaviness in the air when they got there. Nothing of the bright celebration remained, and Lucius, Narcissa, and Toma sat stoic and depressed at the table.

“What’s happened?” Hermione said. “What’s wrong?”

Narcissa didn’t say anything, only excused herself from the table and moved into the kitchen, her napkin pressed over her mouth. Lucius followed after a moment, and Toma tossed a paper across the table.

The Daily Prophet, evening edition. Death Eaters in London, dozens of Muggles killed, Diagon Alley in flames.