Chapter 40
The night before Hermione’s wedding, she found herself in Toma’s rooms. She wasn’t nervous, but she was anxious. After her wedding, she would leave for a week and the next time she saw Toma, she would be in the midst of a war.
The Death Eaters had given notice to Draco - they would attack the Order at their largest and most accessible event of the year, the Weasley wedding. They were already working to bring down the Ministry, and they were going to be successful. Fudge would be killed, and the Ministry would fall. The Order would lose men and women when they least expected it. And Hermione would be expected to run.
“What if I need to speak with you?” she asked, turning to Toma across the room. “Or one of the boys?”
“You can call to us through your magic. Be careful not to accidentally pull on the Dark Mark or the Death Eaters will be able to find you.”
Hermione nodded. “What if I need to speak with you urgently?”
“You can call to us through your magic.”
Toma and Hermione had been over it again and again. Even with his reassurances and contingencies, Hermione was scared. Any little thing could go wrong - Toma could be discovered in his true form. Draco could be killed in battle, and so could Hermione. Theodore could be collateral damage. Cissa and Lucius could be lost.
The war was coming. There was no way around it.
“What if I need to come home?” Hermione whispered.
Toma sighed and slipped off his bed. He took Hermione’s arms in his hands and turned her, forcing eye contact. Over the last year, he’d stopped wearing his contacts, and his hair had grown in dark. He was Tom Riddle again in most ways, but to Hermione, he was security.
Tom Riddle of the past didn’t throw away soldiers. Tom Riddle of today didn’t throw away trust.
“You will be fine,” he said. His voice was smooth and soothing. “You will return to me as a wife, breathing, and we will make a new world together from the ashes of war. The Death Eaters will fall. The Order will fall. You will be the next Minister of Muggle Affairs, and I will be Minister of Magic.”
“I’m afraid,” Hermione said.
Toma shook his head. “Why? You are stronger than anyone I have met before. You will not let anything befall you, or Draco, or Theodore, or me.”
“I have nightmares.”
“Dream on, dream on,” Toma whispered. “Of bloody deeds and death.”
“King Richard.”
“We will end the middling ages of this world, Hermione,” Toma said, shaking her only slightly. “Do not forget our great purpose, nor our destiny here. People of our strength do not meet by accident. People of our mind are not fated to be cogs in a machine.”
Hermione nodded, and then she nodded again surer. “I know.”
“Go get some sleep for your wedding,” Toma said, releasing her.
“You will check in with me every night,” Hermione asked.
“Every night. Every night.”
~~~
Neville and his grandmother were punctual guests, and traditional. Pureblood couples were expected to receive things like goblets to use during their first meal as a married unit, or goblin-wroght door knockers for their new home, or potion stores and ingredients. Once, Neville had even heard of someone give a newly married couple an enchanted clock that would keep track of the couple’s eventual offspring, though he couldn’t remember who that had been.
They showed up prompt at 5pm and dropped off their gift - a set of three charmed, matching wand holsters in dragon leather and silver - and were shown out to the gardens.
All around them, Narcissa’s red and purple roses were changed to pale and blush pink. Ferns and greenery poked out along the ground and filled in the sparse parts of the bushes. There had been cleared a large space for chairs and an altar, and Neville and his Grandmother took a seat towards the back of the garden.
The Parkinsons were near the front, with the Zabinis, the Goyles, and the Greengrasses. Snape stood with the Weasley twins, Angelina between them.
The Crabbes were together, and beside them the Lovegoods looking rather out of place.
Across the space were the Woods, Bones, Abbots and Clearwaters. A diverse and unexpected group of people to be sure.
“Neville!”
He turned, only to find that Fred had detached himself from his twin and girlfriend. “Fred!”
“It’s nice to see a familiar face here,” Fred laughed. “It’s a good mix of people.”
“I’m surprised to see you here,” Neville said. “I wasn’t sure there would be friends.”
Fred laughed again. “We missed you at the engagement party,” he said, and then he turned to Neville’s grandmother. “It is lovely to see you, Mrs. Longbottom.”
“Good to see you, Mr. Weasley,” Neville’s grandmother huffed, and then she turned away, muttering. “Only one of the lot with manners.”
“We’re definitely not telling anyone we were here, right?”
Neville smiled. “I try to keep Hermione’s personal business to myself. She doesn’t need to be hounded by her best friends about her husbands.”
Fred’s smile only grew wider. “I know. Georgie and I are lucky because our parents had a magically arranged marriage or they might not be so open to our arrangement with Angela.”
“Arranged marriages are going out of fashion,” Neville shrugged. “We haven’t been able to find someone suitable to my magic yet.”
“It’ll happen,” Fred said easily. “Have you tried her?”
Neville turned to where Fred was pointing. Pansy Parkinson was standing in a gold dress, gold heels and matching gold clutch bag. Her hair was as dark as ever, bobbed at her chin, and her lips were painted scarlet. Her pout was so much more pronounced that way. When she laughed, she tilted her head back and giggled, her hair glowed indigo and bright in the sun.
“There is no way Pansy Parkinson would talk to me,” Neville said, but his cheeks were bright. “Let alone marry me.”
Fred nudge him. “You should try. I spoke with Pansy a lot at the party, and she has a tough exterior. But she is a sweetheart inside and I think the two of you would be good for each other.”
Neville’s grandmother seemed to snap back to attention at that. “Parkinson? Parkinson, no Parkinsons in our tree. Does she have good magic?”
Fred had to bite back his laugh, but couldn’t keep his smile small. “Oh, yes. Absolutely. Strong magic, and it smells like lilies.”
“Lilies!” Neville’s grandmother crowed. “She would smell wonderful with Neville’s orange scent! Oh, I’m going to speak with her parents right now.”
Neville gaped as his grandmother walked across the garden and introduced herself to the elder Parkinsons, and then to Pansy. They talked, only to turn and look at Neville a moment later when his grandmother pointed. Pansy laughed.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Neville hissed at Fred, hiding his face.
But Fred only laughed harder. “Come on, mate. She’s not so bad of a girl, and she needs someone to ground her. You need someone to lift you up.”
Neville might have had a clever retort, but there was the sound of music suddenly in the garden. Fred dashed back to sit with his twin and the Johnsons, and Neville sat in his chair only to be joined by his grandmother not a minute later.
And then came Draco and Narcissa. Dressed in a simple golden gown, Narcissa looked gorgeous. But Draco was dressed in a muggle suit of black. His tie was gold and patterned with roses. On his lapel, a single rose seemed to be glittering in the sun. But the thing that stood out most about Draco Malfoy was the way he was smiling, beaming happier than Neville had ever seen him look.
Narcissa pressed a kiss to his cheek and took a seat as he stepped up to the altar, and then came Theodore.
Theodore and Lucius were in dress robes, and from the way both Narcissa and Draco gasped, Theo must have been wearing Lucius’ own wedding robes. Though they were black through and through, every step Theodore took revealed gentle golden detailing in the hem, embroidered little flowers.
At the end of the aisle, Lucius pulled Theodore into his arms and whispered something in his ear before he gave Theo’s hand to Draco, and stepped back to sit with his wife.
For a moment, there was nothing.
And then came Hermione with Toma guiding her. Toma was in a muggle suit like Draco’s, but it was more of a charcoal grey, with pale golden accents. Hermione was the focus.
Her dress was layered, skirts made of tulle and crinoline and silk. It was white, but there were golden flowers sewn into each layer, making an illusion like they were falling out of her skirt as she walked. Behind her, golden and pink petals were charmed to appear as she passed by.
The top of the dress was corseted and strapless, and there were arm drapes across her shoulders and upper arms to give movement and structure to the dress. Her hair was carefully curled and pulled back from her face into a twisting, glimmering bun at her neck. The pieces that had escaped the bun and the twists by her cheeks were gentle, cascading waves that framed the simple, delicate makeup Narcissa had swept across her face. Golden glitter in her hair, across her cheeks and eyelids, down her neck, and across her shoulders picked up every ray of sun.
Hermione practically glided to the altar, and Toma pulled her in for a hug. As he pulled away, Neville saw Hermione reach up and wipe a tear away with a laugh. Then she leaned in and pressed a kiss to Toma’s cheek, leaving a bright red stain behind. “My stupid brother,” she said affectionately.
Toma retreated to stand with Narcissa and Lucius, and Draco cleared his throat. He was the one accepting two people into his family’s magical core. He reached out and wiped a tear from Theo’s cheek and then took his hand before reaching over and tugging on one of Hermione’s curls and then took her hand.
“With my hand and heart, I bring you into my life, my love, and my core.”
Draco’s hands were tight in Hermione’s and Theo’s, and there was a smear of red between them. Drops of blood - thick and dark - fell from their hands. All around the garden was the scent of saltwater rain and spices and a circle of salt around them all began to glow as soon as the blood splattered there with the grains.
“With my hand and heart, I take your life, love, and core,” Hermione repeated. “I will be your strength, your power, and your confidence.”
“With my hand and heart, I take your life, love, and core,” Theodore repeated. “I will be your leader, your warrior, and your provider.”
“I will be your protector,” Draco said. “Your shield, and your sword.”
Hermione reached into her hand and pulled out Draco’s ring. Theo’s free hand found the ring and together, he and Hermione raised it to Draco’s hand, the one Hermione had dropped. “This ring-”
“Made in the image of our love-”
“As strong as our commitment-”
“And imbued with our loves’ own conviction-”
“Marks thee as ours.”
Together, Hermione and Theo slid Draco’s ring onto his finger. And then Draco pulled Theo’s hand up and he drew out Theo’s ring. Hermione placed her fingers over the ring delicately.
“This ring-” Draco started this time.
“Made in the image of our love-”
“As strong as our commitment-”
“And imbued with our loves’ own conviction-”
“Marks thee as ours.”
Theo’s hand shook as Draco and Hermione slid the ring onto Theodore’s finger. And then Theo’s hand found Hermione’s and he and Draco produced her ring.
It was a classic, Princess DIana style ring. The center emerald was bright, a deep green in the sunlight and surrounded in brilliant diamonds. Each corner of the stone was framed with longer diamonds, like the points of a star. As they moved it, the stone glimmered red and purple - it wasn’t an Emerald. It was an Alexandrite.
“This ring-” Theo whispered.
“Made in the image of our love-”
“And your beauty-” Theo tossed in with a wink. “And as strong as our commitment-”
“With the Gods’ own graces,” Draco added. “And imbued with our loves’ own conviction.”
“Marks thee as ours.”
Hermione stifled a little cry, and then she smiled. Their rings were hot and bright, the magic binding them burning hot. The salt around them shot into the air and hovered before the blood - little as it was - seemed to bleed from the salt and hang in the air. And then each little drop burst and there was a wave of power and-
Hermione gasped. If having her magic reach out for Draco and Theo was strange a year ago, the feeling of them pressed against her heart and ribs was downright bizarre. She could feel them. Their heartbeats were echoing after her own, the occasional beat doubling up and shaking through her chest. Theo’s smile was brilliant, and Draco’s was crying. Messy kisses, full of half-giddy laughs and tears and mismatched lips were pressed between them all - Draco and Theo, Theo and Hemione, Hermione and Draco, and then Draco and Theo again. All around them, guests were cheering. Lucius and Narcissa were crying themselves, and Toma at their side was whistling, clapping, and crying out in happiness for his sister.
~~~
Draco and Theo were sitting up. Hermione was asleep behind Theo, pressed into a pillow and snoring quietly. Her bare shoulder was tucked over the duvet, and Theo paused in his conversation with Draco to cover it. Their evening had been a whirlwind - it was their last night together before the war took their own relationship out of their hands.
Italy had treated them well. Rome was historical and fascinating, and Hermione had been bouncing between sights as though she could not decide which of them to see and learn about first. And the bookshops had enchanted her. Theo had always been partial to the arts, and so they spent much of their time at museums and catching last minute performances of ballet and orchestra concerts. Even Draco, who was not quite a fan of the arts, had enjoyed Theodore’s little excursions. Though, to Draco, the best part of Italy was the sun and the sand. There was no Death Eater influence in Italy, least of all on Muggle beaches, and so he was able to go out with his swimming trunks, fully secure knowing the others on the beach thought his arm was marred by nothing more than a very specific tattoo.
A week had been too short. Or perhaps they had simply done too much. Or maybe they didn’t want to go home and face separation and violence and war alone.
“I don’t want to go home,” Theo whispered. “Mr. Malfoy.”
“You think I do?” Draco sighed. “Mr. Malfoy, I’m afraid we won’t be able to protect her.”
Theo smiled, but it was sad. “She’s strong,” he said. “And Toma will help us.”
“Toma is going to have his hands full playing Dark Lord,” Draco said. It was no surprise that Toma needed to take a more active role in the Death Eaters, especially now that Dumbledore was dead and Dolohov was expecting a reward. There would be few meetings between Toma and Draco when they weren’t playing pretend master and servant, and even fewer meetings between Toma and Hermione as siblings rather than advisories.
“We’re going to get through this,” Theo said, and then he leaned forward and kissed Draco soundly. “I expect you to come home to me.”
“I will.”
~~~
Hermione, Theo, and Draco stepped through the floo and into the Library of Malfoy Manor in good spirits. Tomorrow, Hermione would leave, but today, they were a married triad.
Narcissa was waiting for them, a letter in her hands. “Hello, Malfoys.”
“Cissa!” Theo said and Hermione gasped.
“You startled me,” Hermione laughed. Draco pressed a kiss to his mother’s cheek and called for Tilly to come and take their bags. Hermione and Theo sat heavily in the armchairs across from Narcissa, and let out exhausted, happy sighs. “Italy was wonderful, Cissa,” Theo remarked.
“Gorgeous! And the food!” Hermione hummed and closed her eyes.
“What do you have there?” Draco asked, gesturing to the letter.
Narcissa turned her eyes to her son - her only son - and she pursed her lips. “Well, Draco. This is a letter from a Mister Antonin Dolohov requesting use of the Manor for a meeting, and since you are a ranking Death Eater and the rightful heir to the property, he was hoping you would admit him.”
The Library was dead silent. Hermione’s eyes were wide and fearful, and Theo looked lost for words for the first time in his life. Draco, though, was pale and sick, looking like a little boy in trouble for the first time ever. His shoulders slumped, and his hands shook, and tears welled up in his eyes. His mother tilted her head.
“Oh,” Narcissa said, shaking her head and letting out a casual laugh. “And do forgive me for opening your mail, dear. But the skull-wax-seal was concerning.”