Epilogue
Sparks crackled and snapped around Hermione’s wand as she traced the outline of the circuit. Almost, almost… Suddenly, a small jolt of electricity jumped up her fingers like the snap of a rubber band, and she dropped her wand. Dammit!
“We should redo the calculations. The current shouldn’t be that high with the amount of magivolts we’re using,” Raj said from his spot on the floor, bespectacled eyes buried in his notes.
“We’ve redone them a thousand times!” said Hermione, falling back into her chair. Their office was lit with soft orange lamplight – the huge white bulb on the ceiling was only activated when absolutely necessary – and blessedly soundproof.
"Yes, but it’s just not making sense. It-” Raj – as he tended to do – cut himself off with some thought or another, and Hermione heard papers rustling as he searched through more of the notes scattered around him on the floor.
Hermione sighed, though she knew her colleague – slowly but surely becoming a friend – was right. For now, it was back to the numbers.
Luckily, it must have been five already, because Hermione was rescued by a knock on the door. Padma.
Raj, who was closest, leapt up from the floor to open it. Paper crunched under his socked feet as he made his way across the room. He let Padma in without a word before crashing down into a beanbag next to the door, muttering quietly to himself.
“How goes the circuit of death?” Padma asked.
“I mean… it could be worse,” said Hermione.
“It could be much worse. You’re an arithmetical genius. You’ve helped me make more progress in six months than I have in two years.”
Hermione blushed at the compliment. They always came unexpectedly from Raj, as if he was commenting on the weather. So did the occasional reprobation, but it was good to always know where she stood. As colleagues, they made a great team. Raj was as meticulous as she was, so she never had to worry about picking up his slack as she was used to in group projects. He kept Hermione patient. She kept him from getting bogged down in the details.
“Good to know,” said Padma. “We’ve had to put a pause on the regeneration project for now. We’re just not getting the results we wanted and the higher-ups don’t think it’s a priority.”
“Oh no…” Hermione said.
“It’s fine. I’m hoping they’ll put me onto Archie’s project next. But it’s past five, and we said we wouldn’t talk about work after five.”
“No, you said you wouldn’t talk about work after five. I am on the verge of a breakthrough. So take Hermione and go watch that game. Tell Sue good luck,” said Raj, staring intently at something scrawled on the back of a used memo.
Padma gave a loud, exaggerated sigh, signposting the sarcasm. “He’s a lost cause, Hermione. I’m so glad he hasn’t corrupted you yet. C’mon!”
Hermione smiled, gathering her things and giving Raj a wave as she followed Padma out the door. He didn’t seem to see her, but his eyes did widen, mouth falling open as he held the memo closer to his face. She itched to go back to investigate, but no. She was an adult now and adults had set hours, and social commitments, and work-life balances. Raj’s epiphany would still be there tomorrow morning.
“How’s Sue feeling?” Hermione asked Padma as they stepped into the elevator.
“Oh, she’s nervous as all hell. Says she doesn’t know how Ginny does it.”
“I don’t either, to be honest. She says it’s because there are scarier things than losing a quidditch match, but…”
“Yeah, that won’t work on Sue. You Gryffindors are just odd,” Padma said as they emerged into a bustling Atrium.
“Former Gryffindors,” Hermione corrected.
“Oi! What’s this you’re saying about Gryffindors, Patil?” asked a smiling Ron, who had appeared with Harry, both in their red auror robes.
“That you’re all insufferably brave and courageous, raising the bar much too high for us mere mortals.”
“Sorry, Padma,” said Harry, grinning. “I’ll make sure to do something cowardly in public soon. To set a better example and all that.”
A neat apparition took them directly to Middlesbrough, where the Alston Aardvarks were facing… Hermione honestly didn’t know, but she would support her friends. Daphne was waiting at the apparition point, looking impeccable in some hybrid muggle-wizard clothing that was probably all the rage. Despite her ‘evil pureblood money’, Daphne had gotten a position as a fashion editor for Enchanted, claiming that she needed to do something with her time besides sipping tea and waiting for a suitably rich and parentally approved admirer to come along. She waved when she spotted them.
“Is Blondie coming?” she asked Hermione.
“He said he’ll try to make it, but he’s on a deadline so it depends how long the newt tears need to simmer.”
The five climbed up the stands through the crisp autumn air and found their seats. Hermione would never get used to the sudden barrages of yelling at these matches, or how the crowd around her would suddenly rise up like the ocean trying to swallow her down. Thankfully, she didn’t have to just tamp the anxiety down as she had for all those Hogwarts matches. This time, she took the aisle seat she had specifically booked, and turned her bracelet almost all the way up. Daphne was chatting amiably with Harry and Ron – or as amiably as Daphne’s sense of humour allowed – and Padma was looking intently at the door the Aardvarks were going to emerge from, as if she could telepathically send words of encouragement to Sue through the wood.
When the team did emerge in their sea green robes, Hermione cheered and clapped with everyone else. Much of the specifics of the match were lost on Hermione, but from her friends’ cheering it seemed like it was going well. She saw Ginny score a handful of goals, and technically she didn’t see when Sue hit a bludger straight at the quaffle, stopping the other team from scoring, but a gleaming Padma told her about it in such detail that she may as well have.
About halfway through, Hermione felt a tap on her shoulder and nearly jumped out of her seat, spinning to face a harried looking Draco. He mouthed an apology and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before slipping into the seat next to her.
Hermione turned the knob on her bracelet, and sound flooded back into her ears.
“Nice of you to finally show up, Malfoy!”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Weasley. Unlike some people, your sister does know how to handle a quaffle.” Hermione braced herself for the reddening of Ron’s ears, for the yelling. It never came. Instead, Ron laughed. She was still getting used to that.
Harry snorted, eyes still on the match. “If you drop quaffles as often as you drop snitches, Malfoy, I don’t think you have much of a leg to stand on.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “At least I know not to swallow them. Have they tried that new arrowhead formation yet?”
As Harry leapt to reply, Hermione turned the knob on her bracelet back, confident that those three weren’t going to start firing hexes at each other. She needn’t have worried. Over the past few months, an unlikely but steady rapport seemed to have formed between them. It would be a long time before Draco was welcome at the Burrow for Christmas, but there had been no real animosity since Hogwarts. Although none of them would admit it, she suspected that over months of dinners and brunches and quidditch matches, they had even started to enjoy each other’s company, the old rivalry becoming a source of endless inside jokes.
The Aardvarks won by thirty points. Sue – of course – pulled the entire team into a crushing group hug the second they were all on the grass.
The post-match celebration involved hugs all round. Hermione didn’t hear what Draco said to Ginny, but as she pulled back, she punched him in the arm, grinning. Draco screwed his face up in exaggerated pain, and dropped into a nearby seat dramatically, cradling his arm. Joy bubbled up in Hermione’s chest – a year ago she couldn’t have imagined him looking so carefree, so unmasked, let alone after being punched by a Weasley. But times changed. People forgave. They let the dark, heavy things they were carrying fall off their backs so they had room for lighter, brighter ones. They grew.
***
Narcissa’s hands almost, almost shook as she poured the tea. If Hermione hadn’t known Draco and his exacting, unshakable hands so well, she would have missed it. It was a surreal sight, seeing Narcissa Malfoy in the light-filled sitting room, straight backed on a quaint, cosy-looking armchair.
“So, Draco tells me you work with teeth,” said Narcissa after the tea had been poured and the plate of biscuits had been set on the table.
“Yes, we’re dentists,” replied her mother.
“Yes, I understood this to mean that you are healers specialising in teeth.”
Hermione probably should have warned her parents of the novelty with which wizards generally regarded dentists. Too late now. They glanced at each other for a second before nodding.
“Yes, I… suppose you could say that. Hermione’s told us that Draco’s doing a Master’s of Potions at the moment. I didn’t actually know wizards had universities. You must be very proud of him,” said Hermione’s mother.
“A Mastery, yes. What is a university?”
“… never mind then.”
Desperately grasping for something to patch the awkward silence, Hermione asked, “So, Mrs Malfoy, how are you finding the new house?”
It had been the wrong thing to say. Narcissa’s eyes hardened in a way that was – again – all too familiar. The icy mask slipped easily into place to hide whatever suffering was underneath as she answered with a clipped, “It is adequate.”
As Draco tried to engage her parents with talk of their move back to England, Hermione had more time to study Narcissa. She’d met her only twice since leaving school, but both times things had gone shockingly well. There had been barely a trace of the stern, cold upper-class woman that sat across from Hermione now. She had been reserved, yes, but the first time they had met she had told her in no uncertain terms that she was happy her son had made the excellent decision to pursue her. Much of their time together had consisted of Narcissa apologising for how little their house had to offer her, and if Hermione had not been given a crash course in pureblood marriage culture all those months ago by Daphne, she might have thought it was a joke. As it stood, and from what Draco had painstakingly explained to her, Narcissa was deeply shamed by her recently acquired ‘poverty’. The concept of a union formed with no thought to the economic outcome was still an alien concept to her.
Was that why she looked so uncomfortable now? Because she’d invited her son’s potential future wife’s parents to her home and it was no longer a sprawling, ancient manor? But no, the answer came to Hermione when her father’s phone rang. Narcissa twitched – very nearly jumped – at the loud buzzing that cut insistently through the polite small talk. Her eyes followed the device as her father pulled it from his pocket and waved it apologetically before stepping out into the hallway. Narcissa looked pulled taut behind her blank eyes.
Narcissa wasn’t scared of what Hermione’s parents thought of her, she was simply scared of them. The realisation struck a chord somewhere in Hermione’s psyche, thoughts that had been floating around untethered finally coalescing into something real and solid. Narcissa may not want to enslave all muggles, but she was certainly wary of them.
Hermione sat back and observed. Observed how Narcissa’s eyes never left her mother or the purse placed neatly on the side table for too long. How the witch had shifted slightly since Hermione’s father had left the room, clearly uncomfortable with her back to the door. Jesus Christ… they were just muggles. Narcissa must have known how defenceless they were in a wizarding household. What did she think they were going to do? Hermione was almost angry, but more than that, she was perplexed.
“Mrs Malfoy, could you help me carry these into the kitchen please?” Hermione asked, gesturing to the three empty cups and saucers on the table. They did not need to be taken to the kitchen yet, and Narcissa knew it. As did Draco. Thankfully, a quick glance between the two was all it took for Narcissa to acquiesce.
Hermione tried to ignore the fact that she had just asked Narcissa Malfoy to carry some cups for her. She needed to stop being so intimidated by the woman. She was no better than Hermione just because she had grown up bathing in money and solidly believing that she was better than other people because of her squeaky-clean pedigree.
As they reached the large, spotless kitchen – well, Hermione would consider it large – and placed the cups and saucers carefully in the sink, Narcissa turned to her. “What did you want to speak to me about?” The nerves were invisible, but Hermione could sense them under the surface.
“Why are you so scared of my parents?” Best to rip off the band aid.
“I am not scared of your parents, Miss Granger. I am simply not well-versed in interacting with muggles.”
“They’re not well-versed in interacting with purebloods either, but they’re not acting suspicious around wands.”
Narcissa stayed as cold and upright as ever, but she did not meet Hermione’s eyes. “I hope you are not accusing me of prejudice. I have welcomed you into this-”
“That’s not what I’m doing. I… look, I won’t blame you for being wary. My parents didn’t exactly cope very well with McGonagall coming into our living room and transfiguring our coffee table into a pig when I was eleven. But I just don’t understand how you can spend so long thinking muggles are beneath you and then act like this.”
There were ten seconds of silence. Hermione counted them.
“You are very straightforward, Miss Granger. I suppose I will need to get used to that. But I am wary because of the guns. Surely you can’t blame me.”
“The guns?”
“Yes, the killing machines that muggles carry. I assume you’re familiar with them.”
Hermione almost laughed. “Mrs Malfoy, my parents do not carry guns. Almost no one carries guns. They’re illegal.”
“Then what are those black metal things they have in their pockets?”
For a second, Hermione could only stare. This seemed to signal to Narcissa that she had said something supremely stupid, and a hint of pink tinged her cheeks.
“Do you mean cell phones?”
“Ahh. Not guns then, I take it?”
Hermione shook her head, dumfounded.
“Right,” Narcissa said, “I apologise for the misunderstanding. If you could excuse me for a moment, I need to go collect your parents’ gift.” She was gone before Hermione could respond. Hermione made her way back to the sitting room, world still spinning a bit.
Thankfully, Draco was doing better than Narcissa, patiently trying to explain what he knew of ‘exactly how those paintings move’ to Hermione’s father.
Narcissa returned barely a moment later, carrying an ornate wooden box. She was as straight backed as ever, but the some of the tension was noticeably gone from her shoulders.
As soon as the conversation lulled, Narcissa said, “I do not know much about your culture, Mr and Mrs Granger, but for… our family it is tradition to present gifts to the parents of our children’s potential matches. I hope that this will be the beginning of a long and happy union between our families.”
Hermione’s parents, despite looking a bit overwhelmed by the drama of it all, accepted the box with enthusiasm, asking if it would be rude to open it now. Narcissa just gestured to the box in encouragement.
As Hermione’s father opened the box, both of her parents’ mouths dropped open, her mother sitting back slightly in her seat.
“Wow!” said her father. “A full set! This is amazing! What animal is this?”
Narcissa smiled. “I’m glad you like it. They’re from my old house elf. Knobby served me very well. He would be honoured to know his teeth are being put to such good use. Of course, I tried to obtain a human set but they’re quite costly nowadays. The market isn’t what it used to be.”
Hermione’s parents stared openly at Narcissa, mouths forming little ‘o’s, her mother looking a bit green.
“Ahh, fewer people donating their bodies to science nowadays, are there?” Hermione’s father asked.
“… Yes,” said Narcissa.
Merlin’s beard… This was going to be interesting.
***
Hermione stood beside the aisle between Luna and Gabrielle, a trio dressed all in pale gold and holding fresh white lilies. Hermione wiggled her toes in her – very uncomfortable – shoes to stop herself from bouncing up and down. A few feet away from her, Harry was sweating profusely in his tux under the summer sun.
As the music transitioned to a familiar tune, Ginny made her way around the bend in the Weasleys’ garden and Harry turned around. He immediately teared up, and Hermione sent a look to Ron standing on the other side of the aisle, who now owed her ten galleons.
As everyone ooh’ed and aww’ed through the vows, Hermione’s eyes wandered to the guests. About half-way up on the left, Sue was sobbing into Padma’s shoulder while her girlfriend stroked her arm, the smile on Padma’s face reassuring Hermione that this was not in fact an emotional emergency, and instead just Sue being Sue. Beside them, Theo was nudging Daphne, who tried very hard to look harassed and disinterested despite the smile on her face. Hermione’s own grin stretched from ear to ear.
Beside them sat Draco, looking at ease in his immaculate dress robes. He had been invited to Harry’s stag do – although Harry had insisted it was because he needed someone sober to watch over them all and wasn’t willing to give the job to anyone he actually liked. It was a poor excuse, and he knew it.
Later, when people gathered around to catch the bouquet, Hermione caught a look in Padma’s eyes as she positioned herself right at the back. One of rare steel. As Ginny’s professional-quidditch-player arms hefted the flowers into the air, they sailed far and away over most of the crowd, arching towards a lone Padma, who ran. Leaping for the bouquet, Padma just barely brushed the underside and it slipped from her fingers, falling down, down-
Padma dived, the table she crashed into making a startled clanging sound as all the eyes in the room turned to the mound of black curls and blue dress robes underneath it. Slowly, surely, Padma pulled herself up, intact bouquet clutched victoriously in her hand.
Sue darted towards her, doing some semblance of an affectionate war cry, and jumped straight into her arms, smashing the flowers between them as she crushed her lips into Padma’s. Whoops and cheers surrounded them, and Hermione finally let herself jump up and down in her stupid shoes, cheering loudest of all.
***
Draco draped a scarf around Hermione’s neck, making sure the sides were even. The scarf complimented her hat, woolly socks and her favourite winter coat.
“You’re adorable,” she said, echoing a time that felt long past, “You’ve forgotten about warming charms again, haven’t you?”
“Don’t complain, you love scarves,” Draco said, kissing her on the forehead before checking his pockets – something he’d done about twenty times in the past few minutes – and pulling Hermione out the front door.
“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?” Hermione asked as they walked along the path toward their favourite apparition spot. The pavement had frozen over in the night, but the ice had melted in the morning sun. Snow made its steady way down from the sky, barely having the time to melt into Hermione’s clothes before they reached the grove of trees they were seeking. “You know I don’t like surprises,” she said without any real weight behind it, given how often she liked his surprises.
“Yes, but I also know that you trust me,” Draco said, taking her gloved hand in his and apparating them.
Hermione looked around at the smaller trees, hearing the honks of cars and buses. To their left, a large white building – all flat roof and stately columns – stood against the sky.
“The science museum? This is where-”
“Where we had our first date, as I like to pretend.”
“I mean, technically, that was France.”
“Yes but alas, I don’t have DoM money, so I can’t treat you to another France trip just yet. It is coming, though.”
They spent the next few hours ambling through the museum, reminiscing about the existential crisis it had given Draco, about the dinosaur he’d nearly stolen, and how far they’d come. The planetarium was more crowded this time. They sat back amid the sounds of tiny, running feet and shushes from parents and looked up at the artificial stars. Hermes was visible now, high and bright.
Eventually, with their stomachs growling, they emerged into a flurry of wind and snow. Draco pulled her close despite the warming charms they’d both cast as he led her to the same McDonalds they’d eaten at exactly two years ago. Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite keep the smile off her face.
“Don’t tell me you hired that hot chocolate company to park their stall in the exact same spot,” Hermione said with a mouth full of cheeseburger.
“I did try,” Draco said, shamelessly. “I couldn’t figure it out. I have it on good authority that this place sells hot chocolates, though. Those will have to do.”
Hermione smiled even as she shook her head, letting out a mock sigh. She couldn’t help but admit she was touched. Even if that day had definitely not counted as their first date. Looking across at Draco now, in his muggle clothing that no longer seemed incongruous, eating the McDonalds order that she knew by heart, she felt more at ease than she ever had. They would go home tonight and cook dinner, do the dishes side by side in their kitchen, and then Hermione would burn through another few novels before being thoroughly taken apart and put back together by hands that knew her like no one else.
“What?” Draco asked, after properly swallowing his food. There were certain levels of normality he still wouldn’t stoop to.
“I just love you,” said Hermione, smiling wide and open as she patted his foot with her own under the table.
“I love you, too,” said Draco, with the same gentle intensity as always.
Soon, they were walking with steaming McDonalds hot chocolates in hand towards the bench where Draco had given Hermione her bracelet. She still wore it constantly – it was her most prized possession. The bench came into view along with the river. It was warmer this year, and less ice floated along in the lazy current, though with the biting wind, Hermione was glad for the warm paper cup in her hands.
Draco cast a quick warming charm on the bench before gesturing for her to sit with a flourish. She did, looking out over the river and taking a deep breath before bringing her hot chocolate to her lips. The rich, sweet liquid slid easily down her throat, warming her.
“So, erm…” Draco said after he sat down beside her, checking his pockets again. She turned to look at him immediately, startled by the uncharacteristic hesitance in his voice. “We’ve been together for… a while now…”
Hermione nodded. “… Yes? I suppose so.”
“And erm… I just wanted to say that… wait, wait I wrote this down. Sorry, I knew I’d fuck it up.”
“Draco,” Hermione said, laughing. “You don’t have to give me some big speech just because it’s an anniversary of sorts. I don’t require nearly as many romantic gestures as you seem to think.”
“Er… maybe just wait until the end of the speech. You’ll see.”
Hermione sighed, transferring her hot chocolate to one hand and putting the other on Draco’s knee as he withdrew a neatly folded piece of paper from his pocket.
“Hermione, when we met, we were eleven years old. You were a genius who bested me at every subject and threatened to throw my whole worldview into disarray. I was an insufferable dickhead who couldn’t see that for the blessing it was. Over the next six years, I said horrible, horrible things to you-”
“Draco…”
“Let me finish,” he said, holding up a finger, eyes glued resolutely to the paper.
“I said horrible, horrible things to you. I did horrible, horrible things to you and to others. I was convinced there was only one path forward for me. It took me a long time to understand that I even had a choice. You were the one who taught me about choices. You were the one who taught me about courage.”
This absolute sap, Hermione thought, smiling softly as she stroked her thumb over his knee. As always, he really was determined to spoil her.
“Every single day you inspire me, you make me smile, you make me feel in ways I never thought I could feel.”
So focused on the details of Draco’s face – the way his mouth turned up higher on the right than the left, the way a lone snowflake had caught on his eyelashes – Hermione almost didn’t notice the box he pulled out of his pocket. When she did, she gasped, hands flying to her mouth.
“Hermione Jean Granger,” said Draco, snapping the box open, looking straight into her eyes. “I wish I had the words to properly explain to you how much you mean to me. But I don’t, so I’m willing to spend the rest of my life using actions to show you instead. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?”
Too overwhelmed to form words, Hermione nodded desperately as a warm sting sprang up behind her eyes. She threw her arms around Draco, who exhaled with relief, holding her tight.
“You’re sure?” he said into her hair after a few deep breaths. “You don’t need to think about it?”
“Of course I’m sure, you… what were the words you used? You insufferable dickhead?”
Draco laughed, loud and open in a way that made Hermione hold him even tighter.
“You didn’t even look at the ring.”
“Oh!” Hermione said, pulling away to inspect the small, black velvet box. It had snapped closed in her assault. Draco opened it again, revealing a thin, swirling gold band set with a small cluster of diamonds.
“It’s not an heirloom, don’t worry. They were all various degrees of cursed, anyway. This is a fresh start. The first heirloom of house Granger-Malfoy. Unless you hate it, of course, and then we can-”
Draco was cut off by Hermione’s desperate mouth on his. She couldn’t help it, not after all the talk of choices and courage and ‘Granger-Malfoy’.
“I take it you don’t hate it, then?” Draco asked as she pulled back for air. She laughed and kissed him again.
That night went much as Hermione had expected it to, minus the cooking, and dishes, and novels.